The Darkness Visible

by Tori de Clare

  Naomi swallowed a sickly feeling, but there was a stronger feeling building. ‘He promised I’d never have to look over my shoulder for him,’ she said, anger rather than fear causing her voice to shake.

  ‘Who did?’

  Naomi didn’t answer. She wiped the last of her tears away with her fingers. Her mind had latched firmly onto Vincent Solomon. She knew where he lived too.

  26

  ‘Camilla, I’ve been thinking about what you said and a move back to South Africa isn’t such a terrible idea. I’ve decided there’s nothing for me here.’

  ‘Nothing for you?’ Camilla stabbed her spade into the stubborn soil and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. It wasn’t warm, but the midday glare was blinding. ‘Since when is a move all about you?’

  Henry snatched a glance over his shoulder at the upstairs windows of the house next door. Her red car had sloped off a couple of hours before, but it was Saturday and he was worried about a return and being seen. He felt too exposed out here.

  ‘Of course it isn’t all about me, I’m thinking of the family.’

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘I’m not whispering.’

  ‘Yes you are.’ She frowned. ‘Look, the thing is, wanting to return to South Africa was a kneejerk response to being hounded by those blessed journalists. I’m feeling much more settled here now, Henry. I like the new house. The girls are tangled with commitments. They won’t want to leave.’

  Henry’s stomach churned with panic and dread. ‘But you said you could sense a storm coming. I took that seriously. I’ve been thinking about it and I think you’re right.’

  ‘Why?’

  Henry couldn’t say, he really couldn’t.

  ‘In hindsight it was a little dramatic,’ Camilla continued. ‘I was low, Henry. I’m doing better.’

  Which only made him feel worse. ‘Let’s talk inside.’

  ‘I’m in the middle of something.’

  ‘Camilla,’ Henry’s tone was insistent. ‘I’ve made a pot of tea, plus I’ve been looking at holidays. I think we need a break, all of us. Can you come inside and take a look? Please.’

  Camilla sighed and removed her gardening gloves and reluctantly followed Henry to the back door. Henry slid a look at the house next door, but as far as he could tell, the windows were vacant.

  Once inside, he breathed more comfortably. His life since those photos had been hell. Home had been a chamber of torture. He’d heard nothing more, but knowing that something or someone could creep up without warning and release a monster from a cage and create chaos in his life, made the adrenaline pump constantly. Food had lost appeal. Every outside noise was a threat. He’d become a prisoner at home – afraid to stay, terrified of leaving. So he was trapped.

  Camilla was speaking. He caught the last part. ‘Face it, you’re not cut out to be a one-car man. Why not take yourself off and have a look round a few showrooms?’

  Henry poured Camilla a drink with an unsteady hand. ‘I don’t want another car, Camilla. I honestly don’t miss the cars. You were right. They were completely unnecessary.’

  ‘Really? You seem to have been pining for them.’

  ‘I’m not pining for the cars. I miss . . . us. Family life. My old home. Richard. Golf.’ A pause. ‘Normality is what I miss. Things as they were.’

  ‘Me too. Annabel wants to invite Joel here for Easter and I’ve agreed. But I’ve told her he’s going in the spare room.’

  ‘I agree,’ Henry said, distracted to the edge of insanity. Then he realised something. ‘Does that mean we can’t go on holiday? I wanted to leave immediately.’

  Camilla’s face creased. ‘Why?’

  The doorbell rang. Henry’s heart responded. So did his body. He jumped up. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said, charging out of the kitchen and down the hall. Through a small opaque window in the door, he could see a blaze of fluorescent pink.’

  No! He did a u-turn and returned to the kitchen in a flap. The nightmare had come knocking. ‘I think it’s a salesperson. I refuse to give them my time.’

  Camilla paced forward, cup in hand. ‘I’ll see them off.’

  ‘No, Camilla,’ Henry was quietly forceful. He was afraid his voice might carry, so he hissed. ‘I want to talk to you about holidays. Right now.’

