“Because my baby brother was just murdered.”

  “I know, and it’s shit, but you’ve survived death before. You will again.” Her eyes slide away from me once more, welling with a new wave of tears. “Get in the bath.” I move over to her, gripping her arm and dragging her to her feet. I guide her into the bathroom and tug the hoody over her head. Then I force her to step out of her leggings. I leave her white cotton underwear on before backing towards the door. “Get in the bath, Eden, or I’ll come back in here and wash you myself.” How have I degraded myself to this? Only for her would I ever stoop so low or go to such measures. A little voice in the back of my mind whispers that it’s me who did this to her, and I should pay my dues. Oh, but I will. I will salvage her from the wreckage. I will give my angel her wings back, and we will ascend beyond the squalor of this plane. Together.

  Half an hour later and Eden emerges, her hair wet and a towel wrapped around her body. She disappears into a room and comes back in only a baggy t-shirt. My cock twitches, and I grit my teeth against the vulgar reaction.

  She looks better, her cheeks a little flushed from the hot water. She certainly smells better.

  “I’m going to go—”

  “No!” Watery eyes meet mine. “Please don’t leave me alone.” I fight very hard to keep the smile off my lips.

  Cupping her cheeks, I swipe at the tears beneath her eyes. “I’m right here.” Right here, little angel. I’ll never leave you.

  29

  Eden

  As soon as I set foot inside the church I feel like I’m going to throw up. The long walk down the aisle suddenly feels like a mile. The coffin sits at the front of the church, covered in flowers. Closed casket. Two days in the river meant he wasn’t fit for an open one. Someone killed him, and they couldn’t even give me that: one last look at my little brother’s face. It’s been two weeks since he died, and nearly six since I last saw him. I just wanted one last glance so I could remember how golden his blonde curls were — his face that still held the roundness of youth. All I’m left with is memories.

  Light spills through the stained glass window in a brilliant rainbow that scatters over the people gathered. I have no idea who most of them are, but my brother was well loved. He was a good person, kind, just like Mum. For the first time since she died, I’m glad she’s not alive. I’m glad she can’t see this: her youngest child lying in a box.

  Each step down the aisle of that church feels like the descent into hell, but Saint is here, his fingers entwined with mine. He’s become the most unlikely of saviours over the last two weeks. Forcing me to go on when I’ve wanted so badly to give up, staying with me, having food delivered by his housekeeper, even making me shower. I feel like I’m numb, a zombie or a puppet, with him pulling my strings, making me function.

  We finally take a seat, and my eyes lock on that coffin. The priest starts to speak, though his words fall on deaf ears. Truthfully, I was never bothered about a church funeral, but my mother is buried in the graveyard here, and Otto needs to be with her.

  Saint organised a lot of this. Honestly, I don’t care. I just want to bury my brother and say my goodbyes. The old man drones on, and I tune it all out, transfixed by the morbid image of the coffin. I picture my brother lying there, as though he were merely sleeping. Only he’s not. He’s never coming back, and that’s a reality I just don’t want to live. I’m completely lost in my own mind until Saint nudges me. My attention snaps back to the present, and I find the priest staring at me, waiting.

  Pushing to my feet, I climb the stone steps and take my place at the pulpit. I tried to write down the words I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. I stare around the church at the faces I don’t know, all watching me, waiting. They expect me to say how wonderful Otto was, to regale them with stories of our childhood, but these people are strangers to me, and I don’t want them to have those parts of my brother. They’re mine. So I just start talking.

