Dark Light

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘I’m going to Rushby. There’s been an accident. No – no one’s badly hurt,’ I added as he made to move off. ‘Iblis, please, if you can, I need you to watch my house for me.’

  ‘I have told you, your house is warded. Nothing can get in.’

  ‘Does that apply to humans?’

  His silence answered that question.

  ‘Look, I have no time to explain. I have a train to catch. Please – just keep my house safe. Just for a few days. You can watch TV. Help yourself to the food. Please.’

  ‘Of course – but would it not be easier if I came too.’

  I had a sudden picture of Iblis and Michael Jones in the same house. ‘I will call you if I need you. I promise. Now I must go. Here’s my key.’

  He took it from me with a carelessness that told me he probably wouldn’t need it to gain access. ‘Take care, Elizabeth Cage.’

  It wasn’t just the usual phrase tossed out casually in lieu of goodbye. He really was telling me to take care.

  ‘And you too. Goodbye.’

  I wheeled about and continued down the hill. When I reached the bottom and looked back, he’d gone.

  I remembered to get some cash from the machine so I wouldn’t have to do it in Rushby, just in case I was still under surveillance – although I was certain I wasn’t – and bought a sandwich for the journey.

  I paid cash for the ticket and crossed the footbridge just as they were announcing the train. I jumped in, slammed the door behind me and stared out through the window. No one else got on. No one else was on the footbridge. I peered through the window on the other side. No one was on that platform opposite either. As far as I could see, I was the only person here. And that included the staff.

  I was actually rather proud of myself and the precautions I was taking until it occurred to me that if there was anyone following me I’d certainly never know anything about it, so I went and found myself a seat.

  The train lurched and then pulled slowly out of the station and I was on my way. I found, to my complete non-surprise, that I was quite looking forward to seeing Jones again. And Jerry, of course.

  The distance wasn’t far as the crow flew, but the little train – all two carriages of it – stopped at every tiny station along the coast. It was like a bus service. People hopped on and off and no one paid attention to me in any way.

  We pulled into the station at Rushby. It was a tiny place with only one platform. An enormous tub of slowly fading flowers welcomed people to the seaside town. No one else got off the train. I lingered, just in case, but no one had their head out of the window watching me. There were only the two carriages and I walked slowly past them, checking no one was on their phone reporting where I’d got off. I handed my ticket to a bored young woman and exited the station.

  I hadn’t travelled that far but the weather here was completely different. I stepped out into blue skies and bright sunshine. Which made a very nice change. There was a bit of a breeze, but it was warm and pleasant and smelled of the sea. Gulls wheeled overhead, making the appropriate gull noises.

  Jerry was waiting for me in the car park. He hadn’t been completely truthful about the extent of his injuries. His face was badly bruised down one side.

  ‘Oh my God, Jerry. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, slinging my case on the back seat. ‘Looks worse than it is. Bloody hell missis, what you got in there?’ His colour was strong and stable. He was telling the truth.

  ‘And Jones?’

  ‘Stiff, sore, grumpy, and trying to do too much for his own good so not much change there.’

  ‘Jerry – I have to ask – was it deliberate, do you think?’

  ‘Was what deliberate?’

  ‘The accident, of course.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not unless Sorensen’s taken to employing a minister of the church and her sister to do his dirty work. They were on their way to a parish meeting apparently. Insurance details swapped. No permanent harm done. Not everything is about Sorensen missis. In you get.’

  I climbed in and we sped away, down through the pretty little town and out the other side.

  ‘Oh,’ I said in excitement, sitting up straight. ‘I can see the sea.’ And there it was with its ruler straight horizon, glittering in the afternoon sunshine, entrancing me as it had done ever since I was a child. A few dark spots denoted those brave enough to swim in choppy British waters and little boats with white sails scudded back and forth.

