‘Like living in a furnace,’ he said, getting up from his desk and striding to the window of his bedroom and flinging it wide open. Cold air rushed in and was delicious for a while. He hated this time of year: the darkness from late afternoon, the grey and misty mornings.
He returned to his desk and stared at the screen. One word lay between him and a fortune. One word! That single word held the power to lift him from the current misery of sharing a house with his parents and throwing open the world’s doors.
One word! He knew Dan’s bank. Knew Dan’s user name – he’d seen him log on dozens of times. But the password was a mystery. He’d watched Dan tap out the password enough times, but he’d never tried to fathom what it was. He sat trying to recall the rhythm and the sound of Dan’s fingers on the keypad. His best guess was that there were seven letters. The last one always had a pause before it, as if Dan had to find the last one. Maybe that was a number. So, six letters and a number maybe. It hardly narrowed it down.
So far, his efforts had yielded nothing but a line of words in red: You have entered an incorrect user name or password. After the fifth attempt, there was a warning. It was this: one more failed attempt would result in a letter being issued by post to reset a new password.
‘Screw you,’ he muttered to the screen, and slammed his laptop shut.
There was always a risk that the bitch was bluffing and that Dan’s account was as empty as his own. But the likelihood was that she was telling the truth. When she’d shifted the money, she’d been with Dan in seclusion. Dan was who she trusted. Where else would she have put it but in Dan’s account? It was so obvious he shouldn’t have been surprised.
So was it still there?
Nathan believed it was. Dan was a hen sitting on a golden egg, waiting patiently for a break. And Nathan fully intended to creep in like a fox in the night and steal it away. He wouldn’t take his half, he’d take the lot and leave Dan to explain how the money had vanished.
Since the Hamiltons had bolted from their house and left no traces, Nathan had had no way of reaching Naomi. He’d punched the wall in his room several times because of that. He’d waited in the treehouse until half past midnight that night – the night he should have collected his half of the money. Driven by fury, he’d left the cover of the treehouse and crept to the house and circled the outside walls like a predator. There was one light on in the hall downstairs. In a desperate attempt to lure Naomi from the house, Nathan had hurled small stones at her window, and then at Annabel’s. It had taken a while to realise that the house was vacant, and then a fraction of a second to fly into a rage about it.
He’d found an axe in Camilla’s shed that night, and taken it to the treehouse and hacked at it from the inside until one side opened up and the moonlight shone through. When a light went on in the house over the wall, he’d crashed the axe into the door on the outside, and left it there. Then he’d slipped down the ladder and scarpered from the house. If Naomi ever ventured to the treehouse again, she’d know that he’d been back. And then she’d wonder if she could hide from him for ever. And she’d better hope she could.
Nathan cursed the chilled room and returned to the window to close it. As if being penniless wasn’t enough, his contact with Lorie had been severed too. She’d disconnected her phone and was never at her flat when he called round. He knew where he could find her, and knew with equal certainty that he daren’t go there. If only he could get his money, he could bargain for Lorie perhaps. If only he could uncover one single word, he could leave this speck of a country behind and maybe take Lorie with him.
If.
‘Think. Think,’ he urged. He had one more attempt at the password before the window of opportunity closed.
<><><>
Christmas.
It didn’t feel like Christmas. Mild air ushered the arctic bite into the Atlantic and dense cloud moved in and settled over north-west England, smothering it in drizzle. It was the type of rain that couldn’t be detected from indoors and that barely reached the ground, but that clung tenaciously to hair and clothes and skin, and coated all the trees.
Uncle Jed’s farmhouse stood abandoned in the Cheshire countryside once again. Camilla had found a new family home without consulting anyone, and moved into it in early December while the ground was buried in ice and snow. Annabel was glad to get out of the ‘haunted freezer’, as she called the farmhouse, and didn’t care where they went as long as it had a decent central heating system, some shops and preferably some people somewhere close. Annabel’s reports about the new house were encouraging. Naomi, relieved to have survived a term at college, was collected by Henry a fortnight after the move, to be taken ‘home’, though it hadn’t earned that title yet. How weird to be going home for Christmas without knowing where home was.
