Darker Page 18

  Metallic grinding.

  ‘Get out of my van! I’m warning you!’

  Robbie’s face was bright red. He thumped the window.

  She released the handbrake. The van stood facing down a slight grass incline to the cart track. Very slowly, it rolled forward.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he shrieked. ‘This’s my van!’

  He ran round the front of the van and tried the passenger door. But she’d already locked it.

  Damn, where’s that gear? She revved the van. Still in neutral.

  Thud.

  She looked back. He’d opened the door at the back.

  Christ, she’d assumed it would have been locked. He was climbing in.

  Clunk. She found the gear. It was the wrong one, maybe even third, but she took her foot from the clutch pedal and floored the accelerator.

  On the level it would have stalled.

  But facing downhill gravity helped. It rumbled forward across the turf, bumping over tree roots.

  ‘Stop it now, and I won’t hurt you,’ screamed Robbie.

  She looked back in time to see him crouching in the back of the van, his eyes blazing furiously through the huge spectacle lenses.

  Then the van lurched over a deep rut. A stack of fuselages, wings, and cockpits slid back across the metal floor, hit Robbie, and pushed him back out of the van.

  In the rearview mirror, she saw him sitting on the grass amid the wreckage of the model planes. She accelerated downhill. Behind her, the rear door flapped and banged.

  But even after she reached the road she drove a full mile before stopping to close it. As she ran back to the driver’s seat she felt the first heavy drops of rain smack against her face. The storm was breaking.

  Chapter 34

  Wales

  Michael told Richard to park at the back of the hotel.

  ‘Is this Blackpool?’ Amy asked expectantly.

  Michael smiled. ‘No, I’m sorry, Amy, it’s not Blackpool, but, look, you can just see the sea down there.’

  ‘Oh … I like Blackpool.’

  ‘This is a very nice hotel, though. There’s satellite television in all the rooms.’

  Christine let her out of the car and Amy stood looking at the mountains in something close to awe.

  ‘This is Wales,’ Michael explained. ‘See that big mountain over there? That’s Snowdon. One of the biggest mountains in Britain. And do you know something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A railway goes all the way to the top of it.’

  ‘Very nice,’ Joey grunted, hauling his bulk out of the car. ‘Christ, I need a drink. I need a drink now.’

  Richard climbed out, stretching his tensed arm muscles. He felt lousy. As if he’d been dragged down to hell and back. Twisting his head from side to side, he tried to dislodge the ache from his neck.

  He looked at Michael. ‘Will we be safe here?’

  ‘For the next ten hours or so. We’ve put a good few miles between us and Beastie boy. You did a good job, Richard.’

  Richard glared at him. ‘I did nothing of the sort. All I did was kill two policemen back there.’

  ‘You weren’t to know —’

  ‘Weren’t to know what? I’d seen what that thing could do. I as good as called it down on them.’

  ‘Richard, I’m sorry, I —’

  ‘You’re sorry. I think it’s their widows and their children who’re going to be the sorry ones. We should have … we should have …’

  The truth was he didn’t know what they should have done. Richard turned his back on the whole lot of them and glared along the valley. But he didn’t see the green mountains or the lake in the valley. He only saw two men being crushed beneath that damn tarpaulin. Crushed to crimson paste. He ground his teeth so hard he bit his tongue but he didn’t feel a sodding thing.

  ‘Richard … Richard.’ Christine spoke gently. ‘It’s starting to rain. Come inside.’

  He tried to speak but his mouth stayed clamped. No words would come. He shook his head.

  ‘Richard. We’re going to get this sorted out. We’ll be home soon … come on, Amy’s frightened to see you like this.’

  He glared at the great wall of cloud sliding across the mountaintops.

  ‘We’ve all been through it, you know. I think Joey’s on the verge of cracking up. He’s hardly said anything for hours.’

  Richard breathed deeply. ‘I’m OK. But you know something, Christine? All I wanted to do then was just run down that hillside and keep running and running until I’d lost myself somewhere out there.’

  Rubbing his face, he turned. Christ, what a pathetic sight they all made. Joey stood, shoulders slumped, lank hair falling over his eyes. He looked twenty years older. Amy was ready to fall asleep on her feet. Michael looked as if a cancer was eating him up – thin looking, exhausted, but his eyes uncannily bright and alert. Christine, tired but still finding love to give to her husband and daughter.

  He gave a faint smile. ‘Christine?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ve got oil on your cheek. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.’ They walked back towards the hotel. It sat out on the hillside in the middle of nowhere. A dark granite fortress of a building complete with a circular stone tower.

  Behind them thunder rumbled. To Richard it sounded like the footsteps of stalking giants.

  Rosemary surprised herself: she could actually drive the van. If she’d had time to think about it she probably wouldn’t have had a clue. But it had all happened so quickly. With the sex-starved Robbie trying to climb into the van she’d acted on autopilot. Now he was back in that field gathering bits of his beloved aeroplanes up into his arms in the rain, while cursing womankind for all eternity.

  She made it to the motorway and headed west. Before long, she saw the signs for Blackpool. Another hour or so would find her there. Hopefully before it got too dark. She didn’t relish the idea of driving at night yet. For one, she hadn’t a clue how to switch on the lights. There had been a fumbling forty seconds of trial and error before she found out how to switch on the wipers.

  The rain came down in a steady stream; some even leaked on to the floor of the old van.

  ‘Don’t break down on me,’ she whispered. ‘Keep going. We’ve got lives to save.’

  But the old VW engine ticked sturdily on. And for the first time she felt confident about her own abilities to get things done.

