Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1)

by N. B. Roberts

‘What are you reading?’ I asked, eyeing the book on the armrest.

  ‘The Road Less Travelled.’

  ‘Never heard of it. What’s it about?’

  ‘Read it and see for yourself.’ He picked up the book and put it on the arm of the chair nearest me. ‘I don’t want to scare you off with a synopsis but I should probably warn you, it’s written by a psychiatrist. Ha! But this is like handing a lollypop to a diabetic. I wonder if you can swallow what it says without injuring yourself.’ He smiled. ‘The good doctor had some very interesting philosophies, stories to tell, and lessons to incite. You might get something out of it.’

  I could have commented on why he was reading it. I didn’t. Anything I said here would become his ammunition. I told him I’d give it a shot with pleasure.

  He continued polishing his shoes, looking disappointed that he hadn’t managed to bait me with the remark.

  ‘Whose son is your stepbrother?’ he asked unexpectedly.

  ‘My mum’s husbands.’

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘Not far. They live in Blackheath.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He died when I was little.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said empathically, his eyes hunting mine.

  ‘I don’t remember much about him,’ I confessed. ‘He wasn’t home much, always on the road. Definitely not the most devoted of dads.’

  ‘How did he die, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘In a car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel.’ I said nothing more and from this he deduced that I didn’t want to go into detail.

  ‘My father also died when I was… young,’ he said dolefully, that last word sinking to a murmur. ‘Indescribable isn’t it’ – his tone picked up as he began buffing his shoes again – ‘the way you believe that people you love, those that are always around you, can go on forever? Then suddenly they’re gone, and you never expected to have to live without them. That is what we truly mourn, living without them.’ He stared at me with some intensity.

  ‘You must miss him very much.’ I broke his gaze.

  ‘He was everything to me.’ He looked past me. ‘Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and miss him.’ He fell silent and after a while he smiled as if he’d had a nice memory. I couldn’t help but feel envious, the kind where you really don’t know what you’re missing.

  ‘And you’ve a sister?’ he continued.

  ‘Yes. Holly lives in Scotland. She’s older than me. So is Adrian.’

  ‘Then, you’re the baby. The spoilt one.’

  I shot him a look, with a smirk. ‘You would say that. So what about you? Where are your family?’

  ‘Ireland,’ he answered quickly and said no more.

  ‘Oh.’ (I’d detected no accent.) ‘Do you visit them?’

  ‘Occasionally. When I can.’

  ‘Do they come here?’

  ‘That would be difficult.’

  ‘How long have you been over here?’

  ‘Years.’

  ‘How come you came here to work?’

  ‘I needed a… change,’ he said slowly and seriously.

  ‘Would you ever go back?’

  ‘I doubt it. This is my home. I have everything I want right here.’ He paused and placed the brushes back in the box. ‘And it suits me.’

  His shoes now coated in a new sheen of black, he put the box and newspaper away. Since he was answering me more relaxed than usual, I wanted to see what else I could learn about him.

  ‘You’re pretty good with your hands; is that a family trait?’

  ‘Define “Pretty good with your hands.”’

  ‘I mean I’ve seen you handle things, objects, in a way that seems gifted.’

  He got up and walked boldly over to me, so that now I was looking up at him instead of down.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that in conjunction with your mental instability, Cassandra, you also suffer from hallucinations. I don’t suppose there’s any need to ask this, since it seems clear to me already, but do you like illusions, magic tricks, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Sure,’ I answered loosely, as found was best with him. I’d gotten used to his traps and remarks. He remained in front of me to discover more on what I actually liked.

  ‘I admit I’m not keen on card tricks.’ I smiled. ‘I think it’s overexerted. It’s tedious to me. I’m not denying the act per se is clever. It just stops being impressive when the world and his wife are performing it. There’s only so many times you can be entertained watching someone guess which card a person is thinking of, no matter how many details change in the turn.’

  He laughed silently at my opinion and went to a writing desk on the other side of the room, saying confidently –

  ‘In that case I’ve just the thing.’

  He wrote something down on a piece of paper. Coming back to me half-smiling, he folded the paper up and handed it over.

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘It says, “A true magician never reveals his secrets!”’

  ‘And that is the truth.’ He beamed. ‘Now, fold it back up and put it in your trouser pocket.’

  I did, finding my pocket almost dry. He came closer and reached his hand behind my head, as if to pull something from behind my ear. His fingers gently brushed against my hairline and I felt a surge of tingles ripple across my skin. I expected him to place his hand on my neck; I believe I wanted him to, but he didn’t. Instead, bringing his hand round in a fist, he opened it up with the folded piece of paper in his palm.

  He handed it to me. ‘Is it the same?’

  I unfolded it and examined the writing. It was the very same. I quickly checked my pocket to find it empty.

  ‘That’s impressive, I grant you.’ My mind was working away to figure out how he could’ve done it. ‘So how did you do it?’

  ‘Ah! You didn’t quite grasp what the paper says. Perhaps I should go a step further to help you absorb it. Besides, that was no prestige. Put it back in your pocket. – Well, go on! This time I just want you to take it back out and look at it again.’

