In The Dark

by Vikki Patis

  The safe seems to grow heavier at her words. He shakes his head. ‘This is enough. We should go.’

  She raises an eyebrow at him. ‘It’ll never be enough.’ She places her foot on the bottom stair, her steps as light as a dancer, and Seb swears under his breath, putting the safe down on the floor and following her up, dread pooling in his stomach.

  The stairs open onto a landing with a light wooden floor and five doors leading off it, all closed except one, which reveals a bathroom with a roll-top bath and walk-in shower, moonlight shining through the distorted glass window. Jodie turns right, towards Sian’s bedroom, and Seb follows, his heart in his mouth. Her hand is on the door handle, pushing down, and then the door is open, and they are creeping up the five steps towards the room above.

  Seb looks around, his eyes adjusting to the dark. The windows are covered by heavy curtains, the darkness almost absolute as he tiptoes inside. Jodie flicks the torch back on and aims it low, looking around. A chair sits at an angle to a desk, clothes piled high on top of it. One wardrobe door is open, revealing shoes stacked up on top of one another, more clothes dangling from hangers. Jodie trains the light onto the bed, and at the same moment they realise it is empty, they hear a creak, and then a voice rings out behind them.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Jodie turns, almost knocking into Seb as she shines the light at the person’s face. Sian is standing in the doorway of an en suite, one hand thrown up to shield her eyes against the light.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sian demands, squinting at them. Jodie switches off the light and they are plunged into darkness. Seb runs towards the door, only realising Jodie isn’t with him when he hears a crash and turns back. Light is filtering through the window in the en suite, illuminating Jodie as she grabs Sian by the hair and drags her towards the dressing table.

  ‘Jewellery,’ she hisses, keeping Sian’s head turned away from them both. They have not covered their faces, and Seb knows Sian would recognise him in a heartbeat. ‘Money. All of it.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Sian says, her voice shaking as she opens a drawer. She brings out a small box which she opens to reveal a small stash of notes. ‘That’s all I have. Who has cash anymore?’

  Jodie tugs on her hair and she lets out a squeal. ‘Shut up. Where’s your phone?’

  Sian lifts a hand and points towards the bedside table. ‘On charge.’ She cries out as Jodie pulls her across the room by her hair, forcing her to unplug the phone. Jodie snatches it from her and puts it in her pocket with the money and jewellery. Seb can do nothing but watch as Sian opens every drawer, showing what is inside. Jodie finds a tablet and pockets it too.

  ‘Please,’ Sian says, her voice clogged with tears. ‘Please, that’s all I have.’

  ‘All you have,’ Jodie sneers. ‘This tablet would pay for a week’s shopping. Maybe two. You’re a spoilt little bitch.’ She pulls Sian’s head back and lowers her mouth to her ears. ‘Don’t make a fucking sound, or I’ll come back and cut your throat, got it?’ Seb doesn’t hear a reply, but Jodie throws Sian to the floor and runs, Seb on her heels as they fly down the stairs. He lifts the safe, carrying it back through the house towards the back door. He topples a stool as he runs into it, no longer caring how much noise he makes, and then they are out, into the cool night air, the moon their only observer as they disappear into the night.

  42

  Izzy

  She can hear her dad on the phone, his hushed words still loud enough to hear from her place on the stairs.

  ‘What do you mean, she’s dropped it?’ A pause, then: ‘That’s outrageous! I can’t believe they would do that.’

  She knows the conversation is about her, and she knows it is with her mother. She can almost hear Caitlyn’s words, the way her voice gets higher when she is frustrated. But Izzy has done what she needed to do. She is choosing her own path.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Anthony says now. ‘I’ll speak to her, see if I can talk some sense into her.’

  At this, Izzy rises, padding back upstairs to her room and slipping into her shoes. She grabs her jacket and bag from the hook behind the door and, pocketing her phone, creeps down the stairs and out the front door. She types a message as she walks – gone to Katie’s, back by nine xx – and sends it to her dad, knowing that he will be annoyed, not caring. She’d thought he would be different, someone who treated her less like a child and more like the young adult she is becoming. She will be sixteen soon; she is no longer a child, and she refuses to be dictated to by anyone. She has had enough of it.

