by Sara Foster
‘What do you think?’ Eleanor’s dad’s jumper hangs loose, his jeans sag from his hips. He puts an arm around her mother, pulls her towards him and kisses her forehead. She smiles, her eyes closed.
Aiden has gone ahead, walking the perimeter, kicking at divots, hands in his pockets. He hasn’t spoken to any of them for a week, except for a few gruff responses when asked a direct question. Eleanor’s mum has told them to go easy on him. He’s missing his friends, in particular the girl next-door-but-one, Brianna, who has been by his side since preschool. They’ve been dating for nearly a year, and Brianna had waved them off earlier with tears streaming down her face.
‘Well?’ Martin stands close by, waiting for an answer.
Eleanor shrugs. ‘It’s okay.’ But all she can think about is Tippington Road, the only home she had ever known, the place she had loved with all her heart for the last nine years. Now it seemed like a distant safe harbour to which they would surely one day return, once they had finished floating around all at sea in the dried-up waterholes of the outback. Last night she had woken up in a bland motel room, gasping at the thought they might never go back.
But her dad is chuckling. ‘This had better be okay – because it’s ours.’ He walks forward, lifting his hands, framing the scene with his fingers. ‘We’ll put the house right there. It’s gonna be great.’
It’s the most excited they’ve seen him since he lost his job. The lines on his face, built up over a year of whispered worries about money, have softened. Eleanor had believed him when he’d sold it to her as an adventure, but now, standing here, all she sees is nothing to do and no one to play with.
Her father is watching her, waiting for her to say something.
‘How long is it going to take?’
‘Well, that depends on how good your mum is at building.’
Eleanor glances at her mother, who laughs, although she looks exhausted already. Eleanor isn’t sure if it’s a joke. Her mum gets flustered when faced with an Ikea flat pack – how is she going to help construct a house?
Martin comes over and this time his arm goes around his daughter. ‘Seriously, I don’t know when we’ll finish. But does it matter? This isn’t just about completion, this is about the joy of building something of our very own with our bare hands.’
‘What’s that?’
His gaze follows Eleanor’s pointed finger. To one side of the field stands a khaki-coloured building made of corrugated iron. It has a roller door that’s big enough for a car to drive through, and a smaller wooden door to the right.
Aiden comes up behind them, and her father beckons them all forward with expansive arm movements, unable to contain his excitement. They follow him across to the building. The grass in front of it has worn away. Millions of bulldog ants run across the parched red dust on the urgent business of their queen.
It’s dark inside. As they crowd around the doorway, Eleanor’s dad leans in and flicks a switch. Her eyes follow the power cable upwards, to where a bare bulb dangles from a hook, its feeble light struggling to illuminate the space. Spider webs decorate the low ceiling, their handiwork forming the ghostly outline of a filigree stage curtain drawn up high. Something scuttles in one of the shadowy far corners, then falls silent. The floor is a concrete slab. There is one tiny window, no other natural light. The air is dense and almost too hot to breathe.
‘This,’ Eleanor’s father says, walking into the centre of the room, a manic edge to the way he flings his arms out wide, ‘is home.’
16
zombie
George Mellor, doorman at the Chancellor Hotel in Soho, picks up the bound stack of newspapers just delivered, a copy to be slipped under the door of each paying guest before they wake. As he does so he notices something familiar about the front-page picture. His tired eyes peer closer and he realises it’s her, the one who used to visit every Thursday afternoon; the one he had joked about with the reception staff, while wishing it were him being led up the stairs in her wake. He thinks hard. He can’t remember what name they knew her by, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t Arabella Lane.
‘Eleanor, Eleanor!’
Someone is shaking her. Eleanor begins to scream and a hand clamps over her mouth. ‘Eleanor, stop it, stop it now.’
She bites the hand and hears a loud, ‘Fuck!’ It brings her back into the room, where her uncle and aunt are both staring at her, Ian in pyjamas and Susan wearing her dressing gown.
‘For god’s sake, she’s drawn blood,’ Ian says, hopping from foot to foot, holding his injured hand under his armpit.
