Lamplight

by Benjamin Appleby-Dean

  "Anything you like," said his sister, and vanished into the street.

  Jack left the glass on the hall table, and found himself taking little steps back-and-forth between the front door and the foot of the stairs. He didn't feel like sitting down, but didn't have anywhere to go either – Steven could be here any minute.

  Jack thought again about demanding explanations from his friend, but they didn't feel quite as weighty without Jess in the background. He'd counted on using his sister to shame Steven, and now – now it'd just be messy.

  Jack quickly messaged "Hey missed her. Better come over later."

  Steven didn't answer.

  Steven was really out of breath by the time he reached Jack's house, and leaned on the doorjamb after he'd rung the bell, waiting for his head to clear. His vision was turning dull at the edges, and he needed something to drink, fast.

  The door stayed shut, and it was only then that Steven noticed his phone going. He checked it, but it didn't make any difference – it was Jack he wanted to talk to, demand what business it was of his. Who'd he think he was, Jessica's dad?

  Either way, Jack wasn't coming to the door. Steven wandered round the side of the house, keeping his balance on the fence-posts, and banged on the back door until he heard footsteps.

  There was the sound of bolts going back, and Jack's head appeared, kitchen light flickering behind it. "Oi," he said. "What the hell? You shouldn't be here."

  "I came to tell–” Steven croaked, then his stomach gave a mighty lurch and cut him off mid-sentence. He grabbed hold of the edge of the door.

  Jack paused, shading his eyes. "Hey," he said. "You okay? You look rough."

  The door swung, nearly throwing Steven off his feet. "Let me in, man," he croaked, and shouldered past the astonished Jack into the flickering kitchen. There were chairs under the table, and he managed to pull one out and collapse on it.

  "I'll get you some water," Jack said, and headed into the hall. Steven didn't understand, and laid his head on top of his folded arms, waiting for the world to stay straight. What was up with him?

  With a final crack, the fluorescent tube gave up and died forever, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

  "I'll call the landlord, get that fixed," said Jack, stepping through from the hall with a glass in his hand. Steven looked at it with muddled surprise. "Where'd that come from? Are you a magician?"

  "Just drink it before you throw up," Jack said, putting the glass next to Steven's elbow. Steven drained it, spilling water across his collar, and felt a sharp pain at the back of his skull.

  "Ergh," he went, nearly dropping the glass. Jack rescued it, and Steven sat back, trying to focus.

  "Sorry, man," he said. It came out sounding small, and Steven had wanted it to be a grand apology – for Jessica and everything, not just making a spectacle of himself.

  "Why're you saying that to me?" Jack asked, sitting down opposite him. There weren't any windows in the little kitchen, and the only light came through the back door and the hallway, making silhouettes of both of them.

  Still not alert enough to think his words out, Steven settled for honestly. "'Cause she's not here," he mumbled.

  "Can't help you there," Jack said, and despite everything it sounded to Steven like they were friends again, chatting together like always. "I don't know where she went, but she's pissed at me too."

  "One of the others'll know." Steven was thinking aloud, pulling his mobile out. He asked Amy and Jenny: "Hey, either of you seen Jessica?"

  "I think you should leave her for a bit," said Jack.

  "I just want to know she's alright," Steven said, and wondered how he could know that until he'd spoken to her? Wasn't it up to him to make it better?

  Amy didn't see the message until her lunchbreak, and by then she was already worrying about the short reply from Jenny. Had she upset her somehow? Amy sent a quick "No I haven't sorry" back to Steven, then went back to composing her other answer, wondering what best to say. She was sat across the road from the newsagents, under what shade she could get from a tree – the branches were half-bare, leaves stolen by autumn.

  Say too much, and she'd look like she wasn't paying attention. Say too little, and there was a risk things would stay as they were. "That's ok," was a nice neutral start, but she didn't know what to say afterwards.

  Her phone blipped. Anonymous message. Amy was always getting these from people who liked to ask pervy questions and laugh at her hair, and she deleted this one without reading it.

