Shadows

by Thorne Moore

  I’d only seen Michael with Christian once before, when he’d just met Sylvia. He’d skirted round her son with avuncular jollity, uncertain how to deal with this problematic relationship. Things had clearly progressed since then. I wondered if Michael had any inkling of what Christian had been saying about him.

  ‘I am so happy to see you here,’ babbled Sylvia. ‘We’ll have a wonderful time. I’ve bought all your favourite things, and Kate and I have prepared a lovely room for you. The one at the end, with the—’

  ‘I’ve already got a room.’ Christian rose to his feet. ‘Over the porch. My room.’

  ‘Oh yes, but this one’s even nicer. We’ve made it—’

  He flicked the remains of his cigarette away and looked down on her. ‘Your own room, you said, so you can feel this is your home any time you want.’ He mimicked her gushing tone.

  ‘Yes, but what I meant was—’

  ‘I was thinking of doing some business down here. With my own pad. Yes?’

  ‘You are quite welcome to set up your new room as an office,’ said Michael. ‘But Kate has the room over the porch.’

  Christian’s eyes flickered to me. ‘Give Kate the new room. You told me the one over the porch was mine. Okay? Mine.’

  ‘Now darling, we can’t just turn Kate out.’

  ‘Kate won’t mind.’ He was challenging me. If I made a fuss, Sylvia would be distraught and he would win. And if I capitulated, he would win. Damn it, I would not capitulate. I didn’t want the ghastly, Gothic fantasy. I wanted the simple room I’d made my own, over the porch.

  ‘Oh but Chris – Kate?’ Sylvia’s look pleaded with me. ‘Would you mind terribly?’

  Michael interrupted. ‘Kate is a partner here; that room is hers. You can have any of the others, Christian, but Kate stays where she is.’

  I was accustomed to Michael following in Sylvia’s fiery wake, quietly stilling the chaotic waves she raised. It was startling to hear him laying down the law.

  ‘Okay, so I’ll have that cottage by the gate.’

  ‘That’s holiday accommodation, for letting.’

  ‘There’s no one in it at the moment,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘We’ve got our first guests arriving in two days,’ I reminded her.

  ‘So move them,’ said Christian.

  Michael kept his temper. ‘The lodge is not available.’

  ‘Well I suppose, if you don’t want me here, I can always find somewhere else.’

  His challenge had the desired effect on Sylvia, who was on the point of tears, but Michael stood firm. ‘If you prefer, there’s the Cemaes Arms in the village. It has rooms, or there’s plenty of bed and breakfast around.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ said Christian pleasantly. ‘I suppose I’d better make do with the servant’s quarters then, if that’s all you’re offering.’

  ‘It’s not the servant quarters, honestly,’ pleaded Sylvia. ‘They’re up in the attics. Though they would make a lovely private pad, if that’s what you really want.’

  Yes, I thought, stick him up there, with that shadow of fear entombed under the sloping eaves. Push him in, lock the door and leave him there, please!

  ‘We could convert them for you. Your own apartment, a proper office and everything. Just tell us what you want, for next time. Come and see…,’ Sylvia begged and urged and he allowed himself to be drawn along.

  Michael and I were left facing each other.

  ‘Don’t you dare even think about giving up your room,’ he said.

  I laughed, uncomfortably. ‘Not to oblige Christian, certainly.’

  ‘Don’t imagine it would oblige Sylvia.’ No sense of indulgence in Michael now. ‘She always crumbles before him. We’ve got to be her backbone for her, Kate. I am not going to let him hurt her anymore.’

  *

  So, there was Christian, come amongst us, deliberately late, snidely malicious and conjuring an explosion out of nothing, within minutes of arrival. If I stood back, I could see he was just a silly brat, squealing for attention. He really wasn’t worth hot soup or choler. If I kept out of his way whenever I could and kept quiet when I couldn’t, all would be fine.

  Still, I was taken aback when I returned from the bathroom, the following morning, and found him in my bedroom, stooping by the window.

  ‘Forgotten where you are?’ I asked, pulling my towelling gown around me.

  He straightened himself, scratched his unshaven chin and yawned. ‘Just taking a last look at the old view.’

