Hidden Hours

by Sara Foster

  And then she is up again, lunging at her brother and screaming. And the next instant her mother is behind her, beginning a horrendous keening noise that can never be unheard. Then there is shouting and more wailing, while she stares transfixed by her brother’s lifeless body, his grey face twisting slowly around towards them as her father lunges at his knees to give his son some support, even though he is obviously far, far too late. When strong hands drag Eleanor backwards, she goes roughly like a snake shedding its skin, leaving a part of herself forever in that damned room.

  Eleven years have gone by since then. And no matter what Eleanor has tried – the counselling, the interventions, the medications – that feeling of terror has never completely gone away. It is a curse she has to come to terms with, because she will live with it forever.

  The snow turns to icy rain as she sits on the cold steps in the dark, squeezing the ring repeatedly, willing herself to recall something – anything to stop the unknowns of this new tragedy embedding themselves in her soul. But the ring has no magical powers of restoration. Her mind is still the blank, dark space it has always been.

  She lets her hand slacken, almost dropping the ring into the water, but in the quiet, with her eyes closed, she hears footsteps behind her.

  And then comes a soft, familiar voice.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you, Eleanor. I should have known I would find you here.’

  52

  the truth

  Detective Inspector Priya Prashad listens to the voice on the other end of the phone, and realises she’s got it all wrong. But there’s no time to think about that now. ‘This is it,’ she says, snatching up her keys and beginning to run. ‘I think we’ve got the bastard!’ she calls over her shoulder as Steve leaps up to follow her. ‘But we’re going to have to move bloody fast. Let’s go.’

  Eleanor recognises the voice. She knows exactly who is behind her. The rain falls even and persistent now, so cold it stings her skin and drips into her eyes. As she turns, her blurred, soaked vision distorts his face. She sees black shadows where his eyes should be, and a sullen downturned mouth. She waits, realising that this is the moment. There is no escape.

  He comes to stand over her on the step above, his body close enough to make her recoil. ‘Why are you here?’ he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Why can’t you leave this alone?’

  Eleanor glances beyond him. Could she make it if she runs? He has the upper hand, the higher ground, he could easily grab her, but it might be her only shot. She tries to will energy into her legs, but she is so tired of running, so tired of being hounded. She glances back towards the river; imagines herself hitting that freezing water. Is that the fate she deserves? Is that why she has escaped nothing by coming halfway around the world?

  ‘I still don’t remember anything,’ Eleanor says shakily, getting to her feet. ‘And I don’t want to believe that it’s you.’

  His hand grips her arm hard through her wet jacket. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’ He pulls her roughly around and she flinches at his face so near to hers, aware of their bodies so close together next to this murderous maw of water. She has a flash of her father’s face leaning ominously towards hers before her vision clears and it’s her uncle again, spitting words at her in the downpour.

  ‘Before you judge me, let me tell you a few things, because you have no idea what Arabella could be like, Eleanor.’ His eyes are wide, his tone fierce. ‘In the beginning, I thought she was incredible. I didn’t know anything of the manipulative, game-playing side of her. When I slowly discovered what she was like, and I ended it, she wouldn’t believe it was over. She looked for any opportunity to dig at me – sometimes she wanted me back, at other times she wanted to rant at me. What she wanted most of all was attention. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. She was just a petulant child. She would ring me in the middle of the night to taunt me, threatening to tell Susan, high on whatever drugs she’d taken. It was so hard to stay calm, time after time – and pointless, really, because the more level-headed I was, the more agitated she became. But she was shrewd too – she saw everything. Even though I wouldn’t leave Susan, Arabella knew how attracted I was to her, she revelled in the power she had over me. And she could tell I didn’t love Susan the way a husband is supposed to love his wife. She didn’t hold back on her opinions about that.’

