Shades of Nothingness

by Gary Fry

  At first, he thought he smelt something different on her—perhaps a new perfume he hadn’t acknowledged earlier. But when he stepped closer, this illusion dissipated, leaving only his familiar lover blinking up, as if a dream had just been extracted from her psyche.

  “Who lives in a place like that?” she asked, her face intrigued and fascinated in equal measure.

  But before Barry could reply with more self-justifying rhetoric, the telephone started ringing beside them.

  They kept the phone in the hallway to prevent it becoming lost amid all the junk scattered elsewhere in the house. Ignoring his partner’s question, Barry reached across for the handset and snatched it from its cradle with merciful relief. In truth, he hadn’t known how to reply to Bev’s remark, and so the call had come at a good time, even though he couldn’t think who’d be ringing at such an hour. Saved by the bell, he reflected with simpleminded predictability, but as the speaker started talking, Barry realised that nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Ve vere so glad you could make it, ze pair of you, ” said the man on the other end of the line, his voice marred by a mild speech defect, perhaps one caused by a lisp or a cleft palette.

  Or fangs, thought Barry, looking at Bev, whose face appeared as curious about the caller’s identity as he’d grown. He certainly hadn’t recognised the voice.

  “I…I’m sorry?” Barry replied, the words governed more by courtesy than inquisitiveness. He wasn’t sure he wanted to learn anything more about the guy on the phone with the lisping voice.

  But that was when the man spoke again.

  “Ve took some pictures, my vife and I—to commemorate ze evening, of course. And now, if you vill let us have your email address, ve’ll be happy to send over zese digital shots. ”

  Bev was the one with knowledge of computers; Barry rarely used their laptop. Nevertheless, his concerns were now restricted to just a single issue: who else had the caller been referring to by “we”? Indeed, who was the man?

  His hands shaking, Barry could do nothing other than ask Bev for their email address. She promptly obliged, allowing Barry to awkwardly relay this information. And then, with a pleasant and yet disturbing, “Goodnight, our new friends!” the man rang off.

  Barry hung up, his body beginning to tremble.

  “Darling, what…is it?” Bev enquired, registering his unease. Whatever materialistic demon had subsumed her earlier had clearly now gone, replaced by concern about his health—surely the one thing that mattered in such a world of cheap trinkets.

  But all Barry could say was, “Go get your laptop. Check your emails. ”

  Still visibly worried, Bev did as he’d bidden, heading into their squat kitchen while tugging him by one hand. Once there, she looked around the cramped, untidy room with a distasteful expression, but soon settled in front of her computer on the table and booted it up.

  The screen hummed and flashed, reminding Barry of the weird sensation he’d experienced in that spooky apartment across the road. But then the machine was ready for action, its email platform accessible after a click of relevant icons. Moments later, the sound chip pinged: they had email.

  Bev looked up at Barry, and he glanced back. Neither said a word. Then they both gazed at the screen, where one incoming email stood in bold text on top of a stack of eBay-related messages. The new sender’s details were the same as those on the paper invitation they’d received earlier that day, but this time included the Christian name of the man—presumably the same guy Barry had just spoken to on the phone: Carl Adu.

  While Bev used her mouse-pad to trigger the message, Barry wondered how the couple—the Adu’s—had got hold of their telephone number. After they’d spotted him last night, he could understand how he and Bev had been invited to the apartment—maybe Mrs Adu had pushed that card through their letter-slot while walking into town earlier—but as the invitation hadn’t been personally addressed, they’d surely been unaware of Barry and Bev’s names. So how could they have checked the local directory to make contact by phone?

  All these issues were now of little concern, however. Bev had just opened two files attached to the email, whose single message read: “Enjoy! Carl and Elvira Adu”. The files were both JPEG photographs and showed the interior of that mysterious couple’s apartment. The first shot featured Bev, standing in the plush kitchen, admiring each designer unit and top-of-the-range mod con with a needy expression. The obvious question about who had taken the picture was negligible, however, when Barry noticed the person standing in front of his partner, her slender body held in a way that suggested she was showing her guest how beautiful her home was.

