Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  It is a worry. One that is already giving rise to the pain between his eyes that, if not avoided, will incapacitate him for a couple of days or more. Such an outcome, particularly at this time when the police are alert for any sign of disruption to people's routines, could draw unwarranted attention - and that would never do.

  Knowing he must find something, anything, that will divert him from the course on which he is presently headed, he picks up his laptop off the floor beside his chair and navigates to the hidden folder where he stores his oh-so-precious data. Running the cursor down the list of files, he stops when it reaches the one labelled, 'Naomi'. He hesitates, closing his eyes and breathing deeply while he prepares himself. A few seconds later, he clicks on it.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tuesday

  The next day I decided to go down to Stoke and see Dad again. I usually visit on a Saturday, but truth be told, I was looking to take my mind off things.

  I got there about eleven. As I came through the gate, I glimpsed someone turning away from next door's window. I was halfway up Dad's path when the front door opened and Alison appeared on the doorstep.

  'Hi Danny.'

  Alison Henderson and her husband, Ken, have lived next door to Dad for about eight years. Alison works part-time as a nurse and is a good neighbour. She's rung me a couple of time when she's been concerned about him or thinks he may be struggling. A fair-looking woman for her age - somewhere around fifty - Alison is one of those older women who still takes pride in her appearance. The last time I saw her, her hair was dark. Today I couldn't help notice it was a much lighter shade. Not quite blond, but heading there.

  'Hey Alison,' I said. 'How's things?'

  'Okay thanks, Danny. We don't usually see you in the week. Is he alright?'

  'As far as I know. Just a flying visit, that's all.'

  She seemed to hesitate. 'I, er- Could I have a word with you before you go, if you can spare a minute?'

  'No problem.' As I put my key in the lock, my thought was, what's he been up to now?

  Dad was in the back kitchen. Though I'd rung to let him know I was coming, he still seemed surprised to see me.

  'You on you're own, our Danny?' The family habit is to put an 'our', before someone's name. It extends to close family friends as well.

  I looked over my shoulder. 'I'm always on my own, Dad. Who are you expecting?'

  'I wasn't sure if your sister was coming with you. She said she might.'

  'Our Laura? You've spoken with her?'

  'She rang yesterday. We had a nice long chat. She said she was going to come up and see us. That's why I thought you were coming here.'

  I started. My sister works in what she never fails to let me know is a Pressure Job in one of those glass towers in Canary Wharf. She'd last visited about three weeks before. I measure her trips in three-month intervals. Nowadays she talks about coming 'Up-North' the same way some southerners do.

  'I think you must have misheard her Dad. I don't think she's coming up just yet.'

  'No? That's a shame. I can't remember the last time she was here. Do you and her ever ring each other?'

  'I spoke to her yesterday as well. She wasn't talking about coming up.'

  'Ah well. Cup of tea?'

  As he filled the kettle, I noticed he was holding it at an odd angle.

  'What've you done to your arm?'

  'Eh? What? As he put the kettle on the stand he winced. 'Oh, it's nothing.'

  'Here, let me see.'

  Moving him closer to the window, I took his left arm and pulled his shirt sleeve back. The area above and below the elbow was a mass of blue-purple. The elbow itself was skinned and red raw, seeping pus.

  'What the hell?' I pulled his shirt out of his trousers and checked beneath. His rib cage on that side matched his arm. 'Bloody Hell Dad, what happened? Did you fall?'

  'Fall? Me? Nah. I just woke up one morning and it was like this. It's nothing.'

  'It's not, 'nothing', Dad. It looks really nasty. That didn't happen in bed. You've fallen, haven't you? What did you do?'

  He started to become agitated. 'Nothing, I tell you.' He pulled away, at the same time stuffing his shirt back into his pants, hiding his injuries. 'Don't fuss. You're acting like your Mother.'

  'I'm not fussing Dad, but those bruises need looking at. You may have cracked a rib. Is it very painful?' I reached out to take another look at his arm but he snatched it away, at the same time wincing in pain and sucking air through gritted teeth.

  'It's a bit sore, is all. It'll be alright.'

  I waited until I had his attention. 'Dad. Tell me what happened.'

  He looked up at me, sheepishly at first. Then a glassiness came into his eyes and in a voice that trembled slightly he said, 'I don't know. I can't remember,'

  I finished making the brew, then we sat in the lounge and talked a bit. Football, the weather, his garden. I didn't press him on his accident, but I watched him like a hawk. The main thing was he seemed to be breathing okay - the oxygen cylinder was next to his chair but right now he seem to be managing without it - but his arm and side were clearly hurting. All the time I was weighing whether it was worth the argument and the state he would get in if I mentioned taking him to A&E.

  After pulling apart the latest Liverpool signing - one good thing, he still pours over the sports pages - and lamenting the direction the club was heading under its new management, he turned towards me in his seat. 'How's the boxing going then? Won any fights recently?'

