Lamplight

by Benjamin Appleby-Dean

  He felt the far kerb behind his heels, and stepped up onto it. The figure shivered, and the hat dipped as if the unseen head were nodding. It seemed to be bidding him goodbye.

  Steven threw caution to the winds and ran for it.

  Eight

  Steven only stopped when his lungs betrayed him, and by then he was several streets away. He risked a glance backwards, but found there was nothing following him. The suburbs had fallen quiet, and all Steven could hear was his own laboured breathing.

  There wasn't even any traffic. Steven often finished work around this time and expected to see the occasional car, but there were none closer than the main road.

  Panting, almost doubled over, he thought back to whatever had just happened. Steven could remember the figure he'd just seen, hat and rags and pole, but the dread he'd felt at the sight of it had already dissipated. He'd been scared by a spindly old man – for that was who it must've been, some scrawny old beggar in a funny outfit.

  Thinking about it, Steven managed to draw enough breath to laugh. He'd got all worked up over Jessica and was jumping at shadows.

  Looking around, he found his panic had carried him in the opposite direction to Langley Avenue and home. He was nearer Sourdough Street, and Steven remembered how he'd abandoned Jenny at Hazel's flat that morning. He still hadn't heard anything from Hazel's mother or Hazel herself, and Jenny seemed to be ignoring him after what had happened online today.

  It was no good trying to find Jessica this late. What had he been thinking?

  His post would do his work for him, undermining Terry overnight. Come tomorrow Jessica might forgive him, and he wouldn't do any good by pestering her. Steven needed to convince her he could be the better person, that everything these last two days had been horrible mistakes.

  Thinking of the post, Steven smiled and got his phone out, expecting fireworks.

  There were none. The only comment so far was from Tom, who had added "nice one mate." Steven couldn't tell if this was meant to be sarcastic.

  He ought to go home, but he was still concerned about Hazel – more than he'd realised before. That was the right thing to do – and it wasn't as if he didn't miss Hazel, still have feelings for her. The breakup had hurt him just as badly, and no-one noticed that.

  Telling himself these things, Steven headed down Sourdough and towards Hazel's place.

  Tom had reached the part of the evening where he wanted either to go out or to curl up with the laptop under a pile of blankets. He wasn't sure which yet. The internet had gone back to being boring – there was nothing in any of the groups except for the Yerbeth cult rattling on about denial and deprivation, and Tom had never had time for them and didn't plan to start now.

  Steven was trying to pinch what Terry had done, which would be clever if anyone was paying any attention to Steven in the first place. After the way he'd been acting lately, he'd be lucky if anyone but Tom was looking at his posts.

  Staying in was out, so going out was in. Tom sniggered for his own benefit.

  No sense asking Terry this time – he'd still be harping on about that Jessica girl. Tom didn't get what the fuss was about. Jessica was easy enough on the eyes, but no fun at all. Still if everyone kept going after her, it left the rest of the field wide open.

  As a last resort, he flicked to Amy's blog and found her with green hair and matching dress, posted just a few hours ago. "Just off out!" said the caption, and Tom couldn't guess where. He switched over to Anonymous and messaged her: "lol bet your dress splits"

  That done, he texted Jenny, who should be well out of work by now. "Alright Jen you doing anything?"

  Jenny wouldn't make much of a night out on her own though, and she wasn't into Tom that way – she'd made that painfully clear last year. He messaged Donald – they weren't really mates, but had been in the same pub enough times by now – and Lynette, in the hopes a group invite would encourage her to finally talk to him. Maybe they could get together again, or if not having people backing him would make it easier to chat up someone new. Tom fancied novelty now he thought about it. Preferably a girl, but a boy might not be so bad if he was at a loose end – he'd never kissed a boy but could imagine what it felt like, roughness and stubble and smoker's bite.

  Tom kicked back and waited for answers.

