Hidden Hours

by Sara Foster

  Gillian swallows hard. ‘I know, thank you Solomon, but we’d better get back and call them. Come on, Eleanor.’ She turns to leave then glances back.

  ‘Solomon, is there anything we can do for you?’

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, Gillian, but I’ll be fine. Life goes on, doesn’t it. I’m doing much better than I look.’ He lets out another croaky laugh that quickly becomes a cough.

  ‘You stay there and rest, we’ll let ourselves out,’ Gillian says, and beckons Eleanor to follow her. When they are out in the garden Gillian says quietly, ‘Eleanor, are you sure you have everything with you?’

  Eleanor looks through the things she’s collected. ‘I think so.’

  They move quickly back up the hill past all the scattered farm equipment, and her mother says nothing until they have climbed over the fence.

  ‘Are you worried about Uncle Ian?’ Eleanor asks, hurrying to keep up.

  ‘Yes. I’ll try to call them when we get back. I’ll drive out towards town and see if I can get a signal on the mobile.’

  They hurry on. ‘Can I come with you?’ Eleanor asks as they get back into the yard.

  ‘I’ll just be a moment,’ her mother says, running into the house.

  Eleanor waits on the dusty gravel until she gets back, thinking how different Solomon seemed today. So lifeless, so uninterested, as if he were just tolerating them until they left.

  As they get into the car, Eleanor says tentatively, ‘Lily’s room is beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Her mother turns to her as she starts the engine.

  ‘It is,’ she agrees. ‘But Eleanor, sweetheart, I can’t let you go back there on your own.’

  ‘Why?’ Eleanor asks softly, bending her head as a tear slips down her cheek.

  ‘Oh Eleanor, I like Solomon too,’ her mum says in reply, putting the car into gear and swinging it round in a wide circle to head towards the road. Eleanor waits for the next words, the ones she had long imagined her mother saying as soon as she found out about Lily’s room. ‘I can understand why you’ve fallen in love with that beautiful room. But we don’t know Solomon all that well, do we? It’s just not right to keep letting you go down there on your own.’

  44

  suspicion

  ‘Will you be okay if I have a lie down?’ Ian says, coming into the front room once the paramedic has gone.

  ‘Sure.’ Lilian smiles until he has left the room and then purses her lips. This room is a nightmare. She’ll do it for the extra Christmas money, but she’s going to have to sort something out in the New Year. She’ll miss seeing those girls, but she’s no longer comfortable around the Mortimers. In fact, in the past couple of weeks she’s felt more and more nervous around them.

  For the second time in a week, Eleanor is in the police station. Emptying her pockets. Receiving instructions from Howard Greene, the duty solicitor. Waiting for the detectives, again. Wanting to vomit, again.

  When Prashad and Kirby come into the room, she tries to read their body language, their facial expressions, but they give nothing away. Kirby pulls out a seat courteously for Prashad, who sits and puts a manila folder down in front of her.

  ‘First of all, thank you for coming in to speak with us again,’ Prashad begins. ‘As with last time, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘I understand,’ Eleanor nods, feeling like a bit part in a TV movie.

  ‘We have received a new witness statement,’ Kirby begins. ‘A couple think they saw Arabella talking to a man on the night she died. According to this person, they were having a rather animated discussion, and Arabella looked upset.’

  He stops, and the silence lingers.

  ‘Okay,’ Eleanor says uncertainly.

  The detectives both watch her carefully.

  ‘They also recalled a girl holding her shoes, who seemed to be hiding nearby. The description of this woman – tall, long straight dark hair – would appear to closely match yours. They noticed this woman because she was standing a short distance from Arabella and the other man who were arguing, and she seemed to be watching them intently.’

  Eleanor tries to absorb this information as they wait for her to speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says eventually, ‘but as I told you last time, I don’t remember much.’

  ‘Much – or anything?’ Prashad cuts in quickly.

  ‘Anything,’ Eleanor says hastily, reddening.

  Howard Greene leans forward. ‘I need a moment to speak to my client, please.’

