Carol did what she always did when she needed an innocent way in to a house; she made a casserole. She carefully laid a cloth over the dish and walked over to the opposite house. The light was on in the kitchen but she couldn't see any movement; she knocked the door and waited.
Lawrence was waiting for her anxiously pacing the hallway; he knew better than to disturb her when this happened.
He'd only seen her react once like that, soon after she had arrived at the Mayfair house so many years ago. He knew she was his half sister and he knew something bad had happened to her and her mother had died but his mother had been very careful not to tell him anything more. His father had a new show in his Chelsea gallery so he was not interested in anything other than the perfect hanging of his paintings.
She had slept for hours and hours after she had arrived; Lawrence had been desperate to speak to her but his mother had kept him well away. He should have been in bed half an hour earlier but her was wide-awake and listening hard for any sounds coming from her room. He was about to turn his light off when he heard a creak. He got out of bed and opened the door. He saw his small redheaded sister creeping along the landing watching the hallway over the banisters. She made her way downstairs and went through to the kitchen Lawrence followed her. He saw her silently open the fridge and take out a plate of cold meat. She began to saw through the loaf of bread on the counter and stuff her face with chunks of it. He walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder to introduce himself.
She had swung round with the knife in her hand and sliced through his pyjama top and left a deep scratch on his chest. He had screamed and fallen back, the staff had all come running as had his mother. They had found Essie right at the back of the pantry and had dragged her out kicking and screaming. She did not speak for the next 3 weeks.
One night he heard a small knock on his door; he opened it to find Essie standing there, he didn't know what to say, he didn't want to set her off again so he stood there staring at her.
"I'm sorry" she said in a tiny voice.
"It's ok." He said and he truly meant it' "Do you want a cookie…I mean a biscuit? I have a stash under my bed." And she had followed him into his room and sat quietly on his chair looking around.
Lawrence thought back to when he had learnt what had really happened to her up in Scotland. How she had endured years of torment at the hands of her aunt. He had been amazed at how she had overcome all of it. He knew that she was a survivor but until the world had ended he hadn't really known what that meant.
He heard her bedroom door open and watched as she came out. She looked like hell.
She walked past him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. She went into the darkened living room and sat on the sofa staring out of the window. He heard a knock at the door and knew they were going to be made to leave.
He opened the door and saw Carol standing in the light holding a dish and smiling.
"I thought you might need some food tonight. I've brought you this." And she handed him the casserole. "you'll need to warm it up again. Why don't you go through to kitchen? I'll watch her for a little while." She walked through to the living room leaving Lawrence in the hallway."
"Hi, I'm Carol." She said to the silent figure. "I live across the street."
"I know who you are." Essie said quietly, "You're the one who keeps herself invisible."
Carol straightened up and stopped smiling. "You noticed that?"
"I did. You are very good at it. No one suspects a thing." Essie was still speaking quietly.
"Suspects what?" Carol asked guardedly
"That you're something else. Someone other than a 'den mother'." Essie replied scornfully.
"But you don't. Why is that?"
"Takes a bullshitter to know a bullshitter I suppose."
"You didn't bullshit very well today though did you?" said Carol, narrowing her eyes at the woman sitting in front of her.
"I guess you're right. That hasn't happened in a long time." Essie said, finally looking at her.
"And it can't happen again. You need to learn to fit in or they will exile you."
Essie sighed. She knew this woman was right. She had watched Carol when she thought no one else was looking; she had seen that this woman was so much more than the image she projected. Essie also knew that this woman was as dangerous if not more so than herself.
"It won't happen again. I think I was so focused on surviving out there, so focused on keeping Lawrence alive that when we got here I just…"
"You broke." Finished Carol, "but you have to put yourself together and get on with surviving. Just because you are here it doesn't mean that you should become weak, that you should give in."
"I know."
Carol went to stand up but then stopped.
" Your scars, how'd do you get them?"
Essie raised her eyebrows. She knew some people in her past had seen them before but they had never had the balls to ask her about them, even Lawrence had kept his questions to himself for all these years.
" My aunt took me in after my mother died. She didn't like me very much. She showed me how much she didn't like me by heating a poker in the fire and holding it against my skin until I skin again and again and again. This started when I was 8 and didn't stop until I was 13."
"How did it stop?" Carol asked.
"That is a story for another time." Essie answered and Carol knew not to push it. "What about you? How come you need to hide who you really are?"
