A Dark Assortment Read online

  He emptied his mind and focused on his breathing. But there was something nagging at him. A sound. He held his breath and listened. There. Something banging, like a door perhaps. The vibrations were carried through the house. He exhaled. And there it was again. The dull thud of a slammed door. Gary sighed and lost his rhythm. Damn. It would be that back door. The wind must’ve caught it. He’d meant to fix it weeks ago but he’d been too busy. Never mind. He took another deep breath. He hadn’t used the back door, so that meant Helena must be back home. He exhaled. Good. She’d deal with it. As always. Another breath. Nothing to worry about, he thought. Nothing to even think about.

  But there it was again. And again. Gary ground his teeth together. This was no good. He was getting tense, hunching his shoulders. He tried to push his shoulders back but he couldn’t get comfortable again. He took a breath but his chest felt tight, as if his muscles were squeezing against his ribcage. “For god’s sake,” he hissed. This was hopeless.

  He pushed himself up to his feet and headed for the stairs. He’d have to go and shut the damn door himself.

  ***

  Outside, Helena held up her hands to placate her children. “All right, all right,” she said. She swallowed hard. “Just listen to me a minute.”

  “I want to go inside!” Johnny insisted.

  Helena pinched the bridge of her nose. What the hell was she going to do? She couldn’t take the kids away from their father, could she?

  Sarah stepped forward and put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Don’t cry, Mum,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

  “No,” Helena said. “No, it won’t be all right. It really won’t.”

  Now Johnny stepped forward and copied his sister, rubbing her other arm. “Please don’t be sad, Mummy.”

  “We’ll help,” Sarah said. “We’ll help you tidy up and things, won’t we Johnny?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said. “We’ll do loads to help.”

  Helena wrapped her arms around her kids, her wonderful, amazing kids, and squeezed them tight against her. She bowed her head, buried her face in their hair, and wept—long, wracking sobs that had been held back for far too long.

  “Come on,” Sarah said. “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

  Helena somehow managed to laugh through her tears. “And this,” she said, “from the girl who will never wear her coat.”

  When Sarah laughed, Johnny joined in, although he wasn’t exactly sure what they were laughing about. It was just nice to see Mummy smiling.

  “All right,” Helena said. “Let’s go and get warmed up.”

  ***

  Gary thudded down the stairs and stormed through the kitchen, heading for the errant door. But something made him stop in his tracks. Something was different.

  A pizza box sat on the counter. That was odd. Helena frowned on takeaways of any variety. “Helena?” he called. No reply. In the silence, the sudden slamming of the back door startled him. “Helena?” he said. And this time, he kept his voice low, suddenly afraid of receiving an answer. The tiled floor seemed to sway beneath Gary’s feet and he put his hand on the counter to steady himself. He had to think. Helena and the kids had clearly returned home, but what could take all three of them away in such a hurry that the door was left open? Had someone broken in? He did have a lot of high-end tech in the house. But that didn’t explain where Helena and the kids had disappeared to.

  The blood drained from Gary’s face. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years he’d been writing his blog. He’d never been afraid to tackle extremists of all varieties. Faiths and religions, pressure groups, animal rights activists—nothing was sacred as far as satire was concerned. Could someone have taken Helena and the kids in revenge?

  Gary ran a hand over his face. His hand came away wet, dripping with sweat from his forehead. “Calm down,” he told himself. “There must be a simple explanation.” Yes. There had to be some simple thing that he’d missed. Or forgotten about. He looked around the room and finally, he noticed Helena’s diary, open on the counter. He heaved a sigh of relief. Of course. She’d left him a note.

  He almost laughed as he crossed the room. What an idiot he’d been. He picked up the diary and scanned the hurried note. What the hell? Gary’s lips moved soundlessly as he tried to form a meaningful sentence. He read the note again. And again.

