Dark Room

by Tom Becker

  Darla wriggled out of Tall Pines through the basement window, her mom’s photograph clutched in her hot palm. As she stumbled through the grass in search of the gap in the railings, she could hear Frank and Sasha’s voices still echoing inside the mansion. Darla didn’t care. Sasha might have pretended to be different, but deep down she was just like everyone else in Saffron Hills – spoiled, selfish and cruel.

  When she came to the rusted railings Darla squeezed through the gap, brushing the fern out of the way on the other side. She ran into the woods, no idea where she was going or in which direction lay the way out. Stumbling over a tree root, Darla fell to the ground, banging her elbow on a rock. There were tears in her eyes and she was gasping for breath. She pushed herself into a sitting position and stared at the photograph, still unable to believe that Sidney had once stood outside the Country Club, not ten minutes’ walk from where Darla was now. The thought made Darla’s heart ache.

  Troubling questions ran through her mind, one after the other. Why did Walter West have a photograph of her mom in his basement? Had she known the Angel Taker – had they been friends? Whatever had happened to her mom in Saffron Hills, could it explain why she had chosen to kill herself rather than live on with her family? Beneath the pain, Darla felt anger bubbling inside of her. Not just with Sasha and Frank, but Hopper too. No wonder he had acted strangely back in the diner, when he had first discovered that they were in Saffron Hills. He knew Sidney had been here. Darla could have screamed with frustration. Why hadn’t Hopper told her? Couldn’t he be honest about anything?

  Darla walked for hours in maddening circles through the woods, lost among the pines and the turmoil of her own thoughts. She was so mad she almost didn’t care whether she found her way out or not. When Darla finally did emerge from the trees back on to the strip, the horizon was beginning to darken. She had spent the whole afternoon stumbling around the woods. Her feet were aching in her flip-flops and her arms were blotchy from the poisonous kiss of stinging nettles, and it was a relief when the turning for the creek road came into view and she could see their house halfway down the lane.

  Hopper darted out of the kitchen as Darla pushed through the front door. He had shaved and slicked his hair into style, looking sharp in a freshly ironed shirt and jeans. The house was filled with the warm aroma of pasta bake. Of course – Annie was coming round for dinner. Darla had completely forgotten.

  “What time d’you call this?” said Hopper. “I asked you not to be late.”

  “I got lost,” Darla said abruptly. She wasn’t in the mood for being shouted at. Not today.

  “Lost? What kind of sorry-assed excuse is that? Look at the state of you! Where was the funeral, Darla, down a mine?”

  “No.”

  “So where’ve you been?”

  “Nowhere.”

  Hopper pointed at her. “We’re going to have a little talk about this later, missy, but there ain’t time now. Go on and get showered and changed.”

  Too late: the doorbell rang. Hopper hurried over to answer it, ushering Annie into the house. She was wearing a loose-flowing gypsy skirt and a blouse overlaid with strings of beads.

  “How are y’all doing?” said Annie, smiling brightly at Darla. She handed Hopper a white oven dish. “I brought pie. I was going to pretend I baked it myself, but it’s from the shop. Don’t tell anyone,” she confided in a whisper, “but I’m a terrible cook.”

  “You’ll be right at home here, then,” Hopper said. “I’ve been sweating away in the kitchen like a man on death row, but God only knows what’s coming out of that oven.”

  Annie laughed. “I’m sure it will be delicious,” she said.

  “Come on through,” Hopper told Annie. “Darla, honey, at least brush the cobwebs out of your hair before you come to the table.”

  Darla went into the bathroom and washed her face and hands, muttering under her breath. It wasn’t fair that Hopper was making jokes about her; it wasn’t fair that Annie had dressed up prettily and was being nice to him. He was a liar and a drunk. Darla tossed her hairbrush to one side, deciding that the cobwebs could stay where they were. She came into the kitchen to find that Hopper had put a cloth over the table and lit candles. It looked like a photograph of someone else’s life – a warmer, happier household.