  She settled for asking Jenny if she was free later, and leaned back on the plastic bench, looking up among the branches. Even this late in the year, there were a couple of birds hopping between the leaves, and Amy liked to imagine what they might be saying to one another. The sound reminded her of the hills outside Crooksfield town, of the banks of the Lamber before they became paved with concrete and covered by bridges.

  Part of Amy resented that she'd grown up in the suburbs, within sight of the country but not actually in it. One of her classmates at primary school had been a farmer's daughter from Underhow, right up in the hills, and Amy had envied her careless confidence with animals, her muddy boots and tough clothing. Some of that had stayed with her into adulthood, and it wasn't until she was twenty Amy had realised how much she associated strength with the outdoors, with the physicality of nature.

  The stuff with the Coven helped. Connecting with other people, celebrating the turning points of the year, drawing down the moon. She hadn't told any of her other friends about it yet, though Jenny kept giving her necklace funny looks, and Hazel had always seemed like she might be interested, brightening up whenever the conversation turned to folklore or magic or superstition.

  Looking back at her phone-screen, Amy realised Jenny had sent a message back some minutes ago, saying "maybe, r u?"

  Her break was almost over, and Amy texted as she ran across the street.

  Jenny found Amy's message waiting when she 'd finished changing, and groaned out loud. She was in fact free tonight – no shifts until tomorrow – but felt reluctant to admit it. She sent something non-committal back, and wandered through to the kitchen to make lunch.

  It was a grey windy day, with only hints of sunshine, and Jenny wished she were still asleep. She tried making coffee, hoping it'd take some of the edge off, but it came out too hot and scalded the top of her mouth.

  It was going to be that kind of day. No point meeting up with Amy, or with anyone else. Jenny got her phone out to tell her so, then remembered all the anons from earlier this morning. They were still sitting there, unread.

  She flicked the first one open. Normally the questions she got were boring or creepy or requests for more pictures, but this was different. "Where r you?" it said.

  Jenny opened the second, and it seemed likely to be from the same person. "Y don't you answer back?"

  There was something familiar about the spelling, but anyone she knew wouldn't bother hiding for these questions.

  The third wasn't even a question, just saying "It's dark."

  It might be someone playing a joke, but Jenny didn't see the point – that kind of thing never got to her. Whenever they saw a horror film at the cinema, she'd grow bored halfway through, unable to see what everyone was shrieking at. If you knew something wasn't real, why be scared?

  Maybe they'd chosen her at random.

  She flicked though the last few messages. The fourth said "I think I'm here but I don't kno," while the two after it were both the same.

  "Help."

  "Help."

  Two

  Jenny had had enough by now and deleted the lot of them. Her coffee had gone cold, and she threw it down the sink, making a nasty brown patch around the plughole.

  No matter how cold it was, she'd go mad if she stayed here all afternoon. Maybe best to see Amy after all – it's not as if she had lots of offers to choose from. After thinking for a minute, she sent "what time r u off work?"

  No answer. Typical Amy, mess
ing her around.

  Maybe Hazel would be free instead? Jenny couldn't remember when her friend worked, but she was sure it wasn't today. The two of them could go out somewhere, bitch about Steven and Jessica and drown themselves in alcohol.

  Hazel didn't answer either. Jenny dropped her phone on the table and left it, rattling around the kitchen with such fury she smashed one of the plates and had to spend five minutes finding all the fragments and dropping them in the bin.

  Fine. She didn't need any of them. She'd go out on her own and see what happened.

  Grabbing her coat – still stinking of Jessica's sweat, ugh – Jenny headed for the front door.

  There was a breeze coming down Bell Street, carrying autumn leaves and making them scurry like spiders. Jenny hopped over a drift that had piled around the gate and headed into town, taking the short way over Hopscotch Bridge. It was an old stone thing, barely wide enough to admit the lorries that rumbled through town on the way to the motorway, and the Lamber ran wide and lazy below it.

