The Darkness Visible

by Tori de Clare

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Suspiciously, like I’m capable of harming you. You looked at me like that at the cottage every day and it killed me.’

  ‘I won’t do it again.’

  ‘Yes you will.’ They breathed against each other. ‘Every time the smallest doubt arises, you won’t be able to stop yourself.’ He paused and held her tight. ‘I love you Naomi, but this is goodbye.’

  ‘No.’ She clung to him. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I have to,’ he said, not moving. ‘What prospects do you have with a loser like me anyway?’

  ‘You’re not a loser, Dan. I have money. Let me help you.’

  ‘I can’t accept it, Naomi. I’m sorry, I want to return the money to you right away.’

  ‘You need it more than I do. Use it, Dan, please. It means nothing to me.’

  ‘No.’ He paused. ‘No. It’s time we sorted this thing once and for all.’ She held on to him. The warmth of his hands penetrated her top. He breathed against her neck. ‘Work hard at your music and don’t look back, OK? I just want you to be happy.’

  ‘Don’t go then,’ she began to sob.

  ‘I have to,’ he said. ‘If you get a chance at happiness with someone else, just seize it. Don’t even think of me. You owe me nothing.’

  ‘Don’t leave me.’

  He pulled back now and peeled himself away. His eyes were swollen with tears. His cheeks were wet. ‘Believe me when I say that it’s for the best.’

  Dan paced backwards to the end of the path. There were so many things she needed to say to him, so many feelings invading her body that defied expression in words. Supported by the doorframe, she could only watch as Dan turned around and disappeared quickly into the night without a backward glance.

  <><><>

  The morning after, Dan called. The sight of his name raised her head off the pillow, and raised her expectation and her pulse. But Dan wasn’t calling to reverse his decision or tell her he didn’t mean what he’d said. It was a clinical call to extract account numbers, sort codes and information. Her head hit the pillow again. Her expectation plummeted and her pulse about stopped. Then Dan told her to take good care of herself as he ended the call, and sounded like he really meant it. There was something final about his tone. Four days later, the money – all one point one million of it – landed in her account with a loud and sickly thud. Naomi felt no joy as she glared at the figure on the screen and wondered if it meant she’d never see Dan or hear his voice again.

  23

  ‘Think like Dan,’ Nathan whispered to himself. ‘What would be the one word I’d want to tap out every time I logged in to my account?’

  Nathan was on his final chance. One more incorrect guess and Dan would get a letter from the bank to say that he needed to reset his password. So Nathan had spent days trying to get inside Dan’s head, almost convinced that if he thought about it long enough, then the word would penetrate his consciousness. He could always get what he wanted, plus he deserved this money. It was, in every sense, his. He’d stayed away from Lorie just as Solomon had commanded, and he’d refused offers of hefty sums for his story. And all he asked was that one word might materialise through an inspired flash, the one word that lay between Nathan and his million. But the English language had a lot of words. It felt like starving and looking at a feast beyond a glass screen and being unable to reach a morsel of it. Nathan regularly salivated at the thought of one million pounds. Six noughts. He could almost taste the money.

  His concentrated effort had offered him a succession of possible words. He’d written them down. The list included football clubs, family members, favourite TV characters, a pet dog they’d once had called Alfie. Nathan found himself looking out of the window of his room at the sky. It was bruised with grey-blue clouds. The one name he’d never considered was Naomi, he realised now. Surely Dan wasn’t so stupid. It hardly felt like inspiration, but his agitation mounted as he considered it.

  Nathan put in the old username – danms, all smallcase, Dan’s first name with initials for his middle name and surname. What if, just what if he’d used Naomi’s name in exactly the same way – small case with her middle name and surname? Dan liked order and symmetry. What was her middle name again? Grace. He decided to give it a go, one last throw of the dice. Nothing to lose. He hit the keys and pressed return. The screen went blank for a moment and then Dan’s account loaded onto the screen.

  Nathan was in shock. His heart started banging. The feast was there. The screen had shattered without shards and he could help himself. He stood up. He was looking at a figure of 1,100,000. Ecstasy buoyed him up for less than two seconds before everything crashed and he dropped back in his seat. The money had left Dan’s account. The figure was under the heading money out.