Eleanor staggers backwards, until the island bench jars against her vertebra. She is dimly aware of her surroundings, the black-and-white tiled floor, the stainless-steel appliances. But she can see flames too, through stinging eyes. The heat of them is all over her, she smells burning wood and vegetation.
‘Eleanor,’ Susan comes over and grabs both her shoulders. ‘Do you know where you are? You’re in London, with me and Ian.’ She turns back to Ian. ‘She was sleepwalking,’ she hisses. ‘You’re not meant to wake them.’
‘I’m calling Gillian,’ Ian mutters, striding out of the room.
That is the last thing Eleanor wants. The mention of her mother’s name jolts Eleanor from her stupor. She opens her mouth to call after Ian, tell him to stop, that she’ll talk to her mother later. But he has already gone.
Susan helps her onto one of the high kitchen chairs. ‘Sit down,’ she says, and steps across the room, returning moments later to hand over a glass of water. They say nothing as Eleanor drinks the cool, clear liquid, grateful for its soothing coldness.
Susan perches on the seat next to her before she speaks. ‘Marisa says you ran out of the office this morning.’ Her tone has lost its usual sharp edge, but she still sounds more matter-of-fact than kind. ‘What happened?’
Eleanor remembers the angry voice on the phone so clearly. ‘You had a call from Nathan. He said he wants you to do Arabella’s eulogy at the memorial on Wednesday. And – and he wants you to fire me.’
Susan looks away, staring at a spot in the corner of the ceiling. ‘I spoke to him this afternoon, and he repeated both things.’ She sighs. ‘Look, it’s best if you don’t come into work for the time being. I have lots of contacts in different places. I’ll sort something else out for you after Christmas. It’s a shame, but I can’t see another way round it.’
Eleanor frowns. It’s a shame? Susan has never intimated that she enjoyed having her niece at Parker & Lane in the slightest.
Susan goes across to the fridge, opens it and collects a bottle of water. ‘I used to sleepwalk now and again when I was younger,’ she says as she pulls another glass from a cupboard. ‘And most times it was because I was under some kind of stress.’ She pours herself a drink, takes a long gulp, then turns to face Eleanor. ‘Is this something you do often, Eleanor? We need to know – I don’t want you scaring the girls.’
At the mention of stress, Eleanor remembers the ring. Immediately she recoils from her aunt’s gaze.
Where could it have gone? Her prime suspect was the housekeeper but surely she wouldn’t have kept it? When the girls had got home from school she had asked them, as nicely as she could, if they had been in her bedroom while she was out. Both of them had denied it, which left Susan – who may have seen Eleanor sneaking it back into its hiding place when she’d burst in on her the other day. Or her uncle – whose reasons she couldn’t imagine, but who was still a suspect simply because she couldn’t rule him out.
But whoever had the ring had chosen not to talk to her about it. Which meant – what? How much more was going on than she knew?
She has forgotten that Susan is waiting for an answer, until she realises her aunt is staring at her. ‘Eleanor?’ she prompts.
Eleanor studies her water glass. ‘I used to sleepwalk as a child,’ she admits. ‘But I haven’t done so for a long time. The last thing I want to do is scare the girls, but it’s not something I can always control.’<
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Ian comes back into the room. ‘Your mum wants to talk to you,’ he says, holding out his mobile.
Reluctantly, Eleanor takes it. ‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Eleanor,’ her mother’s voice is tremulous, ‘what’s going on?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Really? Sleepwalking in the night doesn’t sound fine. Biting Ian’s hand doesn’t sound fine.’
Eleanor sighs. ‘I know, but it’s all a big mix-up. I didn’t mean either of those things to happen.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if . . .’
Eleanor is sure that the next words will be come home. She is too exhausted to stand up for herself, and the tears begin to overwhelm her. ‘Mum, I promise I’m fine. Please, just give me a chance—’ Her voice cracks.
Without asking, Ian takes the phone back from Eleanor. ‘Gillian, this isn’t doing anyone any good. Don’t fret, I shouldn’t have called – we’ve all been under a lot of pressure lately, we haven’t been helping Eleanor to settle in. I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning. Please.’
