Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  ‘Look,’ Camilla drew closer and clamped her coat to her chest with folded arms, ‘Whatever is happening with Siobhan’s family is not as important as what’s happening to ours.’ Camilla eyed the large bag, crammed with things. Her forehead creased. ‘No one takes that much stuff unless they’re planning a long stay. You’re needed here right now and the truth is you’re abandoning us, aren’t you?’

  The chug of a taxi was growing louder and Naomi dared to sever the eye contact with Camilla and glance down the road. She checked the time. Nineteen minutes past. She gathered the courage to raise a hand to the driver and the car pulled in and stopped.

  ‘Don’t you get inside that cab, Naomi.’ Camilla took hold of her arm.

  ‘Mum, you have to let me go and trust that I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You’re not in your right mind. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. I’ll run you to your friend’s house when things are more settled here.’ Her eyes flicked between Naomi and the taxi driver.

  Camilla finally let go and lunged at the passenger door and began to talk to the driver and Naomi took her chance and climbed into the back of the cab. Camilla deserted the driver, slammed the door and yanked open the back door and yelled at Naomi.

  ‘Get out of the car.’

  ‘No, Mum.’

  Camilla’s lips trembled with fury. ‘I’m not asking.’

  ‘And I’m not moving. I’m not a child anymore.’

  ‘You leave here now, you don’t bother coming back.’

  Naomi swallowed. Her mouth was parched. ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Mum, but I have to make my own decisions. I never intended to hurt you.’

  For a few eternal moments, Camilla doled out her hardest glare. The noisy breaths she sucked through her nose and panted out the same way, rose above the laboured din of the diesel engine. ‘I hope your children never hurt you and let you down the way you have with me. That’s all I have to say.’ Camilla bashed the door shut and stood watching, her eyes wide and glassy, her chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing.

  So this was it, the crossroads, and she was taking the dangerous turn, the one with the red flag that said, no return. Her chest was tight and her voice small as she spoke to the driver, giving the street name and place where Vincent Solomon lived, while Camilla watched her and continued to tell her, without words, that she was shameful and disgusting.

  Beneath a generous moon drizzled with fine vapour, the car pulled away from everything that, for a lifetime, had swathed her in security. It felt like being expelled from the womb of home and journeying alone into an unspecified future. Like an abandoned child, she’d land on a stranger’s doorstep and hope to be taken in.

  11:44 p.m. and the car spluttered to a stop at the bottom of Solomon’s road. She paid, got out, looked down the street lined with trees and lit lampposts, and listened as the taxi rumbled away and was swallowed by the night. No turning back now.

  She gathered her courage and staggered along the street towards number 57, her heart as heavy as the strap on her shoulder which was digging a track in her flesh.

  30

  11:51. Nine minutes to spare and Naomi had arrived at Solomon’s door. She stood, smoothed her hair, breathed a few times, knocked. If she wasn’t mistaken, music was dribbling from the house. A slow, pounding beat. The music suddenly got louder, as if a door had opened and clipped footsteps were approaching the door. So he was up. And dressed! She stood taller. The door opened. Not Solomon. Had she got the wrong house? No. She looked past the girl in the tiny dress, the shiny high heels, the long black French plaits either side of a striking face with painted crimson lips, and confirmed that it was Solomon’s hall.

  The girl stared Naomi up and down shamelessly. The look said, nothing special.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Is Vincent around?’

  She didn’t budge. She had her head tipped against the door, one long slender leg crossed in front of the other, guarding the entrance. She took time to have another look at Naomi’s shoes, then her jeans, up to her jacket. Her eyebrows lifted a bit. ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘Well he’s expecting me.’

  ‘He’s playing poker. No one disturbs Vincent when he’s in a game.’ She glared. The kind of look that was all dark clouds with a glacier underneath.

  Naomi bottled out of the eye contact and glanced at her phone. 11:53. What if the deadline passed and she hadn’t seen him? What if he called it off? What if he’d found another girl he wanted more? What about Dan? These thoughts chased irrationally round her mind, causing mayhem, while the girl with the very red lips and very made-up dark eyes stared at her calmly and chewed gum.