She knew the place in theory. Bramhall – seven miles or so from her real home in Alderley Edge. She’d had odd brushes with Bramhall in the past, but couldn’t imagine actually living there. Henry left the city behind and took unfamiliar roads that found a quieter England. Naomi looked out of the window without seeing anything while Henry forced a conversation.
They entered a suburban area and passed bespoke houses set back from the road. Naomi’s concentration sharpened again. They turned down a quiet lane. Naked trees lined up like soldiers on either side of the lane. A sleepy cul-de-sac fell away from the road at the top of the lane. Five houses branched off in a wide arc more like a small grove. Each were spread out and separated by walls and gates and fences. Henry headed for the left corner and slipped between a pair of tall, slim stone pillars that didn’t have any gates. An elegant house appeared, guarded by mature trees and tall foliage all the way round. It was much smaller than the other house. The garden was a fraction of the size.
Naomi slid out of the car and looked about her, disorientated. Home? Really? Henry pulled her stuff from the boot.
‘Alright, petal? Annabel’s picked your room, so blame her if you don’t like it,’ he smiled.
Annabel flew out of the front door all smiles and waving arms and pulled Naomi into a painful squeeze, while Camilla stood in the doorway, arms folded, attempting a smile. Annabel dragged her inside for a tour of the house and immediately it felt like home.
The house was completely organized and filled with familiar things. Camilla had emptied only half of the house in Alderley Edge. She’d brought what they needed and what would fit.
Annabel took Naomi upstairs where she found her own bed neatly made in a spacious bedroom at the back of the house. It looked out over square garden edged with trees, beyond which were bare fields stretching to a further border of trees in the distance. Two shire horses huddled together guzzling grass. Her clothes from home had been packed in two cases and left at the end of the bed. Everything else from her old room had been loaded into three boxes labelled Naomi, which were sitting beside the cases.
‘Don’t you like your room?’
‘It’s fine.’ Naomi dropped onto the bed. She turned to Annabel and managed a weak smile. ‘It’s really nice,’ she said. ‘You’ve given me the best room.’
‘You deserve it.’
‘I’m not even here most of the time.’
Annabel dumped down beside her and linked her arm. ‘But when you are here, I want you to be happy.’
Happiness. Nice word, meant nothing. Annabel was watching her carefully.
When Naomi didn’t respond, she added, ‘You’ve done really well, going back to college. You’ve done the right thing.’
Naomi shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ She didn’t want to talk about herself, didn’t want to stir emotions or disturb feelings. ‘So, how’s Joel?’ She even managed an upbeat tone.
‘Joel’s great.’ A broad smile lit Annabel’s face.
‘Are you really into him?’
‘He’s crazy.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’ But Annabel’s smile said everything.
‘Things are pretty depressing around here at the moment. Mum
’s quiet, for her. Dad tries to be cheerful, but it doesn’t seem real.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I sometimes wonder if they’re struggling as a couple.’
Naomi tried to take in this news. She realised she’d been no support to her mum. The lack of phone calls had been a relief.
Annabel said, ‘So Joel keeps me sane and makes me laugh. I’m going up to Newcastle on Boxing Day until New Year. Mum’s not happy about it, but I can’t give him our address, so . . . At least it’s meant that he hasn’t been round here for Mum to check him out. I know she’s dying to.’
Silence, while Naomi absorbed words and their meaning. ‘I’m sorry, Annie.’
‘For what?’
‘Our lives coming to this. Leaving Alderley Edge and living in hiding in a strange place.’
‘It isn’t your fault.’
‘Whose fault is it then? If I’d never met and married that lunatic –’
‘But you did.’
Not quite the answer she was expecting. ‘Like I said, I’m sorry.’ Said sincerely.
