Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  ‘Now cut that, Joel,’ Charlie said. ‘A girl can get offended.’

  ‘A girl, aye, but not you. You’re not normal. More machine than female.’

  ‘I’m gonna take that as a compliment.’ Charlie took hold of his arm, but Joel shook free.

  ‘Just get lost, would you. Leave me here.’

  Charlie bent her knees and crouched until she was on Joel’s level. It was a technique she’d learned in order to get people onside. Get down to their level. Eye contact. ‘Look, come to mine and we can talk when you’ve had a sleep.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  ‘OK then,’ she showed him her palms. A peaceful gesture. ‘Just come and crash in the spare room and I’ll shout you brekkie in the morning and drive you to your car. No strings.’

  He eyed her suspiciously. ‘You’re not going to talk me out of it.’

  ‘OK, just don’t sleep here,’ she said. ‘Well known junkie area.’

  Joel glanced around the car park. He hadn’t grown up in Manchester and didn’t know it well. She could have fed him anything.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said, struggling to step out of the car and steady himself. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Come on,’ Charlie said, leading him with a smile towards her Land Rover. ‘Let’s get you comfortable.’

  While Joel was settling himself in the passenger seat and straining for his seatbelt, Charlie got behind the wheel and sent a brief text to Vincent.

  ‘Relax. Rat safely captured.’

  An instant reply. ‘Good. Don’t let it escape.’

  Charlie found Robyn in her phonebook and texted a message. ‘Can you come over tonight? Easy job. Overnight bag required.’

  She put her phone away and fired the engine. There was another way of dealing with rats that Vincent hadn’t considered. Filthy, horrible things, but they could be tamed and used as pets as long as you knew how to handle them. Rats had their uses. They cleaned up human mess and had an instinct for deserting a sinking ship.

  Charlie pulled away into the night and headed home.

  ***

  Joel came round, his mouth as dry as a desert, his joints rigid and sore. The room wasn’t steady even though he was certain he was lying still. Daylight soaked through the curtains, troubling his eyes and head. Whose curtains? Where was he? He lay, examining the room through squinting eyes, tugging at the veil cloaking his memory, his pulse racing. The veil was stubborn, reluctant to budge.

  Water. He needed water. A jug without handles was beside the bed, filled with water, a glass tipped on end and slotted on top. He drained the glass twice, furiously gulping before deciding that he needed to find a toilet in which to throw up.

  The bathroom was next door. It wasn’t at all familiar. He hung over the toilet bowl, retching and heaving until he was empty, then he stumbled back to bed in a state of utter confusion.

  The alarm only grew when the door handle dropped and a stranger with long black hair woven into two loose plaits, walked in carrying a tray. She was wearing pyjama shorts and a thin vest top.

  ‘Morning,’ she grinned, perching on the bed swinging her legs and the tray towards him, loaded with food.

  Joel half sat up. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  He glared at her. ‘Where am I? What the hell is going on?’

  Then his sister breezed in brandishing a camera which she pointed at the bed and snapped three times. It was only then that he realised where he was.

  ‘What are you doing? Who’s she?’ Joel jabbed a thumb in the direction of Plait Girl.

  Charlie broke into one of her big smiles that bared all her teeth. ‘Robyn from the club. Dancer. You two got very friendly last night. You don’t remember?’

  ‘Last night?’ he said, the queasiness increasing to the point where he’d need to dash to the bathroom again. His memory was frantically searching through blank files.

  ‘Yeah. Look.’

  She dropped down next to him so that he was sandwiched between the two of them, and began flicking through her camera, showing him pictures of himself with this girl he’d never seen.

  ‘You’re deranged,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even do anything. I wasn’t even conscious.’

  She looked at him now, full on in the eye. ‘Prove it.’

  His stomach began to pump. He brushed past Charlie and hurried to the bathroom to offload.

  The girl with plaits had gone by the time he’d washed his hands and face and returned to the bedroom, where Charlie was stripping the bed. The front door crashed shut and a car engine fired then faded until there was silence again.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘You’re despicable.’