  The wind grew stronger as she crossed the bridge, ruffling the surface of the water. Jenny caught movement on the bank that ran underneath and looked down to see a ragged figure vanishing into the shadows below the bridge – some tramp with a tatty straw hat. She quickened her pace and crossed into Highburn Place. The crowds were thicker there, and the shops hummed with activity even on a weekday.

  Jenny let the crowd carry her for a bit, drifting from window to window like a moth. She couldn't afford anything really good, not right now, but looking at stuff gave her a bit of the same buzz. It was weird how people liked to pretend – princesses when you were little, models when you were grown up, but it all came down to clothes.

  Part of her was worried the tramp had followed her, and Jenny looked into the window and studied the reflections of passers-by, all hurrying in different directions and no-one giving her a second glance. None wore rags or large hats, and she told herself to stop being stupid and go inside. Jenny tried to work out why the thought had even come to her, and realised it was the way the man had moved – with his hat hiding his legs, he'd seemed to slide along the riverbank like a snail.

  It was warmer inside the shop, and there was no shortage of people in the narrow aisles. Jenny flitted from one rack to another, holding this dress up, running her fingers across that jacket just there, mentally putting those stockings alongside that other skirt. A woman with a massive pushchair glared at her, trying to force her way between the stands as her child snuffled. Jenny stepped out of the way and pulled a face at the child, hoping it'd start crying, but instead it looked astonished and went quiet.

  Phantom shopping was only fun when you had someone to show off to. Jenny sat down on a table piled with cardigans, swinging her legs back and forth, and checked her messages. Amy had finally thought to answer – selfish cow – saying she was off work at five, but that left Jenny with hours to kill meanwhile.

  Maybe one of the boys would do. Jenny yawned and started texting, and at that point a shop assistant coughed and asked her to move.

  "Give me a minute, okay?" Jenny said, not looking away from the screen.

  "Look, you're not supposed to be there at all," said the voice. It sounded male, a little older, but Jenny still didn't look up.

  "Why not?" she said, fingers flickering across the screen. "I'm not damaging anything."

  "Don't make me move you," said the assistant, sounding like he meant it as a joke.

  Jenny looked up then, seeing a thirty-something man with a receding hairline and an immaculate tie. Wasn't he too old to be doing a job like this?

  "If you touch me," she said, "I'll press charges. Just piss off, okay?"

  The man just stood there, hands twitching like he wanted to grab her. "Fine. I want to speak to the manager," Jenny said, hoping to get rid of him that way.

  "That would be me," said the balding man, no longer friendly.

  "Then I want to complain," said Jenny, hopping up so quickly she scattered cardigans in all directions. "Do you have a form or something?"

  "Please pick those up," said the manager, pointing. "You can complain about anything you like afterwards."

  "Make me," Jenny told him.

  She started to walk away, and the lights fizzled and popped as if the bulbs were going.

  "Come back here," called the balding man. "You want a form, I'll give you one; I'll give you a dozen!"

  Her phone trilled. Terry was free. Jenny checked her messages twice, seeing if anyone else had replied, but there was only him, as cocksure and irritating in text as he was in person.

  Better than picking fights with old men.

  Ignoring the shouts in the distance, Jenny dodged the floor staff and escaped into the street, heading for the town square.

  Terry sauntered into town, feeling the wind catch his hair. He was out of lectures for the day, and the evening was his for the killing. Crooksfield was a dead-end town compared to back home, with only one nightclub outside the university, but he wouldn't let it get to him. There was always something to do if you looked hard enough.

  He felt good about tonight – Jenny was usually up for a laugh, not like some of her boring friends. They'd wised up lately and stopped inviting him to things, but Terry wasn't going to play their games – he'd create his own party and drag it with him. No time for mucking around.

  Grey-faced people filled the shops, empty eyes and shuffling feet and layers of wool. They let the weather win, grind them down into shivering heaps. There was no sense hiding from the cold, Terry knew – you had to take it by the scruff of the neck, make it drive you. Otherwise you were letting half the year go to waste.

  He found Jenny in the main square, leaning against the statue and picking her nails. "Hey," said Terry, slapping her on the shoulder. Jenny jumped and slapped his hand out of the way, going "Hey yourself, twat."

