Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  During the weeks that followed, when Naomi would be hurled into that scene again and again – the point when their eyes connected for the last time, when Vincent looked down on her and held up the folder and smoke began to envelop him, she’d find the details smudged, out of focus. She wondered if some primitive form of self-preservation had moderated her memory, keeping the specifics of that hour safely out of reach. Did she holler for all she was worth? Collapse? She couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t remember who’d taken her home that night either, though she learned later that it was Kerry.

  She did remember that one of the windows didn’t hold. One, or more? She couldn’t say. The fire service seemed to take an age to arrive and there was an explosion which scattered everybody down the street. But there’d been fire pouring from the house, spitting debris over the front garden by the time the sirens wailed and men in helmets flooded the street and hosed the house. And black smoke too, she remembered that, billowing ferociously, spiralling up into the night, masking the stars, cloaking the moon in grime. And the heat. She’d never forget the heat that blazed from that open window.

  And somewhere in the haze of memories, there was Lorie – the two of them, thrust together by trauma, tangled in each other’s arms while Vincent’s life and everything in it, turned to ashes.

  55

  The day after the fire seemed pointless from the outset. Naomi was sitting in her bedroom window at dawn, wrapped in a white blanket edged in silk, witnessing another birth. Another fire. After a crack in the darkness fractured the sky, the light wrestled away the blackness slowly, slowly. Then the edge of the sun peeped over the horizon, scarlet red, hell-bent on brightening the day. It felt like a betrayal really. Who wanted another day with just more time?

  Being home felt unnatural too. As soon as she realised that the sun was utterly unstoppable, that it intended to keep on rising come what may, she knew she’d have to leave here. If life went on – and the evidence of this was in the blazing ball lifting in the sky right in front of her, dappling the new leaves in morning light and drying out the dew – then she’d live it on her own terms, zero interference.

  Even in the early morning of that first day – Vincent’s house still smouldering, she imagined – she was thinking about a life of solitude, of finding a place in the back of beyond and spending quiet days there on her own. Peace was out of reach, but she could get a dog maybe, for company. Perhaps take walks with it when she felt able. She could go back to the Lake District, look at the house where she’d stayed with Dan. Yes, she’d do that to begin with. Her thoughts were quite exhausting and beyond these few, she couldn’t think.

  If she’d had the energy, she might have packed a small bag and left right then, while the house was sleepy and the sun was trailing pink ribbons across the sky. A fanciful thought when she couldn’t move. She couldn’t sleep either. Couldn’t eat or drink. Or cry. But she could sit and she could stare and her vision could blur in and out of focus. And she could smell the scent of smoke still clinging to her clothes. And when her eyelids got too heavy, she could see the flames and hear the voice of her mother, screaming.

  The day continued with all the momentum of a glacier. Her parents came and went from the room, and shifted mysteriously about the house, she knew that. What they said, she didn’t know. The fire continued to rage inside her head, separating her from her well of words so that she couldn’t access them to speak. And so she stayed camped at the window, drifting in and out of consciousness even when her eyes were open.

  A sharp knocking sound behind her. Naomi was snatched from shallow sleep. Her eyes were burning. Her chin was wet. She wondered for a moment who and where she was. A window was in front of her, and a garden just beyond it, bearing all the flowers and trees of a familiar place which had the power to tilt and tip a decade of memories, releasing a single word. Home.

  Relief washed over her. She was feeling horribly anxious, but at least she knew where she was. The knocking continued and she wanted to tell whoever it was to go away. Then she noticed a car outside and knew who was there, banging on her door.

  ‘Naomi?’

  How could she explain she couldn’t talk? It seemed ridiculous.

  ‘Naomi? You awake?’

  It was Kerry. What was her surname?

  ‘I’m coming in.’

  Whatever! She couldn’t have objected if she’d tried.

  The door opened and closed. Naomi stared blankly out of the window, casting her gaze as far as it would go, straining to see the tip of the treehouse behind a flourish of fresh leaves. A blackbird was on the lawn hopping around, pecking desperately at the grass.