  ‘I’ll wait,’ Naomi said, hoisting her bag off the floor, moving forward, almost having to ram the girl out of the way to get her to shift.

  The girl shuffled unwillingly to one side. ‘Whatever. Might be hours though.’ As she locked the door, another girl, heels clacking, appeared from around the corner, drink in one hand. What the hell was this? The second girl had mid-length blonde hair and a fringe that hung over one eye. She was well proportioned, meticulously made up, half dressed, or her dress was half length. She stopped, cocked one arm against the wall, looked at the dark-haired girl and almost smiled.

  Said, ‘What’s up?’ all cocky, pink lips meeting her glass, tipped by a hand with pink nails.

  What’s up? Music throbbed from a room down the hall. Naomi didn’t know where to look so she decided to look in her bag and not speak or have to look at either of them. Her palms felt moist with perspiration. Her face flushed with resentment. Her dog was dead. Her fiancé was in prison, she’d abandoned her pregnant sister, been disowned by her mother and she’d come here to be greeted by two slappers who were asking her what was up?

  When she’d concluded a hollow search of her bag, the blonde one was close. She was tall in her heels too. Best part of six foot. She looked down on Naomi, same cold glare as the other, silky hair slung over one eye. Pink lips. Pink nails.

  ‘I said what’s up?’

  Naomi’s composure collapsed in the next heartbeat. She snapped. ‘What d’you mean, “what’s up”?’ She let her bag go and it crashed to the floor. Blondie jumped then tried to cover it. The dark one smirked by the door. ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘There’s a dress code.’ She raised her voice and her chin. ‘Vincent’s strict about it. Obviously you don’t know him very well.’

  ‘And obviously you don’t know that he expects manners. Where are yours?’

  Blondie and Blackie looked at each other, two sets of heavily made-up eyes and groomed brows. The look said, Any ideas what to do with smart arse here? During the pause that followed, a phrase crashed in from nowhere. Dan’s words. Solomon tests people before he trains them.

  She noticed on Blondie’s watch that it was very close to midnight. She had to let Solomon know she was here and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

  Naomi turned. Part determination, part panic, she decided she had to make him aware that she’d arrived. No doubt he knew already, but he wasn’t acknowledging her.

  She stamped across the hall, heading for the lounge. She knew where to find the card room.

  ‘Oi, you can’t go in there.’

  ‘Want a bet?’

  Naomi opened the lounge door. Two of Solomon’s huge lads were in there plus a third girl, all heels and legs and flawless make up. All eyes were on Naomi now and she was being pursued by someone in stilettos. She took advantage of her flat shoes and hurried across the lounge towards the card room, breaking into a run.

  ‘You can’t . . .’

  Naomi flung open the card room door to find three men around a glass table, playing cards, drinks and ice bucket in the centre of the table. The first guy she saw was the one who’d stalked and threatened her in her first year. He looked at her through expressionless eyes. Carter? Another guy sat to his left, red haired, and Vincent Solomon had his back to her and didn’t look round.

>   The girl behind Naomi said, ‘I told her not to disturb you.’

  Naomi looked over her shoulder. It was the dark one. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

  By the time Naomi averted her gaze, Solomon had put his cards face down and stood up. They looked at each other now, Naomi injected with anger, Solomon calm and measured in an ivory shirt, charcoal trousers, silence throughout the two rooms. He fixed her with an intense gaze that excluded everyone else around them.

  ‘You were expecting me?’

  Solomon undid the top button of his shirt, in no rush to answer. He glanced at his watch. ‘Of course I was.’

  ‘What’s all this then?’

  ‘A few people from the club. Any objections?’

  ‘Yeah. I object, one hundred percent.’

  A smile played on Solomon’s lips, but he resisted. ‘So get rid of them. You live here now.’

  She glanced over each shoulder. The air was crisper. Backs were tense and upright, everybody scrutinising her in her rain jacket and Converse pumps.

  She pushed her hair off her face and found Vincent’s eyes again. ‘You do it,’ she whispered, her eyes pleading with him.