  Charlie laughed. ‘It’s one thing telling Annabel who your family is, but explaining Robyn might be a real challenge.’

  ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone, both of you?’ he yelled.

  Charlie gathered up the sheet and duvet cover. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ she said. ‘Go ahead and burn your relationship with Annabel for all I care. It’s Vincent whose feathers you’re ruffling.’

  ‘Too right. He needs it. I’m not like you, the loyal little lapdog, always doing his bidding.’

  She walked to the window and flung it open. ‘One day, I might surprise you.’

  Joel shook his head and looked about the room for his shoes and keys. He remembered where he’d parked. Just. ‘I’m out of here.’

  ‘Do we have an understanding?’

  ‘What that you’re a freaking fruitcake and I’m screwed?’

  ‘That you’ll keep your mouth shut and I’ll keep the pictures safe.’

  ‘I’m not engaging with you.’

  Charlie flew at him from nowhere. One second, she was moving fast, the next, his legs had been sliced from underneath him and she was pinning him to ground and applying pressure to his neck. ‘Let’s put it another way,’ she said in a quiet tone. ‘Something really bad might happen to Annabel if you leak. And then those pictures will be the least of your worries. Clearer?’

  No point fighting her. Joel had no strength and she could break limbs in a single move, like a ninja.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ he gasped. ‘I’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘Good answer.’ She released the pressure and allowed him to stand, which he struggled to do. ‘What are you going to call my nephew?’ she said, tone light and breezy again.

  Joel swept his coat off the floor and made it through the door. She followed close behind, talking to him all the way down the stairs. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking that it might be quite nice to adopt a baby. If anything happened to Annabel –’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to Annabel. I’m not as stupid as you think.’ He made it to the front door somehow. ‘Touching Annabel would devastate Naomi and Vincent would never allow that.’ He grabbed the door handle.

  Charlie’s voice floated across the hall from the stairs. ‘You’d better pray I stay loyal to Vincent then. That baby is a Solomon. Call him Mowgli if you intend him to be raised by jungle animals.’

  Joel hurried through the door and bashed it shut.

  ***

  Charlie reached for her phone and called Vincent. It would irritate him to be pulled from sleep, but she could argue the importance of the call. She rather enjoyed dragging him from his ragged sleep with a good excuse.

  Two rings and, ‘Job done?’

  ‘Of course.’ He seemed sharp. Alert. Disappointing really. ‘You up and about already?’

  ‘I haven’t been to bed yet. Survived the night on espressos. I’ll get my head down later on.’

  ‘Your houseguest showed yet?’

  ‘No. But she will.’

  ‘The boys found Janes yet?’

  A sigh. ‘No, and they won’t. I’m expecting him back at the club to gloat sometime soon.’

  ‘If Janes shows, send him to me. I’ll entertain him for you.’

  ‘Spare me the details would yo
u.’ Vincent cleared his throat. ‘Joel sober yet?’

  ‘Not really, but he’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Calm down. I had Robyn over and we took some interesting photos while he was out of it. Annabel wouldn’t like them at all. He wasn’t keen either, but suddenly, he’s very compliant. Don’t worry about him.’

  A pause. ‘If you’re wrong about this and Joel screws things up for me, you’ll be looking for another job.’

  ‘Not gonna happen.’

  ‘You’d better hope not.’

  Solomon cut her off and Charlie was left holding the phone to her ear while three rising notes preceded, The other person has cleared. Charlie switched her phone off and ran to her room to change for the gym.

  28

  Forty-eight hours to the deadline.

  The deadline had become an axe. The sharp end hung above Naomi’s head, ripe as an apple ready to drop. The deadline was also a black fog that shrouded her wherever she went, clouding her mind; it was a wedge inside her head that blocked clear thinking.

