Sleeping Angel (Ravenwood Series) Page 18

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ said Davina, ‘But I’m not sure daddy’s one hundred per cent in control at the moment. So don’t listen to anything he says, okay? It was the booze talking.’

  ‘Has he really lost his job?’

  ‘Yes, that was another blow for him, but I can’t imagine he’ll find it too hard to get a new one, not with his connections. It’s all just getting a little bit on top of him at the moment. Both of them, actually. Mummy is using it as an excuse to drown herself in Pinot Noir.

  April smiled. ‘You don’t need to tell me about that sort of thing, my mum isn’t exactly a stranger to the off-licence either.’

  They picked their way through the puddles and out to the gate.

  ‘So were you coming for something in particular?’ said Davina as they walked.

  Yes, I was going to ask you to use your father to get me in to see the top brass at Agropharm in the hope that one of them was the King Vampire, thought April. There goes another brilliant plan.

  ‘No, just wanted to bitch about boys.’

  ‘Not heard from Gabriel?’ asked Davina.

  April raised her eyebrows. How did Davina know he had pulled his disappearing act again?

  Davina smiled. ‘Just because I wasn’t invited to Ling’s party doesn’t mean I didn’t hear all about it. Not all of those little clones following Chessy about are hers, if you take my meaning. I haven’t completely lost my touch.’

  April smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, Gabriel has fallen off the map and no, I haven’t heard from him. If I’m honest, I have no idea where to start looking.’

  Davina looked awkward. ‘It’s probably not what you want to hear,’ she said, ‘but if it were me, I would try the cemetery.’

  ‘The cemetery?’ said April. ‘Why there?’

  ‘Well, you do know that Gabriel used to have another girlfriend.’

  April swallowed. ‘Chessy?’

  Davina tipped her head back and laughed. ‘She wishes. No, the one who died.’

  April was taken aback. ‘You mean Lily?’

  Davina nodded. ‘Like I said, no girl wants her boyfriend to run off to another girl, even if she’s dead. But I do know that he used to visit her grave quite often. Maybe he’s been there again, and maybe people around the cemetery have seen him. At least that way you might find out if he’s okay.’

  April could have explained that she wasn’t exactly the most popular person at Highgate Cemetery right now; she certainly couldn’t imagine Miss Leicester giving her a rundown of the comings and goings at the graveyard, not that Gabriel would have used the main entrance anyway. But Davina’s mention of Lily had given her an idea. Damn! – why hadn’t she thought of it before? April leant over and kissed Davina on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks ’Vina,’ she said, heading for the gate. ‘You’re a genius.’

  ‘What?’ called Davina after her. ‘What did I say?’

  But April was already through the gate and halfway up the hill.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Just for a moment, as she slotted her key into the yellow front door at Pond Square, April had an uncomfortable feeling that perhaps she wasn’t welcome at the place she had once called home. What if she turned the key and discovered that her mother had changed the locks? What if Silvia was in there with a man? What if she found Dr Tame lounging in the kitchen again? Steeling herself, she twisted and the door clicked open.

  ‘Mum?’ she called. ‘Mum, are you there?’

  She closed the door and stood in the silent rather narrow passageway, sniffing the air as she had that first time, a lifetime ago, when they had all piled out of the family car to inspect their new home.

  ‘Mum?’ she tried again, popping her head around the living room door. There was always the chance that Silvia would be sprawled face down on the sofa, one shoe hanging off, house keys still clutched in her hand. April had seen her mother in that undignified position far too often.

  April racked her brains, trying to remember if Silvia had told her where she would be tonight. She had, of course, been on the phone on and off all day yesterday, checking on April’s “emotional state” after Grandpa Thomas had refused to let her come to the house. ‘She’s upset enough, Silvie,’ he had said. Good old Gramps.

  Hooking her bag on the banister – force of habit – April sprinted up the stairs to check her mum’s bedroom. No, the bed was empty – unmade of course, but at least that meant Silvia had been there; the house was starting to feel a little lonely, even abandoned. April looked up the dark stairwell towards her room – or what had been her room. For all she knew, Silvia could have let it out to a lodger. But April knew she was only making excuses – she had to go up, however much she was dreading it.

  ‘Come on, April,’ she urged. ‘What are you scared of? Vampires?’

  Breathing out, she climbed the narrow staircase and opened the door, starting when it creaked. Why didn’t I ever get that oiled? she wondered. Like I needed to make my life any more like a teen slasher movie.

  She looked around her room. Just a normal everyday bedroom at the top of a little Victorian terrace. Nothing special, a little cramped and dusty. But still, it felt strange being here, like revisiting something she had left behind.

  April walked over to her old desk and ran a finger along it, coming back with a smudge of grey dust. April snorted. She really shouldn’t have worried; Silvia clearly hadn’t set foot in here in weeks. But, truthfully, April couldn’t ever remember seeing her mother with a can of Pledge in her hand.

  All right, enough moping, she thought, time to do what you came to do. She crossed to her bed, knelt down and felt around underneath, hoping not to disturb any spiders. Her fingers caught the handle and April slid the suitcase out and heaved it onto the bed with a bump.

