After the Eclipse

by Fran Dorricott

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to talk to me,” I said with feeling. “What about Darren’s past?” I asked. “I mean, with Olive.”

  “I don’t know, Cassie. He hasn’t got any priors or warnings or even a speeding ticket. He says he doesn’t know anything about her but he’s quiet and tense when we talk to him. It’s like he’s holding something back and I’m less and less convinced it’s anything to do with Bella.” She let herself trail off, and I heard the quiet rumble of a car somewhere far away driving off. “All I know is that he was in town at the time of the last eclipse. But so were loads of other people. That’s what started all that mess with your dad.”

  “That wasn’t the same,” I muttered. “He was… with Carol. He just wasn’t at home where he said he was. That was the problem.”

  “I know.” Marion sighed and then was quiet for a moment. I could imagine her, standing outside the police building, savouring her cigarette break. I was grateful that she’d called me when she had so little time.

  “You’re cute when you’re thinking,” I said.

  “You can’t see me.”

  “I know. Doesn’t change the truth though.”

  Marion laughed. “All right, smart-arse. Stop sucking up. Just be careful, okay?”

  * * *

  I felt my heart beating hard as I switched on the windscreen wipers. It had been years since I’d been to see my dad. Since I’d ventured onto his territory. I’d never been to his current house in Chesterfield, although he’d been in it for five years. We usually met in public; restaurants, cinemas, sometimes at a shopping centre to do some brusque and cheerless Christmas shopping. He’d never even met Helen – hadn’t even acknowledged how awkward I felt when I came out to him. It was better that way, though, easier when one of us could escape if things got uncomfortable.

  It had been this way between us for a long time. I knew my dad loved me – of course he did. But after Olive, he found it harder to show. So did I. Our mutual blame-laying saw to that.

  He moved out during the police investigation. After six months of hotel and sofa-surfing, he got his own place. Well, a place with Carol. I was almost glad. It meant I could hate him legitimately. Even if he hadn’t hurt Olive – and I felt terrible about thinking that – he had hurt me. He’d left me. His new house, and girlfriend, were evidence of that.

  Within a year I was seeing him only once every couple of months for a weekend of forced father-daughter bonding that only made us both angry. When I turned sixteen, I brought that down to only once a year at Christmas. It was easier that way.

  I was seventeen when Mum died. I used to joke that she ended her life as soon as I was old enough to care for myself – but Henry made me realise that it wasn’t a joke just because I laughed about it. And saying horrible things didn’t make the pain go away. Even when she died I didn’t turn to Dad, couldn’t bring myself to cross the gap that yawned between us.

  It was Gran who came to stay with me in our house. The day she turned up she brought an empty suitcase. Even now whenever I saw her making tea I thought of those hard days, when she’d rise at dawn to sort through more of Mum’s things before I woke up – and then she’d bring me a cup of tea and kiss my forehead. Every morning without fail.

  One morning, about two weeks after Mum was buried, Gran had sat on the edge of my bed with her tea, her face creased and her eyes distant. She seemed so solid in the grey-blue light, such a force of comfort that I didn’t notice at first that she was crying.

  “I want you to come back to Bishop’s Green with me,” she’d said. “Just for a little while. Until you start university. I want to take care of you. Grandad does too. Will you come with me?”

  I realised then that she needed me to be there with her as much as I needed her. That she had lost her daughter. So I let her pack that empty suitcase for me because we were family and we needed each other.

  That was why I had to help her now. I had to be there for her, struggle through the days where she wasn’t the woman I remembered, because without her I wouldn’t have made it. My dad didn’t understand that need, that desperation. I recalled him suggesting we just put Gran in a home and I ground my teeth in frustration. I nearly turned the car around.

  But I needed to see him. To ask the questions I’d been dancing around. I couldn’t run away from it this time. I tapped nervously on the steering wheel as I made a left turn, the old satnav doing its best to get me down a one-way street until finally I pulled the car to a stop outside number nine Rose Crescent.

