‘I’m sure I’ll be fine, thanks.’
Her phone had started to vibrate. Dan would be calling back. She’d have to ignore him.
No, I insist,’ Shearing said. ‘We can’t have you anxiously trawling the roads at this hour, Christmas Eve. It is the season of good will.’ He winked.
‘Thing is, we’ve moved house. I’m not even sure how to get there.’
If her comment was intended to deter him, it only had the reverse effect. ‘Where have you moved to?’
Oh no. She stalled so long, that he said, ‘You do remember the place?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, sighing inwardly. ‘I live in Bramhall.’
He smiled broadly. ‘I know it well,’ he said, turning towards the police car. ‘Just follow me.’
19
It was New Year’s Eve. Henry was polishing his cars and reaching a decision. There was only enough room in his new garage for two of his cars. He kept the Rolls-Royce shut away with his vintage Ford. The Jaguar cluttered the space in front of the house beside Camilla’s car. Normally, Annabel’s would line up too, but she’d skipped off to Newcastle and wasn’t sure when she’d be back.
Naomi had been different since Christmas Eve. She was constantly glued to her phone. There were other changes, subtle but perceptible. Henry had heard her return home at almost three in the morning that night and knew she hadn’t spent the night by herself. Who sits for three hours in a cold car to think? Besides, he’d heard her talking in the bathroom when she got home. Henry had struggled to sleep that night. He knew he’d have to tackle her, but he didn’t know how. And what if she confronted him about his messages to Lorie? His mind had been about the business of trying to solve the problem. He couldn’t shut it down.
That was a week ago and still he hadn’t had the talk. There hadn’t been a good or a right time. He wouldn’t let a new year arrive without tying up his concerns about the old one. No, he’d have to speak to her today.
He put down his car wax and leather and went into the house pumped with purpose. Naomi was on the piano thundering through some Beethoven that even Henry recognised. Camilla was next door in the dining room sorting through a box of stuff. She’d been back to Alderley Edge and brought half a dozen large boxes from the old house. The methodical plan was to plough through one a day, New Year’s Eve or not.
Camilla didn’t look up as he walked in. He stood in front of her at the table, ready to break his news.
‘That pile is yours,’ she told him, pushing a stack of papers and envelopes forward. ‘Could you sort though it so we can de-clutter, please?’
‘I’ve decided,’ he said and paused.
Camilla eventually took her glasses off. They were suspended on a thin gold chain. She left them to rest on her chest and looked up.
‘You’ve decided what?’
Satisfied he had her attention, he said, ‘To sell the Rolls.’
‘Good. Get rid of the red and white sports thing while you’re at it.’
Not quite the reaction he’d hoped for, with tonight being special. He was hoping the news would be a romantic prelude.
‘I can’t sell the Ford, Camilla.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m attached to her.’
Camilla closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, opened them. ‘Can she reproduce?’
Henry frowned.
Camilla went on, ‘Consume nutrition? Absorb sunlight and use it for growth and repair? No? Well by my reckoning, your car has no gender, Henry. I’m attached to my plants, which can do all of the above very well. And I’ve uprooted and left them in another garden. It’s called letting go.’
Camilla was a fine one to lecture on that subject.
‘I can’t let her . . . it go, Camilla.’
‘Damned thing’s cluttering the only garage space we have.’
‘Which is why I’m letting the Rolls go. The Ford, she’s only petite.’
‘She’ll have a clothing range out next.’ Camilla sighed and shut her eyes, then put her glasses back on and drew a weary breath. ‘It’s a start, I suppose.’
She returned to her sorting and Henry hovered. She flicked him a glance that said, was there something else?
‘You’ve remembered about tonight,’ he said, softly.
The clouded expression was chased by the light of remembrance. Then her face darkened again – only slightly, but he caught it.
‘Oh, that.’
Henry had barely thought about anything else for days. There wasn’t a right answer to her comment so having sown the seeds, so to speak, Henry gathered the papers and envelopes and quietly slipped away. He drew the line at booking an appointment time. His plan was to follow her upstairs whenever she was ready. The rest would happen naturally, as these things tended to do. To most people.
<><><>
‘I know who you were with on Christmas Eve, Naomi.’ Henry said. He’d politely knocked on her bedroom door and found her grinning at her phone screen on the bed.
Naomi looked up. Henry read denial in her eyes at first. Then she softened and seemed to be considering a confession.
‘It’s alright, petal,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I heard you come in, heard you talking in the bathroom. I knew who it was.’
‘Am I supposed to be ashamed or something? Because I’m not.’
‘Of course not.’ Henry produced his most sympathetic smile and walked towards her. Her hair was growing. It wildly framed her face in loose waves and rested on her shoulder. Her dark eyes were brighter than normal. A definite improvement. ‘Can I do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time?’
Henry stretched out his arms and awkwardly pulled her to him. It didn’t really work – her sitting, him standing, but the thought was there.
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘So, now what?’ he asked, as he stood, arms folded, looking down on her.
Naomi shrugged. ‘Too soon to say. We’ll have to take things slowly.’