  She imagined that being on death row might feel like this: adrenaline flooding her body constantly and disrupting sleep before waking up in a state of out-and-out alarm, perspiration soaking the sheets. Then there was the clock which was devouring the remaining hours, unstoppable and unrelenting. There was a constant feeling of the axe being sharpened, the fog thickening and working into her lungs, the wedge becoming embedded and stuck.

  What would you like for your last meal? She’d heard that question on films, just before an execution. Last meal? Who of a sane mind could stomach a Whopper with cheese with the gallows around the corner? Naomi had barely eaten in five days.

  Simultaneously, there was the waiting. Every day, she anticipated the postman’s drop. He came around ten, ten-thirty in the morning and she had to trek to the post box at the end of the drive to collect. Every day she found bills, leaflets and general junk and the absence of a single word from Strangeways Prison.

  One day to the deadline. Naomi woke up in the early hours, heart pounding, the word NO ringing in her head. She’d snapped out of a dream. She’d been on a ladder, high up, winds swirling around her, the ladder swaying. Above her was an outstretched hand, encouraging her to take hold. It was a female hand dressed in rings, but in her dream, she’d known that it was Solomon trying to reach her. There’d been no confusion there. Beneath her was a black void and the thought came that she could just end it all and jump. And she’d closed her eyes, blocking the hand and she’d turned and leapt while a voice yelled, NO.

  And here she was, shocked that she’d done it. That she’d let go and jumped. Pain shot through her head when she sat up. The cause was dehydration. She hadn’t been drinking enough. The headache she’d taken to bed was becoming violent with her now.

  She consulted her phone for the time and discovered that it was three-twenty in the morning. She flung the duvet to one side and went downstairs to the kitchen for a drink and pain killers. On the way back through the hall, she noticed what she hadn’t noticed on her way to the kitchen – a note lying on the hall mat behind the door. She hurried to pick it up and took it to her room. Inside, it said, If you want to corner the king, you have to be in his game. Do it now. I promise I’ll help you.

  A typed note, same paper as last time. Same message. She did want to corner the king, but she didn’t want to be in his game and she wanted to know who was proposing what help. Because she had no reason to trust anyone.

  Naomi climbed into bed without any hope of sleeping. She booted up her laptop and planned to do something she’d been practicing an awful lot during the last week, with very little success. She’d been playing online chess and trying to outmanoeuvre a stranger somewhere in the world. That week, she’d won two games, drawn one, lost eleven. Concentration was difficult from the top of a swaying ladder in strong winds with a hand groping after her and nothing of safety underneath. She’d made some howling mistakes.

  Her opponent this time was a guy named Shane from Denver. She tapped out a few introductory pleasantries before the game began, giving Shane-from-Denver no clue that she was about to turn the axe on him and ruthlessly crush him. Reason? She’d made her mind up, as if there was a choice to be made. If she won the game, she’d pack her things and head to Solomon’s.

  And if she lost . . .

  She’d pack her things and head to Solomon’s.

  ***

  ‘Naomi. Naomi?’

  Naomi was snatched from sleep. She sat up in a state of panic. Something crashed to the floor. Annabel, belly jutting out in a fitted dress, hurried round the bed and dropped to the floor and produced Naomi’s laptop.

  Naomi pushed her hair off her face. She felt sick and weighed with a problem she was yet to identify. A millisecond later and she remembered that she’d been playing chess with a guy from Denver. She’d had him on the ropes and then she must have drifted. But that didn’t explain the nausea. No, that was because time was up. It was THE day and here was Annabel innocently lifting her laptop off the floor without the slightest clue that anything was wrong.

  ‘Is it broken?’ Naomi’s voice was coarse.

  Annabel sat on the bed, having placed the laptop on the dressing table. ‘I don’t know. The more important question is, what’s going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With you.’ Annabel’s eyes were searching hers suspiciously. So she did suspect that something wasn’t right.

  Naomi rubbed her eyes to block Annabel out. ‘Just the usual stuff.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Annabel was unconvinced. When Naomi made eye contact again, Annabel’s eyes had narrowed and were still fixed on her. ‘You haven’t properly told me what happened when you went to Solomon’s.’