  It was the sort of home I’d imagined he’d have. Big, neat. Large windows and red brick. This could have been my house. My family. If everything hadn’t happened the way it did.

  I climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary, hoping that he was home. If not I’d have to drive to the university and somehow that was worse. I walked slowly up the garden path to the front door. It was a nice front door, too, but I took great pleasure in the single scratch that ran right down the middle of it. I wondered what had caused it, and whether I could do some more damage without them noticing.

  “Psycho,” I muttered to myself.

  I hadn’t seen Carol since Grandad’s funeral. She hadn’t brought Hailey to that, and I realised guiltily that I wasn’t interested in seeing either of them today, just as I hadn’t been a few months ago. Hailey wasn’t my sister in any more than name. I didn’t need another sister – and she didn’t need whatever I was.

  It was Carol who opened the door now. I saw her smile go stiff as soon as she saw it was me, but she guided me through to the kitchen without a word.

  My relationship with Carol had always been complicated; she had no intention of trying to be my mother and deep down I resented her for this. Part of me wanted what Hailey had but I could never bring myself to ask. I hadn’t come to live with Dad when he offered. I had always avoided Hailey’s birthday and family gatherings after she was born. I refused to participate in everything that reminded me of what I was missing.

  “Hi Dad,” I said as he came into the kitchen. His glasses rode low on his nose and his chin was smudged with graphite. It looked like he’d been sketching again. I felt a rush of familiarity. I felt perilously close to tears.

  “Cassie. What are you doing here?”

  “I just… I wondered if we could talk. I wasn’t sure you’d be home but...”

  “Come on, I’ll make tea.”

  Carol stood awkwardly in the doorway behind us, leaning against the doorjamb as though she couldn’t allow herself to intrude on our conversation but couldn’t drag herself away either. Dad filled the kettle and then plonked himself down at the table. I took a seat, my whole body tense with nerves.

  “I could have just phoned you,” I said, trying to make light of it. “But I realised I hadn’t been here. Ever.” It was a weak attempt to make him smile.

  “No, I guess not.” Dad shrugged. “You know I’ll always have time for a cup of tea with my big girl.”

  We made small talk for a minute but my heart wasn’t in it. A natural lull in the conversation made me cast a glance over my shoulder. Thankfully Carol had gone. I felt my body relax a little bit and I leaned back on the wooden kitchen chair.

  “Dad, I came here to – to ask you some questions, actually.”

  Dad sighed but attempted a smile. “Figures. Go on, then.”

  “I wanted to ask about Olive.” I took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask about… about the investigation. About what happened. I know you don’t really want to talk about it because – of everything.”

  Cassie was meant to be watching her. I remembered his words. Only a few days later I caught him on the phone to Carol. That was when Mum found out, and the police said it meant he had an alibi after all.

  I had seen the phone, heard the feminine lilt of a voice at the other end, and thrown myself at him. My whole body flew into his. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and screamed. I was hot and shaking.

  I wish you wer
e gone instead of her! I hate you. This is your fault!

  I pushed the memory down.

  “You’re the only person I can ask,” I said now. “You’re the only one left. So why didn’t you ever tell me you knew Cordy Jones?”

  Dad wouldn’t meet my gaze. He hunched in on himself, elbows to his sides as he sat at the table. He looked almost afraid.

  “I thought it would – make things worse,” he said eventually. His voice was thick with emotion. “You already hated me. You were hostile and angry all the time. I didn’t mean to keep secrets, but I didn’t think you could…”

  “Handle it.”

  The realisation hit me, and I recognised his fear for what it was. Not a fear for himself, but a fear for me. For my safety. He thought he was protecting me – just like I hadn’t told Marion about the text messages. Because I wanted to keep digging, yes, but also because I wanted to keep her safe.

  “Do you think Cordy took Olive?” I asked quietly.