  I certainly preferred my clear view of valley and misted woods to a tangle of rhododendrons darkened by crimson and emerald glass, but I couldn’t believe Christian had noticed either. ‘I’ll take a snap of it for you,’ I suggested. I held the door open and he sauntered past, pausing to leer down my cleavage.

  As I shut the door behind him, I noticed the key in the lock. It had never occurred to me to use it before.

  My bag was on the chest of drawers. I checked. Phone, purse, cards were all still there. Nothing was different.

  Or was it? A table with my laptop had shifted, under the window, catching on the curtain. Beneath it, the carpet was rucked slightly. I walked across to check the table’s contents and caught the squeak of the floorboard.

  I shifted the table further, flicked back the carpet and found a short section of flooring cut through. Two empty screw holes. I locked my door hastily, then crouched down, armed with a nail file, and prised the loose board up. Underneath were joists, wires, a startled spider and a few plastic bags of powder, brown and white assorted.

  I sat back on my heels. No wonder Christian had been so eager to have his old room back. I knew I should be concerned, for Sylvia’s sake, but as I carefully removed his stash, I gloated at the thought of smacking him where it hurt.

  Flush it down the toilet? God knows what that would do to our country plumbing. For the moment, I concealed the bags in the bottom of a drawer and went down to breakfast, locking my door behind me. Later that day, I sauntered out to one of the workshops, where we stored a couple of freezers and decorating gear, and dropped the packages into a rusting paint tin. A police dog might be able to sniff them out, but I doubted if Christian would.

  Chapter 7

  That afternoon, Sylvia was in maternal heaven with two children under her roof. Tamsin came home for the Whitsun weekend, recovering from exams and delightfully alleviating the strain of Christian’s presence.

  ‘Hi, Krizo.’ Giving us all a hug and her mother a bag of laundry, Tamsin plonked herself down beside her brother. ‘Thought you were going to Thailand.’

  ‘Na. Stuff came up.’

  ‘Were you going to Thailand?’ asked Sylvia.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s kinda difficult when mater’s made sure every shit in uniform thinks I must have nefarious motives.’

  ‘Oh Chris…,’

  ‘And did you have nefarious motives?’ I asked.

  He fired two fingers at me, an amusing, boyish gesture.

  ‘You can help with the guests at the lodge, Taz,’ I suggested. ‘They arrive tomorrow.’

  ‘Looks cool.’ Tamsin airily acknowledged our weeks of hard labour.

  ‘We’ve worked miracles,’ said Sylvia. ‘The builders have done wonders. You’ll have to meet them. Lovely people. They live in a yurt.’

  ‘Cool!’ repeated Tamsin.

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Christian. ‘Maybe I’ll check them out.’

  I thought of Kim, ex-heroin addict, and my heart sank.

  *

  Tamsin dragged me to her room, supposedly to examine her latest purchases from Top Shop and Next. ‘I’ve got a sort of problem, Kate.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘No. Well, yes, maybe. You know what Mum can be like.’

  ‘Something to do with your father?’

  ‘Yes!’ Her astonishment at my telepathic powers lasted only a second. ‘Well yeah, it’s always Dad, isn’t it? The thing is, he’s asked me over to Spain for the summer.’

  �
��Oh.’

  ‘Yes, oh.’ She sat back, pouting. ‘It’s not my fault they don’t get on, is it? But you know exactly what she’ll say. If I go, she’ll be all over the place again and—’

  ‘Now wait.’ Tamsin was right: Sylvia would be hysterical, but I could handle it. ‘You know your mother’s never wanted a breach between you kids and Ken. Even that time when you wouldn’t talk to him.’

  ‘I know, but that won’t stop her being all hurt now, like I’m betraying her and taking his side.’

  ‘She’ll understand. It’s the summer vacation; who wouldn’t want to go to Spain? And he is your father.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Tamsin. ‘And I mean, he invited me at Christmas but I came here instead.’ She pulled a face. ‘Chris said he’d come too, and Mum prepared everything, then Dad phoned on Christmas Eve to say Chris was staying with him. It was awful.’

  ‘It must have been. Look, are you really keen on this trip, Tam?’

  ‘Yes. Sort of. Dad said I could bring friends. It wouldn’t be for the whole summer. Just a month.’

  I smiled. ‘Leave it to me. I can manage Sylvia.’