Eleanor can only guess at her mother’s response, but Ian hangs up moments later without saying anything more.
‘Eleanor,’ he begins, sitting down at the table, laying his palms together as he speaks, as though to reinforce his point. ‘Your mum says you only sleepwalk when you’re highly stressed. Can you please tell us what is going on?’
‘I—’ She hesitates, looking between them. Which one of you has the ring? Why are you not mentioning it?
‘This is to do with Arabella, isn’t it?’ Susan asks. ‘What did the police say to you?’
Eleanor looks from one to the other. Neither face gives anything away – they both look as exhausted as she feels.
‘They just want to know what happened,’ she begins. ‘But – but I can’t remember anything, because Arabella put something in my drink – some sort of drug.’
Ian puts his head in his hands, while Susan’s jaw tightens. Eleanor waits, unsure how to read their responses. ‘Arabella drugged you?’ Susan asks eventually, her voice low.
Eleanor nods.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I watched her do it – she acted like it was going to be fun. I didn’t know . . .’
Ian looks up again. ‘Why are you only just telling us this?’
‘I . . . I was scared.’ She speaks slowly, picking her words with caution. ‘When she slapped Nathan and ran out, I went after her. Will Clayton followed us both and – and he saw I was very upset, and brought me back to the party. Arabella came back too, apparently, a while later, looking for Nathan, and spoke to me before she disappeared again. But I don’t remember anything about that – I can’t even remember getting home.’
‘We found you outside at two in the morning, soaked and freezing,’ Susan says. ‘Ian had to carry you upstairs to bed.’
‘It looked like you’d collapsed on the doorstep,’ Ian adds. ‘You kept mumbling that you couldn’t find your keys.’
Eleanor gapes at them, recalling the brief vision she’d had of herself lying there. It had really happened. No wonder she had felt so awful the next day. She pictures herself shivering on the cold concrete, surrounded by darkness, oblivious to the shadows. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We were going to talk to you about it straight after it happened, last Friday,’ Ian says. ‘Once you’d had time to recover. I spoke to Gillian, and she assured us it was out of character for you. But then, with Arabella—’ To Eleanor’s surprise, Ian’s voice cracks as he says her name. ‘Events overtook us.’
Eleanor stares at her uncle, hunched over, one hand covering his eyes. He seems so . . . so broken. Her thoughts begin to shift, her mind pouncing on possibilities that seem outrageous. She frowns.
‘Oh for god’s sake, Ian.’ Susan is watching her closely. ‘And I thought you were so good at deceit.’
Ian’s head snaps up. His mouth opens but no words come out. He looks at Susan, but she closes her eyes for a moment in apparent disgust, then gets up and walks out of the room.
Once Susan has gone, Eleanor turns to Ian. ‘What’s going on?’ she asks. But she suspects she may already know.
Ian’s face is white. ‘Oh god, Eleanor, I . . . I was having an affair with Arabella,’ he says. He covers his eyes again with the palms of his hands, and takes a few long, ragged breaths.
Eleanor’s mouth falls open. In the midst of this revelation, she tries to picture her uncle with Arabella. To her surprise she can see them together. In fact, she realises, it’s easier to think of him with Arabella than it is with Susan. There’s an old-world charm about her uncle that would have complemented the gregarious Arabella she remembers at the party.
Ian is still talking. ‘Susan and I, we have had a few problems – not that I’m blaming her for this,’ he adds quickly. ‘It is all my fault. I kept trying to end it, but Arabella wouldn’t accept it was over, and I couldn’t completely turn my back on her. She wanted me to help her get away from Nathan – she was frightened of him. He seemed to have a hold on her that I never understood, although after seeing what he did to you on Sunday, I dread to think what she suffered from him behind closed doors.’
Ian falls silent, and Eleanor waits. She can see he is struggling. Instinctively, she puts a hand on his, and he startles.
He looks back up at her. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Susan and the girls – they didn’t deserve any of it,’ he says, his eyes seeming to plead for leniency. ‘When I first explained my position to Arabella, she seemed to understand. But she would often call me when she was upset, and sometimes she’d insinuate how easy it would be to tell Susan everything. A short time ago I was an idiot and gave her quite a large loan. Of course we’re not going to get it back now, and I’ve had to confess everything to Susan – the money, the affair. She may have had her suspicions, but it’s quite another thing to have them confirmed.’