  Dad shook his head. “I don’t know. You never know, do you? There was a lot of evidence but it was… I don’t know. The papers made a massive deal out of it all, but the police never told us anything tangible. People – I think they wanted somebody to blame. For a while it was me. Then they fixed on him. Olive walked out of Chestnut Circle by herself – a couple of people remembered her leaving – so the police assumed Cordy followed her.

  “I didn’t know him very well. I only went to a few youth group events because of you and Olive. Your mum didn’t want you going until I’d scouted it out. I think I went to one or two, right at the beginning, before you guys even started going. Just to make sure it was safe.”

  A wry look passed across his face.

  “I guess that didn’t work out so well, huh.”

  I pushed down the wave of pity that made my throat thick.

  “Do you remember the people at the youth group?” I asked.

  Dad shrugged. “Not especially, but a few of them were memorable. Some I only remember from afterwards, when we were all here in those weeks after she was taken. There were all sorts of vigils and things. It was… It was horrible.” He paused. His voice was hoarse when he next spoke. “Why are you asking now?”

  “Darren Walker. He’s the current suspect in Bella Kaluza’s disappearance. He was a member of the youth group the summer Olive was taken. I just wondered…”

  Dad looked at me blankly.

  “Older. Kind of dorky, skinny, dark hair—”

  “The nervous kid? Dodgy teeth? Yeah, he went by Daz, then. He used to hang around the Circle a fair bit with a few other lads.”

  “Do you remember Darren well?”

  “Not really. He was a bit – odd. Liked to play with the younger kids. He was dead shaken up after… after the eclipse. After Olive was taken. I don’t know why – I don’t think he’d ever spent time with her. But he kicked off big time at one of the vigils, started yelling about how he’d never wanted to watch the eclipse anyway, how he wanted to stay inside – but somebody made him go.

  “He made a right scene. But a lot of the kids were upset afterwards. I think that’s normal. It was the first time they’d dealt with – well… bad things. I’m sure a lot of parents handled it poorly. Daz was really shaken, though. He got into a bit of a scuffle with somebody at the vigil and they had to get your grandad’s GP to calm him down – the doctor was the only person he’d listen to. It was a bit of a mess. His dad had to drag him home before the police were called.” Dad pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “Doctor White?” I asked. I tried to imagine him striding into the fray. Dad nodded.

  I thought of Darren’s reluctance to talk to Marion. He’d freaked out when Olive was abducted; was his current silence on the topic the adult equivalent? If so, then what had there been to argue about at the time?

  “And what about Cordy?” I asked. “What about him?”

  “He seemed – like a regular guy. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know any more than that.”

  My head felt too full, bouncing between thoughts so fast I felt dizzy. None of it made sense. There were too many threads and too many people to keep track of. Darren, by all accounts, was nervous. Tense. Like he was hiding something. But what? I focused on what Dad had told me. Darren probably was there that day. In the crowd. He was somebody Olive would have recognised, and he wasn’t scary. Had he seen something?

  I thought of the mood rings, and then Bella’s fingerprints inside Darren’s van, all my thoughts swirling into a pot of cloudy suspicion.

  “What are you thinking?” Dad asked, a frown forming on his face.

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I guess… I guess how you never know what people are really like, or what they’re thinking. Even when you think you do.”

  “Cassie…” Dad leaned forward in his chair, worry creasing the skin at his eyes. “You need to be careful. Don’t let this get out of control. Obsession isn’t healthy.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  I didn’t tell him about the text messages. About Gran. It wasn’t in the past any more. I had brought it back into the now, and I was terrified. I hadn’t received anything on my new phone but I was checking it compulsively, scared that any minute I’d receive another one – and this time he’d do more than just tell me to back off.

  We lapsed into silence, thoughts stretching between us. Dad had relaxed a little bit but I could see I’d shaken him up. I wondered if he’d been expecting me to talk about Carol, about him being with her during the eclipse while my sister was stolen. It wasn’t a crime to be an absent father but he had lied about it.