‘And like I said, it isn’t your fault. What is your fault is that you’re still allowing that loser to get to you every day. Every time I speak to you, or see you, I’m reminded of him because you haven’t let him go.’
Dan had said the same thing. She didn’t like hearing it any better this time around and barked defensively, ‘Of course I’ve let him go.’
‘Do you think about Nathan?’
Naomi pushed her fingers inside her hair and held her head. Did she think about Nathan? He never left her head. He followed her into sleep and was waiting for her in the morning. ‘You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘Because you’re not letting me in. Every time I ring and ask how you are, you say you’re fine. I know you’re not fine. You never mention Nathan or Lorie or the gang creep. You stopped talking about Dan just like that.’ Annabel clicked her fingers. ‘Don’t clam up and turn into Mum.’ Another pause. Annabel lowered her voice. ‘I saw you with Dan, Naomi. I know he was important to you, but you’ve dropped him like a brick and you’ve never been the same since.’
Naomi had to search for words. None were flowing naturally. She didn’t want to talk about Dan, didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want to face her feelings. ‘I can’t trust Dan, Annie,’ was all she was prepared to say.
Annie narrowed her eyes. ‘Since when?’
Naomi sighed. ‘It’s a long story. Very complex.’
‘What’s Dan done to you?’ Her voice rose again.
‘Nothing.’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing. What’s happened?’
‘Nothing’s happened. At least not with Dan.’
‘So Nathan then?’ Naomi dropped her head. Annabel twisted her body to face Naomi. ‘That vicious git, what has he done? I’m not moving from here until you tell me every last detail.’
‘I really can’t talk about it.’
‘You can and you will. Spill. Right now.’
‘I don’t want to, Annie.’
‘I don’t care, Naomi. You’re not carrying this alone. I won’t let you.’
‘It’s too painful.’
‘A problem shared.’
Naomi glanced up wearily at Annabel and knew she had no choice but to relive the bedroom, the knife, the treehouse, the threat.’
‘Fine, but you can’t tell anyone, OK?’
Annie nodded once. ‘Agreed.’
<><><>
Henry slid carefully into bed at twelve-fifty that night and knew that Camilla was awake. He sensed her consciousness. It was her breathing, her position in the bed. She was thinking. He could almost hear it. He wondered about telling her about the messages from Lorie. There’d been a few now. He’d barely responded and had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, he couldn’t quite convince himself that it was wise to open the discussion.
Then, ‘Why do you always come to bed so late?’ Camilla’s voice penetrated the darkness.
Henry rolled over to face her. Now his eyes had adjusted, he could see her outline in the darkness, one arm above her head. ‘I could come up with you more often, if you like,’ he said, testing one hand on her stomach. ‘I’d like that.’
She only responded by saying, ‘What I’m really asking is, what do you do until this time?’
‘Nothing much. I go on the internet, look at cars and things.’
‘Don’t you have enough cars?’
Henry chuckled. ‘I just like to look. I’m very attracted to cars.’
She didn’t respond. The silence crisped the air for a couple of minutes. Should he tell her about Lorie? Now was the time, the opportunity. Instead, he found himself saying, ‘I’m more attracted to you, of course.’
‘It’s good to know I have more sex appeal than a metal box,’ she said.
Henry stroked her stomach. She brushed his hand onto the bed.
Henry weighed his words carefully. ‘It’s been a long time, Camilla.’
‘I have a lot on my mind, Henry.’
‘There’s always an excuse.’ His voice was calm. She didn’t come back at him. She lay, stiff, still, silent. He tried again. ‘Men have . . . needs, you know. They’re perfectly natural.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ Another long pause. Henry had nothing to add. ‘Fine,’ she said eventually, ‘how about New Year’s Eve?’
‘New Year’s Eve,’ he repeated numbly.
‘Yes. I need to get Christmas out of the way. It’s a busy time, very draining.’
‘I’ll put it in my diary,’ Henry said, turning his back on her and plumping his feather pillow.