  “Last week, I went to visit my mother’s grave,” I start, sucking in steady breaths. “Her grave is marked with a plaque, and engraved on it are words she would tell me often in the year leading to her death. ‘Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened’.” I glance at the coffin, and that stabbing pain takes up residence in my chest again. “I want to smile because in his short life he brought me so much joy and love, but I can’t because he’s gone. He’s gone, and I am broken. Otto was my sunshine in the darkness. How do you survive without the sun?” I choke, fighting back tears. I close my eyes for a moment, and that brilliant sunlight penetrates my eyelids, filling my world with bright orange light. When I open my eyes they immediately lock with Saint’s, seeking him out, drawing from his strength. “So all I ask is that you smile fondly when you think of my brother. Smile because his life happened.” Tears now stream down my face unchecked. “And it was so beautiful.”

  I stumble back down the steps, spotting rows of teary faces. I’m suddenly overcome with irrational anger. Who are they to grieve my brother? They didn’t love him. He wasn’t family to them. I re-take my seat on the pew next to Saint, sliding my trembling hand into his. His fingers tighten around mine, wordlessly reassuring me. He’s the last person I ever expected to be sitting here with me, but I’m so grateful he is. Grief is a heavy burden, especially when you carry it alone. I know all too well.

  The coffin bearers finally carry Otto out into the cemetery. A grave has been dug right beside my Mum’s, and two headstones sit side by side. Daisy Jane Harris and Otto Frankie Harris. I frown at Saint.

  “They have to match,” he says matter of factly, and I can imagine his OCD nature would allow for nothing else. The same words from my mother’s plaque are now on the marble headstone that sits pride of place over her grave. Beside it, is the gaping hole, gauged from the earth: Deep, dark and cold. This is the worst part, the bit I never get over; putting someone in the ground and leaving them there. Walking away while they’re left to rot in the cold earth.

  The priest speaks words, blessings and prayers. And I watch as my brother, the last of my family is lowered into the earth. Stepping forward, I take a handful of dirt and toss it on the shiny lacquered lid. Goodbye, little brother. I’ll see you soon.

  “Let’s go,” I say to Saint. I don’t want to field the sea of mourners and well-wishers with their pitiful eyes and their sorrys. Why say that? Why are they sorry? They didn’t kill him.

  Saint wordlessly walks beside me as we cross the cemetery. Bleak rows of grey headstones littered with colourful flowers. Why? Why try and bring any joy to something so horrible? When we reach his car, he holds open the passenger door, slamming it behind me. We drive all the way back to Peckham in silence, and this is what I like about him. He doesn’t ask stupid questions. He doesn’t even try to offer me comfort. Saint wants me to survive this, and he’s prepared to use force if need be. I just don’t have the heart to tell him I can’t. Not this time.

  He pulls into the car park by my building, and I sit there for a moment, staring numbly through the windscreen. It’s sunny today, as though the great ball of fire in the sky made a special appearance for Otto. But the grey towering blocks of flats suck any happiness out of the atmosphere, instantly dragging me into depression once more.

  “Thank you for coming,” I say to Saint.

  His hand cups my face, turning me to look at him. Those icy blue eyes search mine, his brows furrowing together. Then slowly he leans in and places his lips to his forehead. “Do you need me to come up?”

  I shake my head. “No. I think I need to be alone.”

  He nods, and I open the car door, stepping out into the warmth of the sunshine. Today was easily the worst day of my life, but it’s not over. There’s still time. I walk back to my building and climb the piss-scented stairwell to my floor. Once inside my apartment, I glance out of the window and see Saint pull away, the shiny Jaguar so out of place in this hovel I call home.

  This is the first time I’ve been here alone for two weeks, and the flat feels so empty that the silence is oppressive. But this will be my reality. This is how it goes. When my Mum died, for the first few weeks everyone was so helpful, bringing food and saying they were there. Anything you need. But soon enough they drift back into their own lives and forget. Otto and I had each other, and we made it work. But now…the only person I have is Saint, a man I’ve known all of six weeks. He’s a criminal, a bad man — a psychopath. Really, how pitiful am I? How long will he stick around to help a girl he has zero obligation to? He won’t. Of course he won’t, and I’m terrified of the moment that he stops coming over, stops checking on me, because as sad as it is, he is all I have.