‘But . . . but she seems so calm.’
‘Susan keeps her emotions very well hidden, but believe you me they are all there,’ Ian says. ‘I suspect she’s not calm right now – I think she’s glacial with rage.’
Eleanor shudders. Ian reaches for her hand. ‘Eleanor, you cannot say anything to anyone. I have already been to talk to the police, and I’ve told them everything. Now I’m desperately trying to keep this from getting out – because if it does it will make Susan’s job untenable, and she’s worked harder than you’d ever imagine to achieve all that she has. But if Ernie or Nathan find out about this, they’ll be livid. And Susan will have to make a choice. We’re just hoping these investigations reach a quick conclusion. It’s a terrible time, but the fact Arabella latched on to you the night she died has just made it worse. I can’t help but wonder if she singled you out because of me.’
Eleanor considers this. Had Arabella known that she was talking to her lover’s niece? Did that put yet another shade of complexity on the events that followed? She’s exhausted by all the questions and the worry. She can’t deal with all this alone.
‘I had her ring,’ Eleanor blurts out. ‘I . . . I thought you might have it.’
Ian stares at her. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘Arabella’s engagement ring. I don’t know how I got it. It was in my bag when I woke up on Friday morning. I didn’t tell the police because I was afraid of what it might mean when I couldn’t remember anything. So, I hid it under the bed. But I forgot about housekeeping yesterday, so my bedclothes got changed, and now it’s gone.’ She pauses. ‘Do you know what happened to it?’
‘No.’ Ian has gone pale. He looks horrified. ‘I don’t. Eleanor, are you sure it was Arabella’s?’
‘Pretty sure. I’ve never seen anyone else with a ring like that – it’s the huge sapphire, surrounded by diamonds.’
‘Oh fuck, fuck, that sounds like it,’ he breathes. ‘I remember the day she first showed us. They stood in our lounge, and she was beaming while Nathan informed us it was worth over forty t
housand pounds – he seemed more proud of that fact than of his new fiancée.’ He leans closer to Eleanor. ‘Why didn’t you tell us straightaway? Fuck.’ He bangs a hand on the table and Eleanor jumps.
‘I was scared,’ Eleanor replies quickly, her voice moving up a pitch as she tries to assuage him. ‘I thought I might be in trouble.’
‘You are in trouble, Eleanor.’ Her uncle’s face is grey now. ‘Have you heard of “perverting the course of justice”? You’ve withheld information from the police. If they find out about it they will wonder what else you are hiding.’
Panic fills Eleanor’s chest. ‘But . . . I was terrified. I thought someone might have been setting me up. Won’t they understand that?’
‘I don’t know, Eleanor, but even if they did, what are you going to do now, if you’ve lost it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve lost it,’ she objects. ‘I think it’s been taken. If you don’t have it,’ she continues, ‘then could the housekeeper have taken it?’
Ian is still staring at her. ‘We’ve known Lilian for years. I really can’t see her making off with a ring that doesn’t belong to her. I’m sure she’d come to me.’
‘What if she went to Susan instead? It’s a woman’s ring, after all.’
Ian thinks for a moment. ‘But Susan was at work yesterday – Lilian hardly ever sees her since she always works during the day. And if Susan knew you were hiding Arabella’s ring in your room, I’m pretty sure she would confront you. Unless – unless – oh, I don’t know, she’s not herself at the moment, but what reason would she have for keeping this to herself?’
‘Has she told you that Nathan has asked her to do the eulogy at the memorial on Wednesday?’
‘No – oh god no,’ Ian slams his fist onto the table again, ‘she hasn’t told me.’ He leans forward, and Eleanor automatically recoils from his wide, hollow, red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’m so scared for her, Eleanor, I’m scared for all of us. I’m not sure how close she is to the edge.’ He gets up. ‘I’ll talk to her. Don’t tell her anything about the ring. Don’t go to work tomorrow – hang tight here, and I’ll see what I can do.’