  It was the young woman Barry had seen the previous evening, grinning through the front window, whose toothy mouth had been illuminated by moonlight. In the shot on the laptop’s screen, however, that mouth was perfectly visible. And Barry noticed at once that the woman bore the fangs he’d dreamt about overnight.

  “Come away from her, ” he barked, reaching across to access the computer’s keyboard. Perhaps he’d meant that Bev should close the file, though his words had been garbled mid-statement and he’d given away more of his present mind-set than he felt comfortable with.

  But that was when Bev, with a similarly uneasy bearing, flipped to the other JPEG, all the while muttering anxious commentary. “I swear there was nobody else there. I just…popped along that corridor to examine…the rest of the apartment. ”

  “I told you this would happen, ” Barry went on, the way a school-master might to a disobedient child caught performing a mischievous act the naive youngster had been repeatedly warned against. “Nothing good can come from…can come from coveting…”

  He’d faltered in this self-righteous proclamation because now the other photograph had appeared onscreen. It showed himself of course, seated on that rowing machine, checking out the device for size. Again, just as Elvira Adu had accompanied Bev in the other shot, her partner Carl—tall, muscular, smiling—was stooped over Barry, bearing his own fangs as he went about showing his guest how the gadget worked.

  “But I was…I was just…” Barry started protesting, and wasn’t sure whether he intended to excuse his lapse into materialistic neediness or tell his lover that he’d also been alone in that gym.

  In the event, however, Bev cut him off. “Why haven’t we ever had anything like that?” she asked, pointing at the screen as she stood up, her face averted.

  Barry thought she must be delusional—in a state of shock, maybe— because then she rushed into the hall for the narrow staircase, headed up to their next compact floor.

  Barry felt bemused, frightened, appalled. All he could do was stare at the laptop—at that hideously fanged, self-satisfied figure beside him in the stylish gym—and feel his health wobble again, making the untidy room around him shimmer and stir.

  He heard Bev’s disappointed footsteps thumping upstairs and then across their short landing. Funding such a lifestyle would kill me, he thought, and sat at the kitchen table with only the treacherous computer for company. He flicked back and forth between the two photographs he and his partner had been sent, and wondered who enjoyed the more substantial existence: Mr and Mrs Adu, a couple who didn’t exist in a conventional sense…or cautious Barry and Bev, who lived safe, solid, contented lives which were surely no harm to anyone.

  ADAM IN AMBER

  ———

  As soon as Alice finished conducting her last research interview that day, she left the man’s house, climbed in her car, plucked her mobile phone from her travel bag and dialled home.

  “Hello, James, ”she said the moment the line had connected. Her husband had taken a while to answer—Alice hoped nothing was wrong. “How’s Martin?”

  “He’s fine. We had honey on toast for lunch. He loved it. ”

  Honey. Something about the word triggered fond memories of Alice’s own childhood. She was just sorry she hadn’t been around to witness their son’s first taste of this sweet stuff.
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  Suppressing too many complicated emotions, she said, “And did he sleep okay last night?”

  “Fine. No problem at all. ” James paused, as if withholding crucial information…but this was surely just Alice’s edgy thoughts at work. Indeed, her husband went casually on. “How’s your B&B? The university treating you right, is it?”

  “The B&B’s good. Four star. Yoghurt and maple syrup for breakfast. ” But no honey, her treacherous mind added, though she continued as if nothing was troubling her. “I’ve got another interview to carry out first thing in the morning, but I’ll be driving back directly after. Should be home by mid-afternoon. ” She paused, swallowed awkwardly, and then finished, “I’m looking forward to seeing you…both of you, I mean. ”

  “And we look forward to seeing you, ” said James, and if he’d assigned any meaning to her hesitation, he hadn’t betrayed it. Then his voice grew distant as he added, “Isn’t that right, Martin?”