  ‘No!’ he yelled, gripping his hair. Weeks of patient work had led to failure. He stood up and paced the floor and sunk his fist into the nearest wall. Two days too late! Nathan grabbed a jacket and thundered down the stairs and found his keys in the kitchen, then left the house and fired the engine of his car and set off for Bramhall.

  <><><>

  Henry picked up his new gym bag and trotted down the stairs for the third time that week. He was denying himself the pleasure of picturing Amber in her small lycra shorts and one of the brightly coloured vests she always wore, aptly marked on the front or back with a big tick. One top had the unhelpful invitation, Just Do It. He refused to imagine her shifting gracefully around the gym carrying her white water bottle with the black lid; didn’t quite want to confess that wherever she wandered, he was acutely aware of her. Her tops in bright green or orange or yellow were like her, impossible to ignore.

  So her name sat pleasantly in his mind in huge amber-coloured letters, while he otherwise refused the vision of her. Forbidden avenues of thought enticed him, and he peered down them with no real intent. Curiosity kept calling him though. Amber was just a friend. Not even that, a friend of a friend. She wasn’t in a relationship, she’d told him, and had no children. Exchanging a few words and being on the receiving end of one of those radiant smiles of hers had pulled him through some dark evenings over the last few weeks. So, what was the harm?

  It was Friday and was darkening already. The evenings were clinging to light for longer though, and the gardens were brightening. The forecast had predicted a warm spell for the weekend. It all contributed to the bounce in his stride as he hurried to the kitchen cupboard and prised a bottle of spring water from the clutches of a six pack bound in plastic. It was the only six pack Henry would ever own. When he closed the cupboard door, he noticed Camilla in the doorway.

  ‘You’re different,’ she commented.

  Finally, she’d noticed. Camilla was different too, now he stopped to look at her. Her clothes hung limply and her cheeks were a little sunken. Some flesh had fallen off her face. Her eyes were dull. There was another thing too. She’d started to play the piano. He’d hear it when he returned home, seeping gently from the walls of the house. She’d stop playing as soon as he shoved his key in the door. Camilla hadn’t played the piano since the twins were little. He started to walk towards her and smiled.

  ‘Thank you. I’ve lost half a stone.’

  ‘I’m not talking about your weight.’

  Camilla’s expression was serious and didn’t mirror his. Henry’s smile faltered; so did his step. ‘How am I different?’

  ‘You tell me, Henry. What’s changed?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He listened to himself. Nothing? The word was ludicrous. The family was in ruins, like a bombed building. ‘And – everything.’

  ‘Everything is more accurate. So why the gym? Why now?’ Even her voice was dull.

  ‘Why not now? You’ve pointed out unsubtly enough that I need to lose some weight. I’m at a loose end most of the time. You’re always too busy for me, so I got a hobby. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not it either. If you’d joined a gym to lose weight for my benefit
, it’d be a chore and you’d be miserable about it. And yet here you are practically dancing out of the house.’

  ‘Come with me,’ he said on impulse. He walked past her to find his keys because he didn’t want to face her. She read him too well. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, but still, discomfort prodded him into making a show of finding his keys and holding them up. ‘Come with me,’ he said again.

  Camilla narrowed her eyes and Henry’s gaze ducked to avoid them. He fiddled with his shoelace.

  ‘That’s a guilty comment if ever I heard one.’

  ‘Guilty?’ he said, glancing up. ‘If I had anything to hide, I wouldn’t be inviting you, would I?’

  ‘No, that’s exactly why you’d be inviting me. You’re banking on a refusal.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he laughed nervously. ‘You’re reading this all wrong.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes.’ Henry worked to align a steady gaze. ‘Would you like to come to the gym with me? I can sign you in on my pass. I’ll wait for you to get changed.’

  ‘This is a ridiculous conversation,’ she said. Henry thought he saw some moisture in her eyes. ‘I’ve never stepped foot in a gym in my entire life.’

