His agitation wasn’t converting into action, but a hopeless form of listlessness. Amber wasn’t at the gym and he hated himself for feeling a debilitating sense of loss which robbed him of the energy he usually found in this place at the sight of a tick. He couldn’t settle to exercise. The gym was dull with its colourless equipment, grey floor, white walls, giant mirrors (he’d avoided his own gaze). Ten minutes on a treadmill and he had to admit that he was desperate to leave.
But he didn’t want to go home. Camilla was there to remind him that he’d left her when she’d asked him to stay; that he’d failed to respond to her when she’d issued a rare invitation. He didn’t want to revisit the confusion in her eyes or answer questions about why he felt compelled to leave, because he had no answers. Questioning himself only made his gut ache and burdened him with a kind of heaviness he couldn’t bear. What kind of a man are you, anyway? he asked himself a dozen times as he finally gave up on the treadmill and stumbled off. What are you doing?
A very good question.
Keen to make amends, he dodged machinery and bodies and found a way to the door. He’d promised Camilla a surprise, something special. He’d have to think of something now. He glanced at his watch and wondered if M&S was still open and if anything on their shelves was special enough to compensate for a blundering, fat old fool. Flowers and chocolate found a way into his mind. Compensation enough? Hopefully.
Henry arrived at M&S five minutes before it closed. A text buzzed on his phone while his eyes searched for buckets of flowers. He withdrew his phone from his pocket on the move. It was a message from Camilla, which said simply, ‘Thank you!!!’ He’d missed two calls from her too.
The message stopped him mid-stride. He didn’t understand, so he didn’t reply. He’d arrived in front of a mass of colour. He could make no sense of the flowers and had no time for careful selections. He grabbed an armful of mixed roses, and found a deep box of all-coloured, all-flavoured, all-purpose chocolates and staggered to the checkout and then to the car with them, and drove home.
Henry was troubled as he pulled up beside the front door and quietly emptied the passenger seat by filling his arms and hands. After a struggle with the front door key, he made his way into the hall and then the kitchen. The downstairs was still. When he listened hard he could hear a shower running upstairs. Henry put some water in the sink and dumped the flowers. Arms free, view clear, he now noticed a large brown envelope on the table, sealed heavily with tape. There was a note beside it. He took four strides and collected the note. It was Camilla’s handwriting.
Henry –
Now I understand the surprise and why you went out.
His blood felt a little chilled as it moved sluggishly through his veins. Henry swallowed, but he read on. He had to.
So, thank you! I’m having a shower and will be waiting for you in bed. I’m determined to shake this stupidity out of me and get a hold of myself. I sometimes wonder how you put up with me. You’ve always been patient and supportive. Words are hard to say, but more easily written. I haven’t forgotten my promise of New Year’s Eve. Sorry it’s taken so long. The man who came to collect the cars said that payment is in the envelope as discussed. I tried to ring you just to confirm, but you didn’t pick up. He assured me you’d discussed things at length. I know how precious your vintage Ford was to you and that you only let it go for me.
C x
Cars? Plural? Discussed things at length? Someone had arranged to see the Rolls that Sunday, but the Ford? Tonight? No details had been discussed. Henry was feeling horribly sick.
‘Camilla?’ Henry yelled. He took the stairs two at a time and banged on the bathroom door. ‘Camilla?’
‘I can’t hear you, Henry, I’ve left a note in the kitchen. He’s left the money in the envelope.’
‘Who came for the car? What was his name?’
‘I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, Henry. No point shouting when I can’t hear you.’
Henry gave up and tore down the stairs. He found his garage keys and rushed out of the front door into darkness. He half ran, half walked to the garage and pulled the door up and lunged for the light switch. The garage was empty. How could Camilla have been so stupid and let the Ford go when it wasn’t for sale? Had she deliberately sold it while his back was turned and his attention had wandered?
If it was more sinister than that, he had been robbed. Nothing made sense as he returned to the house and picked up the big brown envelope. He heard the shower click off and yelled, ‘Why didn’t you ring me when he came?’