  I stared at him. It had been years since we last mentioned boxing. 'I don't box any more, Dad. I run a security business, remember?'

  He looked at me for long seconds before saying, 'Oh yes. Of course. That's right. I remember now.' But his face gave the lie to it.

  I made us beans on toast with cheese on top for lunch - another family tradition - which we ate at the kitchen table. He seemed more comfortable sitting upright. It was obvious that the longer I was there, the brighter he was becoming, less forgetful. When we'd eaten I managed to get him to let me take another look at his side. After a bit of prodding and pushing I decided there was probably no point taking him to hospital. He was on tablets for his blood pressure as it was. But I got the first aid box out from under the kitchen sink and put a dressing on his elbow. As I wound the bandage above and below, it reminded me that I needed to check when my first aid qualification runs out. The week before, Mike had mentioned we had a Security Licensing Audit coming up in a couple of months.

  Eventually, after a bit more chat - 'The Bloody Government,' this time - I got up to leave.

  'Just rest up for the next few days. Remember you're not as young as you used to be. And tell me if that elbow locks up. If it gets infected you'll end up in hospital and you won't like that.'

  He gave a bored look. 'Right.'

  We're a lot alike, my Dad and me.

  As always, the front door closed behind me when I was still only half-way down the path. I smiled. No change there then. As I went out the gate, I remembered Alison and made a U turn through hers.

  The door opened as I reached the step. Alison stood there, smiling. She'd changed out of her jeans and trainers and was now in a smart pink skirt, cream top and white stilettos. Perfume wafted through the door.

  'Come in, Danny.'

  She guided me through to the living room, sat me down on the couch.

  'Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger?'

  'No, thanks. Just had one.' I smiled and checked my watch. 'I can't stop long. Work this evening. You know how it is.'

  The smile stayed but behind it I thought she looked a little disappointed as she sat down next to me, but not so close as to give me any reason to be concerned. The only times I'd been inside Alison's it was always the weekend, when Ken was there. Right now, he wasn't. As I waited for her to tell me why she'd called me in I thought the house seemed unnaturally quiet. I waited some more. Eventually I said, 'Ken not around?'

  She shook her head, sl
owly. 'He's never around weekdays.' She said it like I might want to make a note of it. I just nodded, and swallowed.

  She took a deep breath, like it was the start of a serious conversation. 'So. How's your dad doing?'

  I thought that maybe she'd called me in to tell me about his fall, but when I told her about his injuries, she looked shocked.

  'Oh my goodness. Is he alright?'

  'He will be, so long as he takes it easy the next few days.'

  She leaned across, patted my knee. 'Don't worry Danny. I'll keep a close eye on him.' Her hand lingered a second or so longer than I thought it needed to, before she drew it back.

  'Thanks,' I said.

  For the next few minutes we talked about Dad, what he'd been up to recently. I was glad to hear he was keeping up his morning walks, but concerned when she said she thought his 'down' days seemed to be becoming more frequent. When I showed it, she slipped into Florence Nightingale mode. 'There's nothing you can do about it, Danny. It's called old age. And loneliness.' Her tone dropped half an octave as she added, 'Everyone gets lonely, sometime, Danny, you know?'

  I nodded, 'True,' and left it there. Nevertheless I appreciated her homely common sense and was grateful Dad had a neighbour willing to keep an eye on him. I said so. She edged closer.

  'You don't have to thank me. That's what neighbours are for.'

  'I know. Even so, it helps to know there's someone he can turn to if he needs to.' I was beginning to feel warmer than when I'd arrived. I wondered if she'd turned up the central heating.

  She said nothing, but sat there, smiling sweetly. I started to feel uneasy.

  'So. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?'

  At that point I was pretty sure I saw something flash in her eyes, but all she said was, 'I just thought I'd check how he is, that's all. Besides, we don't always get a chance to speak when you call at weekends-'

  'No, I-'

  'When Ken's here.'

  It stopped the conversation. We looked at each other. Her face was neutral. My move. I stood up. She rose with me.

  'Well I guess I'd better be off. It was nice talking to you again, Alison and thanks again for looking aft-'

  The words cut off as her mouth suddenly clamped itself against mine, her tongue probing for an opening. Instinctively, I stepped back, hands coming up defensively, only to position them nicely to receive the substantial chest now thrusting towards me.

  'Alison- I-'

  Leaning away from her, I leaned too far and toppled back onto the couch. She came with me, falling on top, hands already grabbing at my belt buckle.

  I tried again. 'Alison. I can't-' The mouth again.

