After the Eclipse

by Fran Dorricott

  “Matilda knows.”

  “Knows what?” I demanded. I knelt on the cold floor, blood pooling around my knees. “What does she know?”

  But it was no good. He was dead.

  Bella was panting and crying and I could smell ammonia as I pulled her to me, wrapped her in my arms. She sobbed, heavy, uncontrolled tears. I felt my own eyes burn in response.

  “You’re her sister,” Bella whispered, then. “Aren’t you? She was in here. Before me.”

  She looked up at me, her golden-brown eyes glistening and tears still hanging on her lashes. I couldn’t trust myself to speak, but I nodded.

  After a moment, I pulled back. Looked around. Not at Ady’s body, still on the ground, but at the walls. The paintings. Bella didn’t move, her eyes fixed firmly on her captor’s body. I pulled the nearest picture off the wall. There was something taped to the back of it, making the paper bulky. I held it close to my heart.

  With one final glance around this room – this prison – I grabbed hold of Bella’s shoulders and steered her out. And then, finally, I heard the police sirens.

  * * *

  Marion’s face was the first I saw. She was there with a whole team. Bella and I fell towards her, and Fox reached us just as she did. I let her wrap her arms around me, pulling me tight. Bella hung onto my wrist, and together we let ourselves be helped out of the building.

  “Where is he?” Marion demanded. “Cassie, where is he? Is he here? What happened to you? I saw your car – and then the broken window and I… Your arm. You’re bleeding—”

  “He’s in the basement,” I said. “I don’t know – we managed to stop him. I just…” I glanced at Bella, who still clung onto me. “I hit him with the fire extinguisher,” I said.

  Marion turned and gave instructions to Fox, who gathered several men. They headed for the back of the building. Marion ushered Bella ahead of us, and guided me with a hand firmly at the base of my back. Outside there was a mob of cars, bright blue lights flashing. Marion pulled us towards a waiting ambulance. Bella was lifted inside, but she kept her eyes firmly on me.

  “You brought the cavalry,” I said to Marion.

  Her face was a mess of confusion and anger and frustration and a whole host of other emotions I couldn’t read. But instead of speaking, she crushed her lips against mine.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  I gasped at the pain in my head but I didn’t want to pull away. Our foreheads touched, breath mingling in the cool evening air. I clung to Marion’s arms, my knees threatening to buckle.

  “When you didn’t answer your phone I freaked out,” she whispered, blinking tears away. “What happened?”

  “It was him,” I said. “All of it. Gran’s accident, Darren Walker, his own wife. Bella… Olive.”

  “Is she…”

  “She’s dead.” The words were hollow. “He wouldn’t tell me where. There are drawings in there. Paintings. They start pretty young, and go right up – right up to… I don’t know. Her teens, I guess. There’s one of me in there. I left it…” I burst into tears, unable to get the words out.

  “Shhh.” Marion pulled me against her, careful of my arm, and stroked my head gently. It hurt, but the motion was still soothing, and I let her hold me for a minute. Tears stained the front of her shirt, and I couldn’t breathe. I pulled back.

  Behind us there was a commotion. Another ambulance had arrived, and now paramedics were coming back out of the building with a stretcher. One of the paramedics came to check my arm, cleaning it and wrapping it in white gauze.

  When he was done Marion tried to guide me away from the stretcher again, pulling at my shirt that was sticky with blood and sweat, but I didn’t budge. I watched with a hard expression as the stretcher was placed on a gurney. A sheet was pulled up over Ady’s face. I felt nothing but a stony coldness at his death.

  I still clutched the drawing in my hands. I lifted it up, watched as Marion absorbed it all, the lines and shapes and the soft etch of shading smudged in a fingerprint. My hand was shaking so badly; I wanted Marion to take the drawing from me, to tell me I was imagining things. For once, I was dying to be the crazy one.

  But Marion knew.