  The detectives nod and get up. When they have gone from the room, Howard turns to Eleanor. ‘You don’t need to volunteer information, Eleanor. See how easy it is to talk yourself into a hole? Just answer their questions.’

  Eleanor squirms. ‘I’m only trying to be honest.’

  Howard sighs as he gets up to open the door again. ‘Just answer their questions, Eleanor. Nothing more.’

  The detectives troop back in.

  ‘Are you ready to continue, Eleanor?’ Prashad asks.

  Eleanor nods.

  ‘All right, then. As I was saying, we have witnesses who saw Arabella talking to this man. Unfortunately they didn’t see his face, they just recall that he had dark hair and was wearing dark clothes. You don’t recall witnessing this conversation at all?’

  Eleanor is thinking hard. This must have been Will, mustn’t it? He told her he’d chased after Arabella and their chat might have looked like an argument. But she doesn’t recall following them, and Howard Greene’s caution is still ringing in her ears.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Okay, then. Well, as you would imagine, we have been checking CCTV footage all over the place, and we recently received this.’

  Prashad lays a series of photographs in front of Eleanor. The picture is grainy, and looks west along the street, a very distant Big Ben just visible in the upper right-hand corner of the photo, and the Hungerford Bridge and footbridges just in the frame on the left. The pavements are quiet, and the few people visible are mostly hidden by umbrellas. ‘This footage was taken just after twelve thirty on Friday morning,’ Prashad says. ‘We believe this is Arabella.’ She points to a figure heading along the roadside path of Victoria Embankment, leaving the bridge behind her. Arabella is the only person in a thin party dress, with no protection from the rain. To the right of her is a low wall, and beyond that everything is black. Eleanor knows what is there, though – the merciless, freezing water of the Thames.

  ‘Do you know this area well?’ Prashad asks, drawing a circle around the picture with her finger.

  ‘Not really,’ Eleanor replies. ‘I’ve not been in the country for long.’

  ‘Well, there’s a monument just out of shot, called Cleopatra’s Needle.’ Prashad opens the file in front of her and leafs through the contents, pulling out an A4 sheet. ‘This is it,’ she says, setting it in front of Eleanor and pointing to the obelisk monument in the middle of the photo. ‘There’s an entrance to it at this point here – see the gap in the wall, between the sphinxes? – and a few steps lead up to it. We believe Arabella may have gone into the water close to that location. Now . . .’ She returns the photo to the folder, and grabs her iPad. ‘I’d like to show you some moving footage from the same CCTV.’

  She tinkers with the device for a few moments before turning it around so Eleanor can see it as it lies flat on the table. Eleanor watches Arabella walk briskly along the path, until she is out of shot at the bottom of the picture.

  ‘This is the last footage we have of Arabella so far,’ Prashad says as they watch. ‘And this is what happens next.’

  They continue watching the street from the same angle, and in the top corner another figure moves into shot. It’s too far away for Eleanor to make out details, but she knows she’s looking at herself – a pair of shoes dangle from one hand as she follows Arabella. However, before she disa
ppears from view, she stops and leans over the wall, looking to her left.

  It’s as though the scene in the room has been frozen. No one moves as Eleanor wills her brain to form these memories, to recall what she had witnessed. But there is nothing. She might as well be watching a stranger.

  She looks up, stricken. ‘I don’t remember this.’ She begins to cry. ‘I didn’t do anything to her, I’m sure of it,’ she stammers, even though she can’t trust her own words, because how does she really know that for sure when she can’t remember anything?

  ‘Eleanor?’ Kirby’s voice brings her back to the room. ‘We are not accusing you of killing Arabella.’

  Disorientated, Eleanor turns her tear-streaked face towards him. ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No,’ he says, ‘we just want to encourage you to remember what happened. There’s still more to show you.’

  Prashad doesn’t take her eyes off the screen. ‘Keep watching, Eleanor. On this footage you appear to be looking in the direction of Cleopatra’s Needle.’

  The next few minutes seem to last an eternity. Eleanor is standing there, her gaze still to the left, her movements so small as to be indiscernible from this distance. Eleanor grows more and more uncomfortable. What are they waiting for?