  As he speaks, every word is kindling, slowly and steadily building a fire in Eleanor. Each new lick of flame is turning her fear to anger, her indecision to resolve. All her senses have sharpened. She is acutely aware of every part of her body, the feel of different fabrics against her skin, the tension of each muscle, the hard circle of the ring in her hand. ‘Are you telling me that Arabella deserved what happened to her?’ she demands, steadying herself, standing her ground.

  Ian frowns. ‘I came here to calm her down, that was all, until she said she’d already called Susan and told her everything. Susan had gone back to work late in the office after the party, and Arabella had phoned her and announced we were leaving together. She meant to put me in an impossible position, to force my hand. I was horrified, and angry too, yes. We fought, it got physical and she fell into the water.’

  ‘Really?’ Eleanor throws up her arms disbelievingly. ‘She just fell in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ian doesn’t flinch, but Eleanor knows now just how good a liar he is.

  ‘If it was an accident, then why all the lies?’

  Ian’s eyes are bulging, as though he can’t quite believe he’s still having to defend himself. Water drips from his brows. ‘Don’t you understand, Eleanor? I’ve been forced into the lies, can’t you see that? To protect my family. Including you, Eleanor. You love Naeve and Savvie, don’t you? Well, Arabella didn’t care a jot. She would have destroyed them too if it meant she got what she wanted. She played with you as well, didn’t she, drugging you, giving you the ring?’

  Perhaps Eleanor would have been unsettled if he hadn’t mentioned Naeve and Savvie. Those names are a payload of fuel, and the small fire in Eleanor catches and explodes. ‘You know what,’ she cries, ‘I believe you. I absolutely believe that’s what you tell yourself. How else could you cover up a woman’s death so shamelessly? How else could you have the gall to make your thirteen-year-old daughter hide evidence in a murder investigation?’

  Ian’s mouth opens and closes again, but no words come out. She senses him flounder, but only for a moment, before his face hardens. ‘Why did you take the ring from Naeve, Eleanor?’ he asks in a low voice. ‘What are you planning to do with it?’

  Eleanor stiffens. ‘How do you know I have the ring?’

  ‘Because I got home early to find Naeve hiding in her room. And Savvie told me her sister hadn’t gone out with them this afternoon. As soon as I clapped eyes on Naeve I knew there was trouble. She’s good at keeping secrets, but not so much at outright lies. She confessed she’d given it to you and told me you’d gone to Somerset House. I watched you talking to your friend in there, then when you left and stepped outside and began to run, I knew you were heading here.’

  As he speaks, he manoeuvres Eleanor down a step closer to the water. Her anger is subdued by an icy dread. She shivers, thinking of him watching her from the shadows. She tries not to show her fear, to hold herself together. ‘All along, I tried so hard not to doubt you,’ she shouts through the rain, hoping desperately that someone is within earshot, ‘but when Naeve told me what you’d asked her to do, I couldn’t excuse you any longer. I knew just what you were capable of. So, what now? Are you going to kill me too?’

  Ian casts frantically about as she speaks but no one is nearby. In an instant he is shoving her hard so that her back is forced painfully up against the stone wall directly beneath the road. The only way someone would see them now is if they walked right on to the monument, and even then his body hides hers from view as he leans over her. She is all too aware of the water just a few metres below them, but she is no longer afraid.

  She is livid.


  As she had spoken of Naeve, understanding had flooded through her. She and Naeve had both been caught up in their fathers’ delusions and excuses. And yet, since Aiden’s death, Eleanor has spent most of her life stuck in the wrong fight. She has been attempting the impossible, trying to escape the voices and actions of others, but instead they have transmuted into all her doubts and fears. That was what had led her to the pills and the despair as a teenager. That was what had caused her to end up drugged and desperate on a bridge just last week, ready to jump into the Thames.

  But Naeve is only thirteen years old. She shouldn’t be the victim of her family’s catastrophic choices. And neither should Eleanor.

  She screams and tries to push Ian away but he is too strong. Water drips down her neck and inside her collar, a few cold trickles running down between her shoulderblades.