  Somebody appeared at her side and startled her. Oh yes, it was Kerry. She remembered now. Kerry Marshall, that was her name. Kerry positioned herself between Naomi and the window and dropped down until she was sitting on the sill, blocking out the view.

  Naomi clutched the blanket to her and wasn’t sure where to look. Her eyelids were sore and weighty. Her neck and throat still hurt. Kerry reached out and took hold of Naomi’s hands and warmed them. Kerry carried an outdoor scent. Her eyes were moist.

  ‘Have you slept?’

  Had she? Odd drifts, perhaps. Not really. She shook her head.

  ‘You need to sleep.’

  Naomi shrugged her shoulders. What she needed and what she could do were entirely unrelated.

  Kerry smiled. Her eyes were gathering tears. ‘I have some news for you, good and bad. Are you ready?’

  No. She wanted to yell, no! She didn’t feel ready for anything, not even sleep. Kerry was still holding her hands. She leant closer, the news ready to spill from her lips. Panic tightened Naomi’s chest.

  ‘Vincent didn’t leave you with nothing. He went to his solicitor’s yesterday and made a sworn affidavit in the presence of witnesses that he was responsible for Nathan’s death and that Dan had nothing to do with it, which corresponds exactly with what Charlie’s been saying behind the scenes. We have a recording of her conversation. Vincent also admitted that he’d set Dan up and had the evidence planted. We have what we need now to make an immediate appeal and pull Dan out of there.’

  Naomi’s heart was racing uncomfortably. Her head felt very light. Vincent had done that for her? Of course he had! He’d done it before the betrayal, before she’d abandoned the house and left Lorie in charge of her keys. Before she’d sacrificed Vincent for Dan, just like a chess piece. Swept him clean away to serve her own purpose, and all while Vincent was chewing the bitter news about his mother’s death. And now things were going to be blissful were they? She couldn’t breathe.

  She pulled her hands away from Kerry’s and began to gasp for air. Kerry threw open the window, told her to relax, inhale the air, focus on her breathing. Naomi threw herself forward to send blood right to her head and Kerry rubbed her back.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Kerry kept on saying, over and over. ‘Everything’s OK.’

  Except it wasn’t. And no amount of oxygen or gentle words could change that fact.

  The panic passed eventually. The feeling didn’t. The heaviness of guilt threatened to seal her to the chair for ever. She sat up straight, feeling queasy, taking hold of the blanket and gathering it around herself again. There were no plans to move.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought this would help.’

  Naomi closed her eyes and strenuously tried to reach the well and then plunge in for the buried words. With effort, a few were dredged up, brought to the surface. ‘Not your fault,’ she managed. ‘Mine.’

  ‘Naomi, listen to me,’ she almost whispered, ‘nothing is your fault in any of this. If it weren’t for you, Dan would have stayed behind bars for a massive chunk of his life, his best years. Vincent didn’t have to help us by leaving that confession. None of my colleagues have ever known anything like it. But it was all because of you.’

  ‘No. You don’t . . .’ she gulped . . . ‘understand.’

  ‘Help me to. What am I not understanding?’

  Th
e well was dry again, suddenly and absolutely. She shook her head. Words were beyond her reach.

  ‘That you feel responsible for Vincent’s death, is that it?’

  No one had confirmed that Vincent had died. The words rushed at her and hit her in the gut. Kerry watched her. ‘I’m sorry. That was the bad news. The body was recovered. If it’s any comfort, he didn’t suffer. He used the gun first.’

  Comfort? What was that? Naomi closed her eyes. Some time slid by. She had no notion how much of it. Wasn’t that all there was now anyway? Sickening, unrelenting time.

  ‘Naomi?’

  Naomi didn’t respond, except to open her eyes. ‘Is that what Vincent told you, that you’d be responsible for his death?’