  Camilla was stunned, still. The doorbell rang again. ‘It might be the girls.’

  Henry was firm. ‘Annabel has a key, alright? I never have your attention. You’re in the garden. You’re tired. Seeds need planting. Washing, ironing, dishes. When do I get your time?’

  Oddly, Camilla relented. She sat at a tall stool at the kitchen island and said, ‘Fine. I’m all yours. So tell me, what’s so urgent?’

  The letterbox pinged. Henry gave Camilla a warning look, don’t you move. ‘See?’ he said. ‘They’re dropping their rubbish through the door now. I’m going to rip it up and throw it in the bin.’

  He wandered into the hall again. The glass was clear, not glowing pink.

  ‘Why are you so jumpy?’ Camilla called. ‘Just leave it.’

  Henry spotted a small white envelope on the mat. ‘I am not jumpy,’ he called, rushing to collect it. He shoved it inside his pocket and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Henry?’ She eyed him knowingly, like the old Camilla.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What was it then?’

  ‘There was nothing there.’

  Camilla looked puzzled and suspicious, both expressions inseparable on her face. He didn’t know what to say. The silence was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up outside and then Annabel’s voice and a car door slamming shut. ‘That will be the girls,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and help Naomi with her things. Why not talk to us all together?’ Camilla slid down from the stool and left the kitchen.

  Henry’s head felt clammy. His palms were moist too. He didn’t feel so good. He pulled the envelope from his pocket. It said no. 4 on the back – the house number. With shaky hands, he pulled out a single sheet inviting them for cocktails at no. 6 the following weekend. At the bottom, it said RSVP Amber Bridges (new neighbour). There was a mobile phone number and a smiley face.

  ‘Oh no.’ Henry’s frame turned to rubber. Did Amber know that he lived here behind the high wall with the missing gate? Was all of this some horrible unearthly coincidence? He didn’t want answers really, he just wanted Amber to vanish into oblivion and take her fluorescent lycra with her. He placed the sheet of paper on top of the envelope and shredded both into tiny pieces and buried them in the kitchen bin. He wondered how much longer he could avoid Amber Bridges, and suspected that the forecast of Camilla’s storm was fast closing in.

  <><><>

  Naomi wandered into her room and dropped heavily onto her bed and tried to feel some relief at being home. Camilla had left a small box of things on her bed and a note which said,

  Stuff from the other house. I’m trying to clear it bit by bit. Please sort. Mum.

  Naomi left it at first. She lay on her bed and tried Dan’s number pointlessly. The second the patronising recorded voice said, ‘I’m sorry –’ she cut her off. Easter was going to be difficult. The thought of being home for three weeks brought palpitations, even though she’d left Manchester gladly. Too much thinking time wasn’t good. Old demons drew closer; nightmares returned.

  When curiosity took over, she delved into the box and sifted through the pile and realised that it was from her South Africa days. She found school books, reports, a hard back notebook where her class had drawn pictures or written little farewell messages wishing her luck back in England, promising to stay in touch.

  ‘Huh,’ she said out loud. Not one had kept in contact. Early attempts had fizzled out within six months. She remembered that she’d packed this box herself and filled it with her special things as they’d packed to leave Johannesburg in a great hurry. The writing on the side, Naomi’s special things, was hers. Their belongings had followed weeks after they’d arr
ived in Manchester. This box had found its way into the loft at the old house and been forgotten.

  Opening it was like unearthing a time capsule. Beneath the school books, there was a pair of pale blue shorts. A flood of memories rushed in. Naomi lifted them out and held them up. Connections formed quickly in her mind, until she knew what they were doing here amongst these special things. These shorts signified the reason why they’d left, as if she could ever forget. She’d been wearing them that day – the day the car screeched out of the petrol station with two strange men in the front seats, leaving her mum and Annabel yelling on the forecourt.