  Hopper was rummaging through the fridge. “I’ve got water and I’ve got soda,” he called out to Annie. “Which would you prefer? I’m afraid we haven’t got anything stronger.”

  “Makes a change,” Darla snorted.

  Hopper gave her a sidelong glance, but said nothing.

  “Water would be fine, thank you,” said Annie.

  Darla sat down at the table and folded her arms. The kitchen fell into an awkward silence as Hopper poured water for everyone and dished out the pasta bake. The pasta was burnt around the edges and there was too much chilli but Annie insisted it was lovely. Darla pushed the food around her plate with her fork. She wasn’t hungry at all.

  “So, Annie…” Hopper said. “Darla tells me you’re an artist. Ain’t never met an artist before.” He grinned. “Coupla con artists, maybe, but I wouldn’t trust them with no paintbrush.”

  “Y’all should come visit my gallery in town,” Annie told him. “It’s only small but we’ve got some interesting pieces.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about art,” said Hopper.

  “You don’t have to, I promise!” she laughed. “All you have to do is look and ask yourself how the pieces make you feel – there’s no right or wrong answer.”

  “Well, OK then,” said Hopper. “Maybe I’ll come down on my lunch break. I work over at the music store.”

  “Great!” Annie said brightly. “How’s business?”

  “Pretty slow today, pretty sombre. Ain’t many people wanting to buy guitars when they’re putting a young girl in the ground.”

  “Of course,” said Annie. “I was at Natalie’s funeral today with the rest of the school. I looked out for you, Darla, but I didn’t see you.” She reached out and patted her hand. “I know it was you who found her body, honey. That must have been so awful.”

  Darla shrugged.

  “Like something outta a nightmare,” Hopper said gravely. “I’m just grateful my girl was OK.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, please!” snapped Darla.

  Hopper and Annie stared at her, startled.

  “I mean it, Hopper,” she said, her voice rising. “Quit the act. Stop pretending to be Mr Perfect Dad. Who are you pretending for? Me? I know the truth. Annie? She’s not some bimbo you picked up in a bar.”

  “That’s enough, Darla!” shouted Hopper.

  “Maybe I should go,” Annie said delicately, folding up her napkin. “It’s getting late.”

  Hopper hurriedly rose as she got up from the table. Darla stared moodily down at her plate, listening to their low tones in the hallway.

  “I’m real sorry about this, Annie,” she heard Hopper say. “Seems like every time we try to act like normal neighbours we make a god-awful mess of it.”

  Annie laughed. “It’s all right, really. I had a lovely time.”

  “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

  “I did! Maybe next time you’ll both come to my house so I can return the favour.”

  “I’d like that, Annie,” said Hopper. “And I know Darla would too – as soon as she stops being, you know, a teenage girl.”

  “I was once a teenage girl, too; I remember what that feels like,” Annie told him. “Darla’s had a terrible shock. Give her time – she’ll be OK.”

  Darla heard the screen door close and then Hopper came back into the kitchen. He put his hands on his hips.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

  “How about you tell me what’s going on?” Darla shouted back. She took the folded photograph of her mom from her pocket and thrust it into Hopper’s hands. He stared down at it, his eyes widening in amazement.

  “Where in hell did you get t
his?”

  “What does it matter?” Darla shot back. “You knew Mom used to live here, didn’t you? That’s why you tried to shut Luis up when we went to see him. Why didn’t you tell me? Why, Daddy?”

  “Why?” Hopper’s voice was rising. “Because I’m your father and you’re my daughter, and I’ll tell you what I goddamn please!” he yelled.

  Darla made a noise of disgust and stormed up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She threw herself down on her bed, punching her pillow in frustration. The house fell silent. Eventually there came a soft knock at Darla’s door.

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  Hopper came in anyway, carefully placing Sidney’s photograph on Darla’s bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of her bed. He rubbed his face wearily.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you,” he said finally. “You prob’ly won’t believe that, but it’s the truth. I knew you’d be upset and I knew you’d have questions and I wasn’t sure I had any answers for you. That night when we left the trailer park, I was concentrating so hard on losing Marvin that I didn’t even realize we were heading to Saffron Hills. I woulda turned back right there at the diner, but then I saw the picture of Luis in the paper and I figured that maybe we had a shot at a way out of this mess.”

