Shades of Nothingness

by Gary Fry

  “We had a card pushed through the door this morning, ” Bev had said with incongruous excitement. “We’ve been invited to a house-warming party tonight at the place where you spotted the two people after your walk yesterday. ”

  At first all Barry could think of saying was, “Oh, so you believe me now, do you?” But moments later, having re-gathered a little of his composure, he added, “Er, what time, love? I’m…well, I’m supposed to be staying back this evening to do a stock-take. ”

  “That’s news to me, ” Bev replied, a trifle piqued by his evasiveness. She was clearly thrilled by the prospect of finally entering the place she’d admired for such a long time.

  The stock-take was news to Barry, too, and that was because he’d just made up this lie. The mystery of it was, however, that he didn’t know why. What was the problem here? Did he secretly fear his partner desiring a more opulent life than his wage could comfortably support? However much Bev made on eBay, her income was irregular; only his was guaranteed. Any alteration in their lifestyles would be down to him to finance…In any case, they didn’t need change at their time of life; they should be reducing everyday stresses, rather than building them up.

  Realising he was being paranoid—Bev was rarely fickle or unreasonable—he said, “Okay, I don’t have to do it tonight. I suppose we…could go along, if you really want to. ”

  “Are you kidding?” Bev replied, her voice even more giddy. “I want to have a good old snoop around all their fancy stuff. ”

  “We don’t know what kind of people they are, ” Barry snapped—a tad brusquely, he realised. All he could picture in his mind’s eye was a young man and woman grinning down at him, their mouths filled with sharp, twinkling fangs…You bloody fool, he told himself, and then returned his attention to his lover. “They might be just a couple of un-extravagant people like…well, like us, Bev. ”

  “Yeah, like us, ” his lover said, her tone losing a little of its infectious sparkle. “Just like you and me, Barry. ”

  And after a stiff farewell, she hung up.

  ——

  The one thing he’d never been able to get his partner to understand was how fortunate they were. Other than domestic household expenses, he’d always taken charge of financial issues: mortgage, pensions, insurance, utility bills. He understood that if such matters weren’t drawn to a person’s attention, it was easy to push them away, as if they weren’t of any concern. He’d been a lot like this himself as a younger man, relying on institutional advisors to keep all his affairs in order, before realising he could do the same without fees or commission, thank you very much.

  He’d carried out a good deal of research before securing the mortgage on their current place, and had got a great deal. He paid regularly into an ISA, forming a nice nest-egg for his and Bev’s dotage. He had comprehensive life insurance and a modest pension plan. In short, his and his partner’s later years would be unspectacularly comfortable, and that suited Barry just fine. But what about Bev? Sometimes he felt as if she wasn’t realistic in her expectations, as if they should both live somewhere better than they did.

  Barry let himself into their small home, feeling tired from his day at work. The precarious state of his health lately had hardly whetted his appetite for aspiration; all he wanted was a quiet life.

  Entering the lounge, he found his lover togged up in her best garments, the outfit she’d worn on many special occasions (Barry wished he could recall at least one of these, but nothing came to mind). She was standing against the curtains, peeking through a small gap at the centre. He wished she’d been waiting to welcome him home, but he realised the truth was less romantic. She was spying on that house on the corner, the one to which they’d been invited this evening.

  Hearing him approach, she turned and said, “Oh hi, Barry. I haven’t made us anything to eat. I imagine they’ll be food there. Are you going to get changed, then?”

  He felt affronted, as if his daily efforts at the store were being overlooked. But then he glanced down at his garments. “Won’t I do like this? I’d only be putting on my other identical suit anyway. ”

  “Oh, you’re so classy. ” But she laughed, clearly excited by the prospect of looking inside that glossy apartment. “Well, at least tidy up your hair a bit and splash on some aftershave. ”

  “Er…any chance of a cuppa?” he asked, still trying to prompt appreciation from Bev. He knew she’d probably been grafting all day, keeping up with household chores while selling bits and pieces online, but even so, her responsibilities were optional while his were inescapable. He at least deserved a cuppa after work.