  ‘Here it comes,’ Prashad says.

  And suddenly her figure on the screen turns and takes off at a sprint back in the direction she had come, vanishing in seconds.

  ‘What made you run like that, Eleanor? What did you see?’

  Eleanor stares from Prashad to Kirby, confused. ‘I have no idea.’

  Prashad sighs. ‘We were afraid you would say that. You have no idea what you saw?’

  Eleanor shakes her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ Prashad grabs the iPad again and makes a few adjustments. ‘Watch this.’

  This time the cameras are facing the road, with a park on the left-hand side. As they watch, a dark figure holding an umbrella hurries out from under the trees and jogs across the road.

  ‘This person is unidentified, and is heading towards the last location Arabella was seen,’ Prashad explains. ‘He is hurrying towards Cleopatra’s Needle. We believe he may have seen or be involved in Arabella’s death. He is coming from the opposite direction, so you would not have crossed paths. But we believe you saw what happened. What’s more, we think you may know this person.’

  Eleanor squints at the image put in front of her and shakes her head.

  ‘I know,’ Prashad says. ‘He’s a dark shape under an umbrella. We’re pretty sure it’s a man from the way he moves, but other than that it’s hard to tell much. As yet, this is the best footage we have. He’s only there for a few minutes then he runs back across and disappears under the trees next to the Embankment Gardens. We have tried to follow a CCTV trail, but so far we haven’t been able to track him, partly because everyone is holding umbrellas in the rain.

  ‘Eleanor, we don’t have to keep reminding you that if you can recall anything at all you haven’t told us, then it could be vital to the investigation. You are our only key witness so far, unfortunately.’

  Eleanor nods. Prashad sighs.

  ‘Before we finish,’ Kirby takes over, ‘we just want to show you one more thing.’ He grabs the file from Prashad and finds another photograph, turning it around so Eleanor can see. ‘We believe this to be you, near Embankment station.’

  Thanks to the station lights, this image is much clearer. Eleanor’s face is visible, and her features are crumpled in distress. Her arm is raised high as though she is trying to flag down an approaching taxi. She looks so haunted that Eleanor can’t help but glance over the rest of the picture, half-expecting to see a shadowy apparition following her.

  She closes her eyes, trying to dispel the terrible image, unnerved at witnessing her own terror. She feels herself beginning to hyperventilate, and tries desperately to get a grip before the world begins to swirl and she passes out. She clutches the table. ‘I’m so, so sorry, I wish I knew what had happened.’

  Prashad leans forward. ‘We understand that you can’t remember, Eleanor, but we wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t check that those hours are really lost to you, and you haven’t just suppressed them because something – or someone – might have frightened you into silence.’

  45

  intruders

  September 2005

  ‘I’m taking your mother out tonight,’ Eleanor’s dad announces at breakfast.

  The statement is so unexpected that Eleanor is instantly intrigued. She has been pushing her cereal around the bowl, wondering what her mother might have planned to keep her occupied today – hoping it isn’t cleaning. It has been almost eight weeks since Eleanor’s last visit to Solomon’s house, because nowadays her mother won’t let her out of her sight. But tonight, maybe . . .

  No. She can’t go in the dark. And who knows whether Solomon will even want her there anymore? As the days turned to weeks, and the weeks have blossomed and faded, those cherished hours in the sunroom have grown distant and dreamlike. She imagines the place now: dull, cold and empty, the paintings stacked in the corner, no one to admire them. Has Solomon missed her at all? How is he coping without Charlie?

  She tunes into the conversation again as Aiden is saying something. ‘Can we come with you?’

  ‘Not tonight, kid. I want you to take care of your sister.’

  ‘Seriously?’ both Aiden and Eleanor reply at the same time.

  Their father laughs. ‘Aiden, you’ll be sixteen in a few weeks. You’ve done almost nothing to help construct this house. The roof is on, the floors are done, we’re down to fittings and fixtures and it’s time me and your mum had a treat. So, tonight you can pitch in. Teach Eleanor how to play cards or something; watch whatever you can find on the television. We’ll be leaving at six and we’ll be back between nine and ten. You are both old enough to manage for that long.’