  “So you lied to me.”

  “It weren’t lying, Darla, not exactly. OK, so I didn’t meet Sidney in Charleston. I was playing with a band at the arts centre here when I saw her. She wanted so badly outta this town it wasn’t funny. We left together that night, and she didn’t ever talk about Saffron Hills again. I didn’t know who her family or her friends were, where she lived, where she hung out. Any time I tried to ask she’d change the subject. She was runnin’ away from something, all right.” Hopper scratched his cheek ruefully. “Had to be, to take up with a loser like me.”

  “You’re not a loser,” Darla said quietly.

  “Yes, darlin’, I am. Have been for as long as I can remember.” Hopper glanced at Sidney’s photograph on the bedside table. “I’d say it was losing your mom that did it, but I’m not sure that’d be true. But this time I’m serious about changing, I swear. I’m gonna kick the drinking and work hard at the music store, and maybe we can start to put the pieces back together. Kinda fitting if we could do that here. What do you say?”

  Darla nodded.

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you about your mom,” said Hopper.

  “Sorry for ruining dinner,” said Darla. “Annie’s really nice.”

  “She’s one classy lady – too classy for the likes of us.” Hopper grinned. “She did leave us pie, though. You want to come through and have a slice? You barely touched your dinner.”

  Darla smiled. “OK.”

  She got up from her bed and followed Hopper back into the kitchen.

  Chapter Twelve

  Darla stayed in the house all weekend, watching TV as Hopper wrestled a rusty lawnmower around the backyard. Part of her wondered whether Sasha or Frank might drive down to see if she was OK, but there was no sign of their truck on the lane outside. Maybe they were too embarrassed – or maybe they hadn’t really cared about her in the first place. Darla knew Sasha wasn’t the only person who had behaved badly on Friday: she slipped a note underneath Annie’s door apologizing for her behaviour over dinner, and immediately felt better about the world. By the time Hopper had finished with the mower the yard looked as good as new, and he celebrated with a lemonade rather than a beer afterwards. He was trying to be better, Darla thought, with an unexpected flicker of pride.

  The thought of Monday morning cast an unwanted shadow over the weekend. Darla was dreading school more than ever. At least Sasha and Frank had helped to protect her from the Picture Perfects. Now it looked as though she was on her own again. Darla sat quietly in the passenger seat of the Buick as Hopper drove her to school, barely listening to his breezy chatter. She got out of the car and murmured goodbye, trudging up the school steps like a condemned prisoner.

  As Darla headed through the crowded lockers to her homeroom, a voice called out behind her.

  “Darla, wait up!”

  It was Sasha. Darla kept walking.

  “Hey, I said wait up!”

  A hand grabbed her arm, forcing Darla to turn around. Sasha was dressed for war, in a combat fatigues shirt, black leggings and a pair of heavy army-issue boots – setting off her outfit with shocking pink lipstick. Over her shoulder she was carrying a knapsack covered in bright badges with band names on them.

  “Please don’t make me run any more than I have to,” she pleaded, out-of-breath. “Not in these boots.”

  “Can I help you with something?” Darla said flatly.

  Sasha sighed. “Look, back at Tall Pines,” she said, awkwardly fingering the strap on her knapsack. “Frank tells me there was a tiny chance I was being a bitch to you.”

  “Frank was right.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes my mouth just opens and all these things come out without me even realizing it. Kind of like I’m … I don’t know… sleeptalking.”

  “I know Hopper’s not perfect,” Darla told her. “But if you just gave him a chance, maybe you’d see he was OK.”

  “I’ll do that. Hey, the guy works in a music store – he can’t be all bad, right? Friends again?”

  Darla nodded. Life in Saffron Hills was hard enough without losing the only friends she had made.