  Of course he’d simply held the telephone away from his mouth to let their son burble something over the line. And then the boy did: “Mumbly …mumbly …”

  Alice experienced a fresh wave of unhappiness, of foolishly resentful love. Nevertheless, she controlled herself enough to reply, “Hello, baby! Is Daddy looking after you? Is he? Is he? Is he?”

  “Blur …bar …urrr …”

  He wasn’t yet two years old; the meaning of these sounds was nonsensical. But this didn’t prevent Alice from going on. “Well, you make sure he does. Mummy can’t be there all the time any more. But she…she still loves you. You must know that. ”

  “Of course he knows that, Alice, ” said James, having reclaimed the handset. “Anyway, I’d better ring off. We’re just off out to the park. Have a nice evening. Don’t let any strange men into your room. ”

  “As if, ” she told him, and seconds later, after he’d hung up, she put away her mobile and gripped the steering wheel.

  The dashboard’s digital clock revealed that it was only two o’clock. If she returned to the B&B, she’d only try and take her mind off matters at home by transcribing the interview she’d conducted…and that would just heighten her concerns. The West Sussex man had a disabled child and had talked articulately about struggling with social services, trying to get facilities to help with his care situation. Restarting the car, Alice placed her own relatively normal situation in this broader context: at least Martin was healthy. Even though she’d had to go out to work fulltime and James had taken on the role of house-husband, they should both be grateful that their son was okay.

  The thing to offer her distraction was a drive around some of the area’s famous sites. She often did this while away on fieldwork, a little perk of the job. She scrolled through the options on her sat-nav’s Tourist Attractions page and eventually settled on a place called Darwin’s Garden not ten miles from her present location in Crawley. Then she put the car into gear and, driving on, was helpless to prevent more complex reflections on what had happened to her recently.

  It was hardly James’s fault that he’d lost his job. The English Department at Leeds University had been hit by a sharp budget reduction last year and forced to dispense with thirty per cent of staff. At the time, Alice had been working part-time in Sociology which, after returning from maternity leave, had allowed her to care for her boy. But everything had changed once their combined income had been slashed and James had struggled to find a new post. And so, more by necessity than choice, they’d agreed to switch roles: her husband would work from home on whatever freelance proofreading jobs he could secure, while she took on a more involved role in the research centre, to which she’d been affiliated since graduation.

  Countryside swept by the A-road, its fields swathed in summer yellows and reds. West Sussex was a beautiful county, far nicer than West Yorkshire. Did Alice and James really want to bring up their son in such a comparatively grim area? The onus was now on her to work harder to ensure a desirable move. But more than this troubled her. The truth was that she felt as if she was missing out on the precious years of her boy’s early development.

  Perhaps she was being selfish: hadn’t guys suffered this for years? Society had more recently made it acceptable for time-honoured gender roles to be reversed, but it still felt unnatural to Alice, maybe because, unlike James, she’d come from a traditionally organised working-class family: a father in employment and a housewife mother. Alice was certain that her parents, as well as her two siblings (who’d also adhered to this age-old familial pattern), had been shocked when she’d revealed her and James’s news.

  She’d reached her destination, the sat-nav system doing its duty. She reached forwards to switch it off and then steered through a gateway flanked by attractive flower arrangements. Innumerable varieties of flora occupied these displays, offering Alice a little respite. While driving along a narrow lane formed by trees, she imagined painting this scene, another recreation she’d had to put on hold for now. But her mind was meandering again. After steering the car into a deserted parking lot, she pulled up and climbed out.

  A sign in wrought iron stood above a fenced-in display area; ivy twirled around the letters of DARWIN’S GARDEN like sinuous limbs. Beneath this sign, at the centre of the fence, was a narrow gateway, which stood wide open. There was no sign of anywhere to pay, so Alice assumed entry must be free. She paced forwards, wondering why nobody else appeared to be here; the garden beyond the fence looked as deserted as the car park. Nevertheless, after reaching the gate, she simply passed through…and then found herself surrounded by beguiling plant life.