  Katie is waiting at the entrance to the park, holding two bottles of Coke Izzy knows will have been topped up with vodka. It is Friday evening, and Izzy wonders why it has taken her mother so long to call Anthony about her decision. Perhaps she only just found out. Perhaps she had been building herself up to talk to him. Memories have been coming back since she moved to Plymouth, memories she had buried deep down inside her. The torn-up photographs Alicia found in the bin, Anthony’s face scratched out. The shirt Izzy took to wearing to bed, which Caitlyn ripped from her one day and threw into a fire in the back garden, the flames crackling as she drank her way through a bottle of gin. Mother’s ruin.

  When Izzy opens her bottle of Coke, the smell of vodka instantly transports her back to those days when she lost her mother. When Caitlyn would stay in bed, a mute, misshapen lump beneath the duvet. When Alicia would make their breakfast; sugary cereal every morning, and burnt toast and crisps for dinner, and they would walk to school together, hand in hand. Nobody asked where Caitlyn was. Nobody cared.

  ‘So,’ Katie says, snapping Izzy back to the present. ‘What’s up? Parental issues?’

  Izzy smiles, despite herself. ‘You could say that.’ She doesn’t elaborate. How can she tell her new friend about what happened back in Hertford? The police, the whispers, the photo. The shame. She cannot bear to speak of it. ‘Nothing serious. Just dads, you know?’ A month ago, Izzy would never have uttered these words. A month ago, she would never have been able to commiserate with someone who was complaining about their father. Before Anthony showed up at the house, Izzy couldn’t remember ever having a father.

  ‘Ugh,’ Katie says, taking a swig of her drink. ‘I know. Mine is on my case about my exams all the bloody time. I keep telling him I’m not going to university, but he won’t have it.’ She flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘And my hair! What have I got to do to get it like yours?’ She pouts, holding up a strand.

  ‘No two curls are the same,’ Izzy says. ‘You have lovely hair, like beachy waves. Fashionable.’

  ‘In 2004, maybe.’ Katie laughs. ‘I’m going to have to dig the straighteners out soon, it’s unbearable.’

  Izzy smiles. Katie’s hair looks fine, but if Izzy had worn her hair like that at her old school, she would have been teased mercilessly. Some people can just pull anything off, and Katie is one of them. ‘Keep going,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you stay over tomorrow night? We can do hair masks.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Katie says. ‘I love a good pamper session. Count me in. Won’t your dad mind?’

  Izzy shakes her head. ‘He’s cool.’ When he isn’t trying to run my life, she adds silently in her head.

  ‘We need to discuss your birthday,’ Katie says in a sing-song voice. ‘When are you going back to your mum’s?’

  ‘Two weeks,’ Izzy says, trying to ignore the anxiety at the thought of going back. She will have been away for a month by then. She can’t believe how quickly the time has gone.

  ‘Okay, so next weekend, I am throwing you a party!’ Katie says, clapping her hands together. ‘No arguments!’

  Izzy’s eyes widen. ‘But–’

  ‘What did I just say?’ Katie laughs. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’

  The words echo around her head, reminding her of the last time someone said them to her. It’ll be fun. But Katie is not Seb, and so far, nobody has shown themselves to be like Abby or Jess or Sian. This is not her old life, and she is not the same old Izzy. />
  ‘All right,’ she says eventually, a grin stretching across her face. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Katie punches the air. ‘Yes! I’ve got it all planned out. It’ll be amazing!’ Izzy lets herself get caught up in the excitement, thinking of her previous birthdays: the quiet dinners, the awkward silences as she unwrapped her presents, pretending to care about any of it. This time it will be different, she tells herself. A fresh start.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Katie stage whispers, lifting a hand and pointing towards the entrance to the park. ‘Isn’t that Leah?’

  Izzy follows her gaze to see Leah walking through the gate, headphones covering her ears, her phone in her hand.

  ‘Should we invite her?’ The words are out before Izzy can stop them. Katie looks at her aghast. ‘To the party,’ Izzy adds quickly, ‘it might be nice? I don’t think she has many friends.’