  By now, the fluttering sensation is his chest was familiar. But this time, it seemed worse. This time, it sent a shudder through his upper body. He put his hand on his chest and rubbed. It didn’t help. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. But it was no good. His chest was too tight. It felt as if someone had wrapped their arms around his chest, and they were hugging him tighter and tighter, squeezing the life out of him. He needed help. He needed... he needed Helena... but she... she was gone... and there was no one... no one...

  “Daddy!” Johnny charged into the kitchen and ran toward his father, not slowing down enough to notice that something might be wrong. “Daddy, Daddy, we’re home.”

  Gary opened his eyes and saw his son running toward him with his mouth open. But Gary’s blood was pounding too loudly in his ears and he couldn’t hear what Johnny was saying. He looked up and there was Sarah, standing in the doorway, and her mouth was wide open too, as if screaming. And then Helena was standing behind her daughter, her face pale and tear-stained, her eyes red-rimmed and stretched wide in horror.

  Her eyes, Gary thought, her beautiful eyes. And as he looked into her eyes, a bloom of pure, ice-cold pain erupted from his heart. The diary dropped from his feeble hands. And in those last, fleeting moments of his life, Gary finally achieved perfect focus.

  A FACE AT THE WINDOW

  This should be the best part of the school day for Rachel. Everyone else has gone home. She has the place to herself. She has time to think. But as she walks through the empty echoing corridors, she can’t relax, can’t enjoy the moment.

  Why? Has she heard something out of the ordinary? Has she seen something?

  Yes. That’s it. Something glimpsed from the corner of her eye has caught her attention. She stands alone in the echoing corridor and turns slowly, scanning every closed door, every window. There. At the window—the one that looks out onto the sports field. Something flickering across the glass. A face.

  Rachel stalks toward the window, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed tight. It’ll be kids. Stupid little kids messing about, trespassing on school property when they’ve no business to be there. How dare they? This is her time, her personal space.

  She’s at the window now, ready to pummel on the glass, ready to give them a scare. But... No. There’s no one there. She leans against the cold glass and looks to the left, the right. No one.

  “I must’ve imagined it,” she mutters. She steps back and stares at the window, seeing only her own face mirrored by the glass. Perhaps that had been the cause—a trick of the light that made her reflection flit across the pane as she’d walked by. She wrinkles her nose. Ridiculous, she thinks. Stupid. Jumping at shadows.

  Rachel tugs at a loose strand of hair and sighs. “Coffee,” she says. She checks her watch. She’s got plenty of time, and there’s a kettle in the staff room.

  She nods to herself and sets off along the corridor. Yes. A nice cup of hot coffee will revive her. And then she must get on. After all, she has a lot to do this evening. She picks up her pace, her footsteps ringing out against the polished wood flooring.

  Rachel smiles as she barges into the staff room—and freezes, her right hand still on the door handle.

  This time, there’s no mistake. The face beyond the window is pale and clear. And it certainly does not belong to a mischievous young child.

  The man stares at Rachel, looks her in the eye. Her sudden entrance has startled him but he is not afraid. A grim smile plays across his lips. He steps back from the window and Rachel takes in the dark uniform, the padded waistcoat, bristling with pockets. Police. He puts his hand to the radio attached to hi
s waistcoat, and Rachel runs.

  The staff room door slams shut behind her. How did they know? What had given her away? As she pounds down the corridor she fumbles in her pocket. She’s got to get rid of the evidence. She throws the cigarette lighter down as she runs. A shame. It was her favourite. Just keep running, she tells herself.

  Her heart racing, she looks ahead to where the corridors meet. If she turns left, she’ll head into the reception area. And beyond that, there’s the main entrance. The thought of bursting out through the double doors is almost too tempting. Almost. But they’d have that entrance covered. Of course they would. But if she turns right, there’s a fire exit at the end of the corridor. All she’ll have to do is slam the locking bar upwards and she’ll be free. Sure, it’ll set off the fire alarm, but so what?