  ‘I have. He admitted he’d stitched Dan up, which I already knew. I told him I’d fight for Dan. I felt like killing him, but I didn’t. That’s it really.’

  Annabel studied her and Naomi busied herself with finger-combing her hair. ‘That seems pointless – punishing Dan with no agenda. What did he want from you?’

  ‘He wants me, he said so.’ The half-truths were making her dizzy. ‘But he’ll never have me, obviously, so we’ll fight the legal way. We’ll appeal.’

  ‘Police are useless.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Another pause. ‘Have you heard from Dan?’

  This question almost brought tears. ‘I’d tell you if I had.’

  ‘Why don’t you try and visit him, do something positive.’

  I am doing. I’m preparing to move in with an enemy and a psychopath to try to secure Dan’s freedom. But the words stayed in her head where they must remain. Annabel would lock her up before she’d release her into Solomon’s lair.

  Annabel disturbed her thoughts. ‘Talk to me, Naomi. What’s happening? I know that something is seriously wrong. Are you like properly depressed or something?’

  Naomi rubbed her eyes, stretched. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘When?’

  When Dan is free and Solomon isn’t.

  Annabel continued, ‘Don’t insult me, protect me, whatever it is you’re doing. I absolutely know that you’re not fine.’ Naomi didn’t know how to respond. ‘No one’s fine around here, not Mum, Dad . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she looked out of the window and studied the sky, one hand resting on her stomach, lost in her own thoughts now. ‘Even Shadow isn’t right today.’

  ‘Shadow? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘No idea. He was just lying in his bed this morning, not moving. Then he tried to stand up because he was retching, then he was sick and then he lay down again. Mum and Dad have wrapped him in a blanket and taken him to the vet.’

  ‘Why didn’t somebody wake me and tell me?’

  ‘I’m doing that now.’

  ‘Well have you heard anything?’

  ‘They’ve only been gone a few minutes. We’ll have to wait and see.’ Annabel looked out of the window again, her hand protectively holding her
belly.

  ‘Are you all right, Annie?’ Annabel resisted with silence until Naomi pressed the point. ‘Annie?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘What is it?’

  Again, she was reluctant to answer. ‘It’s Joel.’ She lowered her head and examined herself as if she was trying to peer beyond the fitted dress, the skin and muscles, and check on the child inside. She was fighting tears as if she was determined to shield the baby from them. ‘It feels like everyone close to me has taken leave of themselves or something.’

  ‘But Joel –’

  ‘You wouldn’t recognise him, Naomi. You’ve been shut away for weeks in here, consumed by Dan. I don’t blame you or expect anything else, but Joel’s changed.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Like everyone else, he’s distant. He’s pretending he’s not, but you know when you just know?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Naomi crawled across the bed and took Annabel in her arms and Annabel clung to her. ‘I’m sure it isn’t because he doesn’t love you.’

  When Annabel didn’t answer, Naomi released her and put enough distance between them that she could focus on her.

  Annabel shrugged her shoulders wearily. ‘I don’t know anymore.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. ‘He’s probably having second thoughts about me, marriage, a baby . . . everything.’ She looked at her fingers and toyed with the ring that Joel had bought her before they’d gone to the Maldives the previous autumn. ‘You know Joel. He can’t be serious for longer than five minutes.’ She let go of a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe he’s realising that it’s no fun being saddled with a pregnant girlfriend who’s about to launch him into fatherhood and a lifetime of responsibility.’

  ‘No. I don’t believe that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed it not long ago, but now . . .’ the sentence had no end. Naomi waited. ‘When I think back, I should have heard warning bells.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘When we got back from the holiday and Mum was all aggressive and Dad was all weird with him . . . I’d wanted to move in with him back then and get away from here, and maybe that was selfish of me.’ She paused to breathe and twiddle her ring. ‘But he used you as the excuse.’