‘You don’t have a diary.’
‘Well I should definitely get one so we can pencil in next year, maybe Father’s Day, Bonfire Night. I think that’s plenty for twelve months.’
She breathed out a few noisy breaths then threw the covers back and grabbed her pillow. ‘Selfish, insensitive . . . brute,’ she hissed. She thundered out of the door and Henry heard the door open and close in the spare room.
There was no one to talk to but himself. ‘Well done, Henry,’ he muttered, closing his eyes, wondering how he’d ever rest now. ‘Very clever, that.’ Five minutes passed before sleep claimed him, and carried the guilt away.
<><><>
Naomi didn’t leave the new pad for five days. She slept and slept. There were no ghosts in the house to disturb her. No reminders of Lorie and no threat of Nathan suddenly materialising out of nothing. It was a peaceful little corner of the world. An elderly couple lived in the house to the left and there was no one at all in the house to the right. That garden was overgrown. If the house was for sale, there wasn’t a sign to say so. It all added to a feeling of seclusion which allowed her mind to lower its guard during unconsciousness and rest more during the day.
On Christmas Eve, she woke up at lunchtime and sat in the window of her room watching the horses in the field. She realised she hadn’t bought any gifts and couldn’t muster any concern about it. Nathan’s grip was loosening here. The relief had only allowed Dan in. She thought about him endlessly now. Annabel was partly responsible. She’d raised the subject of Dan again, and with it all of the feelings. She’d also questioned Naomi’s reaction to Dan, which had forced her to rethink.
You didn’t even allow him to explain? I think you owe him that much. And so the self-examination had begun, uncomfortable and unsettling. Had she done the right thing? Would Dan ever forgive her now? Could she ever trust herself to trust him? Had Dan met someone else? And on and on.
It was ten-thirty on Christmas Eve when she took her phone and dragged up Dan’s number and looked at it for a long time. She’d never used it. Texting him now would open a channel right to her. She tossed the idea around for an hour and wrote two messages and deleted them. It was surprisingly hard to sort a few words. The third attempt was more neutral. She read it five times and made a few adjustments. It allowed for Dan to gently let her down, to tell her he’d never looked back. It was guarded, but left an op
ening. It said: Sitting at home thinking of you. I hope you’re well. What are you doing for Christmas? Naomi. She pressed ‘send’, fingers a little shaky.
An immediate response. Naomi? So glad to hear from you. I was just thinking about you too, but that’s not unusual. I’m alone at the flat. Nathan is living with my parents, so no plans to see anyone tomorrow. It’s all a bit weird. Family is divided as you’d expect, but I’m OK. Really! x
Every word jabbed at some part of her. The kiss jerked tears. Dan, alone? She’d never considered what he’d lost. Not really. She broke down, just sobbed for fifteen minutes, muttering insults at herself. Then an energy rose in her that she hadn’t felt for months. It was almost midnight. Annie’s room was next door. She dressed, put on some makeup, tied up her hair. A border of light edged Annie’s bedroom door.
Naomi knocked twice then let herself in. Annabel was getting undressed.
‘Lend me your car, Annie,’ Naomi whispered.
Annabel pulled off her jeans. ‘It’s a bit late for Christmas shopping.’
‘Shh.’ Naomi’s finger rose to her lips. ‘Keep your voice down. I have to see Dan.’
‘Now?’
‘I’ve been a flipping idiot.’
‘Hallelujah.’
‘Where are your keys?’
‘Mum will flip.’
‘I think she’s in bed.’
Annabel was searching her bag by now. She pulled out a big set of keys.
‘Shh,’ Naomi said again.
‘Why don’t you buy yourself a car?’
‘Maybe I will. Look, if anyone asks, I’m getting some air. Dad knows I sometimes slip out just to be by myself. Don’t tell either of them where I am, OK?’
‘Are you coming back tonight?’
‘If I can find where we live, yeah. I only want to talk to him, Annie. Of course I’m coming back.’
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