  “Tilly is hers,” I whispered. “Olive died trying to escape once she had her. He took the baby and raised her and she’s the same age – that Olive was when he took her. I think he needed to do it again, because she reminded him of Olive. That’s why he dresses – dressed her like she was younger. Why he keeps his daughter like a baby. He needed another one – for the eclipse. So he took Bella instead.” My voice was hoarse with tears. Another onslaught rocked me.

  Marion said nothing, just held me to her chest as I convulsed and allowed the last shred of strength to shatter.

  “Tilly Jacobs is Olive’s daughter.”

  54

  Thursday, 26 March 2015

  I CLUTCHED OLIVE’S DRAWING, and the sheet of paper that went with it, in my good hand as Marion came around to open the car door for me. Watery grey light spilled over the world, but the rain had cleared. The morning was fresh and cool, and the air tickled the wetness on my cheeks. Marion’s face came into view as she ducked down to take my hand.

  “Do you think you’ll be okay?” she asked. Then she paused. As I climbed out of the car, her face became a mask of embarrassment and sorrow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right,” I said quietly. The paper in my hand fluttered as a gust of wind rippled through the spring leaves. The rustling sound made me shiver, and I gripped the sheets tighter. These were just photocopies – the real ones I’d had to leave behind as evidence – but I didn’t want to lose them. They were the last thing I had of her.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you inside.”

  In the lounge, I found that there was already a police officer present. Or was she a medic? I couldn’t tell any more, my brain was so dazed by the events of the last day and the previous night. Whoever she was, she was sitting with my gran and two cups of tea, and they were discussing a movie that as far as I knew Gran had never seen. But Gran was animated, waving her uninjured arm as she talked about the actress who had played the lead – the woman smiling and nodding away.

  I blinked hard as Dad came out of the kitchen. He was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, his face drawn with worry. When he saw me his face lit up and he rushed across the room, enveloping me in a hug.

  “Oh, Cassie. Oh, sweetheart.”

  I relaxed into the embrace, feeling his solid chest and the bristles of his beard against my forehead as he held me tight. With a lurch of something like excitement, I realised that this was the first hug we’d shared in years. Even when he’d visited in the hospital yesterday there had been an awkwardness, as though everything was still sinking in.

  “I’m… I’m proud of you.” He gestured at Gran. “We both are.”

  That’s when Gran noticed me. I smiled at her and the official-looking woman sat with her. Gran’s eyes sparked with something like recognition. She took in my bandaged arm, my borrowed clothes, my mussed hair.

  “Oh, Cassie,” she whispered. “My Cassie. What happened to you?”

  She climbed to her feet and tottered over. Our bandaged arms matching like for like, we made a funny pair. A soaring in my chest accompanied the disbelieving smile on my face. She knew me. She loved me. She was my gran.

  “I got into a fight,” I said to her. “I won.”

  Gran reached out, hooked a finger under my chin. She lifted it so that we were eye-to-eye and smiled.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “I did it,” I said then, tears closing my throat so that the words were like tar. “I found out what happened to her.”

  Gran’s expression shifted rapidly; hope, fear, and then, finally, relief.

  “She’s gone. But so is he.”

  Gran opened her arms wide and pulled me to her chest. She smelled of tea and home and lavender powder and I breathed the smell in deeply. When she stepped back,
I could tell that the moment had passed, but it was enough.

  Marion left Gran with Dad and led me into the kitchen. It was warm, bathed in yellow light from the ceiling lamp and I collapsed at the small table. The grey tint of the light that fell through the window was making me feel washed out, and the warmth inside made me want to sleep for a year. I looked around as though this wasn’t my house, these weren’t my things. Everything was strange, too vivid, too real.

  So I laid out Olive’s drawing on the table, smoothed out the page. The sleeping face of a baby greeted me, drawn in pencil and shaded with tones of umber. She looked like Olive. And I knew in my heart what Olive had felt when she’d drawn this. Trapped. In love – real love. You could see it in the lines, in the curve of the baby’s nose, her tiny rosebud lips…

  I blinked at Marion with bleary eyes when she handed me a cup of tea, and I felt the burning sensation in my hand as I held onto it for a second too long.