  I’ve always loved the sea. My memories were full of holidays at the seaside with my parents, when I spent long days paddling in the shallows with my dad or poking around old rockpools that stank of seaweed. We ate pink candyfloss and walked on the pier. The nights were long and exciting with a funfair and bright lights and strange food and me lying awake, listening to the waves in the dark. We never went abroad – my mum didn’t like flying, but I never missed the Costas. Not when I had this. All my memories came rushing back on a wave of childhood excitement.

  Although the season was coming to an end, there were still holidaymakers around. Walkers, mostly, from what I could see, bent under their backpacks and picking their way through the cobbled streets. They would be heading down the coast, or up onto the moors, perhaps.

  I turned from the window. ‘This is lovely, Jerry. Good choice.’

  ‘Well, it’s not what I had planned, but it could be worse. It’s a holiday place. People coming and going all the time so I reckoned no one would notice us.’

  We drove through the narrow twisting streets, around the harbour, empty of boats at the moment, over the bridge spanning the Rush as it decanted itself into the sea, past the long sandy beach, with its donkeys and ice cream kiosks, past the lifeboat slipway, and out on the other side of town. Nestling half way up the cliff sat a row of six or eight whitewashed cottages.

  Jerry nodded over. ‘We’re the pink one on the end.’

  ‘It’s lovely. So pretty.’

  He peered at it as if seeing it for the first time. I suspected that as long as it had a functioning roof, an indoor toilet and Sky Sports, he wasn’t too bothered about picturesque.

  We drove along the cliff road, dropping down to a tiny car park. Now that I was closer I could see the cottages were disconcertingly close to the cliff edge.

  I climbed out of the car, looked at the – to my eyes – very narrow apron of grass between cliff and cottages and said doubtfully, ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve been over the place several times. Nothing there. You can talk freely.’

  ‘I meant – is it safe from falling into the sea.’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno. I expect so.’ Which was probably the best I could hope for. I followed him down the path and in through the back door.

  Jones met us in the kitchen. ‘There you are.’

  I wasn’t sure which of us he was talking to, so I said, ‘Hello, remember me?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ he said, amiably. ‘You wore that blue thing and had strange brown legs.’

  Of course, he had to remember that, didn’t he?

  He stared down at the blue and white teapot. ‘I’m making some tea.’

  There was just the very faintest note of uncertainty in his voice. He wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘I’ll make the tea,’ said Jerry quickly, and I suspected past disasters. Probably something more serious than forgetting to warm the pot, anyway. ‘You’ve got my room, missis. I’ve cleared me stuff out. Why don’t you show Mrs Cage her room and I’ll finish this?’

  There were two bedrooms, the one upstairs looked out over the sparkling sea and scudding boats. The other was downstairs, had bare boards, was small and dark, and looked out over the car park. Guess which was mine.

  Jones dropped my case on the bed, turned around, and I got a better look at him. He looked tired. His colour was still loose and unformed. Not only had he not completely recovered from the drugs Sorensen had given him, but he was shaken from the accident as well. He’d lost weight and his e
yes were cloudy. I wondered how long the effects from the drugs would last. It was a fortnight and more since we’d got him away from the clinic. He was a strong man. Not much longer, surely.

  ‘No,’ said Jerry, when I mentioned this to him. ‘He’s better every day. Give him a week and he’ll be chasing the girls again.’

  I said too casually, ‘Does he do that a lot?’ and he just laughed at me.

  ‘Right,’ he said, putting down his mug, ‘I need to be off. Food in the larder. Fridge stocked. You’ll be fine for a couple of days and I should be back by then.’

  I noticed he didn’t say where he was going and I lacked the courage to ask.

  We stood at the back door and watched him climb into the car and drive away. Suddenly, I felt very alone.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jones. ‘I’ll show you around if you like.’

  The cottage was a typical holiday let, cheaply furnished, but not uncomfortable. All the windows were tiny, built to withstand coastal winds. I noticed there were no trees to break the gales, although a few late-flowering window boxes struggled valiantly on.

