Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(56)

Next to me, on the narrow sill of the attic window, I have my most precious things – the button from my mother’s coat and my collection of coloured glass that looks like gemstones. When I hold the button in my fist, I can remember what my mother looked like and the sound of her voice and how she smelled.

She was wearing that coat when I last saw her. I clung to her, and they had to prise my fingers apart. It was only later, when I opened my hand, that I saw the button, which must have come loose in the struggle.

A creak on the stairs. A gentle knock.

‘Are you hungry?’ asks Cyrus.

‘No.’

‘I made pasta.’

Silence fills every corner. I wait to hear his weight on the stairs, but he’s still there. A moment later, a box slides aside and I see his face.

‘Leave me alone, please.’

‘This is cosy,’ he replies, squeezing in beside me. He sits with his back against the wall, hugging his knees. His socked feet almost touch mine. We sit like that for a long while, listening to each other breathing.

‘What’s with the button?’ he asks.

‘It belonged to my mother.’

‘You don’t talk about her.’

‘It won’t bring her back.’

Silence. Breathing.

‘Cyrus?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How long will Mitch have to serve?’

‘Another two years.’

That’s how much I have cost him. Two years of hating me, of cursing my name.

‘Sometimes I wish I was dead,’ I say.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Everyone would be better off.’

‘Not me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I think you are the most fascinating, challenging, infuriating, exciting, unknowable person that I’ve ever met, and I want to see how you turn out.’

‘What if this is how I turn out?’

‘Well, that would be just fine.’

I gaze into his face, looking for the lie, but can’t see one. Maybe I’m not so good at picking them. Maybe he’s getting better at hiding them.

I am weeping now, head down, hands over my eyes.

‘Evie?’

I can’t answer.

‘Evie, listen to me.’

I feel him shuffle closer and his hand touches my head and strokes my hair.

‘You are the bravest person I’ve ever met. You have been forged by fire. Don’t give up, OK? Never give up.’

He leans forward and wraps his arms around me, pulling my head against his chest.

‘You deserve to be loved, Evie Cormac. Believe what I say.’





37


Cyrus


It is still early when I arrive at the Arncliffe Centre, where the East Midlands Forensic Services shares laboratory space with a private company that does CSI analysis for five different police forces across the Midlands.

Cassie Wright meets me at the reception desk. She’s dressed in jeans and a fitted white blouse and cowboy boots that make her almost as tall as me. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing tortoiseshell glasses. She touches them self-consciously.

‘Usually I wear contacts, but I forgot to take them out last night,’ she says.

‘You were celebrating.’

‘Where were you? I thought you’d be there.’

‘I’m not much of a drinker.’

‘Neither am I.’

I notice the paracetamol on her desk and a can of fizzy drink. At that moment Craig Dyson puts his head around the door but doesn’t see me.

‘Hey, where did you disappear to last night?’

Cassie hushes him and nods towards me.

‘Oh, Dr Haven. I didn’t realise you were here.’

‘Officially, I’m not,’ I reply. ‘And call me Cyrus.’

Dyson nods and addresses Cassie. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like death.’

‘Me too. Have you seen Voigt?’

‘No.’

‘He was supposed to finish up those tests on Foley’s van.’

‘Maybe he’s still in the garage. Do you want me to fetch him?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Dr Haven was looking for some information – can you help him?’

Dyson nods and takes a seat at Cassie’s desk. We both watch her through the open door, as she walks along the corridor and pushes through swinging doors.

‘Are you two together?’ I ask.

‘Not really. It’s complicated.’

‘You’re married.’ I motion to his wedding ring. He looks at his left hand.

‘Separated. Waiting for the papers to be signed.’ He glances again at the door, as if worried that she might be listening. ‘Cassie’s sister died a few weeks ago. Cancer. She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s hurting. Sometimes you wonder why the best of people get the worst of luck.’

He borrows her soft drink and takes a swig.

‘How can I help you, Cyrus?’

‘There was a sexual assault case seven years ago. A woman was attacked in her flat. Her neighbour was convicted. Portland Road, Nottingham.’

‘I remember,’ says Dyson. ‘I was the crime scene manager.’