  ‘No.’ The look in his eyes told her he wouldn’t relent, no way. Everything held still until he took three steps towards her and leant into her ear. His hand lightly touched the small of her back. ‘I’ll be in my room. Excuse me.’

  His room? What? Upstairs?

  She wanted to block the doorway and prevent him from leaving her with several pairs of strangers’ eyes, all trained on her, all hostile and challenging. A little whimper escaped her lips as she stepped to one side and watched him stride out of the lounge. He closed the door and his footsteps were stolen by the music filling the hall.

  Naomi had no words at all. It was as though her brain had been cleared out and her vocabulary deleted. She couldn’t assemble a single sentence, even in her head. People behind her. People in front of her. Vincent gone. The blonde girl drained her glass and drew attention to herself by taking two noisy paces forward.

  ‘Who’s for more drinks?’ she said, suddenly, raising her empty glass. This brought a few cheers. Audience onside, she looked at Naomi. ‘Oh, manners! Pineapple on the rocks for you, is it?’

  This brought a few sniggers.

  Someone shouted. ‘Get her a Virgin Colada.’

  More laughter.

  Naomi wondered if her cheeks were colouring. She found her tongue, but her voice shook as she said, ‘No drinks. Just get out, all of you.’

  The girl with black plaits cupped a hand to her ear. ‘Did she speak?’ Then she mimicked Naomi’s wobbly tone. ‘Anyone hear her speak?’

  The cow!

  ‘Nope,’ in unison.

  The hairs bristled on the back of Naomi’s neck just before she felt a hand mauling her backside. Not a gentle touch. She turned, full body.

  ‘Don’t you touch me.’

  Carter was there. The Tank. The chief hound. Leader of the pack and she was surrounded. Seven against one.

  She opened her mouth and yelled until her stomach strained. ‘Get out, all of you. Now. Two minutes to clear the house or you lose your jobs.’

  She marched out of the room, took hold of her bag and lifted it like it was filled with foam and ran up the stairs. She frantically tried the upstairs doors. All were locked except for two. One, a bathroom, the other a bedroom, lamp on, inviting. En-suite bathroom. Meant for her.

  She went inside, found a key in the door and turned it. Then she threw herself onto the bed and glared at a blank ceiling. Tears of humiliation poured from her eyes and pooled in her ears. She listened to the sounds of people leaving the house downstairs. Actually leaving. They’d taken her seriously? The shock sobered her a bit, absorbing some of the fury. A clock on the wall told her that it was just minutes past midnight. Having noticed the clock, it spoke up in noisy rhythmic pulses, the second hand jerking in circular motion.

  She leapt from the bed, ripped the clock from the wall and looked about her wildly. Close up, the clock was challenging and audacious. She wasn’t aware of her legs carrying her to the window, she just found herself in front of it, not quite in control. Without any struggle, she opened the window and flung the clock into the blackness. The landing was a disappointing thud. She’d expected more, but it must have found grass.

  She returned to the bed and endured a surge of adrenaline. What had she expected, flowers and a red carpet? Ten minutes in Vincent Solomon’s house and she was ready for murdering him and throwing the towel in and leaving.

  It was then that she noticed the chess set on the floor in one corner of the room. The pieces frozen, regimented, set to do battle, two black lines, two white, no-man’s land in between. She sat up slowly and remembered why she was here. The life she’d breathe into those pieces could give Dan his life back. A sudden flash of memory fuelled her energy and she was up and rummaging through her pockets. She found the flimsy picture of Dan, creased already. She straightened it, lost herself in it, held it to her.

  Focus, Naomi. For Dan’s sake, focus.

  ***

  Solomon sat in his surveillance room, studying camera two, the camera set up inside the clock in the card room. He’d seen all he’d needed to see. He pulled out his phone and called Charlie, who answered in two rings, mildly out of breath, her tone as sunny as Sydney.

  ‘What are you doing right now?’

  ‘Press-ups and crunches.’

  ‘At this hour? Chocolate and exercise don’t mix.’