  ‘Sorry, spiders,’ she said, popping it open. The suitcase was crammed with papers, newspaper cuttings and books – her Ravenwood treasure trove – all the notes and material she had been able to find about her father’s investigation after sorting through his things in the cellar.

  ‘All right, where is it?’ she mumbled, beginning to rummage through the case. Her fingers stopped as she came across familiar items: a packet of family photos, her mother’s birth certificate, her dad’s diary and notebook. April cast an eye over each, then carefully put them all to one side.

  ‘There,’ she said finally. An envelope containing a handful of slightly faded post-it notes. These little square notes had been tacked up all over her dad’s study the day he had died. The police had originally taken them away for examination, presumably to use in evidence when they found the killer. Not that they’d ever been needed, had they? thought April bitterly. Still, at least they’d returned them - presumably there were copies of everything here in some police file somewhere, an idea that made her feel like someone was looking over her shoulder.

  She flipped through the notes, looking for one in particular. And then there it was, scrawled in her dad’s handwriting: ‘23.11.88 – 14.02.93’

  That particular note had stuck in her mind because the second date was her birthday – but now it was the other one she was interested in. Reaching over to her bedside table, she tore the corner off a page of a magazine and scribbled the date down.

  Putting everything back into the suitcase, April pushed it back under her bed and ran back downstairs clutching the paper. In the kitchen – a mess, obviously, the sink piled high with unwashed dishes – she picked up the local directory from by the telephone and quickly leafed to the right page, running her finger down the black print , then picking up the receiver.

  ‘Mr Gordon?’ she said breathlessly as the call connected.

  ‘Speaking?’

  ‘It’s April, April Dunne.’

  ‘Ah, April, how are you?’ he began, but April hadn’t rung for small talk.

  ‘Mr Gordon, you know how you said you were friendly with Isabelle Davis – she was in choir at the church and stuff?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true ... why
do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered if you had been asked to do the funeral?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ he said, his voice wary. ‘Her family are from the area, but I think seeing as she ... well, considering the manner of her passing, they weren’t too keen to have her buried in the same location. I believe she was cremated up at Golders Green. I know Reverend Brice up there, if that’s any help?’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ said April, disappointed.

  ‘What was it you wanted to know?’

  ‘Oh, I thought you might have a record of her date of birth. You know, because you’d have to put it on the headstone, that sort of thing.’

  There was a pause. ‘Just hold the line a moment ...’ said the vicar. April was just about to give up when Mr Gordon came back on.

  ‘Twenty third of November, 1988,’ he said.

  April looked down at her scrap of paper, her heart pounding. It was same as the date on her dad’s note!

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked, ‘I mean, how did you find that out so quickly?’

  The vicar chuckled. ‘Computers, April, marvellous things aren’t they? We have everything on a digital database these days.’

  ‘But why do you have Isabelle’s date of birth on your computer?’

  ‘A few years ago, the diocese put the parish records online. Partly because the Bishop is something of a progressive sort, partly because of that annoying TV show, you know the one where celebrities trace their family trees? We were getting swamped with requests to go through the records and it was taking up far too much of our time to have people poring over the ledgers and records, so we had the lot transferred online.’

  ‘And Isabelle’s on there because she died nearby?’

  ‘No, because she was born in the parish.’

  Of course! And suddenly April had another idea. She was filled with both excitement and dread. It was something Robert Sheldon had said to her that night of flame and blood, something about a coincidence.

  ‘How far do the records go back, Mr Gordon?’ she asked, her heart beginning to beat faster.

  ‘Oh, all the way back. We had a team come over from America to do it all,’ he said proudly, ‘Went right through the vaults, parchment scrolls, everything.’

  ‘Could you look something else up for me? Another name, a burial in the cemetery that happened in 1887?’ April remembered that date vividly, the year Gabriel had been turned.

  ‘Of course, if you can tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘Not really, Mr Gordon, but it could be important. Very important.’

  He paused. ‘All right, you’d better give me the name.

  ‘It’s Lily ... Oh.’ It was only then that April realised she didn’t know Lily’s surname. There was little hope of the vicar tracing her with only the first name. Then she had a sudden thought. ‘Try Lily Swift.’

  April could hear the rattle of the keys as the vicar typed it in.

  ‘March 15th, 1887.’

  It was her! 1887 was the year Gabriel had told her Lily had died, the year he had become turned himself in a desperate attempt to keep Lily with him. And Gabriel had used his name, of course he had. They were engaged to be married, after all. It was Gabriel’s way of linking them together even in death. Perhaps a way of reminding himself of the promise he had made to her on her death-bed, the promise that he would never take a human life, that he would stay strong for her. If she hadn’t been slightly jealous, April knew she would have found it romantic.

  Concentrate, April, she said to herself, concentrate on what it all means.

  What it meant was that Sheldon had been right. He had sneered when Gabriel had said he was in the cemetery for Lily’s anniversary on the night of Isabelle’s death. Gabriel hadn’t been there for Lily. So why had he been there? And more importantly, why didn’t he remember?

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ asked the vicar.

  ‘Yes, just ...’ April turned as she heard the front door open. ‘Sorry, Mr Gordon,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll explain later, my mum’s here, I’ve got to go.’