  “I’ll make you one, yes, ” she replied at last, but then came at him with unforgiving haste. “Now shoo upstairs and freshen up. You smell like you’ve been perspiring all day long. ”

  That’s probably because I have, he thought, but didn’t say this aloud. The word ‘perspiring’ had sounded a little too similar to ‘expiring’, and he’d just realised that he’d be unable to take his usual walk tonight. Plodding wearily upstairs, he thought for one crazy moment that the recently arrived couple over the road were attempting to kill him in an oblique way…but then he decided that it was time to knock some sense into himself. A quick wash in ice-cold water (he fired up the boiler only when absolutely necessary) did him a lot of good, eliminating another mental image of the fanged faces he’d conjured in his dream the previous night.

  About half an hour later, deodorant deployed and hair brushed, he went back downstairs. In the lounge, he found the invitation sent by the couple who’d compromised his evening. The card read: MR AND MRS ADU CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO THEIR NEW HOME. On the basis of this unusual surname, Barry wondered whether the couple were foreigners, but at the same time knew they hadn’t looked like that last night—not that he’d got a good look at them. The issue wasn’t very important, anyway.

  By the time he’d drained his coffee, Bev was pacing restlessly back and forth in their entrance hallway, which hardly inspired confidence in Barry about the purpose of the visit. Surely they wouldn’t be the only guests; he’d assumed the soiree would simply involve a pleasant couple seeking to ingratiate themselves among new neighbours, marking their territory by showing off commodities…The first aspiration Barry could live with; the second worried him to death, however.

  As they left the house, he said to Bev, “Don’t be getting any ideas in there. ”

  After locking up, he turned to see his partner staring his way, with an expression on her face he knew meant something like: Oh, love in the age of austerity—how romantic …However, as they started walking across the streetlamp-yellowed road, she only asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just saying, love, that we’ve taken our path in life, and it’s a…well, I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a pleasant one. I mean, we’re happy…aren’t we?”

  Of course he wasn’t nervous about his lover’s reply. The shiver that assailed him was a combination of the breeze this evening, his uncertain state of health (he was rundown, much like the housing opposite this upmarket row), and renewed sight of that window on the first floor property at the top of the street—the one in which he’d seen those grinning people bearing bright, white fangs.

  But no, that had only been a dream, and a ridiculous one at that. He should push it out of his mind as he listened to what Bev would say next.

  In the event, she didn’t reply to his question about their happiness or otherwise. She simply advanced up the swanky house’s front path and rang the doorbell, leaving Barry trailing a little behind. But then turning to face him, while awaiting a response from inside, she smiled her usual tender smile.

  As Barry also reached the entrance, the front door clicked open of its own accord, as if some phantom butler had just performed the deed. Barry looked at Bev, and Bev glanced back, though both realised that the door must be fitted with a latch mechanism released by a button upstairs. This was so far departed from their own middle-aged world that it might as we
ll be science fiction.

  Assuming they should enter, they quickly stepped inside, nervousness precluding any comments.

  The entrance hallway—in truth, it was more of a lobby, boasting a high ceiling with a deep cornice—was elegantly decorated, striped wallpaper meeting tall skirting boards painted an arresting shade of blue. The carpet was deep and a mellow colour, hugging each riser of the lengthy staircase, which had a smooth mahogany banister with elaborately carved newels.

  Once Barry and Bev had reached the first floor landing, they marvelled—or at any rate, Bev marvelled—at all the graceful artefacts on display. A small antique table nestled under one window, bearing a china pot full of fresh-smelling flowers. Barry hadn’t given Bev flowers for several years, but he often bought her more practical things, the last a tough bag in which she could carry to the Post Office all the second-hand goods she sold. He glanced again at the bouquet and decided that such fripperies were pleasant to look at, but that their charm never lasted. He preferred durable goods over kitschy ephemera—always had and always would.

  Then they were standing at the first floor apartment’s entrance.