  “The liaison officer will be here for a little while,” Marion said kindly. “Just while I’m at work. I have some stuff I need to sort out. Paperwork from Walker’s post-mortem. Then I’ll come over.” She sat down at the table and reached for my hand. “We will get through this, Cassie. It might not seem like it, but we did good. Okay? We did great. Bella is home, she’s with her mother. Because of you that little girl can be happy again.”

  “I get the feeling that he—”

  “Don’t think about it, Cassie,” Marion instructed me firmly. “You did what you had to do.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, each lost in thought. Dad came into the kitchen, his eyes filled with tears.

  “What about the girl?” he asked. Somebody had told him, then, while I was in the hospital. I hadn’t been with-it enough. “What about my granddaughter?”

  My granddaughter. Such primal possessiveness. My heart swelled with surprising pride. He would make a good grandfather.

  “Social services will take Tilly.” Marion’s tone was cautious, and I could tell that she was trying to gauge my reaction. She watched my expression as I fought back the same anger I could see mirrored in Dad’s eyes.

  “So, what, she’ll go into care?” I swore.

  “For now.”

  I pushed the tea away and looked directly into Marion’s face so she could see how serious I was.

  “Marion, I don’t want that for her. She needs to know. She has a family—”

  “Cassie,” Marion said, so softly it was like a sigh. “Mr Warren. Both of you need to give it time. This is going to be hard for her. The kid lost her father. We need to work out what’s best for her.”

  I thought of Ady, thought of the way he had made Tilly dress, the way he had lied to her for her whole life. Then I remembered the man I’d thought I’d known – the man he may have been with her. Marion was right. We needed to give it time.

  Dad folded his arms but he didn’t argue.

  “I’m here, Cass.” Marion leaned into me, wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I let the heavy warmth sink all the way through me before I nodded.

  “I’ll stay with you for as long as you want,” she said. “Don’t worry about your gran, or letting your journalist friend know what’s happened. I’ll help you. And when you’re ready we can start any paperwork for Tilly – but for now, she’s better off somewhere settled.”

  She didn’t seem embarrassed, didn’t even seem to notice my dad as she pressed her lips firmly to mine. I held her tightly, soaking up the warmth of the kitchen, the smells of toast and tea and home. I knew I wouldn’t sleep without dreams, probably wouldn’t ever again, but I thought of Bella’s face, a mask of triumphant shock, when she realised Ady couldn’t hurt her any more. And I felt a bit better.

  “Promise you’ll let me help you,” Marion said.

  “I will.”

  55

  April 2016

  “HEY.” MARION’S CAR PULLED alongside the kerb and I got in. The air was scented with her favourite perfume mixed with coffee that came from two cups in the holders at the front.

  “Hey yourself,” I said.

  “How did the therapy go?” I watched her jaw angle as she checked for traffic before pulling out. I smiled.

  “It was okay. Better, actually. We’re talking coping mechanisms. Apparently alcohol and sleeping pills still don’t count.”

  “Good.” Marion reached over to pat my hand. Her touch was warm. I tried to relax, knowing that if I got tense what I had to do next would be harder. Marion continued to make small talk, but I could tell she was as nervous as I was. “How’s your gran holding up?”

  “She’s doing okay, too. Now we’ve got a decent nursing situation. That baby doll we got her has gone down well; she rocks it and feeds it and everything. It’s sort of given her focus.”

  “Not a bad idea from Jake, then? I can’t believe you actually took his unsolicited advice.” Marion snorted. “What was it you called him when you first met him? God’s gift?”

  “I distinctly remember that was all you,” I said. “Anyway, turns out he’s not a bad person. Just a little bit conceited. And more than a little damn nosy. But Gran likes his bake sales, so I think it’s unavoidable.

  “Between him and the carer we’re doing okay, though. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to afford Anne – the bits and pieces I’ve been doing for Henry are fine, but it’s not steady enough again yet. Doctor White says it’s probably for the best anyway.”