‘Sensible,’ he nodded. ‘But you’re sorting things out, I take it?’
‘We are. You haven’t mentioned this to Mum –’
‘No, no, she’d be dead against it.’ Henry shuddered.
‘I know, she’s already read me the riot act. It really doesn’t help.’
‘I understand.’ Henry perched on the bed and touched her arm. ‘You know you can’t keep it a secret for ever though, mm? The truth will out in the end. It always does.’
‘Not until I’m ready,’ Naomi said.
‘Let’s hope not,’ Henry said. ‘If I can give you one small piece of advice – please don’t rush into anything with –’
‘Don’t mention his name, Dad, please,’ Naomi said in a hushed voice. ‘The house is so much smaller. I’m struggling to adjust. It’s hard to get any privacy, so we’re texting rather than talking at the moment. I’ve got him as Dave in my phonebook. I don’t want Mum getting a whiff of this. She isn’t in a good place right now, is she?’
Henry thought about that and selfishly hoped that wherever Camilla was, she’d be up to keeping her promise. ‘I suppose not, no.’
‘She isn’t like her old self at all. Since I went back to college, it’s like she’s given up on me. She isn’t on my case like she used to be.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘It would be except it isn’t normal for her. It’s all or nothing with Mum. Possession or rejection. And now I’m home . . . well some days she barely even looks at me. Does she resent me because our lives have changed so much?’
‘It isn’t that, petal.’
‘Does she realise how difficult it’s been for me, going back to college?’
Henry sighed. ‘I’m sure she does.’
‘Well what’s wrong with her then? It’s been terrifying and lonely enough without my own mother detaching from me.’
‘I could ring you more often.’
Naomi tried to smile. ‘That
isn’t the point, Dad. It feels as though Mum couldn’t keep me home and control me so she thought she’d punish me by cutting me off instead.’
‘She isn’t punishing you, flower. It’s just a coping mechanism.’
‘For her, maybe. It doesn’t help me to cope. I could use her support, her approval. Some friendship even. You know that some of the students are friends with their mums, Dad? They confide in each other, have a laugh. I couldn’t get over that when I first started there.’
Henry wrung his hands.
Naomi went on. ‘She hunted through my diary not long ago. Again. She didn’t apologise or admit to it. I hate all the secrecy, Dad, and all the barriers. It’s too stressful.’
Tell me about it, Henry thought, but he said, ‘Look, Naomi, when your mum was younger, she was mistreated at home.’
‘Annie’s told me.’
‘Yes, well . . . she suffered, you know, in fear.’
‘So she should understand better than anyone how it feels.’
‘True enough. But it rarely works like that.’ Henry paused to gulp and draw a long breath. ‘She needs to be in control of her feelings, her situations, her relationships. When you were snatched as a child, in South Africa, think how she felt. She was powerless for those few minutes that you were gone. It’s the worst kind of feeling.’
‘It wasn’t great for me either.’
‘Of course it wasn’t, but your mother sees it as her role to protect you. Then you disappeared again not long ago. That was twice she’d lost you. Now you’ve left home again and she’s as terrified as you are. The only way she can keep her anxieties from you is to distance herself.’
Naomi laced her fingers together and said in a whisper, ‘I’ve never thought of Mum as anxious.’
‘Of course she gets anxious. That’s why she gets cross and frustrated. It’s the anxiety bubbling over. She feels as though she’s failed you, Naomi.’
‘Failed me?’
Henry allowed her time to think. ‘Yes, failed to protect you. That’s why she won’t mention Lorie. Mentioning her is a reminder that she employed someone to look after you, someone she put in a position of trust. And that person let you down. It’s more than your mum can cope with, love. It isn’t your fault. You’re only young, but please try to understand, OK?’
Naomi’s eyes filled. She swallowed hard. ‘OK.’
Her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and smiled, though tears pooled in her eyes. Henry sat watching her.
‘Is it Dave?’ he asked.
She giggled. ‘Yeah.’
‘You know, the implications of this are quite serious, but you can be honest with me – you know that?’
Naomi grinned through tears. Not at Henry, but at the message. ‘Sure, Dad,’ she said. He’d lost her.
He waited until she looked at him. ‘So are you going to talk to the police?’
She frowned. ‘No way! My relationships are none of their business. I don’t have to explain myself. It’s over, Dad, all that. I never want the police tangled in my life again.’
So Naomi wanted to consign the entire episode to the past. Understandable. She’d made a mistake, had had a brush with the law. No one had been charged, thankfully. Revenge had been served and now Nathan had forgiven her and vice versa. The look on her face said everything as she grinned at her phone again.
‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘Well I won’t question you about it again, just be careful. I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt again.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ Naomi said.
‘Are you absolutely sure you can trust him?’
She looked directly at him now. ‘Yes. Dave’s totally different, Dad.’
‘Well, you know best. Think about telling your mum at some point, would you?’
‘I’ll tell her when I’m ready, OK?’
‘OK, petal.’ He stood up to leave. ‘Do you think you might forgive Lorie at some point?’
Her smile vanished and she looked at him directly now. ‘Never. And neither should you. Don’t even think about it.’