  “Excellent!” Sasha linked her arm through Darla’s and marched her along the corridor. “And it just so happens I’ve got the perfect way we can celebrate. You know Ryan, Natalie’s douche of a boyfriend? He’s throwing a party tonight. OK, he’s calling it a wake, but everyone else is calling it a party. We should go.”

  “Why?” said Darla. “I thought you didn’t like Ryan.”

  “I don’t. Hence why I call him a douche. But a party is a party, Darla, and I figure it’s about time you actually had some fun in Saffron Hills. So what do you say?”

  “I don’t know,” Darla said dubiously. “Is Frank going?”

  Sasha gave her a level stare. “That’s your answer? OK, I promise to bring Frank along.”

  “Wait. Don’t Natalie’s friends all hate me because they think I spread gossip about her?”

  Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll look after you. Tell your dad I’ve invited you to stay at my house afterwards. We’ll pick you up, go to the party and then you can sleep over at mine. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Lots of things, Darla retorted in her head. But she nodded. The bell echoed around the hall.

  “Gotta rush,” Sasha told her, untangling her arm. “Later, Darla.”

  Darla watched her friend stride away in her heavy boots. Sasha looked utterly fearless, ready to fight the world if need be.

  To her surprise Darla did feel better for making up with Sasha, and her day at school didn’t turn out to be as awful as she had feared. The students of the West Academy were still shaken by Natalie’s death, but the poisonous atmosphere that had hung over the classrooms the previous week had lifted. Darla couldn’t say that she was exactly looking forwards to Ryan’s party, but maybe Sasha was right. If she and Hopper were going to stay in Saffron Hills, she should at least try to enjoy herself.

  She wasn’t sure what Hopper was going to say about her going to the ‘wake’ that evening, but if anything he seemed pleased that she had been invited.

  “Sure you can go!” he said easily. “Just don’t stay up too late. Remember it’s a school night.”

  Darla nodded, trying not to think about all the years that Hopper had rolled back to their trailer in the middle of the night, dead drunk. What was the point in bringing it up now?

  Frank and Sasha came by around eight to collect her, driving up into the hills. As the pick-up pulled up beside the gated entrance to Ryan’s house, Darla noticed a red truck parked on the other side of the road, a cigarette end glowing inside the dark vehicle. Before D
arla could say anything the truck’s headlights flicked on, bathing them all in white light, and the vehicle roared away down the hill.

  “Looks like someone didn’t get their invite,” said Frank.

  Darla didn’t laugh. All she could think about was the last time she and Frank had encountered a set of blinding headlights up in the hills. The roaring engine, an open gate; Natalie’s dead body encased in broken glass.

  She shook her head. It was just a truck – no point in getting paranoid. Sasha leaned over Frank and out of the window, pressing the intercom by the gates. A voice crackled out of the speaker.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Sasha,” she said, deadpan. “Open up or I’ll kill you.”

  The gate swung open with a loud buzz. Frank parked the battered pick-up in the shadow of Ryan’s huge three-storey house, beside a couple of open-top sports cars and an SUV.

  “No valet parking?” he said, with feigned astonishment. “Standards are slipping round here.”

  “I’ll tell Ryan’s butler,” Sasha replied.

  The windows were dark inside Ryan’s house, but as she climbed out of the truck Darla could hear music thudding out from the back. Sasha led them through an archway and down a narrow paved path along the side of the house. Lights glowed in the distance; shouts and laughter grew louder.

  “I still don’t know what I’m doing here,” Darla whispered to Frank.

  “Welcome to my world,” Frank replied. “Sasha has a habit of making people do things they don’t want to. You’ll get used to it.”

  They came out on a wide terrace illuminated with strings of Chinese lanterns. About twenty people had gathered around the outdoor pool, splashing and whooping in the warm night air. The guys were bare-chested, wearing only board shorts, while the girls were dressed in bikini tops and cut-offs. Everywhere Darla looked, she saw long legs and flat stomachs. A sound system was pumping hip-hop beats through the open patio doors and out over the terrace. Immediately Sasha elbowed her way to the punch bowl, and returned carrying three plastic cups. She gave one to Frank and offered Darla another.