  I did, unfolding it. Beyond any doubt the words were in my own handwriting and not Thom’s I’d seen before.

  ‘That’s impossible!’ I looked at him.

  He wouldn’t budge at any attempt I made to learn how he’d done it. The only logical answer I could come up with was that two pieces of paper existed to begin with, and he was capable of mimicking my hand.

  He merely smiled, commenting, ‘I don’t like card tricks either.’

  I was very impressed.

  It soon occurred to me that my bag was in the staffroom and I would have to go downstairs to get it. My car keys were inside. I was a little anxious at my appearance to walk about the house, and it showed when I told Thom I needed to collect my things. To this he exclaimed –

  ‘You don’t give a damn what they think, even on seeing you in my shirt?’

  ‘I don’t. I’d just rather not be asked a lot of questions. You of all people should understand that, Thom; you’re always evading answering questions.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I’d just prefer not to be put on the spot, especially by Stacey or Mrs Evans.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d have no difficulty outwitting them, Alex. Neither one of them is the sharpest nail in the coffin. Both are about as deep as an ashtray. In fact, I’m convinced Mrs Evans is an ashtray half the time. Good grief! There’s more soul in the glow from the light bulbs than in either one of their faces. They’re well suited and beyond help, the pair of them,’ he said with conviction. ‘Perhaps you were good friends with Stacey once, but you’ve since grown apart. You’ve both matured – I’m giving one of you the benefit of the doubt – at different rates and in opposite directions. You’re waiting perhaps for the communication to simply die away, where then any future accidental meeting can be passed briefly and in nothing more than civility.’

  There was sense in w
hat he said, but I wasn’t about to renounce her as a friend. I told him that.

  ‘You’re confusing friend with acquaintance,’ he replied, taking a different book from one of his healthily stocked shelves, and carrying it to his chair to examine it. ‘She is no more your friend than Mrs Evans is mine. You know her, are civil towards her, and happy to keep her as a contact, which would all amount to no more than an acquaintance. That is the difference! Because you trust friends, Alex, and can confide in friends.’

  ‘But I do care about her.’

  ‘Of course you do! You also care about stray dogs.’ His eyes fixed to the introductory pages of the book in his hands.

  ‘Stacey’s just a bit dizzy, and easily influenced. That’s all.’

  ‘I wish I could agree with you, I truly do. But I have no desire to be wrong.’

  ‘I know she has good intentions.’

  ‘And the road to Hell is paved with those!’ He slammed the book shut, following this with a muttering: ‘I should know.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  He looked surprised I’d heard him.

  ‘Obviously, because I’ve done things I never intended to do.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Terrible things!’ He gazed at me, before breaking into laughter.

  ‘Well I disagree. I think intentions count for more than what they’re given credit. Nobody’s perfect. We all make errors. I think the difference lies in whether we’re bothered enough to acknowledge them.’

  ‘Well that’s a nice thought, Alex; I admire you for it. If only it was that simple.’

  While he talked I was feeling my hair. It was half dry and resembled straw. My trousers felt dry enough, so I told him I needed to go.

  ‘Well, wait there.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll fetch your things.’

  He added that he’d be quick, but he returned with my coat and bag in what felt like no more than a minute.

  ‘I’ll bring your shirt back with me later.’ I picked up the book too, thanking him again.

  He walked me to the bottom of the stairwell, but turned and stood in front of the small black door. ‘You’re definitely coming back today?’ he asked, putting his hands behind his back and leaning against them.

  ‘I plan to.’

  He nodded slowly and stared at me. Those eyes, fringed with deep black lashes, penetrated mine.

  ‘I have to go out for a little while,’ he said. ‘I won’t see you until your next shift.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I hope you have a nice evening, Thom.’ I smiled nervously.

  ‘You too, Alex.’

  He remained there as like any fixture on the door.

  ‘So,’ I said, moving towards him.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, I should get going, if I plan to return.’

  ‘Yes.’ He puckered his brow, and shook his head as if to wake up. Then moved aside to open the door.

  I virtually forced myself through it, almost regretting my feigned willingness to leave. New tones were present in his voice. I caught some glint in the faintly perceptible whites of his eyes. It was strange to feel that being there with him had somehow compensated for the downside of today.

  I left and was back within an hour and a half – probably a record for me. There didn’t seem much point in going back, but I didn’t want to show unwilling.

  ‘Our heroine returns!’ yapped Mrs Evans when I approached her in the shop. She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Stacey told me what happened. I didn’t expect you back today, or at all from what I heard. But you look well enough, and I can see you’ve still got all your fingers. There are some big pike in that river. It’s very dangerous and stupid to go jumping in there.’

  She shook her head at me having disregarded why I went jumping in there, before continuing her lecture.

  ‘Now, it isn’t my place to say who you should or shouldn’t be friends with. But I think, as your manager, I really must.’ She took a breath and found it difficult to keep eye contact with me. ‘I’ve noticed you’ve become friendly with Thomas. I’m not going to say any more about that, that’s your problem, if you like taking risks. But going up to his apartment!’