  Jenny had been thinking about going to bed, but something about the idea of lying in the dark by herself put her off. Even being in her own familiar flat wasn't helping, and she started to shake every time she stopped moving or sat down. She was freezing, that was the trouble. Too much excitement and too little warmth or food or company.

  Some of that was harder to fix. She toyed with guilting Amy into coming out, but the other girl still hadn't answered her. Steven and Terry were both out of the question after how bratty they'd been acting and that didn't leave her many options.

  Tom was keen but he didn't bring much besides snide comments and awkward lurking, and Jenny was sure he'd been one of the people creeping on her pictures a few weeks back. He'd have to bother someone else tonight.

  Somewhere with music. She needed music, and loud enough to make her forget her own thoughts. Somewhere with dancing, but dark enough she wouldn't get picked out. Somewhere anonymous.

  It was getting on Eleven. Kairos wouldn't be busy tonight but it would be open soon and that was all she wanted right now. Time to get moving.

  The late hour had stripped all warmth from the town, and people hunched over and tried to crawl inside themselves. Jenny walked faster. The cold didn't bother her anymore, only added white fire to her veins. She felt empty but alive, a bubble on the night winds.

  The town square was steadily draining of people, occupied only by that robed statue. The old stone looked haughty in the streetlights, offended. Jenny stuck her tongue out at it on the way past.

  The lights were coming on at Kairos, and she could hear the beat from halfway across Highburn Place – drub drub drub – making her footsteps quicken and her pulse race. The man on the door barely glanced at her, and Jenny was inside the warm darkness in seconds. The place was pretty empty so far but she could see shadows moving round the edges, where the lights weren't.

  Jenny left the dancefloor and its spinning light circles for now, headed for the bar and got herself a cocktail. It twisted down so quickly she ordered another, and the music began to really double down, coming in through the soles of her feet rather than her ears.

  The second drink went in a stream of bubbles and by now there were real people in the club, shuffling and chatting with a few of them – yes finally yes – heading out onto the floor. Jenny had her pioneers, her trail-blazers, and her territory was open and ripe for claiming.

  She didn't walk. Walking was for losers, leeches. Jenny strutted from the bar, losing her glass somewhere along the way. There was a half-dozen people starting to stamp and sway and swing and she threw herself into the middle. The beat was coming out of the walls by now, making them pulse like veins. Yes.

  Step, slide, twist. Punch the air. Clap clap. Step slide twist punch. The music wasn't showing her the way, it was under her, was the floor beneath her feet and she was the conductor and the rider. Step slide kick and twist hips – so. Yes.

  The tune didn't even matter just the beat. Drub drub throb one two three.

  Jenny tossed her hair and pulled out her phone as she danced and snapped herself right there in the middle of the crowd swaying. Fingers danced in time with her feet. Headline: "look how awesome I'm doing without any of u"

  She was the axis and when the room started to spin it fixed on her.

  Time stuck.

  Jenny's feet hurt but her blood kept on pumping. She skipped off the dance floor and surveyed the crowd, finding far more faces and bodies than she remembered. She was finished with her solo but the show was barely getting started, and she needed an accompanist. A star deserved a satellite.

  She could picture her gaze like fingertips, running it across those jeans, that cheek, ruffling that
hair. People popped in and out of view as the lights moved, and Jenny discarded them in turn – this boy was too sullen his friend had a face like a slab of meat that one had greasy hair this one refused to look back at her and kept staring at the floor the other was dancing like her had rubber bands for legs –

  – there –

  – this last boy wasn't moving like a heart attack but simply nodding his head to the beat, legs twitching as if he were about to step out and penetrate the dancefloor –

  – excellent hair cute face, nice bum in those skinny jeans –

  – she knew him, where did she know him from?

  Harry. Laughing boy Harry, Steve's friend Steven's mate, always holding himself back but never anything but a good time.

  He'd do. He'd more than do.