  There were flowers of every description amid this wonderful display: reds jockeying with yellows, whites among greens, multiple pinks and purples. Unnaturally shaped leaves dangled like frozen raindrops, while more exotic growths, bearing angular stalks and lethal thorns, occupied deeper regions of the garden. The path wound on, leading Alice further into a rich profusion of scents and bewildering colour. It was all very beautiful; she felt quite light-headed. The tension accompanying her ride here had dropped from her. Glancing down, she saw petals scattered across the stone fl underfoot. Stupidly, these struck her as discarded fragments of her thoughts.

  And that was when, after rounding a bend in the garden, she chanced upon the display cabinet.

  The sounds she’d heard upon approaching this glasshouse were birds twittering in the distance, a few insects passing overhead with scuttling wings…but could she now detect a more insidious noise? If so, it appeared to be coming from inside the dwelling up ahead. The glasshouse was around ten-feet square and six high; all its sides were transparent, even its peaked roof. Despite the almost sub-audible buzzing sound emanating from it, Alice’s first reaction was one of visual shock…because standing at its heart, sealed off from public interference, was a naked man.

  Except he wasn’t real, not at all; he just looked real. Perhaps he was one of the works of art sculpted by that notorious German artist from the corpses of people who’d bequeathed their bodies to him. If that was true, this man had died at a pitiably young age. He was remarkable attractive: blond hair, well-formed musculature, a smilingly pretty face. Alice couldn’t help but look at his penis caught up in a nest of finely groomed pubic hair.

  Was it wrong to feel attracted to a dead person? Lately, she and James had made love only infrequently, and she’d genuinely believed the reason she’d offered for continual refusal: the birth of Martin had extracted all her lust, and she was always tired from work…But was there more to it than this? She was certainly aroused now. The man in the glasshouse—a corpse, for God’s sake, or at any rate a seductive facsimile of one—looked ready for action, his flawless figure primed for movement.

  Just then, her first impression of the display returned: that potent sound of buzzing. It was surely just this that lent the stationary figure inside an illusion of motion. Alice strayed closer to the glasshouse and put one ear to its side. The noise grew stronger, more strident, more angry. It was like the sound of bees b
uzzing ( …honey, she thought; Martin had honey for lunch…) and it charged through Alice’s mind like guilt, stinging her scalp, making her body cringe and quiver. The noise filled her, as if she stood in the presence of some deafening machine. And moments later, in her peripheral gaze, she saw something on the sculptured man move.

  She jerked away, turning to face the way she’d come. Then she ran—back along the crooked path, between all the beguiling flowers and plants, and finally through the gateway to her car. Indeed, she was driving again, quickly away from Darwin’s Garden, before admitting what she’d seen in that display case.

  A bee gently prising itself between its single tenant’s lips.

  ——

  After arriving home the following day, Alice spent a few hours attending to Martin; she’d missed him fiercely.

  “Hello, my darling, ” she said, suppressing the ludicrous impression that her son had grown during the few days she’d been away. “Are you happy? Are you? Are you? Are you?”

  The boy chuckled and gurgled. Alice dropped her travel-bag to the kitchen floor and then lifted him up, wheeling him around in the air with barely contained joy. “Who’s a beautiful boy, eh? Who’s a beautiful boy?”

  James didn’t gather the bag from the floor, just switched on the kettle to make them both a drink. Alice looked at the kitchen table, seeing a popular novel perched there in an inverted V, its spine divided at roughly the halfway point. She didn’t think her husband had even started this book before she’d left for her trip. What on earth had he been doing in her absence?

  Later, once they’d put Martin to bed with mutual delight, Alice noticed that the housework had at least been dealt with. Then, downstairs in the lounge again, James tried to seduce her.