  Of course I could manage Sylvia. My partisan instinct was to sow discord between Ken and his children, but Sylvia had always insisted that his divorce was from her, not from their children. Alas, her noble intentions to maintain the father/child relationship were inevitably scuppered by her own histrionic diatribes, but at least she had noble intentions. It wasn’t for me to undermine them.

  Whitsun set fireworks under the quiet countryside. Traffic flooded the narrow lanes, craft shops and cafes came alive, exotic fruits appeared in the supermarkets. Cottages woke from their winter slumber, opened their doors and drew back their curtains, including our lodge, as our first guests arrived.

  The Fergusons from Leicester were very pleasant, appreciative of the lodge and the gift of fruit and wine that Sylvia had arranged on the table. While she was still buzzing with satisfied glee, I raised the issue of holidays.

  ‘Taz has ideas of spending some of the summer with friends,’ I said, as the three of us gathered in the kitchen.

  Tamsin looked alarmed.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Sylvia. ‘Bring them here. We have plenty of room.’

  ‘Oh but—’

  I laughed. ‘Come on, Syl. She’s at university now. They’ll want to see the world, do Europe. It’s a long, long break, you know.’

  I watched Sylvia’s expression work through alarm, puzzlement, enthusiasm. ‘Oh, well, yes of course, that’s a wonderful idea. It really it is. There is so much to see. Venice. You must see Venice.’

  ‘Venice?’ Tamsin was preparing to argue.

  ‘Have you fixed on your route yet?’ I asked. ‘You mentioned Europe but you can’t do it all in a couple of weeks. What have you settled on? East or west?’

  ‘I, er, oh, west. Yeah. Like, west.’ Tamsin finally took the hint.

  ‘France, Spain, Portugal.’ I nodded.

  ‘Yeah – sort of.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful,’ said Sylvia. ‘Gives you the chance to see those countries properly.’ She paused, bit her lip, then braced herself. ‘Now Tammy, I’m sure you’ll be making your own plans, but if you are going to Spain, I really think you should try and see your father. It’s only right. You needn’t visit for long if it’s really out of your way, but do call on him, promise?’

  Tamsin was wide-eyed. ‘Oh, yeah, right, if you really think I should. No, I don’t mind. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Your friends will understand. You hardly ever get the chance to see him.’

  ‘Oh they won’t mind,’ said Tamsin earnestly. ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll go see Dad, if that’s what you really want.’

  ‘Of course she’ll see him,’ said Christian, from the kitchen doorway. ‘He’s the one who invited her over there. That’s why you’re going, ain’t it, sis? To stay at Dad’s villa? Got to be better than summer in a soggy, Welsh dump.’

  Sylvia looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. ‘Is that true?’

  Tamsin, caught in the lie that I had perpetrated, exploded. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand! Chris, shut up, you pig! What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘Ken asked you to go to him?’ Sylvia wrung a dishcloth as if it were a chicken’s neck. ‘To Spain, instead of coming to me?’

  ‘I knew you’d be like this!’

  ‘He couldn’t resist it, could he? He just has to try and prise you away from me. The bastard! Can’t rest until he’s messed things up for me as much as he can. You know what he really wants, don’t you—?’

  ‘Now wait.’ I thought fast. ‘You said you were planning a holiday for a fortnight or so with your friends, Taz. Three or four weeks at most. Wasn’t that it?’

  Tamsin glowered, but I went on, ‘And you were coming back here for the rest of the summer, weren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, if that bastard’s willing to fling me the scraps,’ said Sylvia scornfully.

  ‘Sylvia.’ I ignored Christian’s derisive hoots from the doorway. ‘Tam wants a holiday with her friends and they want to go abroad. Isn’t that what every student wants? Yes, I bet Ken was quick to put in an offer. Typical of him, I know, but look at it from their point of view. They need to travel as cheaply as possible, and take any free accommodation on offer. If a parent has a villa just sitting there, of course they’ll jump at it.’

  ‘And we’re going to Jason’s place.’ Tamsin seethed. ‘His parents have a time share on the Algarve and we’re going there too. So what? Anything wrong with that?’

  ‘Oh, you’re going to Jason’s too?’ Sylvia grasped at this.