  Rachel hurtles around the corner and runs for all she’s worth. Her breath rasps in her throat, her heart pounds, her blood sings in her ears. Behind her, a volley of shouted commands boom and roll along the corridor. They’re getting closer, their heavy boots thudding furiously against the wooden floor. There must be scores of them, an army of angry policemen. But Rachel smiles. The fire door is almost within her reach. A few more strides and she’ll be gone.

  She skids to a halt and grasps the locking bar with both hands. But before she can push it, a shadow falls over her. She looks up. And there, on the other side of the fire door’s reinforced glass, is the policeman, a grin of triumph on his face.

  Rachel’s shoulders slump. She turns her back on the door and leans against it. Gasping for breath, she faces her pursuers. There are only two of them, but even so, it’s all over. For tonight.

  But there will be other nights. And although she’s lost her favourite lighter, she has plenty more at home. She allows herself a small smile. Petrol, she thinks. Next time, I’ll bring petrol.

  CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE

  “You’re so grumpy,” Emma said. “Cheer up. Christmas shopping is meant to be fun!”

  Sean ground his teeth together and stared hard at the shelves of toiletries, the scuffed floor, anywhere but at Emma. “What a load of crap,” he muttered under his breath.

  “That’s nice,” Emma said. “I’m trying to find the right present for your mother. And what thanks do I get? None.”

  He turned and looked her in the eye. And when he spoke, his voice was low. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need anything, she doesn’t want anything. I’ll buy her hand cream. Same as last year.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “That sums you up,” she said. “Same as last year.”

  Sean let out a humourless laugh. “No,” he said. “Everything is not the same.”

  “Not this again. Listen, it was a crap job and you hated it.”

  “Yeah, but without my crappy job, how are we going to pay for all this... this junk?”

  Emma stepped closer, took his arm and looked up at him. “We’ll be all right,” she said. “We’ve still got my salary. You’ll find something soon.”

  Sean looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just... hard.”

  “Yeah. Why don’t we take a break? We could grab a drink, I mean a coffee.”

  Sean managed a smile. “That’d be nice,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  As they left the warmth and cheerful chatter of the cafe and stepped out into the bustling stream of shoppers, Sean took a deep breath of crisp winter air. It was good. Emma kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s meet in half an hour,” she said. “I’ve got to get you something.”

  “Don’t spend too much,” he said. He gave her a smile. “Unless you really want to.”

  Emma laughed. “See you later,” she said, and turned away, striding purposefully down the road.

  Sean watched her until she disappeared into the crowd.

  “You’ve got a lovely wife there, mate.”

  Sean spun around. The old man sat on the ground, huddled under a moth-eaten blanket. His wrinkled face was unshaven and layered with grime.

  “Are you talking to me?” Sean said.

  The man smiled, and his eyes twinkled. He had an open, honest face. “Yes,” he said. “I was just saying you’re a lucky man. Perhaps you’d help someone less fortunate?” He held up a paper cup.

  Sean grimaced. “Are you kidding?” he said. “Do they know you’re out here, pestering the customers?”

  The man’s face fell. “Not exactly,” he said, “but they gave me a coffee. Very kind.”

  Sean scowled. He’d just handed over his hard-earned money for an overpriced coffee, yet they’d given one away to this vagrant. “You’re pathetic,” he snapped. He stepped forward.

  The man cringed and held up his trembling hands to protect himself.

  The blood drained from Sean’s face. “I wasn’t going to—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He turned and marched away, hardly seeing the people he passed or the brightly lit shop windows. He walked on, turning a corner and losing himself among the crowds, leaving the cafe and the vagrant far behind him.

  Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. Without meaning to, he’d ended up outside The Crossed Keys. It had been his favourite pub. But he didn’t go there now. Not for a long time. He swallowed. His throat was dry. He glanced up and down the street then checked his watch. He had at least twenty minutes before he had to meet Emma. Plenty of time. And he needed to steady his nerves. Just one drink, he thought. And opened the door.