  ‘Funny, Vincent. I take it you’re ringing to gloat about a certain somebody showing up tonight?’

  ‘Wrong. She showed up alright, but I’m ringing with a job that needs your full and immediate attention.’

  ‘Just grabbing my trainers. Go on.’

  ‘Carter’s stepped out of line. He’s on his way home now. Break his right wrist and crunch his fingers and tell him that if I ever see him again, he’ll need a coffin.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Trespassed on private property. Text me when it’s done.’

  ‘Vincent?’ She cut in quickly, which irritated him. When he didn’t reply, she went on, ‘You’ve got your hands full at the moment. The boys are cretins. Take them off the Janes job and let me find him, yes?’

  A short pause. ‘Assuming you can.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Get back to me in the next hour about Carter and we’ll talk again.’

  ‘Done.’

  Solomon cut Charlie then sat, playing the scene back again and again. He never got tired of the level of emotion in her expressions, every facial muscle exhibiting outrage. Fascinating, but she did need to learn to give less away. Solomon had lost the ability to be shocked at a shockingly early age, any innocence having been snatched by a father who thought that early exposure to bad things saved time later.

  ‘Get out, all of you. Now. Two minutes to clear the house or you lose your jobs.’

  ‘Get out, all of you. Now. Two minutes to clear the house or you lose your jobs.’

  And again, just to memorise the inflections in her voice. The way that ‘now’ was accentuated and extended for emphasis.

  ‘Get out, all of you. Now. Two minutes to clear the house or you lose your jobs.’

  He could only see the right side of her. Cheek flushed, fist clenched, squaring up to Carter. ‘If only you’d jammed your knee into his nuts,’ Solomon said to the empty room.

  31

  Naomi pulled out of an absurd dream and into consciousness just before 6:30 a.m. No moments of panic or confusion. She knew instantly where she was. In her dream, she’d taken on Voldemort and managed to kill him despite a dodgy wand. A heroic act, but she couldn’t get anyone to care about it. The news had only made page three of the Daily Prophet and she was incensed about it. In this mood, she’d snapped out of sleep and found herself panting.

  The soundless house calmed her. The bed was wondrously comfortable. Half-hearted light was peeping round
the curtains any way it could, helping her piece together the size and dimensions of the room and what was in it, details which had thoroughly escaped her the night before.

  The room was strikingly clutter-free. Just a double bed and no hunks of furniture except a bedside cabinet, bare on top but for a small cluster of keys and a lamp. She turned her attention to the room again, guessing she’d find fitted cupboards when the light grew and the details sharpened. She glanced at empty walls and tipped back her head. One picture was suspended above her on the wall. The subject matter was beyond her discernment in this light.

  She didn’t decide to remember the night before, it was just there. With her. Her mum. The girls. The music. The shock of finding a full house and having to fight from the first moment. She half wanted to tackle Solomon, demand to know what he was playing at. Tell him about the confrontations, about being touched up by that filthy animal, Carter. Another part of her wanted to bury what had happened. No way would she admit that it had shaken her. On balance, she decided she wouldn’t say anything. Finding his clock on the back lawn would tell Solomon everything she wanted him to know about how she’d felt the previous night.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d sunk into sleep. It’d taken hours, during which time the house hadn’t murmured. She’d heard nothing downstairs. Nothing upstairs. No trace of Solomon at all. The stillness had settled and unsettled her, but she was curious enough now to want to get up and investigate what was going on beyond the bare walls of her room.

  She found Dan under the covers, a little crumpled, but still able to look right at her. She shone her phone on him, reminding herself of the exact colour of his eyes. The picture was a direct shot, head and shoulders, close. She smoothed the paper, touched the line of his jaw, thought about kissing him. Resisted. She placed him instead inside her pillowcase and left him there.

  A brief wash in the bathroom and she brushed her teeth, found some clothes. Early May. The air was unforgiving, no warmth at all. Jeans, socks, woollies needed. Long time, no summer! Her face was pale and told the story of a painful, sunless winter. Why did Solomon want her here when he had the pick of the brand of girls she’d seen last night?