  ‘Yes, and maybe we’ll stay six weeks instead of four, if you’re going to be so shitty about it.’ Tamsin pushed back her chair and stormed from the room.

  ‘Oh Tammy, now don’t be like that.’ Sylvia followed her, leaving me facing Christian and his mocking laughter.

  He came in, slumped down on a chair and groped for his cigarettes, grinning at me. ‘Nearly screwed that one up, didn’t you?’

  *

  ‘So you’ve met the kids?’ I was inspecting the building works ‒ any excuse to chat to Al. Chris and Tamsin had sloped off down the Cemaes Arms to join the gang the previous evening and burst back into the house, loudly, at 3 a.m. Tamsin was utterly smitten with Al. She’d raved about him for half an hour until I begged for earplugs.

  ‘We met them. Taz is a nice kid.’

  ‘She is. Tends to slip into baby mode when she’s around Sylvia, but she’s doing fine. Actually works hard when she thinks we’re not looking. What about Chris?’

  ‘Chris isn’t a kid.’ Al scrutinised the re-pointed wall.

  ‘No, old as sin. Horns in there somewhere. Did he behave?’

  ‘Generous guy. He figures he could bring some business our way.’ Al’s lips twisted.

  ‘Construction? Chris?’

  ‘It wasn’t building work he had in mind. More like transport. Imports. Mobile phones, apparently. He’s arranging a shipment from the Far East.’

  ‘Mobile phones, my eye.’ I sniffed derision, then realised that the tilt of Al’s mouth was anger, not amusement. ‘If you want to tell him where to shove his mobile phones, please go ahead. But I guarantee he won’t be here more than a week. There’ll be a flaming row and he’ll storm off.’ I hesitated. ‘Did he meet Kim?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Al looked at me, his eyes hard, no sign of the questing spirit. ‘And I won’t ask permission for what I’ll do to him, if he gets her screwed up again.’ His tone was cold and measured.

  No contest, I thought, as I returned to the house. If there were a confrontation, my money was all on Al. Christian had weight, increasingly more of it in the last year or two, but it was all flab, whereas Al was pure, lean muscle and sinew.

  I was considering said muscle and sinew with some complacency as I skipped up the grand staircase and flung open my bedroom door, intending to change.

  Christian was standing there. He had h
is back to me, surveying the empty cache by the window and as he turned, I prepared for his snarling petulance. I could deal with it. No need to throw things. Let him foam at the mouth, if he wanted. I would just keep calm.

  But Christian wasn’t in a rage. He was smiling. With his mouth, but not with his eyes. It was a neat trick, unnerving and menacing.

  ‘Where is it, Kate?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ His tone was almost pleasant as he approached.

  ‘No I don’t.’

  Without warning, his hand closed round my throat and he thrust me back against the door. ‘I think you do.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Christian.’ I shifted, but his grip was unrelenting. He was stronger than me. A struggle would have been futile, not to mention undignified, so I tried to relax. ‘If you’re talking about the cocaine or whatever it was, it went down the pan weeks ago.’

  His face was very close to mine, his breath foul. ‘You’d better be lying, Kate.’

  ‘Of course I’m not. Did you seriously think I’d leave it there as insulation? Llys y Garn is a business, Christian. A legitimate business. You don’t run a legitimate business by stashing narcotics under the floorboards.’

  The act of ice-cool malevolence was failing. I could feel his hand trembling. For a moment I thought he was going to throttle me. One of his eyelids twitched uncontrollably; sweat gleamed on his upper lip.

  And I wondered, was it my panic and fear I was feeling, or his?

  He stepped back with a falsetto laugh, his grip relaxing. ‘You’re a stupid woman, Kate. You threw away—you have any idea what that stuff was worth?’ He sneered round the room. ‘Legitimate business? You’re a joke, you know that? You couldn’t make money out of this crap, if it poked out of the woodwork.’

  ‘If that’s your judgement, I can live with it.’

  ‘I reckon maybe I should be looking for compensation, don’t you?’

  ‘Get a job, Chris. You’ll find it much healthier.’

  ‘I had a market for that stuff. Customers queuing up, right on your prissy doorstep. Now figuring on what I could have made—’

  ‘If you have any ideas of supplying Al’s sister, Chris, he’ll break your legs. And I’ll be there to cheer him on.’ Where was my dignified resolve now?