  I still felt the embers of embarrassment when I thought of my panicked belief he could have been responsible for what happened to Olive and Bella.

  “Relax, Cass,” Marion said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “It’ll take time to get back into the swing of things. You can’t expect everything to come together all at once.”

  When we pulled up, it was outside a large red-brick house with lights on in all the windows. I clenched my hands, and then made sure to occupy them by grabbing the coffee Marion had got me. I sipped it nervously.

  “Are you ready?” Marion asked.

  “I… I don’t know. It’s such a big thing. For her, I mean. The papers… I’m scared she’ll change her mind. That she won’t want me. I killed her father, Marion. One day she’s going to want to have a proper conversation about that. Or she’ll ask me about Olive, or about the woman she thought was her mother, how he killed her… She might ask me for my take on it. What will I say? How on earth will I handle that?”

  The questions rose and rose in me and I started to panic. It had already taken so long to get here, so much time and energy and trust. What if I scared her off again? I didn’t want her to return to the wary child she had been in those first months after everything.

  Marion twisted in her seat, and then reached up to stroke my face. She pulled my chin up and planted a small kiss on my lips, halting my thoughts in their tracks.

  “Stop,” she said. “I’ll be here with you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay to be nervous. This is a big deal. But I promise you that if you want me – I’m here.”

  “I do want you,” I said. “I love you. I’m still scared though, Marion. What if—”

  “Stop, Cass.” Marion kissed me again, this time harder. I let myself melt into her touch, felt her hand pull me closer. Her kiss was gentle yet demanding and I yielded to it.

  When she pulled back the air was cold where her mouth had been. I reached up to touch my lips, marvelling at the tingling warmth that rushed through me.

  “Look, there’s your dad.”

  Marion pointed. Up ahead I saw Dad’s car pull up. He climbed out, one hand shielding his eyes from the early April sun. Marion and I clambered out of the car as well, and tense hugs were exchanged.

  “Are you nervous?” Dad asked. He gestured to the papers in my hands. Official, and not so official. The start of a new beginning. I gripped them tighter and shrugged.

  “Excited,” I said.

  I let Marion lead us up the garden path, but it was me that knocked at the door. There was a clatter
of movement inside, and then the door swung back. I was greeted by two bright, golden eyes and a big smile. Her hair was longer than when I last saw her, almost down to her shoulders now. And a chocolate brown like Olive’s had been – her natural colour, unlike the blonde Ady had insisted she keep hers.

  “Cassie,” she said. “You’re late.”

  She turned, spied my dad just behind me, and then grinned. Her eyes looked brighter without the glasses, too. It turned out she didn’t need them. Another of Ady’s insistences. She’d told me last year that he used to drill her about how important it was to blend in, to become invisible. I wasn’t surprised that she seemed like a different kid now, after a year with foster carers. A year to become herself.

  “Grandad,” Tilly said.

  This word sounded foreign in her mouth, but she seemed to like the sound of it. She mouthed it again, and then wrinkled her nose.

  “That’s a bit weird. I just wanted to try it. Not sure about it yet.”

  Dad held out his hand, a bewildered look on his face. One full of nostalgia and disbelief that this was real. Tilly was real and she was ours and she had just called him grandad for the first time.

  There were so many things I wanted to say. There were things I wanted to tell her every time I saw her. I wanted to tell her that she looked, in this light, just like her mother.

  I wanted to tell her that I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant for Ady to die. But I knew that I had to slow down. So instead I massaged the tattoo on the inside of my arm, a gentle reminder that it wasn’t going anywhere. And I let her drag Dad by the hand into the lounge of the foster house, Marion and me not far behind.

  Once we were settled, I reached out to her, unfolding the pieces of paper from my pocket as I did so.

  “I’ve got some things for you. These are the papers we’re going to fill in later, when you come home with me. It’ll kick-start everything, if you still want it to.”

  I waited. Gauging her reaction. At the smile that extended across her face, a shy smile I hadn’t seen before, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. She wasn’t dreading it, wasn’t waiting for a way to tell me she didn’t want to come home with me.