"That's also a story for another time." And Essie nodded. Carol stood up and walked to the door, she turned and said "Eat the casserole, it's good." And then walked out. Essie watched as she crossed the road and went into the house. An interesting woman, very interesting.
Essie walked down the steps of Deanna's house and sighed heavily. She had just eaten so much humble pie in effort to get Deanna on side and now she was being forced to attend a drinks party to 'integrate'. She hated things like that. She thought that the apocalypse might have done away with all that fuckery but it turns out even during the end of world social engagements were a feature.
The evening found her standing in a corner of Deanna's house watching all the people of Alexandria drinking, chatting and laughing. Lawrence was an expert at these things he was at home in a room of strangers within 10 minutes. She, on the other hand, was more at home in her own company. She never knew what to say and usually ended up offending someone or boring someone or leaving early, all three more often than not.
"The Woman After The Rapture."
"Excuse me?" asked Essie, turning round to see a tall man smiling at her.
"The Woman After The Rapture." He repeated, "that's who you look like. I was trying to think who you reminded me of and I've just realised. You have the same face shape, the same coloured hair, you even hold your head in the same way as the woman in that painting, different colour eyes, hers are blue. I'm Reg, I'm Deanna's husband." And he held out his hand for Essie to shake.
"So how come you look so much like my favourite painting?" he asked.
"It was my mother." Essie replied, "My mother was the model for that painting."
"Oh so your father must have been Joe Kirk?" Reg asked surprised. Essie just smiled and wished, desperately for the conversation to be over.
"I used to sit and gaze at that picture for hours. I had a print of it in my office for years." Essie nodded, "your father was very talented."
"He was a very talented artist but a shit father and a worse husband." And Essie walked away leaving Reg open mouthed. She walked past the groups of people down the hallway and into the bathroom. She closed the door and leant against it, breathing out slowly. She was wearing uncomfortable clothes, her feet hurt and she was bored. She'd bet that none of the people at that party would even notice if she wasn't there; Lawrence was being charming enough for both of them. She slid open the window and stuck one leg over the sill.
Daryl was walking past Deanna's house on his way to tune the bike when he heard some creative swearing. He looked over to see someone hanging out of the bathroom window, one leg in and one leg out, trying to unhook their shirt from the window hook. He caught a flash of red hair and realised it was Essie. She yanked her shirt and fell backwards onto the grass, arse first. He had no idea what to do; the last time he had seen her, he'd had his arms round her waist as she fought him tooth and nail.
She got her feet, brushed herself down and closed the window. He moved into the shadows and watched as she hurried down the side of the house and down the road. She stopped halfway, took off her shoes and threw them as hard as she could. They bounced off a tree in the opposite garden and she left them there.
Daryl felt his stomach tighten. He didn't want to speak to her; he didn't want to know her. He had a family and he didn't need anyone else. But, she had saved Rick and she'd made an impression on Carol.
"You didn't want to stay at the party?" he asked
"Jesus. He speaks!" Essie said and he realised she'd known he was there all the time, "No. I didn't. They are not really my thing. Listen, I haven't said thank you. Lawrence said you carried me for 2 miles after you found us in the woods. So, thanks."
Daryl just shrugged, "Weren't nothin"
"Ok. Well thank you, again." Said Essie, intrigued by this quiet man. She went to walk away but Daryl realised he wanted to speak to her a little longer.
"It's gonna rain later. I'd say about an hour."
"Ok." Essie said and then, when he didn't say anything else, "It was a rainy night, it was the myth of a rainy night." And when he looked blank she felt the need to say, "Kerouac, On The Road?" but he didn't know what to say to this so he nodded and walked away. Essie raised her eyebrow and went into her own house.
"Hey." Said Carol, "here eat this, I know you won't eat unless I make you." Daryl bent his head over his food but then said "Who's Kerouac?"
"What?" she said, more shocked than anything else.
"Kerouac, do you know who he is?" Daryl repeated.
"Jack Kerouac? Wrote the great novel On The Road about the search for America and God. The man was a genius, raised dirt poor with an alcoholic father, went on define this country and an entire generation." Eugene said all of this in a monotone and then continued on through to the back of the house.
Daryl didn't say anything. He was embarrassed at not knowing, embarrassed about asking, just…embarrassed.
About an hour later he lay with his arms behind his head and listened to the rain whispering over the roof. He let it lull him slowly to sleep.