  Naomi didn’t answer and Kerry sighed then and looked out of the window. The trees and the birds didn’t hold her attention for long. Her eyes were back to Naomi’s, her stare intense. ‘Look, I understand that this is difficult for you and we can arrange some help. Some proper support. But you have to begin to believe that you carry no responsibility whatsoever.’

  It wasn’t helping. She had to be alone, and maybe that desire, that compelling need could actually shift her from the chair. She’d see if she could find a vacancy in the Lake District. She’d look online today. Anything remote. Then somehow, she’d gather the bits of herself and assemble them together and then she’d leave.

  She couldn’t share any of this with Kerry. Couldn’t – not even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t. Conversation was impossible. She wanted to be by herself. Permanently so, without anyone knowing where she’d gone. She just needed Kerry to leave so she could begin the process of disappearing.

  She drew air to speak three times before she managed any words. ‘Thanks for telling me. Good of you.’

  She was done now. Kerry wore a different face to her usual one. This one was without any comprehension at all. Like she couldn’t grasp the words. Hadn’t Naomi kept them plain and simple? She thought she had.

  ‘Naomi, Dan is going to be free. It’s what you’ve worked for, hoped for, dreamt about. You made this possible for him. He’s your fiancé, remember?’

  Fiancé? What a joke. Dan didn’t even want her. He probably blamed her for his imprisonment, just like his parents had. She hadn’t even shown up in court to defend him. What fiancée does that? Fiancé. A strange word which sounded sillier the more she thought about it. Like France only with an i. A French word, presumably. She repeated it a few times in her head and wondered why no one over the past several hundred years, had bothered to come up with an English replacement.

  Naomi glanced at Kerry and nodded blankly, though she could feel that her face was wiped of all expression. She couldn’t change it; couldn’t feel anything beyond the suffocating guilt.

  Kerry stood. She’d got the message. Hallelujah! She bent over, kissed Naomi on the forehead and told her to sleep, that she’d call again very soon. Naomi nodded. She’d be gone by the time Kerry returned. Kerry walked towards the door, and a soft click later, Naomi was alone again. She sat perfectly still, looking for the corner of the treehouse, waiting for the relief of being alone to flush this awful feeling. A car engine fired and she watched the back of Kerry’s car as it pulled away.

  Silence. It was a terrifying kind of silence that seemed to pour into her ears and crowd her lungs. She found herself reaching for the window, opening it wider, drinking in fresh air.

  The quiet didn’t last. Camilla was coming now. Naomi closed the window, listened to Camilla’s trademark trot up the stairs. Henry had an andante trudge.

  She walked right in without knocking and stood where Kerry had stood, looking down, making an assessment. Her hair was neat and strictly managed and she was wearing a beige coat tied at the waist. Naomi wanted her very particles to break up, just begin the process of drifting away atom by atom. She didn’t want what would follow – a sweeping judgement, a ticking off about disappearing at the cemetery alongside a large helping of disapproval and a side dish of advice in a patronising tone.

  Camilla drew breath. ‘Age doesn’t bring wisdom,’ she said. The confusion of her comment cleared Naomi’s head a little. She looked up. Camilla seemed relieved to have shed those four words. ‘I expected that it would, but it doesn’t.’ She dropped down on the windowsill, just as Kerry had, and considered her next words. ‘I know I need to trust you more. I do. I have to step back and let go and allow you to find your own way.’ Her eyes were glassy, her tone very tender. She swallowed, clasped her hands together across her stomach. ‘And any that you choose is fine with me.’ Her voice quivered on the last word. Something thawed inside Naomi’s chest. Some melting must have occurred because she felt the approach of tears and fought to ward them off, not let them out. ‘I’m sorry, Naomi. It never occurred to me, having children, that we would need to grow together. All of us. You see, I thought I’d already grown and was ahead of you, but now I’m not so sure. I’d equipped myself to teach and correct and discipline the two of you. But I was unprepared to learn. You’ve taught me such a lot, both of you. I’m not about to pretend that the lessons haven’t been painful.’

