Hidden Hours

by Sara Foster

  She’s aware of the door opening on the other side, and Aiden climbs in. Eleanor only sees his face in glimpses, his wide eyes, the tears on his cheeks, and then the car begins to move and something is wrong and they are both screaming for their father, who isn’t with them. And their mother is yelling at them to be quiet, and a fire truck is racing past the car, and finally the air seems cooler and so much easier to breathe and their mother has pulled up on the side of the road and her head is on the steering wheel and she is sobbing.

  For a moment, Eleanor is too distraught to carry on. She only registers Will’s shocked face as she stops speaking.

  ‘Eleanor, I’m so sorry, what a horrific thing to go through.’

  ‘That was just the start of it,’ she tells him, exhausted, as though her body has undergone that panicked flight from the burning house again. ‘It seems so ironic,’ she murmurs, ‘that I can remember that night eleven years ago in minute detail, and yet I don’t have a clue about what happened right in front of me last week.’ As Will opens his mouth, she cuts in, ‘I know, I know, it was the drugs. I get it, but I still hate it, Will. It’s brought all these nightmares flooding back. I’ve done everything I can think of to try to put them behind me, but it’s impossible. The memories never leave me – they spin around and around in my mind, tormenting me. I don’t know if I can bear another weight like that on my conscience.’

  ‘But you didn’t start the fire.’ Will frowns, clearly confused. ‘Why is it on your conscience?’

  Eleanor shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t that, it was what came afterwards.’ The body on the rope moves into her mind’s eye. She feels giddy and drained. ‘I can’t talk about it anymore tonight.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Will says, still holding her. ‘It must have been terrible.’

  Eleanor is slowly readjusting to the present, remembering why she’s here. ‘It was, and I can’t change any of it, but I still feel like I could change what’s happening now, if only I could remember what I saw. Otherwise Nathan’s going to get away with it, Will, I know it.’

  Will sits back, watching her. ‘Why are you so sure that Nathan’s responsible?’

  Eleanor hesitates. ‘He has the motive. Arabella had just slapped him in front of everyone, and he obviously has a violent temper. And . . . and what if he already knew she was sleeping with someone else? He might not have realised it was my uncle until recently, but what if she taunted him? I doubt it would take much to provoke him. Or what if he just wanted to get rid of her so he could carry on with Caroline?’ She pauses. ‘He has so many reasons, not just one. And I’m missing something that will help convict him, I know it. Surely it’ll come to me, if I keep looking for long enough. Why did I end up with her ring? There must be a reason. Perhaps Nathan had a plan to divert suspicion towards me.’

  ‘You know what,’ Will says quietly, ‘Nathan has always had this strange power over women. They seem to interpret his arrogance as confidence, and he dazzles them with fake charm. I’ve never known anything like it, but I thought Arabella would eventually prove a match for him – perhaps expose him or ruin him. From the way she slapped him, it looked like she was ready to take him on. What better motive than that for killing her?’

  ‘Yes, but how do we prove it?’ Eleanor asks.

  ‘Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.’ As he speaks, Will takes Eleanor’s empty cup from her and goes across to the kitchen.

  Eleanor watches him, and then glances around. ‘Your place is very nice,’ she says. ‘You made out it was a box!’

  ‘Small but homely, I guess,’ Will answers as he rinses the cups.

  ‘Is this your family?’ she asks, spotting a frame next to the television and leaning across to pick it up. In the photo, Will sits in the middle of a happy group of five.

  Will comes back across as he dries his hands on a tea towel. ‘Sure is. Mum and Dad, and my two little sisters, who both have my parents wrapped firmly around their little fingers.’

  ‘You guys all look so happy,’ she says, noticing the little Yorkshire terrier at their mother’s feet. ‘It’s like one of those photos that comes with the frame when you buy it.’

  ‘Oh, we have our fair share of skeletons,’ Will replies. She glances at him, half-expecting to see him smiling, but he looks deadly serious. ‘My younger sister has had problems with drugs and the wrong kind of guy. I’ve had to help my dad in a few difficult situations, extracting her from messes.’