  Ian’s grip on her tightens. His lips are close to her ear. ‘I want us both to walk away from this, Eleanor,’ he insists. ‘You just have to work with me. There will be a way out of this. Just give me the ring and we can figure out the rest.’

  Eleanor shakes her head. The pressure on her back is excruciating, there are shooting pains down her legs. ‘Why is the ring so important? Tell me the truth.’

  ‘It’s a message.’ Ian spits each word into her face. ‘It’s a “fuck you” to Nathan. And a noose around my neck.’

  Eleanor flinches. Her stomach heaves. Does he know what that image does to her? She tries to focus on her surroundings. ‘What do you mean? How can you be so certain?’

  ‘Because it’s not the first time Arabella’s done it. She told me all about it one night when she’d had too much to drink. She ran away a couple of years back – with one of Parker & Lane’s illustrators – and left the ring on Nathan’s desk. Only she came back a week later because she hadn’t realised her lover lived in a hovel. Nathan went after him. Cut off all his contacts in the industry. Six months later he was addicted to god knows what. Twelve months after that he was dead.’

  Eleanor is trying to digest all this information. ‘But Nathan knows about you and Arabella now.’

  ‘Yes, and I have no doubt he’s plotting revenge. But the ring has to disappear. I had no idea about it until you confided in me, but I’m certain Arabella meant for you to give it to Nathan. She knew you were his new assistant, didn’t she? If he ever finds out about the ring it will tip him over the edge. He’ll use that as evidence one way or another – lawfully or unlawfully – to destroy me. To destroy all of us.’

  ‘So, you’re happy to let the police accuse him of killing her instead?’

  ‘Seriously, Eleanor? He tried to choke you. Have you not learned enough about him yet? Do you still have sympathy for him? Nathan deserves everything he gets. Do you know how many times Arabella had strange bruises on her body during the time I was with her?’

  ‘I can’t tell when you talk whether you loved her or hated her.’

  ‘You know what, neither can I sometimes.’ Ian’s voice cracks. ‘Those emotions are closer together than you think. She drove me crazy but . . . haven’t you ever hated someone you loved?’

  As she hears the slip in his speech, Eleanor takes her chance and pulls against him, trying to break free. However, he tenses fast; there’s no way she can beat him on strength.

  Ian senses the moment too. ‘Where is it?’ He pushes his hands into her pockets, frantically searching. ‘Please, Eleanor, we can drop it into the water right now, and no one will ever know—’

  ‘Let her go, Ian.’

  Ian stops dead.

  Eleanor’s eyes meet her aunt’s over Ian’s shoulder, seeing a mixture of desperation and fear. Susan stands two steps above them, her hands in the pockets of a thick black dress coat, her hair loose and flattened in the rain. She looks so much older than a week ago, paler, more vulnerable.

  ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ Susan hisses at Eleanor. ‘Thank god I spotted Will at Somerset House, and he’d seen you running this way.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ian growls, hostility writ large on his face.

  Susan’s stare turns stony as it falls on her husband. ‘I’ve been speaking to the police,’ she says, her chin high, her gaze steady. Her left hand clutches her phone. ‘I just called them again, they’re on their way. Naeve phoned me as soon as you left the house, told me everything. This has gone far enough. It’s over, Ian. We can’t do this anymore.’

  At her words Ian lets go of Eleanor and crumples, hunched over towards the ground, his breaths heavy and rapid. ‘Why the hell would you do that? You’ll be arrested too. You gave me an alibi.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Eleanor asks, looking from one to the other. ‘What alibi?’

  Susan turns to her. ‘After Arabella called me and told me she was leaving with Ian, I stayed at the office for most of the night. I never saw you lying on the doorstep. Ian told me what had happened, and persuaded me to lie to avoid awkward questions. He said he didn’t want the family to suffer for his mistake. I thought he meant the affair.’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent,’ Ian sneers. ‘You would have thrown me to the lions if you could; you were just trying to save your job.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Susan declares, ‘but I also believed your lies. I didn’t realise you were capable of killing someone. You only told me you spoke to Arabella on the phone. You mentioned nothing about coming here to meet her.’