  She hung up the phone just as Silvia walked in staggering under the weight of a number of clanking grocery bags. Mainly liquid groceries by the sound, thought April.

  ‘Darling!’ she beamed, dropping the bags and coming across to embrace April. ‘How are you? Tell me the truth – I’ve been so worried.’

  April wriggled from her grip. ‘I’m fine, mum, don’t fuss. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? I watched the news. The way they’ve been describing it, it wasn’t nothing. That poor boy! And right in front of the house too – so horrible.’

  “That poor boy”, thought April. It was amazing how sudden death could wipe away all your sins. Calvin had been described in the press as “a wonderful son, gentle and loving” and “world-class athlete cut down in his prime”. There had been nothing about drinking the blood of vulnerable school children or forcing himself on weeping girls.

  ‘The only reason I didn’t come straight over was because your grandfather said I’d give the paparazzi another picture to keep the story going.’

  Yeah, that and your busy social calendar, thought April.

  ‘There was no need anyway, mum,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen much worse.’

  Silvia looked at her, her expression serious. ‘Yes, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m glad you’ve visited, because we need to have a serious chat.’

  Not another woman-to-woman discussion, thought April. These things always turned into a lecture about how evil men were, and how they couldn’t be trusted and if she wasn’t careful, April would end up pregnant on crack in a council flat. Silvia was not a great motivational speaker. Even so, April could see she wasn’t going to escape this one easily, so she sighed and reluctantly sat down.

  ‘Now, I know things haven’t been very easy for you since we moved here,’ began Silvia.

  ‘That is the understatement of the year,’ said April.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Silvia, missing the irony in April’s tone. ‘Your father and I made the decision to move to Highgate, and clearly ... well, clearly it was the wrong decision. Having said that, I’ve been so proud of you, April-- the way you have coped with this -- but the truth of the matter is, I – your father and I – made a terrible mistake coming here.’ She paused. ‘That’s why we’re moving back.’

  April could feel her mouth drop open. ‘Back? To Edinburgh?’

  Silvia nodded. ‘With your father’s insurance coming through, we’ll be able to afford something very nice in Merchiston. I’ve already had a look at a few things online, but of course it’s a joint decision.’

  April could feel her anger rising. She couldn’t believe Silvia was actually suggesting this. ‘Instead of listening to me a year ago, you wait until our family is torn apart, my father is dead and you’re exposed as an adulterer? Then you decide to leave?’

  It was a low blow and April knew it, but she was too furious to hold back. How dare she? How dare Silvia make decisions – life-changing decisions – without even consulting her? Yes, April had already moved out, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Her mother was still trying to push her around, with no thought for April’s own feelings.

  ‘Of course you’re upset about how things have worked out, April,’ said Silvia, ‘but I think cutting our losses and moving back to Scotland is the best solution for everyone.’

  ‘Best solution for you, you mean! What about me? I’ve made friends here; I have responsibilities. I’ve made a life here!’

  ‘I know you’ve bonded nicely with some girls – Gabriel too. I understand you don’t want to leave him, I’m not completely insensitive. But you’ll be off to university next year anyway, darling, and you’ll make a whole load of new friends then.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ cried April, ‘You can’t just play around with my life like this, mother! You made me leave everything behind in Edinburgh and now you’ve decided to run back on a bloody whim?
’

  ‘No, April,’ said Silvia, ‘Not on a whim. A boy was killed outside your grandfather’s house-- that’s a serious matter. Clearly you’re not safe here.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re just working that out now? How is some stranger getting killed in the street “a serious matter” and my father being slaughtered in front of me isn’t? Why didn’t you suggest going back then? What about the three or four times people have tried to kill me? Seriously, how come none of that made you think it’s not safe here?’

  ‘Clearly in hindsight, I should have —’

  ‘Hindsight? Jesus, mother! Listen to yourself. A man actually tried to set me on fire, remember? Another one tried to kill me – twice! Why didn’t this miraculous “hindsight” kick in then?’

  And suddenly April realised this was why she was so angry with her mother. It wasn’t that she was a useless mother, it wasn’t that she was aloof and absent, it wasn’t even that she had let them all down with her affair – she was angry because her mother hadn’t taken her away. That was what mothers were supposed to do, wasn’t it? Surely, even rubbish mothers did what they could to protect their children? Now April could see that this was what she had been yearning for – for her mother to wake up one morning and say “we’re leaving; you’re more important than anything here. We’re off to Scotland, or the Channel Islands, or France, or Jamaica, anywhere that isn’t this village of death”.’ But she hadn’t. She hadn’t.

  Silvia opened her mouth, then closed it again. The look of misery on her face almost made April relent. ‘I ... I tried,’ Silvia stammered. ‘I just didn’t ...’ She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘I just didn’t know what to do.’

  Oh God, thought April. Another horrible, unwelcome revelation. Silvia hadn’t taken her away because she just wasn’t capable of it. Too selfish, too fundamentally lacking in maternal instincts. You always assumed that your parents were the strong ones, those superhuman beings who knew how to do everything and how to cope with everything, but it turned out that actually they were pretty crap.