There it was – the knowing look, the don’t-let-me-catch-you-looking-her-up-again look. Enough said. They had an understanding. Henry would ensure he didn’t get caught. He nodded and glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. Time to grab a quick shower and get ready for bed. Camilla hated TV on New Year’s Eve. There was an excellent chance she’d hit the stairs long before midnight.
<><><>
Naomi sat still when Henry left the room. There was something really troubling her that she maybe should have mentioned. PC Jake Shearing and the other cop, leading her to Bramhall on Christmas Eve. He’d driven to within half a mile of her house and got out of the car and returned to her window. She half let it down. Dan had been desperately trying to get hold of her. Her phone had been vibrating inside her pocket every minute. She hadn’t dared to answer it.
PC Shearing had asked for the address. Naomi had told him not to worry, that she was very close to home and knew where she was now. He’d smiled and wished her a happy Christmas and returned to his car and watched her as she carried on and found the tree-lined lane. Dan had been unhappy about it, but told her she’d done the right thing. What else could she have done? And that had been that, except she’d wondered whether or not to tell her mum and dad. It wasn’t a conscious decision not to let them know, it just never happened.
<><><>
On the TV, Jules Holland was counting down to midnight. Camilla was watching, blank-faced, from a chair. Henry was on a nearby sofa fighting sleep as well as boredom and advanced frustration. He hadn’t expected to be downstairs at this hour. He’d wanted to strangle Jules Holland and his many happy guests for the whole time they’d been on the screen. Naomi was in her room where she’d been all evening. She appeared, suddenly, to wish them Happy New Year. A hug and a kiss later and she took off again.
Annabel texted. Henry sent a brief reply, then decided it was time to make a move.
‘I’ll be going up then, Camilla.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘Yes, alright then.’
He hoped that yes alright then translated from Venusian to Martian as, I understand and I’ll follow.
But twenty minutes later when Camilla was still dawdling in the kitchen rinsing glasses in the sink, he wondered if yes alright then meant, you go off to bed and I’ll find any excuse to avoid joining you.
It was ten to one before she finally slid into bed beside him in the dark. She lay still until Henry reached for her hand and held it beneath the covers.
‘Your hand is hot and sweaty,’ she said.
Henry didn’t respond.
Another couple of minutes crawled by until Camilla yawned. ‘Shall we just get on with it Henry?’
So there it was – the true interpretation of yes alright then. Her words swirled in the dimness and had a physical effect on Henry. It was as though his blood had thickened to syrup and was having to fight a way round his body. His mind searched for words and failed to find any. He released her hand and turned away from her and focussed on the faded light which fed through the open en suite doorway and cast shadows on the room. Weary now, Henry closed his eyes and shut the room out and tried to close the door on the old year and the sickening sensations which threatened to ruin the new one in its infancy.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Henry sent out into the silent room. His words fluttered uneasily and didn’t settle. Like the dove that Noah sent out, the words could find nowhere to rest and came right back to Henry as the weight of rejection pinned him to the bed. It doesn’t matter now. But the problem was, it did.
20
It was a Monday. Bone-chillingly cold. A very quiet night in a very bleak month: Monday kind of quiet; January kind of bleak. There was nothing happening except the noisy flow in Vincent Solomon’s head. His mind never rested even in sleep. He fought sleep every night. The thought of giving in to unconsciousness, of losing touch with his logical mind and entering an unknowable world was horrifying. He l
ay on his bed fully clothed with his shoes on. He hadn’t been out of the house that day, but he always wore shoes at home. He had a choice of forty-plus pairs in his wardrobe. There was never a day when he opted not to wear shoes.
He picked up his iPhone and checked the time. Twelve-twenty. He wasn’t ready for sleep, which meant that he was ready for work. He pulled a number up and pressed the call button and waited. The phone rang three times before a deep voice spoke sharply.
‘What is it, Vincent?’
‘Are you trying to sleep?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well then. What kind of a greeting is that?’ Solomon asked. Bad manners always irritated him. ‘The night is yet young, brother.’
‘I’m not your brother.’
‘Of course you are,’ Vincent said.
A short pause. ‘What do you want?’
‘A report. How’s it going?’
‘Good. Please leave me alone and stay out of things.’
‘Give me something to be happy about and I’ll leave you in peace.’
There was a ragged sigh at the other end of the phone. ‘She visited, OK? That’s all I’ve got.’
‘Visited?’ An interesting development. Vincent smoothed the front of his shirt. He really should have a jumper on. The room was very chilled. ‘Sounds intriguing. And how did that work out for you?’
Another sigh. The words rode on the expulsion of air. ‘It was good.’
‘Good?’ He waited a beat. ‘Good!’ And then another. ‘You’re actually smitten with her, aren’t you?’
Nothing came back, so Vincent smiled at the empty room and continued, ‘While I’m delighted you’re having fun, let’s not forget we have an agreement. Win her trust.’ Another pause which generated no response. ‘I’ll call again.’
The line went dead.
Solomon called another number and waited through six rings until he heard a voice.
‘Charlie? You took your time.’
The Darkness Visible Page 20