  Jenny's feet had made up their mind before the rest of her and were already pulling her back out. She started to dance as if it were all she wanted to do, but her eyes flicked over to the boy, to Harry, and she made her face smile without involving her mouth – come on, notice me, notice me –

  Harry smiled. Not quite sure of himself, but she didn't mind that right now, and Jenny beckoned and saw him step out like a fish on a hook. Jenny bounced, met him halfway.

  "Hi." "Hey."

  Too loud to talk properly.

  "Remember me?" Jenny shouted, leaning to his ear, and was pleased to see him nod.

  "You with anyone?" Harry's voice was something she'd forgotten, harsh like a smoker's.

  "No, are you?" Jenny pulled her head back but stayed close. That half-sure smile answered her. "Dance with me," she said, laughing, and he read it off her lips and obeyed.

  The music went slow at the wrong time and they started off out of rhythm with each other. Jenny was worried but Harry laughed and pulled through, exaggerating himself, swaying his hips like a fairground ride. She giggled and everything was good, the bass coming in waves that made her feel distant, picturing the pair of them as if she were standing on the side-lines.

  The song ended. The beat came back, machine-gun rapid, and they were clowning no longer. Jenny put her arms in the air and conducted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Harry's eyes flicked over her like a breeze, and Jenny could feel him trace her hips and feet and waist and breast as vividly as if he were touching them. She shivered and saw the shiver answered in his eyes, and dropped her arms around his neck, pulling them together.

  Chest to chest cheek to cheek Jenny danced with her lower half, moving fit to break. Her muscles burned feet stung and she whipped them up all the faster, pulling the music in through her ears and down her spine. She caught Harry's gaze with hers and locked him there, flicker in her eyelashes and tongue on her lips, and could see something fierce wake up in him. He caught the beat as vigorously as she, body to body and face to face they caught the lightning and earthed it through their toes.

  When the music died Jenny didn't pull away but reached up round the back of Harry's head, spiky hair rough under her fingers, and pulled him down and kissed him. He tasted as sweetly rough as he sounded and she felt his hands tighten on her waist the way muscles do under electric current. Not an animal yet still a gentleman but she could feel him coiling like a caged beast, for all Harry wouldn't know he was caught.

  New song. Deep song. Jenny moved like water. She kissed him every other long beat, butterfly-light, and after a few moments he got the idea and started moving for her. Touch step kiss touch step. Jenny dialled her energy down and willed herself weightless, flickering onto Harry and off again, challenging him to keep hold of her.

  He broke it with words, hoarsely in her ear. "Want to get out of here?"

  "Not now, I'm still dancing." Jenny pulled back to punish him, waggled her finger in his face. The world pulled the moon with it not the other way round, couldn't he see that?

  Harry was smart enough not to push or try to grab. She could see him mouth "Sorry," and Jenny winked at him and moved forward again. One hand went on his shoulder blades and the other dived for her phone, captured them both pressed together in the full flare of the lights.

  New song.

  Time went hazy after that, one moment of kicks and swings and kisses blurring into another. There was a bite on the side of Jenny's neck and she couldn't feel her feet, but her head felt like it was full of hydrogen wanting to soar and escape. The club couldn't hold her down.

  Too warm. She was on fire, needed to cool down but didn't want to. Dancing had given all the sparks she was getting and it was time for another kind of kindling.

  Jenny pulled Harry's face past hers, nipped at his ear, squeezed his backside with her free hand. "Now we can go," she whispered, and led him helpless into the night air.

  It was after everything that Harry spoke and spoiled the mood again – after the long cold walk and the trips and giggles and furtive whispers, after the struggle with the keys and the stumble up the stairs and the bedroom door banging against the wall, after what happened then in the near dark with eager hands and awkward clothes and so many movements, after it was over and they were lying in a puddle of contented sweat, he said "Hey, did you see that thing with Steven?"

  "What?" Jenny's hair was damp in her eyes, and she shook her head irritably.