  “Do we knock or wait?” Bev asked in a stage-whisper, as if Barry was the font of all wisdom regarding English etiquette.

  You’re talking to the wrong guy, darling, he thought, but wasn’t at all keen on the phrase “wrong guy”. In the silence on the landing (the staircase led up to another apartment, as vacant as the one on the ground floor), the house felt creepy. No sound came from inside the apartment to which they’d been invited, either, and so then, with a glance at Bev, Barry knocked on the door.

  Which fell open after his first gentle strike.

  He turned to Bev, and she turned back; they exchanged an uneasy look. Then Barry, the dutiful man in the partnership, glanced ahead, ready to fulfil his duty. He leaned forwards to gaze inside the waiting room, expecting what anyone else would: a host standing inside, all beaming smiles and infectious bonhomie.

  But there was nobody. Nobody at all.

  How odd, he thought, and glanced again at his lover while shrugging his shoulders. He took one of Bev’s hands and paced over the threshold, ready to intercept anyone who might come rushing to greet them. But as Barry and Bev entered, closing the door behind them, there was still nothing.

  The situation had grown creepier. Looking around, they found themselves inside a long, plush corridor with parquet flooring and softly papered walls. The paintwork—skirting boards and cornice—was a mellow hue of peach. Each feature here was intricately embellished. A warm light glowed on top of a sideboard, the art deco neck of the thing reaching over the edge of its mahogany host like a curious swan’s.

  As Barry and Bev advanced towards a doorway standing ajar at the end of this swanky passage, neither said a word, but with one hand tight around Bev’s, Barry detected her firm pulse. He also felt his own heart rate racing, striking his ribs.

  And then they reached a lounge of sorts.

  It was the most elegant example of such living quarters Barry had ever seen. Top-of-the-range furniture, expensive gadgetry, animal-pelt rugs and original art: all occupied every inch of the venue and were brought tenderly to life by lamps on the walls whose soothing flicker mimicked a bygone century’s candlelight.

  Bev pulled free of Barry and hurried forwards with eagerness to examine each object more closely. Barry felt more reticent, as if neither of them had been given permission to do this…but permission from who? There was nobody here. Straying closer to a new doorway, this one wide open and giving onto another hall passage, he considered calling out, but then his nerve failed him. This situation was unprecedented in his experience; he remained bewildered and unsettled.

  It was Bev who eventually broke the eerie silence, irrepressible enthusiasm for what she surveyed bursting out of her.

  “Blimey, Barry, all this stuff must have cost a fortune, ” she whispered, intending the comment for just the two of them. If their hosts—Mr and Mrs Adu—were along the latest passageway, in the kitchen preparing drinks or party comestibles, they surely wouldn’t overhear if their conversation remained low.

  “They’ll have most of it on tick, no doubt, ” Barry replied with similar quiet, defending his cautious attitude to life, however tiresome this often made him sound. “It’s how everyone these days gives off an illusion of affluence, isn’t it? Mortgaged up to retirement age. Excessive credit card debt. Buy now, pay later—much later. ”

  His partner gave him a look, as if to say, Oh, stop being such a bore, but then moved on, towards that new doorway and the gently lit corridor beyond it.

  “Bev, what are you doing?” Barry asked, loading urgency into his whisper as far as was possible.

  She turned briefly, her expression of disapproval undiminished. “We’ve been invited here, haven’t we? Surely the owners won’t mind if I have a little snoop around before meeting them. ”

  Barry felt his flesh run cold, as if a mischievous draught had just assaulted his body. As he watched his lover advance, his vision was disputed, perhaps by stress after a long day working and this strange visit monkeying with his blood pressure. Bev’s body seemed to shimmer and waver, as if a nebulous entity—something almost intangible—had just moved across it, following her through the doorway and then down the gaping throat of the hall passage.