  ‘I can easily see you as the protective big brother. It’s kind of what you’ve been doing with me.’

  Will sits down next to her, putting a hand on her knee. ‘Believe me, Eleanor,’ he says quietly, ‘I wouldn’t describe my feelings for you as brotherly.’

  It takes Eleanor a moment to absorb his words, but when she does, she leaps up. ‘I have to go.’

  Will jumps up too, as his face falls. ‘No, you don’t – I’m sorry, it wasn’t the right time to say that. It was completely inappropriate. Forget I said it.’

  Eleanor tries to smile reassuringly, but at the same time she’s shrugging on her coat. ‘It’s okay, but my uncle will be worried if I don’t come home tonight, and I need to check he’s all right.’ A modicum of loyalty to her aunt stills her tongue about the events earlier on.

  ‘Let me call you a taxi,’ Will says, standing close by, his disappointment palpable as she winds her scarf around her neck.

  ‘No, I’ll get the train,’ she demurs, aware her funds are too low for taxis now she’s out of a job.

  ‘Well, I’ll walk you to the station, then,’ he says, grabbing his coat. As he holds the door open for her she feels a surge of relief, which is quickly replaced by confusion. Will is kind and warm and good looking, so why is she so resistant to his charms? When he’s so obviously reaching out to her, why does she keep running away?

  48

  the surprise

  Aisha slides down in her car seat, noting the time. She’s getting fed up with these stakeouts. She’s not sure why Nathan is so paranoid about Eleanor; to Aisha she seems more irritating than anything. But then again, if they can find something on her, she might be the perfect person to take the fall. Aisha has done a thorough background check, both in the UK and overseas, and it seems that Eleanor Brennan definitely has enough history of mental disturbance to be capable of pushing someone into the Thames.

  Will and Eleanor hardly speak as he guides her to the station. As he leaves, he looks so dejected that she almost apologises, but he gives her a brief peck on the cheek and disappears fast. It is nearly ten o’clock by the time she boards her train. A large proportion of her fellow passengers are dressed up, probably having attended one of the many Christmas parties still going on around the city. Others are in casual clothes, giving less away about where they’ve come from, or where they might be headed. Eleanor wishes she had her sketchbook with her, but instead she finds herself picking a few people close to her and trying to imagine their lives. As they sit squashed side by side, their stories, their secrets are all hidden. She stares at the woman with the shopping bags, the man listening to his iPod, the couple in formal wear who can’t keep their hands off one another. She starts to invent a narrative for them but it is all so reductive, based on shallow observations of clothes and expressions. There’s no way of knowing what’s held deep inside them. As she watches them the woman catches her eye and quickly looks away. What do they make of her, Eleanor wonders, in this close space they share? For how long will they remember Eleanor’s face, or will it have vanished by the time the Tube doors close, discarded by their minds as unnecessary?

  Was it the same for Eleanor? Had she disregarded some piece of information as trivia, when it might be the clue that will unlock everything for her? She has never thought to ask herself how much she knows about her own life. She has assumed, as most do, that she knows everything. Until recently she hadn’t considered all that has gone, through the losses and lapses of memory. She hasn’t questioned whether there ar
e things she blames herself for that are not at all as they seemed. She hasn’t asked whether she’s guilty of anything more than she’s aware of.

  As soon as she gets off the Tube she gets that horrible sense of being followed again. She scurries faster and faster down the lamplit streets towards her uncle’s house, telling herself she’s most likely halfway to paranoid, and if she doesn’t sleep tonight she’ll soon be delusional too. As she finally sees the house she is overwhelmed by the exhaustion she’s been holding at bay. Nevertheless, she’s apprehensive as she approaches the door and steps over the ghost of herself the week before, refusing to dwell on that bedraggled, drugged woman at her feet.

  This day has been so long and eventful that she can’t imagine there is more to come in the last couple of hours. Until she opens the front door and sees Savannah grinning wildly in the hallway.