  ‘Listen,’ Katie says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ‘I’ve known Leah since we were like six. Our mums used to be friends, before mine buggered off. Leah is… troubled.’ She taps a finger against her temple. ‘Her dad was banged up in an asylum for years. Paranoid schizophrenia or something. He would shout at the air, and hide in cupboards.’ She shakes her head. ‘Mental.’

  Izzy feels a pang in her stomach. ‘That sounds awful.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Katie says, leaning back on her elbows. ‘But it’s hereditary. Who knows what else runs in that family?’

  Later, Izzy is cleaning her face when she hears a gentle tap on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she calls, stepping out of the bathroom, her face coated in cleansing oil. Miranda pushes the door open and smiles at her. ‘Oh, hang on,’ Izzy says, ‘let me just finish up.’ She rubs the rest of the make-up off with a muslin cloth and quickly cleans her skin with the bar of charcoal soap before drying her face and switching off the light. ‘Sorry. What’s up?’ She pads over to her dressing table and squirts some toner onto a cotton pad.

  Miranda perches on the end of Izzy’s bed, hands in her lap. ‘Your dad spoke to your mum today,’ she begins.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Izzy says, swiping the pad across her nose and forehead. ‘She told him about me dropping the investigation. I gather from her messages that she’s not impressed.’

  Miranda makes a face. ‘We just wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing. That you’re happy.’

  Izzy throws the pad into the bin and untwists the jar of night cream. ‘I do. I am.’

  ‘When you go back up to your mum’s, we wondered… Well, would you like one of us to drive you? I could stay in a hotel for the weekend, I’ve been meaning to go up to London for a while.’

  Izzy turns to face her, considering her words. She’s been dreading what it will be like to go home, to sit on a train for hours worrying incessantly about what she will find when she gets back there. Will her mum have planned anything for her birthday, knowing that Izzy will be back in Plymouth on the actual day? She feels something loosen inside her at the thought of travelling with Miranda, of having her nearby in case of emergency.

  It’s only two days, she tells herself. You can cope on your own.

  ‘Actually,’ she says aloud, ‘that would be nice.’

  43

  Caitlyn

  I find Anthony’s outrage at Izzy’s foolish decision to drop the police investigation rather soothing. It is comforting, knowing that someone is on my side. I tell him what PC Willis told me, reiterating that I think Izzy has been pressured into not taking it any further, perhaps by the people who have been bullying her. Perhaps by Seb.

  ‘I’ll speak to her, see if I can talk some sense into her.’ And so I leave it in his hands, surprisingly grateful to be sharing the parenting, sharing the burden of how to steer my daughter in the right direction. I think of the girls involved last time, when the bullying got too much for Izzy to take, and feel certain that it’s the same people now. Did she ever tell me their names? I try to think back to last year, before everything started going downhill. Who did Izzy spend most of her time with? I sigh. What kind of mother am I, to not even know the names of my daughter’s friends?

  Michael gets home at nine o’clock that evening. He looks tired, his eyes bloodshot. I wasn’t expecting him back until tomorrow.

  ‘I haven’t slept yet,’ he says, dropping his case in the hallway and going into the kitchen. ‘Is there any juice?’

  ‘In the fridge.’ I follow him in, sit at one of the stools. ‘You haven’t slept at all?’

  He shakes his head as he pours two glasses of juice. ‘Barely. Things were so full-on, time got away from us. And then when I did get to bed last night, there was some kind of awards ceremony in the hotel. Directly beneath my room.’

  I make a face. ‘In the middle of the night?’

  ‘It lasted until three o’clock.’ He rubs his hands over his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few days; his fingers rasp against the stubble. ‘There’s another event on tonight, so I thought I’d just get on the road and get home.’

  ‘Go up to bed now,’ I say, reaching out and rubbing his arm. ‘You’ve been working away a lot recently. Maybe you need a break.’

  He smiles blearily at me. ‘Actually, I was going to talk to you about that. What do you think about going away for the weekend? Just the two of us.’

  ‘You want to go away again?’ I laugh. ‘I meant you should spend some time at home.’