  A long pause followed where neither spoke. It was during these quiet moments that Naomi remembered that she had another sister. She wondered where Lorie had gone after the fire. Her memory was already playing tricks about that time. She had no recollection of Lorie leaving, who left first and with whom. Her focus returned to Camilla, to the concern in her eyes, the way she was holding still, waiting.

  ‘I’m sorry too, Mum,’ she said. The words came more easily, which was encouraging. ‘We’ve all been doing the best we can.’

  She pressed her lips together. ‘I know. I’m very proud of you. And your dad, he loves us very much and I’ve given him such a hard time.’ She had to stop in order to gasp and lift her head and tip the tears back.

  Naomi released her grip on the blanket and slowly reached out and touched Camilla’s hands. Camilla stood immediately and held out her arms and Naomi found she had the strength to stand. She fell into her mother’s arms and Camilla held her tight and stroked her hair. ‘We’re going to get through this,’ she said. ‘Together. All of us.’

  When they stood back from each other, Naomi collapsed into the chair again and Camilla returned to the windowsill. The day carried on outside. The birds seemed very busy. ‘We’re going to the hospital to see Annabel and the baby. Still hasn’t sunk in that I’m a grandmother. I haven’t had time to think about it. I don’t know what to call myself.’ She almost smiled. ‘Are you up to coming? We can wait a few minutes.’

  Naomi shook head. ‘Give Annie a hug from me. Tell her I’ll see her soon.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘How are we going to tell her about Lorie?’

  Camilla’s gaze didn’t flinch, which was surprising. ‘I honestly don’t know. The news is completely overwhelming. I don’t know how to feel.’

  ‘And Dad?’

  ‘He doesn’t know how to feel either. I worry about his health with all of this. One day at a time, I suppose. Little steps.’ There was nothing more to add except a short sigh and a snatched smile which soon dissolved on her lips. She stood now and muttered something about seeing Naomi later. But Naomi knew she wouldn’t. Despite everything, she only felt more determined to leave. And thanks to Camilla, she was now filled with enough purpose to do it.

  When Henry’s car glided away from the house, Naomi heaved herself up from the chair. She found she could walk. Inside her wardrobe was a black rucksack, which she freed from a hook. And slowly, she began to stuff it with a few essentials.

  She lifted her phone and texted Kerry. Sorry about the state of me earlier. Please will you do something for me? You remember the guy who owned the house in the Lake District? Didn’t you interview him afterwards? I need the address if you can dig it out. I have to see the house again. Setting off now. See you when I get back, so please forward the address to me. Xx

  It was probably dangerous and irr
esponsible to drive when she was this tired and her head was not her own, but she felt better on the move. An address buzzed back from Kerry when Naomi was sitting in front of green traffic lights, not realising they’d changed from red. A horn honked behind her and she shot forward, then pulled in at the side of the road and tapped the postcode into her sat-nav.

  Two hours ten minutes later, her phone signalled another text, also alerting her to two missed calls from Henry. So he’d texted her instead, asking where she was. Her signal was very weak. She pulled up on a narrow lane, low stone walls either side. No cement in the brickwork, just lots of mismatched stones, crazily arranged, piled on top of each other.

  In the distance, was a house with very familiar windows and an alarming sign in the front garden. She got out of the car and walked up to the house from behind the safety of the wall which lined the lane. As if the house had suddenly vanished, in her mind’s eye, she could see beyond it and picture every arc of green, a dozen shades of the same grass that clothed the hillsides, the final swell that lifted to a peak in the distance and was topped in brownish-red. The tip of a house with a smoking chimney which bore the promise of life and hope.

  She shifted her focus to short-distance again now, pulled her imagination from the hills beyond it. This wasn’t where the owner lived, this was the house with the faulty tap and leaky roof, the deep scores in the metal bedframe which had marked the passing days. The house where Dan had kept her safe and the two of them had hidden inside its walls, from the glare of the world.