  They’d let her out of the car half a mile down the road and told her to find her mummy again. So she’d skipped along the pavement of that busy road in these blue shorts. It had felt like a kind of adventure. The housing complex where they’d lived had been surrounded by tall barriers and a thick gate. No real freedom existed outside of that complex; her mum had driven her everywhere with the air conditioning working flat out in that white car of theirs.

  As harsh words flew between her mum and dad that night and Camilla was on the winning side of them, Naomi had realised as she’d taken these shorts off that they’d be leaving this sunny place and returning to the heavy skies of Manchester. That day had been a fork in a road and they switched direction. So Naomi hadn’t dumped her shorts in the laundry basket as she might have done. She’d boldly fought tears and carefully folded them and put them safe so she would always remember her moment of freedom along that busy road.

  As she fingered the material and wondered how her body had ever fit inside these shorts, she realised there was something inside the left-hand pocket at the front. She pushed her fingers inside and pulled out a small square of paper roughly folded in half. It had yellowed with age. She opened it out. On lined paper, some words were scrawled in black ink that she didn’t understand. Hide and seek is fun. Finding strange ways to greet old friends. Catch up with you soon.

  She stared.

  How did that piece of paper find its way into her pocket? A memory assembled itself as she recalled the car coming to a stop at the side of the road. The man on the passenger side had jumped out and opened the door right next to Naomi, then he’d leant over and unfastened her seatbelt. He smelled mildly of sweat and mints, nothing overpowering, but she’d always remembered his scent. Strange, when she couldn’t remember what he was wearing or picture his face. He’d taken hold of her, helped her out of the car and told her to hurry back to her mummy. Mummy? she’d thought. How old did this guy think she was?

  Had he deposited this scrap of paper in her pocket?

  She read the message again and drew nothing from it. It was eight years old and didn’t matter or mean anything anymore. The police had never found the car. There was no reason to think they’d have taken this message seriously either. In any case, the family had packed to leave almost immediately.

  For the first time in eight years, she shuddered to think what might have happened if they’d stayed in South Africa. Maybe those men had singled out her family. Maybe they knew that her dad had money, and maybe they’d have tried to take more than his car if the family hadn’t returned to Manchester very quickly. For the first time, her kidnapping in that car felt personal. The bullying at school and the troubles that happened after her return to England might just have been a price worth paying.

  Until they employed Lorie.

  Why had trouble followed her all her life? Maybe it would continue until she cut out the people causing it. Maybe paying Nathan off in exchange for her annulment was a smart move. And maybe leaving Dan in the past and moving on was needed too.

  Her body didn’t respond well to that thought. Her stomach twisted and released a nauseous feeling. She wondered how Dan was doing and how the hearing had gone. Was he back at the hospital, or stuck in his flat with nothing but silence and regrets?

  Dan had been unreachable for weeks because he didn’t want to be reached. Getting the urgent feeling that it was time to gain control of her life, she lifted her phone and brought up Dan’s number and stared at it for ages. She made moves to remove the number, but stopped at the final stage. Delete? presented itself in bold red.

  ‘Delete,’ she told herself out loud. ‘Do it now.’

  She didn’t want to. Letting go of Dan was like losing a limb. She’d more or less memorised his number by the time her finger finally connected with the word and she deleted Dan from her life. She felt no relief as she put her phone down and hoped to find solace at the piano downstairs.

  <><><>

  That night, while Henry was up late, mind too troubled to rest, he got another Facebook message from Lorie. The sight of it tensed his muscles. He couldn’t ignore it and didn’t want to face it either. After holding it off for ten minutes, he finally opened it. It turned out to be one sentence that only filled him with confusion. ‘How about meeting up for that drink?’

  Henry read it five times, looking for clues. Was it a threat? A genuine request? Was Lorie innocent? Was it best to pretend that nothing had happened, or confront her and demand a straight talk? Should he ignore the message? Respond to it forcefully – tell her to leave him alone?

  He couldn’t settle on a response. He’d ignore the message for now, and wait for her either to give up or offer more. Until he knew what he was dealing with, a reply was far too risky.