  ‘I went to dry off, Mrs Evans!’ I was somewhat distressed at what she might be implying.

  ‘But you could have used the hand dryer in the lavatories!’ She frowned. ‘Well, it’s done now. Like I say, it’s up to you who you keep company with. Here –’ she said, pushing forward a notepad. ‘I’ve had to enter today’s events in the accident book, so we have a record of it. I just need you to sign it to say you agree with what’s been written in there, such as you aren’t injured, et cetera.’

  I took the book, which had a fierce odour of tobacco. I looked over what she’d written convinced I’d find some awful narrative about Thom. Surprisingly, it was fairly accurate, concise, and dispassionate. It read:

  Small child, boy, of own accord fell into river. Pulled from it alive and well by two staff members: Thomas Rues and Alexandra Turner. Mother of boy took child home without complaint or need for medical intervention. Staff OK.

  I signed the thing and handed it back just as Stacey entered the shop.

  ‘Do you want to do something later when we finish here, Alex?’ she asked, desperately and excitedly at once. ‘We could have dinner at The Jacobus? Oh, go on!’

  I knew this was only to obtain from me what she would call the details. I was glad I didn’t have to lie to get out of it.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ I said, forging some regret in my tone. ‘I’ve got plans already. Another time though.’

  I caught the sly look she gave Mrs Evans. Yes, I knew what they were thinking. That I was meeting Thom for some secret rendezvous. I had though already arranged to go to Beth’s straight from the Cray. I wasn’t going to tell Stacey this because she’d invite herself along and turn Beth’s lounge into an interrogation room. There’s difference enough between lying and not volunteering information.

  On my way to Beth’s I received a text from Mark. The strange thing was his message didn’t appear to be for me. It read as if he was in mid-conversation with someone else and he’d text it to me inadvertently. The message also made him seem a ‘nice guy’. It was suspicious, possibly the oldest trick in the book. A sure way to get someone’s attention and act aloof at the same time. He expected me to reply so he could strike up a conversation. On the off chance I was right, I didn’t respond.

  I told Beth everything that had happened at the river. Well, everything other than the misunderstanding on the riverbank between Thom and me, and therefore anything that followed. Being a mother herself she focussed on the main part of the event, which was the little boy falling into danger. At least, she focused on that part at first.

  ‘Poor kid must’ve been so scared. It was lucky you and that guy were around. Speaking of which, what’s this Thom like? Isn’t he the one Stacey calls a ghost?’

  ‘He would be the one.’

  ‘Even though this ghost dives into rivers?’ She smiled.

  ‘I wish Stacey were as overwhelmed by common sense as you are, Bee.’

  ‘So what does this Thom person do? What’s he like?’

  ‘He’s the curator. Not just at Halton Cray, but at Richford House, too. He spends most of his time working from what I can tell.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said after a pause. ‘You didn’t answer what he’s like. That is, other than transparent and likes rattling chains.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ – I caught a knowing glance from her. – ‘He’s okay. He’s nice, a bit sarcastic, but in a good way. I mean, not in a good way. Just in a funny, cheeky sort of way. He’s just okay.’

  She gave me an intelligent smile.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her smile grew. ‘He’s nice, funny and okay. It’s not saying much about him, considering you’ve spent some time together.’

  ‘And I suppose that means something?’

  ‘Of course it does.’ She began shuffling through takea
way menus. ‘There’s just as much, if not more meaning in the things people don’t say than those they do. It means you’re not sure it’s all okay, but you don’t want to find out yet because you’re enjoying it, so better not spoil it by letting a wise friend tell you to stay away from him.’

  ‘Wise words my friend!’ I took a moment. ‘So are you telling me to stay away from him?’

  ‘I don’t need to. If you’re the one avoiding telling me what he’s about, then you already know what I might say if you did tell me all.’

  ‘So, I’m not telling you something because you might say something that I already know, on some level, but am afraid of admitting to myself?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it!’ She giggled.

  ‘I’m so confused! Really though, I don’t know what else to say about him. He’s quirky, okay?’

  ‘Like you.’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.’

  ‘God forbid! But you like him?’

  ‘I won’t deny I like quirky. Anyway, enough shoptalk!’ I felt the heat in my cheeks. ‘Let’s eat.’

  After dinner we put on a movie, keeping the volume low because Beth’s daughter, Eloise, was now in bed. I tried to pay attention but I couldn’t help drifting into daydreams of my quirky friend.

  The scent of Thom’s shirt was overpowering when I got indoors. In my rush earlier I’d forgotten to take it back with me. That spicy smell of him filled the entire house. Its potency had grown and manifested to spread into every corner of every room, like an inviting red weed.

  I fell asleep that night the minute my head hit the pillow. It was probably the best sleep I ever had. Maybe it helped that I couldn’t hear the foxes outside screaming like a troop of deranged monkeys. Perhaps they didn’t like the fog that kept returning after dark.

  Thirteen

  LATE

  ‘Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath.’

  – John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

  It was bound to happen. The following Tuesday I missed my bus and had to wait twenty minutes for another. I hurried to the Cray, noticing it was one of those rare days where patches of blue were present directly over the estate.