  A holiday let it might have been, but it had a nice atmosphere and the views from the tiny windows were lovely. We could look out over the sparkling sea and hear the distant boom of breakers crashing onto the shore.

  Inside, the sitting room was large and square, and, I suspected, had once been the only room downstairs, because the kitchen and bedroom at the back looked like modern afterthoughts. What had once been an inglenook fireplace had been boxed in and now we had only an electric fire to keep the cold at bay. The stone chimney breast was enormous – this room had once been living room and kitchen combined, I was sure of it.

  A modern, grey sofa was pulled up in front of the fire. I suspected it looked more comfortable than it would feel. Shelves ran down an alcove to the right of the fireplace. Most of them were empty. There were very few books. A large and very solid looking red armchair stood in front of the shelves. If there had ever been a corresponding alcove on the other side of the fireplace it had been blocked in at some point, which was a shame because it would have been nice to have one armchair on each side of a roaring fire, and sit, warm and snug, listening to the wind howl outside. Still, this was a holiday let and the owner probably slept much more soundly at night knowing there were no roaring fires on his property.

  A small folding dining table and four chairs were pushed against the far wall and an old-fashioned TV stood in the corner.

  The kitchen was small and basic, as was the upstairs bathroom. Jones’s bedroom was opposite, just big enough for a double bed and chest of drawers. The open windows let in the sea air and the sound of breaking waves below.

  ‘Shall we sit outside?’ he said and led the way out through the front door to the little patch of grass outside. I was relieved to see that, this close up, the cliff edge was slightly further away than I had thought. An old wooden bench stood against the wall and we made ourselves comfortable in the sun, staring out at the sea together.

  ‘So,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘How’s things with you?’

  ‘Do you want the short or the long version?’

  ‘Oh, the long, I think. There’s nothing else to do and the TV hasn’t got a sports channel.’

  ‘Ah. Now I see why Jerry has run away and abandoned you.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you where he was going?’

  ‘No. Did he tell you?’

  ‘I don’t always remember things,’ he said vaguely, and, I suspected, untruthfully. Still, if he and Jerry wanted to keep their secrets …

  I stared out over the sparkling sea. ‘The long version,’ he prompted.

  ‘Oh. Yes.’

  I gave him the long version. All of it. The Local History Society. The Painswicks – I ignored his offer to go round and sort out ‘that git Painswick’, although I didn’t rule it out completely. Sorensen. All the disasters that had befallen. My credit card crisis. The troll. My plan to walk more. My cold. My tummy upset …

  ‘Hang on,’ he said, turning to face me. ‘Hang on. Hang on. Go back a bit. Troll?’

  I said defensively, ‘I don’t expect you to believe me.’

  ‘But I do believe you, Cage, that’s the problem. If anyone else had told me then I’d have laughed and accused them of winding me up, but you’re Elizabeth Cage and if anyone’s going to see a troll it would be you.’

  ‘He wasn’t that frightening,’ I said, defensively, trying to downplay the incident. ‘More like an old doormat, really. He certainly smelled like one too. Anyway, after that, I …’

  ‘And you thought if you just dropped it into the conversation between local activities and your attack of the trots then I wouldn’t notice.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, remembering, too late, that he was an expert in reading an interrogation. ‘I just didn’t think it was that important.’

  ‘I don’t expect you did, but you haven’t told me how you escaped, which leads me to believe that that is important.’

  Oh, well. He asked for it.

  ‘I was rescued by an extremely handsome young man.’

  ‘Not a Billy Goat Gruff, then?’

  ‘Oh, no. He claims to be from an older race and possibly possesses supernatural powers. Although I don’t know about that. Anyway, he rescued me.’

  ‘From the troll.’

  ‘Old Þhurs,’ I said helpfully.

  He faced the sea again. ‘How handsome?’

  ‘Not at all. Looked like an orangutan made out of coat hangers.’