  Forty-five minutes later, Sean stepped out onto the pavement, feeling warm and relaxed. I needed that, he thought. I’ve been so tense lately, so short-tempered with Emma. He gasped. Emma. He checked his phone. Five missed calls and a text: Where are you? I’m going home in the car. You take the bus. There were no kisses, no smiling faces. I’m in trouble, he thought.

  He tapped out a reply: Sorry, I got held up. Trying to find you something extra special. Love you, xxxxxx.

  That should do it, he thought. It might even make her feel guilty. He smiled and pocketed his phone. The only problem was that now he’d have to actually do some shopping. He sighed and marched toward the nearest department store.

  By the time he’d finished, it was getting dark and he was weighed down with carrier bags, their plastic handles digging into his fingers. Mission accomplished, he thought, and headed for the bus stop.

  When he realised that he’d have to pass the cafe, he felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn’t have been so hard on the old man. It would be a cold night. Too cold to be on the streets. Perhaps Sean should give him something—enough money for a hot meal.

  But the old man wasn’t there. Sean looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. He shrugged and walked away. I tried, he thought.

  ***

  That night, Sean couldn’t get to sleep. Emma had her back to him, leaving a deliberate space between them. I’m still not forgiven, he thought. It was a shame. The night was bitterly cold and a cuddle would warm him up. At least I’m not on the streets, he thought, and lost himself in a muddle of memories from the long day. He dozed, and the memories melted into disjointed dreams. He saw himself as a much older man, reading a letter. His eyes were clouded with confusion, his brow creased with worry. The credit cards had finally caught up with him. They were taking everything. In the dream, Emma was a faint memory: she stood in silence, holding out the bottles she’d found, her eyes full of hurt, disappointment, anger. And as the dream ran its course, his house turned into a hostel. When that vanished, he walked alone down crowded streets, where every back was turned. He called out, begging a stranger for help, but the stranger turned on him, cutting him down with his sneering anger, his brutal contempt. And Sean recognised the stranger’s face.

  He woke in a cold sweat. “It was me,” he whispered. “Me.”

  ***

  In the morning, Emma woke him with a kiss. “I’ve made you a cup of tea,” she said.

  Sean sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. “Thanks,” he said. He took a sip of hot tea and s
ighed. He must be back in her good books.

  “I’m going back into town later,” she said. “Do you want to come? Or have you finished your shopping?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sean said.

  “See how you feel.” She paused at the door. “You know,” she said, “I’ve seen all those bags of Christmas presents you left on the sofa.”

  “You didn’t peek did you?”

  “Of course not.” She gave him a smile, warm and mischievous. “But I can see the brand names on the bags can’t I? You shouldn’t spoil me like that.”

  Sean grinned. So that was why he’d had tea in bed. “Who says they’re for you?”

  Emma laughed. “Well, unless your mother’s taken to wearing designer clothes and sexy lingerie, I’m in for a treat.”

  “You never know your luck,” Sean said. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  ***

  Emma drove them into town, and she sang along to every corny Christmas song on the radio. Sean sat quietly. It was great to see her happy—but at what cost? The credit card bills would wipe out the last of their savings. And what then?

  They walked along the main street, holding hands, weaving between the other shoppers.

  “I have to do some shopping on my own,” Emma said.

  Sean bit his bottom lip. “Listen,” he said, “you don’t need to feel like you’ve got to buy me loads of things.”

  “You say that now,” Emma said, “but what about Christmas morning, when I’m opening all my lovely presents, and all you’ve got is a pair of gloves?”

  “Gloves are great,” he said. “I’d be happy with gloves.”

  Emma laughed. “That was an example,” she said. “I haven’t really bought you gloves.” She squeezed his hand. “Anyway, you can’t stop me.”

  “I give in,” Sean said. “But don’t hit the credit cards too hard—they might melt.” And he smiled to himself. He’d just had a great idea.

  ***

  The shop assistant looked tired. “What are the gloves for? Skiing?”

  “No,” Sean said. “I just want the warmest ones.”