  This right here, this silence, this loneliness, this is my new reality. I can’t do it.

  30

  Saint

  I drive around the corner and park on one of the run down side streets before walking the short distance back to a small park that sits in the shadow of Eden’s building. The park houses a depressing, rusted set of swings, a broken seesaw, and a roundabout covered in graffiti. A soft breeze causes the chains of the swings to creak and squeal in protest.

  Glancing up, I stare at Eden’s window, barely visible from this angle. Of course, it’s still daytime, and in the absence of that glowing light behind the glass, it’s hard to see much of anything.

  Still, I sit there. She said she needs to be alone, but I need to be close to her. As I have been for the last couple of weeks. In the wake of Otto’s death, something truly spiritual has transpired between us. Our souls have intertwined, and I can feel the presence of God inside me, as though by having part of her, I have him too. It’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need forgiveness, or the church, or the blessing of a priest. A priest is a mere servant, and I am touched by an angel — possessed by God himself. And Eden…Eden is the nectar, the plant I must keep feeding from, tasting her sweetness. The more she needs me, the more I need her, and isn’t that how we as humans work. Isn’t that how God intended us to be?

  I sit and wait, watching, glancing at my phone every so often, waiting for the moment when she calls me and confesses that she needs me every bit as much as I need her. But she doesn’t. After an hour, I spot a lone figure moving down the path towards the car park. At first, I don’t recognise her with her hair under a hat. Eden keeps her head down, her strides hurried. Getting up, I round the back of a block of garages just in time to watch her pull out of the car park. She heads south, away from the city. I jog to my car and take out my phone. When I had her car fixed, they fitted a GPS. There’s nowhere my angel can run to that I won’t find her. I track her through the run-down streets where graffiti covers every available surface and teenagers hang around on street corners looking shifty and suspicious. Really, it’s no wonder Otto fell to such depravity, and it proves that Eden absolutely is an angel, to have risen above such things and bettered herself. She’s really quite miraculous.

  I follow her for about an hour into the middle of an industrial area full of factories and abandoned warehouses. The tracker leads me to a storage lot stacked with containers, surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. The little bleeping red dot on my screen shows that the car is inside. The gate is manned, with a tiny little security hut beside a barrier. When I pull up, the security guard wanders out, hiking his cheap uniformed trousers over his gut.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “I’m meeting a friend to pick up some stuff. She just drove in. Yellow Beetle.”

  “Unit number?” he asks, looking at his clipboard.

  I force a fake smile on my lips, but I know it doesn’t work. When he looks at me, his brows furrow, and I see the hint of fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten. Perhaps you could tell me. Her name is Eden Harris.”

  He steps back, shaking his head. “Sir, I’m sorry, Miss Harris will have to sign you in. Could you call her?”

  I roll my eyes. It’s a storage facility, not number ten. “Sure, I’ll get her on the phone for you.” I open my door and get out.

  “Sir, no need—” I punch him in the temple, and he goes down like a lead weight. On a sigh, I straighten my jacket and stare down at his body now partially in front of my car. I could just drive over him, save myself the chore of dragging his hefty weight around. What’s one more sin? None of them matter any more anyway. I can be myself with Eden, unleash my darkness because I’m untouchable. God’s love for me is attached to hers, and she’s so very close. I can feel it. She needs me, and need and love are one and the same.

  No, she probably wouldn’t like it if I run him over. On a sigh, I bend down and grab his ankles, dragging him across the gateway and shoving him in the hut. Then I scoop up his clipboard and check the list. Only three people have signed in today, and the last one was Eden. Unit 1028, in the name of Daisy Harris.

  I press the button for the barrier, and it lifts, allowing me to drive through. The yard is full of containers, some stacked three high. Huge floodlights illuminate the place as dusk settles into darkness. Glancing at my phone, I look for the red dot, but it’s gone. Strange. It takes me fifteen minutes to find container 1028, a rusted red shipping container. I drive past it, pulling my car around a corner at the end of the row.