‘With you in a sec.’
Henry realised that Camilla had rung him while he’d been busy playing the role of a love-sick prat in the gym, where he’d made a complete idiot of himself in itchy shorts and tight trainers. Well, no longer. He was going to stop going, he’d decided.
He couldn’t tease the tape off the envelope, so he impatiently ripped the bottom of it, careful not to tear any money that might be inside. He heard Camilla unlock and then open the bathroom door. That was the last sound he registered outside of himself. An acute awareness of his own body took over as he discovered photographs and not money in the envelope. Big A4-sized, good quality coloured prints. The first showed Henry in his old kitchen at Alderley Edge, with Amber standing close, sipping a drink.
‘Oh no,’ he muttered. The air squeezed out of him. Colour slunk from his face.
He lifted the top picture and looked underneath. Amber was smiling at him over her shoulder as Henry walked behind her up the stairs. This picture could only have been taken through a small glass panel in the front door. Five more pictures showed different days at the gym or in the car park. All were of Henry with Amber. Close up. Tight lycra. Big ticks. Just do it. On one picture, Amber was touching her own backside and Henry appeared to be looking down her top.
Henry had frozen. Iced over. A few typed words accompanied the photographs. He read, ‘This should be payment enough for the cars. I’ll be in touch.’
Who’d be in touch? Amber? Was it a journalist who’d taken the pictures without her knowledge? Whoever it was, Henry was suddenly slammed with a filthy word. Blackmail. Would he call the police, be forced to explain the pictures to Camilla and the girls? The thought raised gooseflesh on his arms. It would mean explaining the months of contact with Lorie. Was Lorie behind these pictures? He felt ill as he leant against the kitchen table.
‘What have I done?’
‘All the money there, Henry?’ a voice floated down the stairs.
‘Yes,’ he replied. His throat constricted so that the tone was strangled and the word didn’t carry beyond the door. He cleared his throat and made the effort to usher another short message up the stairs. ‘It’s all here.’
‘That’s good,’ came an instant and cheery response. ‘I’d normally check, but . . .’
But if Camilla added any more, Henry didn’t hear it.
<><><>
Three days later, after a weekend of ragged sleep, Henry saw a huge white van pull up in front of the house next door. Two guys in dark clothes jumped out of it and started to unload furniture. Henry didn’t stray far from the upstairs window. A familiar red car pulled up not long after. Henry’s skeleton forgot its purpose at the sight of it. The car slid to a halt and a woman jumped out of the car wearing trainers, tracksuit bottoms and a bright yellow top with a huge tick on the front.
<><><>
One glass, two chunks of ice and three essentials – gin, tonic, lemon. Solomon picked up his drink, locked his bar room and found his way into his card room and closed his blinds before flicking on the light and settling to his favourite job, which brought these pleasing words to mind: the king was in his counting house, counting out his money.
Solomon was home alone and was conscious of the silence and the solitude. He had jumbled feelings about both. While he couldn’t stand a cacophony of sound, silence only alerted him to the noises inside his own head. And solitude turned up the volume. So things were never re
ally quiet, which was why harsh external noises were so intolerable. A gentle background hum was his preference – just to offer enough of a distraction without intruding upon his peace, if that word could ever be used. Being perpetually busy was essential; his body yelled at him to rest. He didn’t appreciate being yelled at, but couldn’t escape himself. All in all, achieving a balance was quite challenging. Keeping calm and in control was how he coped.
He set some jazz music on to low and opened the safe just as his phone rang. He reluctantly dragged it from his pocket and settled in his chair.
‘Charlie,’ he said. ‘I’m in a good mood tonight. I hope you’re not about to spoil it.’
‘Depends on your point of view.’
‘Go on.’
A pause, for drama’s sake. ‘Nathan’s broken the curfew.’
Solomon lunged forward. It was an involuntary move as adrenaline kicked in. ‘How?’
‘Snooping around at the Hamiltons’. He attempted to get in the house before he bolted. No harm done this time. How do you want to proceed?’