  27

  Solomon parked up at Salford Quays at six in the morning. Night was fraying into dawn. Darkness was losing its grip and softer shades were exposing a sharp morning dew. Solomon hadn’t got up early, he hadn’t been to bed at all. He’d left Rhapsody at three, then gone home to think. His thinking had brought him here at this hour on a Sunday morning, still dressed in smart trousers and shirt. His breath hung in front of him before being snatched by the morning air as he got out of the car and pulled a heavy jacket from the back seat and put it on.

  He’d parked in a dark corner free from CCTV cameras and silently followed the building to the front and let himself into the block, tapping out the four-digit security code which hadn’t changed in a year. Tut tut.

  Solomon rapped lightly on Dan Stone’s door at five minutes past six plus a few seconds. He didn’t get a response, so he repeated the process patiently until he did. He detected a shuffling from inside, slight, but definite. Then he persisted gently until the shuffling came right to the other side of the door.

  The door didn’t open, so Solomon issued a quiet one-word command, ‘Open.’

  There was a five second delay – Solomon was always aware of passing seconds – then a chain slid carefully and a bolt rattled and the door slipped ajar by an inch. Solomon pushed it the rest of the way and smiled as he took in Dan in jeans and a T-shirt. He’d dressed hurriedly. The last visit had taught him to cover himself. He was a fast learner.

  ‘Morning, brother,’ Vincent Solomon said gently.

  Dan wiped his eyes.

  Solomon walked inside and eased the door shut and said, ‘Why haven’t I been able to get hold of you?’

  ‘Because –’

  ‘Voice down.’

  Dan whispered, ‘Because I’ve taken the sim out of my phone. I’m disconnected.’

  ‘Which means you’re unobtainable.’

  Dan shrugged and hung his head.

  ‘You haven’t left the flat in days.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Calm down, Dan. In the absence of a phone, I come in peace and in person with a message. I want to thank you for your work so far.’

  Dan scratched his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘Why are you speaking in riddles?’

  ‘Why did Jesus speak in parables?’

  Dan crossed his arms. ‘I’ve never read the Bible.’

  ‘I’ve been reading it a lot lately, as preparation.’ Solomon took a step towards Dan.

  ‘Preparation for what?’

 
Solomon smiled. ‘Parables were meant to teach people important lessons in the simplest terms. Ironically, the masses never really understood the message. People are slow to cotton on, I find.’

  ‘So you’ve come at six in the morning to give me some cryptic message?’

  ‘Not just that. It’s time for phase two, Dan.’

  ‘I didn’t understand or agree to phase one.’

  ‘You didn’t need to. It isn’t good to be disconnected, Dan. See how behind you are, holed up in this pokey little world? You’re starting to look like my New Testament teacher. You need to get a haircut and a shave and reconnect with the world outside. Do it today. You’ve hidden long enough to make your point.’ Dan was fully awake now. He stood straighter and stared at Solomon and Solomon soaked it up. ‘Phase two begins today. Phase three will involve a wedding and the serving of real justice. Good news, wouldn’t you say?’ Dan was speechless. ‘Come on, Dan, smile a little. It’s going to be a happy ending.’

  <><><>

  Solomon slept that day until two in the afternoon. When he woke up, he made strong coffee and poached four eggs which he placed symmetrically on 2 slices of wholemeal toast, then he cleared his plate, drained his cup and refilled it, and ordered his brain to take stock.

  At one minute to three, he reached for his phone and dialled.

  Five rings later a deep voice said, ‘You again?’

  ‘I’m almost surprised you’ve picked up, brother.’

  ‘I’m not your brother.’

  ‘Denial isn’t good.’

  Silence. Solomon allowed it then said, ‘You don’t have to talk. Just listen. About phase two – and this is an instruction: get a ring on her finger.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You can and you will. Be creative, not coercive. Make yourself indispensable. Let her come to you. What’s her star sign?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’