  ‘What are you doing up so late?’ Eleanor asks as she comes inside.

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you!’ Savannah trills. ‘Haven’t you checked your phone – Dad’s been leaving message after message.’

  Eleanor pulls her phone out of her pocket. ‘Oh dear, dead battery,’ she says. ‘Not in trouble, am I?’ she asks, although from the look on Savannah’s face it doesn’t seem like it.

  Surreptitiously Eleanor glances towards the closed door of the front room, but eagle-eyed Savannah sees her do it.

  ‘Oh, you can’t go in there,’ she says cheerfully. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous? Why?’

  ‘Daddy saw a mouse earlier. He whacked his head trying to catch it and smashed into his drinks cabinet, and now he’s set traps in there. We’re not to open the door under any circumstances in case the little bugger runs out.’

  As Savannah finishes talking, Ian comes down the corridor. One side of his head has swollen nicely, forming a deep purple wound surrounded by redness.

  ‘Nasty knock,’ Eleanor says deadpan.

  ‘Yes,’ Ian replies. ‘We’re so glad you’re back, Eleanor, I was beginning to get worried. Come through.’

  He walks off down the corridor and Savannah grabs her hand and pulls her with them, leaving Eleanor no choice but to follow.

  As they open the door to the snug, Savannah yells, ‘Surprise!’

  Eleanor looks inside and gasps as she sees the three people there. Naeve is curled up under a blanket, watching Eleanor. Susan is seated in one corner, holding a cup of tea. And opposite her, face turned towards Eleanor and lips trembling with emotion, is Eleanor’s mother.

  Gillian jumps to her feet and comes across to her daughter, enfolding her into a hug. Eleanor puts her arms around her mum and sags against her, but she doesn’t have the energy to return the tightness of her mother’s squeeze.

  Her mother steps back but keeps hold of Eleanor’s shoulders. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she says. ‘I wanted to surprise you – for Christmas.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Eleanor says, but there is a tumult of emotions coursing through her. Has Gillian planned this all along, or does she have other motives for being here? Will her mother’s presence help her gain some perspective on the week’s events, or will it just remind her of everything she has struggled with for so long?

  Over her mother’s shoulder, she sees Susan watching them. It’s almost as much of a surprise to find Susan here tonight. ‘How are you, Susan?’ she asks cautiously.

  ‘Much better, thank you,’ Susan replies, equally as carefully, Eleanor thinks.

  The atmosphere in the room turns uneasy, and Savannah seems the only one oblivious. ‘Auntie Gillian is going to take us to see the Christmas lights tomorrow!’

  Eleanor can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. ‘That sounds great.’ But she can’t maintain the façade. Her body is crying out for rest, her knees are about to give way. She looks between them all. ‘I hope you don’t mind but it’s been a really long day and I’m very tired. I think I’ll go to bed.’

  Susan and Ian nod, and her mother looks concerned. ‘I’ll come up with you. I told Ian and Susan not to waste time making up another room, and I think I’ve stayed up long enough to have a chance of beating the jet lag. Good night, everyone.’

  They head up both flights of stairs silently. Inside the little loft room, Gillian’s suitcase sits on the bed.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind sharing,’ Gillian begins as soon as they shut the door. ‘I just didn’t want to be any trouble, and when Ian met me at the airport he told me that he’s sometimes in their spare room. Apparently he and Susan aren’t getting on all that well. Have you noticed anything?’

  Eleanor almost laughs at the question. ‘It’s impossible not to notice, Mum, when you live here. What else did Ian tell you? Did he say that Susan whacked him on the head with a golf club and gave him that shiner?’

  Gillian looks shocked. ‘Good god, no. What on earth has been happening here?’

  Eleanor flops down on the bed next to her mother, and closes her eyes. ‘I may have witnessed Arabella Lane’s death last week – and it might have been a murder.’

  Even though they are barely touching, she still feels her mother stiffen. ‘What do you mean, you may have?’ Gillian asks softly into the ensuing silence.