  At that moment I could easily have escaped her. All I had to do was grab her by the arms and I could have swung her off me and onto the floor. It wasn't like she was that big a woman, though as Dad and I had once joked, there's meat there- and in all the right places. But it would have meant being heavier-handed with her than right then I was ready to be. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her, physically or emotionally. Nor was it the case that I didn't find her attractive. If I'm honest, I've always had a thing for slightly older women, and part of me was wanting to respond - fuck it, WAS responding - in the way most men would who find themselves in that position. But I knew enough about getting involved with married women to know how dangerous it is. Oh sure, at the club I've been groped by married women hundreds if not thousands of times. Every second Thursday is Grab-a-Granny night. And there've been times when I've enjoyed it. Not that I'd say anymore on that score. But there's a difference between a woman whose had a few drinks and is up for a bit of fun during a night out with, 'the girls,' and one who is looking for someone to provide what she's maybe not getting off her husband, and whose house you know you've got to walk past every week. And then, of course, there was Vicki.

  After several seconds, the lack of any enthusiastic response on my part - despite what was going on between my legs - must have told her something. Suddenly she stopped groping and trying to get her tongue down my throat. Still on top, she levered herself up so she was looking down on me, hair spilling around her face. At first all I could see was a puzzled look, like she might be trying to work out if I was gay. But something - the bulge in my pants probably - must have told her that was not the case because the look in her eyes changed to something else.

  In one quick movement she clambered off me and started straightening her skirt and the top I must have pulled round during the struggle. I sat up.

  'I'm sorry, Alison, I-'

  'Don't bother,' she snapped. 'It’s my fault for being stupid.' But she said it in a way that made it sound like she thought it was anything but her fault, in which case it could only be mine. I tried to think back to previous times we'd met. I didn't think I'd ever come on to her. Then again I'd always considered her a good-looking woman. And there had been the odd bit of banter over the fence as I walked up the garden path on occasion. 'That's a nice top you've got on there Alison. Is it new?'

  Oh, God.

  'I think I'd better go,' I said, quietly.

  'Yes,' she said. 'You'd better. Before my HUSBAND gets home.'

  As I headed for my truck, walking faster than normal, I thought on how, at my age I ought to understand more about how the female mind works.

  I was halfway up the M6, still thinking on how I'd handle the next time Alison and I, 'bumped into each other,' when my phone rang. It was Eric.

  ‘Gol’s just rung. He said a white van was hanging round the back of his house earlier on. Two guys in it. Looked liked they were scouting. He’s worried how they’ve got his address. When he’s not there, Margarita’s on her own.’

  ‘Is it there now?’

  ‘No. It took off before he got a good look at it.’

  ‘Okay. The others know?’

  ‘Yep. I told them to stay on their toes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I don’t like this Danny. If something’s going to happen I’d rather we be the ones who take the initiative. Know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. We’ll talk about it tonight.'

  ‘Okay. Keep your eyes peeled. If they’ve got Gol’s address they’ve probably got all of us.’ He rang off.

  The rest of the way home, my mind kept busy pondering on the fact they had our addresses. The only place we keep them is the office. We've always been pretty tight on not leaving personal details at places we work, for obvious reasons. After thinking through possibilities, I found myself going down a route I didn't much like. So much for having a run out to take my mind off things. I tried to break out of it by turning my mind to what that evening would bring. Then I remembered what night it was. Tuesday.

  At least it stopped me thinking about my next meeting with Alison the rest of the way home.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tuesday night

  In most clubs, Tuesday night is the week’s low point. Too close to the weekend just past, and too far from the one coming to entice the usual crowd out. Which is why clubs all over the country designate Tuesdays as ‘Students Night.’ By slashing the prices on drinks and entry, they aim to pull in those for whom normal clubbing is too expensive. Non-students aren’t barred of course, but to qualify for the discounts, punters have to show Student ID - though even that is optional in some places.

  When I first started in the door business – having never done college - I assumed student nights would be a doddle. My reasoning was that kids with limited funds and studying earnestly for degrees to please their paying parents wouldn’t be anything like as difficult to handle as the week enders. I was wrong. Students are worse. Much worse.

  First, you can forget the limited funds thing. There’s a lot gets written and said about levels of student debt. All I can say is, any breakdown of student spending must show up the fact that ‘social activities’ accounts for at least as much, if not more than, ‘education’ and ‘living expenses’. Besides, student loans apart, Mums particular
ly seem to have no limits when it comes to making sure their little Bradley or Alice has enough extra pocket money so they can feed themselves properly while they’re away from home, working hard and missing their parents. Yeah, right. It’s rare you see obese students these days. And if you do, take it from me, it’s more to do with alcohol than burgers.

  Secondly, most students are of an age where they are yet to fully understand the effects alcohol, not to mention other substances, has on their still-developing bodies. Which means the potential for over-indulging is far worse than other nights. I don’t know what Ambulance Service figures show, but I suspect that those who do the duty-rosters have to take account of the fact that on Tuesdays, the paramedics sometimes have to work long and hard just to talk some kid who doesn’t realise how badly he or she needs treatment to get into the ambulance. Unlike a Saturday-nighter who’s just been bottled, has blood streaming from a head wound, but isn’t so drunk they don’t have the sense to know they need a few stitches.