  ‘Sure I can’t tempt you?’

  ‘How did this turn into a conversation about me? I’m asking about you, Henry, about what has changed.’

  Henry put his bag down instead of speaking. Words evaded him. ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on in my own family, Henry, but things are happening.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I don’t know that either, which is why it’s so distressing. Annabel is seeing some boy we don’t know –’

  ‘Let her bring him here then.’

  A long pause. ‘I really don’t feel up to entertaining. I’m not myself, Henry,’ she said, and her eyes filled. ‘I don’t know what’s happening with Naomi either. I’m barely in touch with her.’ She stopped to swallow and hang her head. ‘Everything is slipping like sand through my fingers. I can feel a storm coming and we’re not prepared. It’s like my strength has drained away. When you refused to return to South Africa, refused to listen to my concerns, something broke inside of me.’

  Henry had a role at last. He strode forward and tried a hand on her shoulder. ‘Camilla, what are husbands for, mm?’

  ‘I’m really not sure,’ she said, without a hint of sarcasm. But she didn’t squirm away from his hand.

  ‘I’m on top of things, Camilla. I talk to Naomi and Annabel. While you’re busy looking after the new house and the garden and sorting the old house, I do my little bit by making sure everyone’s OK. Have I ever let you down?’ Camilla looked at him through tired, moist eyes and couldn’t muster a response. ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to our family, OK?’

  Camilla nodded and seemed unable to speak.

  Henry took her in his arms and held her. She didn’t push him away.

  ‘Everything’s going to be just fine,’ Henry mumbled mindlessly, as he made an effort to hold an image of Amber at arm’s length. He glanced at his watch over her shoulder. Time was slipping. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’

  Camilla looked up at him.

  ‘What’s the rush?’

  Henry had no immediate answer. He took a while to arrive at, ‘If I go too late I don’t have the same energy for my workout.’

  He listened to himself and wasn’t convinced by his own words. Camilla wasn’t looking at him suspiciously though.

  She said, ‘Why waste energy at the gym when you could use it here?’ A tiny smile played on her lips. He hadn’t seen that look in a long time and was afraid to misread it.

  ‘Use it for what?’ he said, smiling back uncertainly.

  Camilla responded with a quick lift of her eyebrows. ‘Use your imagination, Henry.’ Her voice was tender. She almost looked mischievous.

  Henry’s smile faltered slightly. He didn’t want to use his imagination too much because he couldn’t trust it lately. Whenever he had a quiet or dull moment – and there were far too many of these – Amber and her smile crept into it, in lycra. Just do it. She was there now on the edge of his thoughts, drifting around as she did at the gym. Even as he looked at Camilla, he saw Amber’s smile and the way her glossy ponytail swished from side to side as she walked.

  ‘Well,’ Henry said, because he needed to say something, ‘hold that thought and I’ll do a really light workout and be back soon.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I’m going to surprise you with something special tonight.’

  Her eyebrows moved the other way now – towards her eyes. It was a slight movement. She looked at him carefully, with confusion, as Henry pulled away.

  ‘Don’t be long.’ Her tone was vulnerable, unsure. She didn’t sound like Camilla at all.

  ‘I won’t.’ Twinges of self-loathing jabbed at him as he scurried out of the house with a large and clumsy bag.

  <><><>

  It was seven-thirty. The sun was setting in Bramhall. Nathan guessed it was setting everywhere else over Europe too, but his only concern in the world right now, was here in this inconsequential place in North West England. The rest of the world didn’t exist, which was just as well. If he’d thought too long about who else existed in it and what they might do to him if they caught him here, he may have thought twice about the visit.

  Pushing all thoughts of Vincent Solomon and his band of un-merry men away, he pulled into a quiet lane almost dead opposite the cul-de-sac where the Hamiltons lived in the far left corner behind a tall brick wall topped with taller trees. Nathan cut the engine and sat in silence. No brilliant colours marked the sunset that night; it was simply darkening minute by minute.