  ‘Going away with you would be different,’ he says, putting an arm around me. ‘What do you say? We could leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Where would we go?’ I ask. I feel a bubble of excitement; it’s been a long time since we took a spontaneous trip away. I’d thought things would get easier when the girls got older, but since Alicia left for university, things with Izzy have only become harder. She has been taking up so much more of my energy, my time, than I’d expected. Does that also make me a bad mother?

  ‘Anywhere you like,’ Michael says, bringing me out of my cyclical thoughts. He kisses my hair. ‘Within a few hours’ drive. Not Cornwall or Scotland.’ He makes a face.

  ‘Beach or city?’

  ‘Either. Anything that isn’t a soulless hotel room in the middle of an industrial park.’ Michael gets up, filling a glass of water at the sink. ‘I’m going to get an early night. Book whatever you want.’ He kisses me again before he goes, and I suddenly know just what to do.

  ‘I’m driving,’ I say the next morning as Michael loads our bags into the boot. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  He chuckles. ‘All right. Lead on, Macduff.’ I fiddle around with the satnav, turning it towards me while I key in the postcode. ‘Only an hour and a half?’ he says when I click it back into place.

  ‘Don’t you start guessing,’ I say, pointing a finger at him. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’

  ‘All right,’ he says again, holding his hands up. ‘I’ll sit back and enjoy the ride.’

  There’s some traffic on the M25, but we arrive in Oxford by eleven o’clock. The hotel I’ve chosen is the one Michael and I stayed in for our first trip away, the first time I’d left the girls overnight. It sits proudly on the River Thames, and our room features dark wooden beams, exposed brickwork, and wallpaper that looks like rows of books.

  ‘Ah,’ Michael says as we enter the room. ‘This is more like it.’ He wanders over to the window, staring out over the water which is gently lapping against the bridge beyond. He looks relaxed, refreshed from his long sleep, and his muscles melt beneath my fingers as I begin to knead his shoulders. He turns and wraps his arms around me. ‘Maybe we should try out the bed,’ he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that I haven’t seen in a long time.

  We decide to visit the castle first, walking hand in hand as we follow the tour guide through to the old prison, lost in the history of the place. We buy a sandwich from the Castleyard café and share a pot of tea, and I realise just how long it’s been since we spent time together like this, just the two of us. I’ve been so wrapped up in Izzy lately, I’ve forgotten to make
time for my relationship with Michael.

  Guilt floods me at the thought. My daughter needs me, what kind of mother am I to begrudge her my time and love? But I am not just a mother or a partner. I am Caitlyn, and I haven’t just been neglecting my relationship, but myself too. I need to remember to take care of myself as well as taking care of others. I need to stop spreading myself so thin.

  ‘This is just what we needed,’ I say as we wander down the cobblestone streets. ‘Some time away.’ Michael squeezes my hand, and I smile up at him, feeling as if we are in the first flush of love again. Whatever has happened in the past, I can feel that this is the start of things getting better.

  44

  Seb

  He is drifting.

  Seb is lying on his bed, one hand pressed over his still-racing heart. He cannot forget the look in Jenny’s eyes when Jodie handed over an envelope of cash, the way her shoulders sagged in what looked like pure relief. Sian will have insurance for the items they took, and she isn’t going to miss the one hundred and thirty-five pounds she handed over. And yet, he cannot forget what he has done, cannot put out of his mind the image of Jodie dragging Sian across the room by her hair. He has been ignoring Jodie’s messages since, hiding in his room away from everyone and everything. He feels as if he is being pulled in two directions, drifting along on a current he cannot control.

  He picks up his phone and opens the app to send his dad a voice note. He wants to see him with a sudden ferocity that surprises him. He has few memories of his childhood, and even fewer of Brad that are not tinged with a hesitancy, as if he is not sure of the man he is remembering. He does not remember the night that ended it all, though he has heard his nan talking about it with Evelyn before. He listened to their hushed voices from his place on the stairs, the words painting a picture in his mind. But the only thing he remembers is the darkness of the wardrobe he crawled into, dresses and coats and trousers closing around him like a cloak, keeping him safe when the shouting started. He does not remember Liv finding him curled up against his mother, his head tucked beneath her chin, her eyes open and unseeing.