Solomon picked up his drink and took a deep gulp, his contentment draining as quickly as his glass. He avoided the question by asking one of his own. ‘He won’t go quietly, will he?’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘Disappointed though?’
‘I’m always disappointed when people don’t take me seriously, Charlie. You know that.’
‘So how do you want to play this? Do you want me to break his arms?’
A pause. ‘Nathan’s desperate. He’s after money.’ Solomon stopped to think. An idea crept in. He let it run a moment. ‘No. Let’s do nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Correct. Part of me wants to see how she reacts.’
‘He could hurt her.’
‘He could.’ Solomon spotted a dull mark on one of his polished shoes and searched his desk drawer for a small rag kept just for that purpose. ‘But it’s not what he’s after. He’s holding out for some cash, then he’ll let her go. Let’s see how audacious he is and how she deals with him. Keep a very close eye on things. I’ll deal with Nathan when I’m ready.’
‘Got it.’
25
It was almost Easter. Naomi had packed to go home. So had Siobhan. Her suitcase sat like a guard dog at the foot of her bed. Her flight to Ireland was at ridiculous o’clock the following morning. A taxi had been booked for four-thirty. Annabel would collect Naomi at ten.
It had been a month since Naomi had seen Dan and he’d said goodbye. One word had altered her world and everything in it. She hadn’t lived since Dan had delivered that word on a stream of warm air inside her ear. She hadn’t died either. Heartbreak hadn’t caused her heart to stop beating, but only made it drum more insistently, every thump a reminder that time was passing, when it might as well have stopped.
The goodbye had been an ending and brought emptiness and a kind of desolation. Music didn’t compensate. Family and friends couldn’t fill the gap when the aching was for Dan. Just Dan.
The whole of nature was feeling the pull of spring and waking up. In her pitiful state, new life sprang up around her. The trees were sprouting buds. The grass on the school fields had started to lengthen. A man, using a sit-on mower, had cut it one Wednesday after school. The sound had dragged Naomi from a dark place on her bed, to the open window.
The sight of the late-afternoon sunshine, the noisy mower, the colourful flowerbeds, and a curious wasp that hummed its way past the window had left her feeling puzzled.
What of Dan? He’d vanished and become three letters. D-A-N. She often toyed with them inside her head. She’d found an anagram – A-N-D, which then became a question. And? And nothing. Dan had evaporated from her life and left her alone.
She sometimes brought his name up on her phone screen just to look at it. He’d cut off any chance of contact. Calling his number only brought three punctuated bleeps and then silence and the uncomforting words on the screen, call failed. Texting him nudged an exclamation mark in a red circle and two options: Try again, Cancel. Had he changed his contact details? Been cut off for failing to pay? These questions plus a hundred more haunted her even in sleep.
Above everything, she yearned to hear Dan’s voice. Fact was, she couldn’t live without him. Reality was, she didn’t have a choice. So the consequence was, she didn’t know how to carry on. She kept attending lectures and lessons. Kept playing the piano and putting food inside her mouth and drifting around the college in a daze. She kept going to bed and doing all the things that have to be done to stay alive. But it didn’t feel like living.
She didn’t realise Siobhan was in the bedroom until she tuned in to noisy breathing and the flicking of long nails against each other. The room came into focus. Naomi didn’t know how long she’d been absent so she glanced at her wrist which told her nothing because her watch wasn’t on it.
‘It’s nearly seven,’ Siobhan informed her. ‘You’ve been lying there three hours. I’ve made you some dinner. It’s in the kitchen.’
‘Thanks.’ An automatic response that required no thought. She wasn’t hungry.
‘You were doing so well,’ Siobhan said from her bed. Naomi shrugged. ‘No man is worth this misery.’
‘Dan is.’
Siobhan’s tiny eyes narrowed. ‘If he’s all that great, why did you push him away?’
Naomi held tears back. ‘I wish I knew, Siobhan.’ She knew her tone was dull and had an impatient edge; she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to talk. With effort, she kept her voice low and even. ‘I didn’t do it deliberately.’