  "So what's the plan, yeah?" Terry asked. "Nowhere good's open yet."

  The statue looked disapproving from its plinth – a robed man with a set of pipes under his arm, it had been eaten away by centuries of rain and vandalism – and Terry flipped it off.

  "What do you mean, what's the plan?" Jenny said, straightening up. "That's your job, genius."

  "You're the one who wanted to meet." Terry slouched against the side of the plinth. "I thought you had something already."

  "Never said that," Jenny protested. She was getting hard work just to hang out with, and Terry considered throwing it back in her face and leaving, but he didn't have any better ideas.

  "Let's move," he said. "It's too cold to be mucking about here, yeah?"

  He took a step, but Jenny had frozen where she was, staring across the plaza.

  "Hang on," she said. "Look over there, it's Steven's new girl."

  Terry followed her gaze, seeing the long-haired girl staring into the shop window, looking at her own reflection in the glass. The girl's face was red from the cold, and her eyes were puffy.

  "Jesss-i-ca," Jenny was calling, walking over. "Hi, hey, you ok? You alright?"

  Terry was too far back to catch what the other girl said, but he saw her head-shake, a flash of polished teeth.

  "This is Terry," Jenny said, beckoning him over. "You two haven't met, have you?" She'd woken up and was all smiles and laughter, tapping both the others on their arms, their backs, urging them together.

  Terry gave the other girl – Jessica – another look, seeing her height, her shape, her awkward grin. She didn't fit with the town at all, looked more like a model or a mannequin. He tried to hide where his eyes were going, and gave her his very finest smile.

  "Alright?" he said. That sounded stupid, but she was still smiling and he hoped it wasn't just to be polite.

  "You don't sound like you're from round here," said Jessica, taking her hand back.

  "I came here to study," Terry said. That sounded better, more sophisticated.

  "Oh, over at the college." Terry looked at her mouth as she spoke, the way her tongue curled
around the words. How had Steven – dull Steven, trying-too-hard-to-be-nice-Steven – found a girl like this?

  "Yeah, I'm doing–” he started, but Jenny broke in. "I'm freezing. You two can get to know each other all you like, but can we do it somewhere warm?"

  "I'll be late for work," Jessica said, and Terry felt himself slump. "I'm sorry," she added. "Maybe I'll catch you and your boyfriend later?"

  Jenny snorted. "Oh, he's nothing like that! Have him if you like."

  "Don't mind her," Terry said, stepping in the way. He needed to look in control to have a chance here. "Hey, what's your number? I'll let you know where we wind up."

  He saw Jessica bite her lip, and for a horrible second thought she was going to refuse, but then she said "Oh, right, sure," and brought it up on her phone for him to copy.

  "Nice work," Jenny said as they watched her walk off, and elbowed him in the ribs.

  "Leave off," said Terry. Jenny thought she was so smart, but all she got for it was stuck on the outside, looking in on other people. He gave Jessica's retreating back one more longing glance, then sent her a quick message so she had his number too.

  That was how you did it.

  Jessica didn't know where she was going, only that she wanted to get there.

  That girl Jenny had been the one who'd taken the picture, she was sure, for all she'd been half-asleep at the time. Jessica remembered someone pulling her covers away, and the click of the photo. Being near her made Jessica shiver deep inside, and she wasn't sure if it was anger or tears or adrenalin but she'd felt like she might shake herself to pieces.

  That boy with the freckles had seemed nice, but too eager. His confidence had been worlds away from Steven – Steven with his apologies and his half-heartedness. She liked how safe he made her feel, but there wasn't really anything impressive about him, just this lukewarm niceness. Terry – was that his name? – hadn't seemed safe.

  He'd already texted her. Far too keen, and she wasn't ready for anything new even if she did decide to cut Steven off. Maybe she was being too hard on him – was a couple of days long enough to get the feel of someone, to tell if there was a spark? She didn't know, and him being Jack's friend only made it all the more complicated.