Authors: Eve Isherwood
Absent Light (34 page)
“Yes, I do.”
“Suppose we'll never know who was the father of her child.”
In the fringes of her consciousness, she saw her mother sitting in her favourite armchair, smiling. It's all right, Mum, she wanted to say, your secret's safe. “No. It's not really important.”
“You're right,” he said in a businesslike fashion. “Probably some lad who's now an old man like me.”
She smiled and sipped her tea.
“Had any fresh ideas?” he asked hopefully.
He still harboured thoughts of her giving up her job and returning to live with him at Keepers. This was going to be tricky, she thought.
“I could help get you started, provide you with capital.”
“That won't be necessary,” she said, taking a last bite of cake, staving off the inevitable.
“Then let me help with your business plan. If you won't accept a loan, I could negotiate one from the bank, act as guarantor.”
She hated to crush his newfound enthusiasm but she had little choice. “The truth is Dad, I'm not that interested.”
“But I thought you wanted to have your own studio?”
No, that's what you thought.
“So you're staying on at Ray's?” He sounded short. He looked put out, as though she'd chosen Ray in preference to him.
“No.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly perplexed.
She put her mug down on the table. “I want to go back to the police.”
“To work?”
“Yes.”
He was open-mouthed. “But, surely, after all that's happened⦔
“Don't you see, it's because of what's happened, I want to go back?”
“Will they have you?”
“I hope so,” she smiled. Actually, it had crossed her mind that it might not be so simple, but Birmingham wasn't the only place to find work. She had experience. All kinds. Lots of it.
“What about Ayshea?” her father said. “A young girl doesn't want to be stuck with an old man like me.”
“I'm not threatening to leave the country,” Helen laughed. “Ayshea's perfectly happy, isn't she?”
“Seems so.”
“There you are then. Besides, nothing's forever.”
She found Ayshea walking through the messy wooded area behind the tennis courts. Everything seemed to be green shoots and fluffy white and pink blossom. Clumps of daffodils and crocuses, like unruly jack-in-the-boxes, popped up among sedate-looking snowdrops and winter aconites. The evergreens seemed greener, blades of sun brighter, air cleaner. Ayshea, with her brilliantly coloured clothes and darting gait, looked like a beautiful plumed bird.
“Hiya,” Helen called to her.
Ayshea turned, broke into a shy smile.
“Brought my camera,” Helen said, holding it up.
“Oh dear. I'm not sure about this.”
“Cold feet?”
“I take a terrible photograph,” Ayshea said.
“That's because you've had a terrible photographer.”
“If you say so,” Ayshea laughed.
Helen beamed. It was a small but significant improvement. Most people took laughter for granted. With Ayshea, Helen wasn't sure if she'd ever hear her laugh again. In an offbeat moment, it occurred to her that laughter was the same as slaughter only with an s in front of it.
“You want me to pose?” Ayshea said uneasily.
“Nope. Just act naturally. Walk over to that tree and turn round. That's it,” Helen said, snapping the shot. “This time, tilt your head to the right, as if you're listeningâ¦Great. And againâ¦Lovely. Go over to that tree with the pink blossom.”
“It's an edible quince,” Ayshea informed her with a giggle.
“That's the one,” Helen laughed.
In all, she used up two rolls of film. She caught Ayshea smiling, laughing, looking pensive, looking hopeful. She also glimpsed her hurt and sadness, and wondered if, like her, Ayshea would always remember the dark, the cold, the terror, the madness, whether it would make her strong.
As she gazed at the green-eyed girl, Helen knew that, no matter what happened, whenever she thought of her, with all her different moods and expressions, with all her hopes and fears, she'd never forget the girl who saved her. Helen's family and friends believed that, with great courage, Ayshea guided her across the moor to safety. They never knew that Ayshea had led her out into the light and set her free.
THE END
EVE ISHERWOOD
Eve was born in the West Midlands and spent the formative years of her life in an all-male household. Sent away to a girls' boarding school in Malvern, where her Midlands accent was annihilated and some attempt made to curb her natural boyish enthusiasms, she eventually, and happily, became part of an early intake of just twenty-five girls at Dean Close School for Boys in Cheltenham.
Making a swift getaway from institutional life, she headed for the bright lights of the Edinburgh Festival and decided to stay. To pay the rent, she worked as a stationery rep and learnt to repair Parker pens for the boys who attended Fettes College â home to one budding Prime Minister, Tony Blair.
After dropping out of an arts degree, she was recruited to a London public relations consultancy, where for two years she ran the Woman's Own Children of Courage Awards and was once memorably phoned and ticked off by Michael Parkinson.
Previous writing credits include articles in Devon Today and a number of short stories broadcast on BBC Radio Devon. To further her crime-writing career, Eve has worked with officers from both the West Mercia and West Midlands Police.
When not chasing down fictional criminals, she spends a lot of time at home in rural Worcestershire acting as agony aunt and mum to her five children, and one scruffy dog called Muffin.