‘Maybe you’ve done yourself a favour.’
Naomi looked at Siobhan now, slumped on the opposite bed hugging her bear. Naomi had a sudden impulse to grab her case and leave this pocket of a house for good.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Her tone was cutting now.
‘Just saying.’
‘Just saying what?’
Siobhan swallowed and frowned. Her milky skin looked like it had never seen the sun. ‘I’m saying I know you’re hurting right now, but you can’t afford another mistake. Unless you’re one hundred per cent certain that Dan’s all that, you should leave him well alone.’
Naomi sat up straighter. ‘I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Dan.’
‘I know that,’ Siobhan said, tucking her legs beneath her. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to get involved with him. Dan told you that himself, so he did – said you didn’t owe him nothing.’
‘I love him, Siobhan,’ Naomi said, and let her head drop into her hands. ‘I’m not lying here thinking about what I’ve lost because I feel indebted to him. Without Dan, I’m just a shell, OK?’ Her voice broke. ‘There’s no point to anything without him. There’s nothing worth eating or looking at. No music worth playing or listening to. My world is colourless without Dan.’ The tears leaked.
Siobhan’s expression didn’t change. ‘The pain will pass. Even Annabel thinks this could be for the best. Short-term pain, long-term gain.’
‘How do you know what Annie thinks?’ she snapped.
‘You told me.’ Siobhan’s tone remained calm.
Oh, maybe. Naomi wiped her eyes and tried to sigh away the heaviness she felt inside. Even the air in her lungs was weighing her down. ‘Anyway, I can’t get hold of him.’
‘Stop trying.’
‘Why are you so anti-Dan?’
‘I’m not anti-Dan, I’m just pro-you. You’re too young to be dealing with all of this crap. I think you should be free.’
‘I don’t want to be free. I want Dan.’
A pause. ‘Where’s the divorce up to?’
‘I don’t want a divorce, I want an annulment. I’ve never been married to Nathan, Siobhan, so we don’t need a divorce. Nathan hasn’t responded to the solicitor’s letters. He’s just toying with me. I have no energy to chase or fight him.’
‘Get your dad on the job of har
assing the solicitors.’
‘It isn’t the solicitors that need a shove, it’s Nathan. Even my dad’s acting weird lately though. You know he sold both his cars?’
‘You said.’
‘They were like his babies. I’ve no idea what’s going on at home. The whole family is in meltdown.’
Siobhan stared at one corner of the room. ‘Annie seems happy.’
‘She always falls on her feet.’ Naomi managed a small smile then reached for a box of tissues beside the bed and blew her nose.
‘Naomi, look, I didn’t want to have to say this, but I’ve got to.’
‘Say what?’
Siobhan stared through her barely-blue eyes and didn’t open her mouth.
‘What is it?’ Naomi pressed.
‘The Tank is back.’
Naomi’s pulse drove harder. ‘Tank?’ she repeated, numbly. ‘As in Damien Carter, the guy who stalked me last year?’
‘Yep. I passed him on my way home an hour ago.’
‘Passed him? Where?’ Naomi said, glancing nervously at the window. ‘Did he see you, recognise you? Did he follow you?’
‘He was at the primary school gates, for crying out loud, looking down our street.’
‘Holy crap. That means –’
‘He knows you’re here.’ Siobhan went quiet. So if Carter knew where she lived, that meant Solomon knew too. How long had he known? Would he come looking for her? ‘Naomi?’ Siobhan’s Irish accent cut into her thoughts. ‘You don’t suppose Dan – ’
‘Of course not. I don’t know how Carter found me, but it isn’t because of Dan.’
‘OK, fine, but I really don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here anymore. I’m not saying that to protect myself, I’m saying it for your sake. I don’t think we can rely on the police to protect you now.’
‘Of course we can’t. I’m not even going to report it.’
‘Well then,’ Siobhan said. ‘In that case, you have no protection. Live at home if it’s safest for now. Buy a car and drive into Manchester for your lectures. Protect yourself.’
The Darkness Visible (The Midnight Saga Book 2) Page 26