  Ian’s eyes flicker uncertainly between them. ‘You’ve no proof of that.’

  ‘Actually, you’re forgetting there’s a witness. Naeve saw you, Ian. I might not have been there, but she was. She heard you leave, and come back, and watched you find Eleanor and carry her inside while you were fully dressed, at two in the morning. She won’t be lying for you any longer. And Eleanor has Arabella’s ring. It’s not like it’s the first time Arabella had taken that ring off and run away. I think you’re in trouble, one way or another.’

  Ian lunges at his wife. ‘You bitch!’ he roars, grabbing her by the throat. ‘After everything I’ve done for you!’

  Susan screams and Eleanor watches in horror as they struggle on the edge of the steps. As they begin to stumble, Ian loses his balance, flails and lets go of Susan. Eleanor catches her aunt’s arm before she falls. But Ian is momentarily airborne over the stairway, landing with a sickening thud.

  The women cling together in silence, staring at Ian spreadeagled below them. Most of his body is under water, the gentle tide lapping at his face as though it would love to suck him under. His eyes are glazed with shock.

  ‘What now?’ Eleanor whispers to Susan.

  Her aunt stiffens but doesn’t reply.

  Eleanor lets go of Susan and steps back, sagging against the wall, imbibing the crisp night air. Her gaze moves slowly beyond the black void of the Thames to the city lights that bejewel the skyline.

  In the distance there are sirens.

  53

  into the night

  Christmas Eve

  Susan had never realised there could be more than one type of silence. Yet as she ascends the stairs to her bedroom in Harborne Grove, she understands the finality of the quietness tonight. It is not the temporary sojourn between her family sleeping and waking; this is the soundless, immovable space of absence and loss.

  She is not allowed to leave the city. She may well be charged with an offence. Her career, her reputation, her family – they have all gone. What does that leave her with? Who am I, she wonders, behind all of that?

  Perhaps she’ll find out in the morning, she thinks, exhaustion setting in as she finally reaches her bed. As she picks up the hard little bottle of pills on the bedside table, she is ambushed by her loneliness, and all these questions begin to crystallise into the overwhelming desire for rest.

  In less than twelve hours it will be Christmas morning. Eleanor imagines that most children in the country will be busy putting the finishing touches to their stockings, leaving out treats for Santa. But not Naeve and Savannah. They are both fa
st asleep in the back of the car, their coats over them as blankets, while their aunt drives fast through the night, the lights of the M25 now replaced by smaller, darker roads. Behind them is London, where their father has been taken into custody and made front-page news, while their mother is still busy talking to her lawyers, and quite possibly on the verge of a breakdown.

  In the boot of the car are two sacks full of presents. When Susan had asked Gillian and Eleanor to do this, having already booked a small Hampshire cottage, they agreed it was something, at least, that might lessen the unbearable gloom. For the past few days they have all moved like wraiths: silently and stealthily, saying little, lost in their own thoughts. Naeve had refused to open her door for almost a day, until Susan unscrewed the entire locking mechanism and sat on the floor for much of the night, cradling her devastated child. Savvie has been quiet and confused, not heartbroken yet, but still sensing that life has gone terribly, irrevocably wrong.

  ‘I’m glad they’re both sleeping,’ Gillian says into the darkness. ‘They need it.’

  ‘We all need it,’ Eleanor replies, considering her mother. Gillian had been shocked and devastated at her brother’s arrest, apologising repeatedly to Eleanor for suggesting she stayed at Harborne Grove. It had reminded Eleanor of how easy it was to take on a mountain of unwarranted guilt.

  Eleanor’s phone buzzes in her bag. It’s Will again. Can we talk? It’s the seventh text he’s sent today. She sighs and deletes it. Tomorrow she’ll figure out how to block his number.

  She looks around at the two girls again. ‘How are we going to look after them, Mum? How are we even going to try to celebrate Christmas?’