  ‘Not the troll – the handsome young man.’

  ‘Oh, very handsome. You know the type – lovely long, silky blond hair. Blonder than yours. Very tall. Taller than you. Cooks really well. Better than you. Very good in a fight …’

  ‘Yes, all right, I get the picture.’

  ‘Well, you did ask.’

  ‘And where was this troll?’

  ‘Under the bridge – you know – just outside Whittington..’

  ‘Is it still there – can we go and look?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never seen a troll.’

  ‘Well, I have and you don’t want to.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Mucusy.’

  ‘Cage, you are the epitome of falling standards. Is that even a word?’

  ‘Well, there’s hairy and smelly as well, but mucusy pretty much covers it. It certainly covered me. Useful note for the future – it takes hours to get troll snot out of your hair.’

  There was a pause and then he said, ‘So, what are your plans for the future?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.’

  There was another pause. ‘I’ve missed you, Cage.’

  Now I stared out at the sea. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

  He reached out and we held hands in the sunshine.

  ‘So,’ I said briskly, ‘What are your plans. Because I can’t decide if we’re safer together or apart.’

  ‘Together,’ he said. ‘Definitely together.’

  We looked at each other and then he cleared his throat and said, ‘So what’s the deal with this troll-defying blond?’

  I sighed. ‘It’s very complicated.’

  ‘I would have expected nothing less.’

  ‘I … made a mistake.’

  He looked away. ‘I see. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand.’

  ‘Idiot. I left him my lunch.’

  He blinked. ‘Well, I’m the first to admit I’m not always up to speed on social etiquette but that doesn’t sound too bad to me. Was there not enough mustard in the sandwiches?’

  ‘He construed it as some sort of offering. I thought I was leaving some sandwiches on a rock for him. He thought I left an offering on his altar.’

  ‘Got to admire a bloke with his own altar.’

  ‘You’re really not taking this seriously at all are you.’

  ‘Cage, I’m here, free, and with you. A
s far as I’m concerned, nothing else really matters, does it?’

  I thought of Melek and Iblis and how one mistake had blighted both their lives for so long.

  ‘No, nothing else matters.’

  He cooked seafood risotto for supper that evening and we tucked in together. It was good to be with him again. We ate and chatted. I noticed there was no wine. ‘Not quite back to normal,’ he said, although I hadn’t said anything.

  Afterwards, he cleared away and I made the coffee, taking it through to the sitting room. We sat down on the sofa together.

  I wriggled. ‘This is not very comfortable. Can we swap seats?’

  ‘Trust me, it’s just as bad down this end.’

  ‘Is that old red chair any better?’

  ‘No idea, but there’s only one so where would you sit?’

  I sighed and gave up.

  ‘So,’ he said thoughtfully, stirring his coffee. ‘You think Sorensen has found someone else to do his dirty work for him? An upgrade. A Cage Mark II.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘No, what’s funny is the expression on your face. You’re really not happy about it, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.’

  He said quietly, ‘I don’t want to frighten you Cage, but I think it’s bad. Very bad. For a start, they – whoever they are – might not have your scruples.’

  I tried to lighten things a little. ‘You’re going to say, “Suppose they use their powers for evil?” aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, not now, no. But you’re right. And they – whoever they are – aren’t going to want you around at all. You’re a potential rival. And a threat. And Sorensen isn’t going to want anyone else getting their hands on you. In fact, Cage, you could find yourself even worse off than you were before.’

  I nodded. ‘That thought had occurred to me.’

  He stretched out his long legs. ‘How do you fancy living abroad?’

  I was startled. And not a little afraid. ‘Do you think it might come to that?’

  ‘Do you want to hang around and find out?’

  I shook my head, feeling tears build up. ‘No.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t cry. I’ve started again. Several times in fact. It’s not all bad. New places. New faces. And let’s face it – you wouldn’t be leaving a lot behind.’