  Easter wasn’t far away. There was a slim chance that Naomi would be home already. And if she was, she was going to get a visit. And during that visit, she was going to transfer some money right away – half to be precise. Or die. In return, she’d get her annulment. It all made sense. Win-win. As long as she didn’t behave like a spoilt child, the business could be wrapped up very quickly. No one need know she’d parted with any money. Unless she told Dan of course, and Dan told Solomon. Somehow, Nathan didn’t think that Naomi would want to admit to Dan that she’d parted with money to Nathan.

  Risky. Could be a problem, Nathan thought. But by the time Solomon sent The Muscles out on an errand of revenge, Nathan intended to be thousands of miles away. Maybe Florida wasn’t a bad idea. With half a million, who needed England? His phone buzzed a text. It was his mum wondering where he was and what the shouting had been about.

  Nathan replied, I’m fine, Mum. Stubbed my toe. Thought I’d see if Dan is in. I keep trying to talk to him. I want things to be better between us.

  She replied, You’re a good lad. Thank you. He’s been quiet lately and not responding to phone calls. I have everything crossed. Love you x

  Love you too xx

  That got rid of his mother and kept the fussy old cow happy. Nathan waited five more minutes until the sky was a fluid, deep blue, then he put on his gloves and got out of the car and straightened up and looked about him. He fastened his coat and pulled the hood over his head.

  He checked his watch. Seven forty-one. Nathan left the cover of the quiet lane and strolled into the open where he checked the road left and right, more for people than cars. The road was clear of cars and bodies. He crossed it with confidence and headed down the cul-de-sac. Everything was quiet. The moon was staging an ascent right ahead. Through the window of the house left of the Hamiltons’, an old, unsuspecting woman was chomping on a plate of something and watching TV in a well-lit room. To the right of the Hamiltons’, the windows were black. The grass was long; the house had an air of desertion. So no one had moved in yet.

  Nathan stole silently to the gate posts of number 4 and looked over his shoulder. All good. He slipped inside the front garden and disappeared amongst the trees behind the wall. He was looking for security lights, cameras, whatever
he needed to avoid. There was a black lamppost not far from the front door. It was short and ornate and lit the front path well. He couldn’t see anything else.

  Nathan stayed under cover and slipped between the tree trunks until he’d arrived at the wall which segregated the house from next door. Then he moved down the side of the house, the wall close to his right shoulder. He was unwilling to creep up to the house and look in the windows, but it had to be done.

  There was a light on at the back of the house. He was looking directly into the kitchen now. Camilla was at the sink. She stepped back and downed a glass of water then put the glass down and left the room, turning the light off as she went.

  Nathan moved to the back door and tried the handle. It gave way in his hand.

  ‘Bingo.’ This was too easy.

  Then a problem. A car was approaching. Nathan pulled away from the door and listened. The car was pulling onto the drive next door if he wasn’t mistaken. Not the old woman, but the dead house. A car door slammed. Nathan ran to the wall and into the shadows. Maybe if he could get a glimpse over the wall . . .

  Then footsteps; shoes on concrete. They seemed quite close. He heard a bell and saw the hall light go on in the Hamiltons’ house. He couldn’t understand what was happening.

  He strained to listen. He didn’t hear the door open or Camilla speak at all. But he heard this: ‘Evening, Mrs Hamilton.’ Then another sentence he didn’t hear, followed by, ‘May I come in?’

  At which point, Nathan scurried to the gate posts, hood up, head down, and beat a hasty retreat.

  24

  Henry was frustrated. It was the only word to use. He was frustrated with himself, with Camilla, with the weights he couldn’t lift and the miles he couldn’t run. He was frustrated with his shorts that had a scratchy seam, and his new Nike trainers which felt too stiff.

  His agitation wasn’t converting into action, but a hopeless form of listlessness. Amber wasn’t at the gym and he hated himself for feeling a debilitating sense of loss which robbed him of the energy he usually found in this place at the sight of a tick. He couldn’t settle to exercise. The gym was dull with its colourless equipment, grey floor, white walls, giant mirrors (he’d avoided his own gaze). Ten minutes on a treadmill and he had to admit that he was desperate to leave.