  "I don't know." Harry scratched the stubble on his chin, staring into the corner of the ceiling. "Bloke seems to be having some kind of crisis."

  He was looking at his phone. When had he started doing that? Jenny sat up, wavering between wanting to look or to knock it out of his hand. Curiosity won, and she leaned her chin on his shoulder and stared at the little screen.

  "Do you know what happened? Donald said something went on in the pub last night." Harry put his spare arm back round her, which was better, but his attention was still on the phone. Jenny squinted and saw Steven moaning to anyone who would listen, trying to make out Terry was as bad as him.

  "Leave that," she said, putting her hands on Harry's face and trying to kiss him. He wriggled sideways, holding the phone behind her head so he could still see it.

  "He's my mate okay, I'm worried he'll do something stupid." The phone clicked as Harry typed, and Jenny pulled it out of his hand and tossed it to the floor, putting herself in Harry's way as he tried to go for it, redirecting his hands to her.

  "I said leave it," she told him, putting steel in her voice, "or do you want me to kick you out already?"

  Harry shook his head and let her recapture his attention.

  Jenny's energy was fading, the last bubbles of the cocktails escaping her, but she gathered herself in and fought the night with everything she had.

  Steven had been caught in the full blast of the wind on the way to Hazel's, and his body felt like it would never be warm again. Most of the houses he passed had fallen dark by now, windows blocked and frowning, and he began to feel abandoned not just by his friends but by the whole of Crooksfield. There wasn't even any traffic, and the night was so quiet he could hear the distant protests of the sheep on the far hillsides, their bleats carried on the backs of the gale.

  The town had become a wilderness. He checked his phone and found the battery running low, and still no-one but Tom had bothered to note the evidence of Terry's behaviour. He was throwing words into the void.

  Sourdough Street had become a wind-tunnel, funnelling the air all the way from Underhow to Langley's End with Steven bang in the middle. His ears froze and stung and he covered them with his hands, struggling to walk forwards.

  There was a police car outside Hazel's flat. Had Hazel's mother finally done something and called them? It looked dark at first, headlights off, but as Steven drew closer his streaming eyes managed to make out a faint light coming off the dashboard, and a shape sitting behind it.

  Slowing down, nearly letting the wind carry him backwards, Steven approached the car. The shape still didn't move, so he knocked on the drivers-side window, so lightly he wondered if the occupant would hear it.

  The shape moved, and the window wound down, followed by a "Good
evening."

  Steven couldn't work out anything about the speaker – the howl of the weather had stripped all character from their voice.

  "Hey," he said. "Why're you parked outside my friend's house?"

  "Do you know the girl who lives here, sir?" The speaker was male, Steven was sure of that now, but he couldn't make out any details in the interior of the car beyond the outline of a peaked cap. "She's been reported missing."

  "I just came to see if she was back yet." Steven leaned closer to the window and squinted, making out shoulders and arms, but the officer's face was still hidden in shadow.

  "Do you know where she might have gone?" Steven didn't know why the policeman stayed in the dark. Was it some kind of tactic? The questions he asked were certainly more unsettling without a visible mouth attached.

  "No idea, sorry." Steven shrugged. "She wasn't much for going out."

  "Was there anyone who came to see her, perhaps?" The policeman was leaning back in his seat, well aware from the glare of the streetlights. "A boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

  "No, no-one like that." Steven swallowed. "She broke up with her boyfriend last week."

  Why did he say that, why? Stupidstupidstupid.

  "Ah." Steven could hear the officer seizing on this information, gulping it down like a meal. "Can you tell me his name?"

  Steven hesitated then realised no, everything was okay, this was it. Time to finally get his own back.

  "Terry Martin," he said, trying to hide his sudden excitement. "I think he's a student over at the technical college."

  "Thank you, sir." The policeman coughed and it sounded artificial, as if he only did it to put Steven at his ease, to remind him that the officer was as human as he. He asked for Steven's name too, and Steven gave him Tom's instead.