  I approach quietly. I don’t know what Eden is doing, but she can’t see me here. The doors are closed, but the padlocks lay discarded on the floor. Her car is nowhere to be seen. Frowning, I place my ear to the thick metal doors, though I doubt I can hear through it. There’s a low hum on the other side. Like a machine. Or…an engine. An engine. Alarm bells ring in the back of my mind, and I grab the metal handle, yanking it open with a heavy groan. The door whines in protest as the old hinges creak open. Smoke billows through the gap in the door, and I cough, waving it away. No, not smoke. Fumes. Exhaust fumes. I swing the door wide, and more fumes spill out. Through the mist, I make out Eden’s car parked in the middle of the container. And she’s in the front seat, her head rolled back and her eyes closed.

  “Eden!” I rush inside and yank the door open, releasing the hose that she’s obviously fed through the window. She’s completely limp when I pick her up.

  “Eden!” Clutching her to my chest, I walk outside and lay her on the ground. “No, no, no.” She can’t die. Without her, I have no hope. Without her, I’m damned. I press my fingers to her throat, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when I feel her pulse, though it’s slow and broken. But she’s not breathing. Pinching her nose, I seal my lips to hers and blow. She’s dying. My angel is dying. Closing my eyes, I do the same thing again. In my mind, I can picture her, so beautiful with giant white wings. Please, Lord, save her. I know I have disgraced you. I know I have sinned, but she can save me. Please give her to me. Please don’t take her.

  I blow into her mouth once more, and my heart hammers against my ribs. Finally, she coughs. Yes! Breathe, angel! She coughs, again and again, blinking her eyes open as she rolls onto her side.

  “Saint?” she chokes before a series of desperate sobs break past her lips.

  I grab her face, studying every detail. He did it. He saved her, for me. “Why would you try and kill yourself?”

  Tears stream unchecked down her face. “I have nothing to live for.”

  “Live for me.”

  “You’ll leave me. You’ll—”

  “I will never leave you. Look at me.” She does, eyes as green as the holy Garden of Eden. “Never.”

  Shaky hands grab at my face, and she clutches to me, pressing her forehead to mine. She clings to me as if I were God himself. “I need you.” I hear the words she doesn’t say. I love you.

  She tips her chin up, and I feel the soft brush of her tear-coated lips before they press to mine. Her kisses are salty but sweet, soft and yet desperate. I close my eyes, and a brilliant white light explodes behind my eyelids. Warmth washes over me, and I’m filled with such a joyful sensation. Heaven. I’m being shown a glimpse of heaven in an angel’s kiss.

  “I need you,” she breathes over my mouth. And you always will, angel, of that I will make sure. Only God can part us.

  Oh, shelter me under thy wings. Lighten my path. Direct my steps. Do not leave me, stay quite near me and defend me against the spirit of evil. But above all come to my help in the last struggle of my life. Deliver my soul so that with thee it may praise, love and contemplate the goodness of God forever and ever.

  Amen.

  THE END

  THE POPE

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  Afterword

  Thank you for reading!

  Without you, all of this would be pointless. So thank you for one-clicking. Thank you for reading my work, and thank you for being awesome.

  I hope you liked the book!

  If you would be amazingly kind and leave a review, I would be so grateful. Leg humps would be owed.

  Acknowledgments

  Behind every book is a team of people who helped bring it to life. There are so many people to thank for helping me with The Pope.

  First off, Kerry Fletcher. Girl, you put up with so much. You’re like, part PA, part mother and part super hero. I love you!

  Autumn Gantz, you’re amazing. I’m so glad I found you.

  And on that note, Kerry, Jen and Charlotte, thank you for baring with me on this and beta reading. You’re all the best.

  Dai=anielle Dickson of Vixen Designs, thank you for designing this amazing cover.