  That was an old topic, though. One that I had exhausted as a teenager. I didn’t care if he felt guilty about it. It didn’t matter any more.

  And to show him, I did what I’d never thought I would manage to do. I smiled at him and said, “Do you think we could – all meet up some time? For lunch or something? I’ve not seen Hailey in ages. And Carol…”

  I wasn’t even sure if I meant it, but the look on Dad’s face was worth it.

  35

  I MET HENRY AT his hotel. Typical he’d choose somewhere out of the way, frequented mostly by the kinds of tourists who didn’t mind paying a little extra for the luxury of quick access to the Peaks. It had a spa, a lounge, a bar and a Michelin-starred restaurant.

  We met just before six in the lounge, where my hot-mess self didn’t stand out so much. We settled down with glasses of sparkling water that reminded me of the period I had tried to give up Diet Coke back in university. It left a sour taste on my tongue but I drank it anyway.

  Henry sipped his water. “Business before pleasure,” he said, pulling a few sheaves of paper from the pocket inside his jacket. He smoothed them out on the table and his characteristic scrawl greeted me. “Business,” he gestured at the paper. “Pleasure.” He pointed at me.

  I groaned.

  “I’m just saying, you keep postponing our dinner. I want the gossip. I reckon you’ve been seeing Marion more than you’ve admitted.” He winked. I hid my face in my hands, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach as I thought about Marion’s toner-and-coffee smell, the feeling of her hand on my knee or her shoulder pressed against my own.

  “What did you find out about Darren Walker?” I prompted. He rolled his eyes.

  “Boring lad, really. Left school at sixteen but he’s never been in any real trouble. He’s worked a bunch of jobs, but never for very long. Maybe the longest one he’s had is this stall at the school. Looks like he buys his stuff cheap at larger car-boot sales, and then brings it to the school in his van to sell to the kids.”

  “So, you’re saying he’s just run-of-the-mill I-hang-out-with-children creepy, not prison-material creepy?”

  “What I’m saying is, there’s no proof that he’s creepy at all – not on paper anyway.”

  “And? What about off paper?”

  Henry’s head was cocked to one side in that I know something you don’t know way that I’d become f
amiliar with when I’d worked with him. Not that he’d lorded it over me at all.

  “Maybe the most interesting thing about him is that when his dad died – years ago now – he left him some money from a property sale.”

  “What sort of property?”

  “Industrial. A warehouse, I think. Warehouses always scream bad guy.”

  “That’s not funny, Heno.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, I can’t find any evidence of the sale beyond the fact that it happened. Doesn’t seem like I have the full picture. But he’s sitting on a lot of money, by the looks of things. Not sure if it’s relevant.”

  “I won’t ask how you found this shit.”

  “Good.”

  “Marion says they’ve let him go,” I said quietly. “But there’s got to be more. Can you keep digging for me?”

  Henry steepled his fingers and looked at me. “Speaking of Marion…”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Henry. What is it with you and her?”

  Henry’s face softened. “You know I’m only looking out for you, Cassie.” He shrugged. “If I had a penny for every time you said her name over the years we worked together… Call me old-fashioned, but I know what love looks like.”

  “I don’t love Marion,” I said.

  Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. There had never been a bigger lie. There might have been a time when I’d even believed it, believed completely that Marion was nothing but a friend. A source I could use for my job. A remainder from my old life – from the life before Olive disappeared. Nothing more.

  But I knew that wasn’t true any more. If it ever had been. I still felt the same way about Marion Adams as I had when we were thirteen. The emails, texts, telephone calls over the years – they’d made her a part of my routine in a way that was removed, boring, stagnant even. But Marion wasn’t any of those things.

  She was safe. Seeing her always felt like coming home; she was beautiful and capable. I wanted her to be mine.

  “Are you still with me?” Henry’s voice snapped me back to the present.

  “What?”

  “I said I was going to ask you to come home – to London. To stay with me.” He paused, watched as I flinched.