  He didn’t follow, but immediately reflected on the episode. He was unable to share Bev’s enthusiasm for the visit, because he’d always been more private than she had. The confidence she’d displayed by venturing further into the sprawling apartment was typical of her riskier approach to life, and he remained grateful that it was he who’d taken care of all the financial matters in their relationship. He imagined them living in a pad like this and still working a daily nine-to-five until old age to pay for it…The prospect horrified him, appearing in his mind like a face with fangs.

  Now that Bev had ventured out of sight, Barry spotted another doorway standing opposite the window in which he’d seen that grinning couple yesterday; it was shut tight. He stepped across, secretly admitting how nice the place was. It was smart and homely, seductively disarming. He felt a knot of self-control tighten in his brain. The reason so many properties on this side of the street had failed to sell had resulted from the credit crunch battering the housing market, making such places inaccessible except to anyone without need of a mortgage: spivs and city folk, basically. And who among them would want to own such a fancy home in a failing northern English town?

  Barry reached the new doorway and then, despite every part of him screaming a warning, grabbed its elegant brass handle. It was as if the apartment’s seductive atmosphere—something he’d struggled to assimilate—drew him further inside, welcoming exploration, soliciting attention. Even when an unsettling enquiry occurred to him, he was unable to stop himself pushing down on the handle and giving a firm push. And as the door opened, he asked himself this question again: Were Barry and Bev the only people from the street to have been invited this evening?

  The room, once revealed, proved to be a small gym. Again a soft lamp burned on one wall, which led Barry to wonder who had switched on all the place’s lights. In fact, who had let him and Bev inside via the Intercom system? But these questions, however troubling, were supplanted by the sight of so much bright new equipment crammed into the room. Here was a rowing machine and a weightlifting bench. At the back was an exercise bike, and behind the door stood a set of digital weighing scales.

  I could certainly keep fit here, Barry thought, and at once dropped onto the rowing machine, grabbed its comfortable handles and gave them a brief heave. He and Bev had no room for anything like this. In truth, they barely had enough space in which to live their daily lives, let alone add luxury items designed to maximise health and well-being…Barry stopped rowing when a flash of light wriggled across his visual field—a symptom of his mild medical issues, no doubt. Then he reflected on the cold, wet weather in which invariably he took his evening
strolls. Such drudgery would end if he had a place like this, with…with…

  At that moment, he hoisted himself back up from the exercise machine. He’d just realised what this phantom apartment was doing to his mind. It had rendered him susceptible to its charms and qualities. Yes, him, the most cautious of men. And if its absent owners had so easily got beyond his rigid defences, how much easier would it be to bypass Bev’s flakier ones?

  He headed quickly out of the gym and re-entered the plush lounge. Without venturing further inside this demon pad, he called down the hall passage along which his partner had vanished minutes ago. “Bev! Bev!”

  His partner appeared moments later, looking dreamy and dazed. She was rubbing her eyes, as if she’d also just witnessed a flash of bright light, and when she reached him, she looked up and said, “It’s amazing, Barry. I…I love it. ”

  “Yes, well, it’s time to leave now, ” he replied, his choice of words dictated by instinct, because he didn’t have a clue what was going on. “I…I think someone invited us here to…mess with our heads. That’s all I can think of to…to make sense of it. I mean, there’s nobody here. It’s so…weird. ”

  “I’m just happy to have had the opportunity to–” Bev began, but Barry cut her off. Her expression of dewy-eyed gratitude had put him in mind of a jokey old phrase he and school friends had used years back, while trying to frighten each other with allusions to monsters and other scary creatures: Fangs very much.

  “Come on, we’re going, ” he said, taking her by one arm and directing her towards the exit, down the staircase, and then back outside to the comparative sanity of their staid, plodding life on the other side of the street. As they approached their modest and yet crucially affordable home, Barry sensed a cloak of mild delusion—like a pungent odour, a spicy scent of aftershave—fall away from him. By the time he was inside the house, with Bev standing behind him, he felt almost back to normal, his goals in life uncompromised, the unforgiving task of maintaining financial stability clear ahead. Then he turned to his partner to see how she was dealing with the after-effects of their mysterious visit.