  ‘I was drugged,’ Eleanor confesses. ‘Something was slipped into my drink, and I don’t remember all of the night. But the police are investigating – they’ve got CCTV – they’ve shown me that I was there.’

  At this moment she is too tired for emotion, and of course her cold, rational voice is entirely wrong for this pronouncement, which she knows as soon as her mother practically jumps off the bed and begins to pace.

  ‘Oh my god, I’ve been worried you might be in some sort of trouble, yes, but I never imagined this.’

  Through her exhaustion, Eleanor realises this conversation is going the wrong way and she has to change it fast, before they both say things they will regret.

  ‘We’re all in trouble, Mum. Your brother was having an affair with Arabella. The dead woman. Yep, he’s been interviewed by the police too. And Susan is some kind of ice-maiden whacko. This morning she took a golf club to her husband, and tonight they’re sitting there like it’s the perfect family gathering. There’s so much crap going on in this house, I can’t tell what’s real anymore.’

  Gillian sits down heavily and rubs her eyes. ‘Okay, this is too much. Can you start again and tell me exactly what’s going on?’

  Eleanor lies back down. ‘You know what, I’m exhausted, I haven’t slept well at all lately. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

  Her mother doesn’t say anything, just goes to the bathroom and stays in there for a long time. When she comes out and switches off the bedside light, Eleanor is drifting off, but Gillian’s voice brings her back to the room.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on your aunt and uncle for pretending things are okay when they’re not,’ she says. ‘Because sometimes pretending is the only way to find the strength to carry on.’ There’s a pause. ‘Eleanor, I know that coming here is all about stretching your wings and being independent,’ Gillian says softly into the darkness, ‘but please don’t start hiding things from me. I always want to help and support you – you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Eleanor says softly, hiding her face under the covers, unable to prevent the tears from welling. Thinking to herself: I haven’t started hiding things from you, Mum. I’ve been hiding things from you for years.

  49

  persuasion

  September 2005

  Aiden is hospitalised for smoke inhalation. His hands are burned. He had been so quiet in the car that neither Eleanor nor her mother had realised the extent of his injuries at first, but as soon as they had, her mother had driven at breakneck speed to the nearest emergency department.

  Eleanor sits alone in a small room in the hospital for much of the night, checked on at intervals by her mother and the nurses, wondering where her dad is, desperate to know how her brother is doing. She wonders if there�
�s anything left of the house, and makes a mental list of all her possessions, distraught at the thought of her sketchbooks burning.

  She doesn’t see her father until the dawn has broken outside and the ringneck parrots are gossiping in the trees beyond the hospital window. As soon as she looks into his yellowed, smoke-ravaged eyes, she knows he is not the same man as yesterday. He grips her hand tightly and she studies the grime on the hills and ravines of his blanched knuckles. As she does so she has the first inkling, although she cannot name it, that a cage has fallen over her family, a trap like the one she sometimes used for the spiders and tiny insects that strayed into her territory in the shed. Something bigger than all of them now holds them in its gaze, and when it is ready, the world is going to change, one way or another.

  When Eleanor wakes up in the little room in Harborne Grove there’s an empty space beside her. She could almost dismiss her mother’s arrival last night as another crazy dream, were it not for the open suitcase in the corner, and the smell of lemongrass permeating the room.

  Once she has given her eyes time to adjust she checks the clock; to her surprise it is almost eleven. She has slept soundly, uninterrupted, for nearly twelve hours.

  She takes her time getting dressed, unsure of what awaits her downstairs. Despite her mother’s presence, Susan is still an unknown quantity, and Eleanor is sure her uncle will be keen to quiz her on events at the police station yesterday.

  That CCTV image still unnerves her, and the only way to deal with it is to keep moving. She heads downstairs and finds everyone in the kitchen. Susan is reading a newspaper while Ian shows her mother how to use the coffee machine. Eleanor is thankful, as always, to see Naeve and Savannah there; she feels so much safer with them around since they forestall any ugly confrontations.