  That evening, Eleanor watches her mother get ready for their meal, silently selecting a nice blouse and skirt and jacket and her heeled boots, taking time over her make-up, each action done steadily but without any noticeable enthusiasm. Eleanor wants to ask if she can go with them, but how can she begin to explain the gripe in her belly whenever she’s around Aiden nowadays?

  Once their parents have gone, Aiden doesn’t say anything at all. Eleanor sits next to him in front of the television watching Neighbours, but quickly gets bored. Since their extended time with no TV she’s lost track of who is who. Eventually she goes to her room, collects her sketchpad, brings it back to the lounge and begins to flick through it.

  Finally, Aiden looks across. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘Just drawing.’

  As she says it there’s a knock on the door. Aiden jumps up and answers it, and to Eleanor’s dismay she hears the guffaws and snorts and back slaps of Aiden’s awful friends.

  As they walk in and see Eleanor, Timmo’s eyes light up. ‘Hello there,’ he says. ‘You gonna party with us tonight, eh?’

  ‘Leave her out of it,’ Aiden replies tiredly, but Eleanor sees her brother cast a wary glance towards Timmo. Her nerves begin to skitter, struggling to resettle.

  Coby is already rooting through the cupboards in the kitchen. ‘One won’t hurt her,’ he calls out. ‘We all gotta start somewhere.’

  Eleanor frowns at Aiden as he sits down again. Timmo is by his side, singing the Neighbours theme in a horribly whiney voice and laughing at himself as though he’s bloody hilarious. Having not spent much time with her brother and his friends before, she hasn’t had the chance to notice Aiden’s demeanour, but now she realises it doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself at all.

  ‘Here we go.’ Coby comes across holding three glass tumblers. He puts them down on the coffee table, and then produces a bottle and three cans from inside his jacket. ‘Right then,’ he says, pouring a splash of clear liquid from the larger bottle. ‘Chasers first, eh?’ He roots in his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, grabs one and puts it in h
is mouth.

  ‘You can’t smoke in here,’ Aiden says, snatching the cigarette, which makes Coby cry out a gruff, ‘Hey.’

  ‘There’s bloody smoke alarms everywhere,’ Aiden snaps, gesturing towards the ceiling.

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll go outside in a minute.’ Coby puts the packet back in his pocket, catches Eleanor’s eye and gives her a crazy grin that makes Eleanor shudder.

  ‘It’s good your folks are out tonight,’ Timmo says as he takes a slug of his drink. ‘Makes a change from sitting in the car in the bloody bush.’ He nudges one of the glasses towards Eleanor. ‘Go on then, have a try.’

  The liquid in her glass smells like acid, and tastes worse. The first mouthful sets her throat on fire, and try as she might she cannot stop herself from coughing.

  The boys all laugh at her as she looks up with watery eyes, but Aiden doesn’t find it quite as funny as the other two. ‘You don’t have to drink that, Els,’ he says when she’s finally stopped coughing.

  ‘You’ll be right, won’t you, Elly Belly,’ Timmo chuckles, pouring her another generous splash of liquid. ‘Go on, down in one.’

  The tension in the room is palpable. Eleanor looks across to her brother, who appears to be frozen. She raises her drink to her lips and tips it back just like they are doing, letting it wash down her throat, coughing and spluttering again at the fire running through her.

  Aiden’s friends cheer and Timmo goes to pour her a third glass.

  ‘Stop!’ Aiden shouts. ‘Eleanor, go to your room. Now.’

  As Eleanor stands up, her head becomes light and strange. She hears Timmo cackle behind her as she heads to her room, and Aiden snap, ‘Leave her out of it, Timmo.’

  ‘Or what?’ Coby asks.

  Eleanor shivers. She doesn’t hear Aiden’s reply, but she does make it to her room. By the time she shuts the door she feels a bit queasy and her head is already beginning to spin. The clock says seven-thirty – still about two hours until her parents come back. She picks up a book but can’t focus on the words. She tries to draw but her eyes don’t seem to be working properly.