  Back there with Robbie she’d made a significant discovery about herself. She had a power of her own. Not the kind of power Michael had talked about. What she had was a sexual power. It had been strong enough to get what she wanted from poor old sweaty Robbie. She still couldn’t help but feel sorry for him but she had discovered that along with power came ruthlessness. She couldn’t allow anything to get between her and her goal. Yes, you WILL stop Michael hurting that little girl. You WILL destroy Michael. Your ambition … Yes, Red Zed, even your passion to carry that plan out has attained the power and the glory of a holy quest.

  Chapter 35

  Monday Night

  ‘… and when the wolf tried to climb down the third little piggy’s chimney, he fell down into the big pot of boiling water and that was the end of him.’

  ‘Did he die?’ asked Amy her eyes round.

  Michael smiled. ‘Afraid so. Go get yourself another biscuit and I’ll read you “Jack and the Beanstalk”.’

  At the other side of the hotel room Christine said under her breath as she brushed her hair, ‘I hate it when he does that.’

  Richard looked at her and nodded.

  Christine said, ‘He’s taking charge of us again.’

  ‘He’s the only one who knows how to get us out of this.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. But does that mean we now have to obey his orders?’

  Richard pulled his trainers off. He felt emotionally battered. He needed a bath. But there were too many unanswered questions for him to relax in a hot tub just yet. He looked across to where Amy sat beside Michael
on a window seat. The hotel room was vast. You could have parked a truck in the place, and still had room to park a car in the mediaeval fireplace.

  He guessed the place was a converted manor house. The walls were panelled with oak. Heavy black beams ran from one side of the ceiling to the other. The expanse of red carpet looked as big as most people’s back lawns. Earlier, room service had efficiently and discreetly supplied cooked meals along with a couple of bottles of fine French brandy that Richard had only seen in glossy magazines before. When he’d asked Michael how they were going to pay for it all, he’d given a shy smile and told him not to worry, that he had a financial interest in the place. Which, Richard guessed, meant he owned it.

  Joey came into the room and walked across the vast spread of carpet, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?’ He ran his thick fingers through his hair. ‘I feel a bit stupid sat in my room all by myself.’ He gave a watery smile. ‘It’s big enough to keep an elephant in there.’

  ‘Brandy, Joey?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Oh, God, yes. Thanks.’

  Richard had always seen Joey Barrass as conceited, a stuck-up sod who couldn’t name anyone more important than himself on the face of God’s earth. Now, he looked small and bruised. The muddy brown eyes were just plain scared.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Joey whispered so Michael wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Reading Amy fairy stories.’

  ‘Jesus. He should have his butt in gear getting us out of this shit.’

  Christine said, ‘Joey, have you been able to call Sonia and let her know you’re OK?’

  ‘Sonia?’ Joey repeated as if hearing the name for the first time.

  ‘Yes. Sonia. Your wife.’ Christine didn’t sound impatient with Joey, she was being the caring sister.

  ‘Uh, no, not yet.’ Joey spoke painfully. ‘You see, things haven’t been going that well between us lately. Well, for a couple of years now. Sometimes I don’t go home at night.’

  ‘So she might not even miss you?’

  ‘No.’

  Richard said, ‘I know we haven’t had a chance to talk properly together, seeing as Michael’s been with us, but …’ He changed the subject as Michael walked across the room toward them. ‘Want another brandy, Joey?’

  Stonefaced, Joey nodded and held out his glass. Michael smiled. ‘Room OK, Joey?’

  ‘Yeah … Look, do you mind if I use your bath? I keep thinking, what if that thing comes for us? I know you wouldn’t leave me … but what if you couldn’t warn me?’ He sucked down a mouthful of brandy. ‘And that thing came. I keep thinking – it’s absurd, it’s fucking absurd – but if I’m sat there stark bollock naked in the bath and the fucking roof comes down on me.’ He laughed but anyone could tell it was the laugh of someone on the edge of cracking up. His hands shook; he rubbed his eyes repeatedly with the heel of his hand.

  Christine put her arm round him. ‘Course it’s all right,’ she said gently, pouring him another brandy. ‘Now just try and unwind.’

  He nodded and stumbled away to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, only pushed it to. Then Richard heard the sound of him running the bath.

  Collapse of stout party. No sooner had Richard thought the words than he had to bite his lip to stop himself braying out with a manic laughter. Christ, this tension was hitting him. He poured himself a brandy. When he offered Michael one the man shook his head.

  Michael spoke in that gentle voice. ‘Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to my room to make some calls now. When I come back I should have some good news for you.’

  ‘What kind of good news?’ asked Richard. ‘Do you mean —’

  ‘Don’t worry, Richard. Enjoy the brandy. I’ll be right back. See ya, honey bunch,’ he waved to Amy.

  ‘See ya, honey bunch,’ Amy echoed, grinning.

  When Michael had gone Christine said to Amy, ‘An early night for you, I think.’

  ‘Aw, Mum.’

  ‘Let her stay up a few more minutes,’ Richard said.

  ‘Oh, all right. Ten minutes – maximum.’

  ‘Maxi Mum.’ Amy chuckled.

  Richard switched on the television.

  Amy gave a happy squeal. ‘It’s The Simpsons! Look, there’s Homer riding Lisa’s bike …’ Immediately Amy was in a world of her own, watching the TV.

  Richard glanced at Christine who watched Amy with a pure motherly affection. He wished he had his own world to retreat to, too. Here he was sitting in a five-hundred-year-old hotel on a Welsh mountainside. Outside it thundered. And God know what was walking towards them through those thunder-clouds. Like a malignant old God that wanted more than its pound of flesh.

  So this is it. The life you knew just fifteen hours ago is in ruins. Who knows what the future holds. For Godsakes, you might be dead this time tomorrow. Caught in a traffic jam when that thing decides to attack. Or maybe you’ll have just called into a filling station to visit the toilet. As you sit and crap that thing roars down on you like the hammer of God and crushes you flat.

  Christ, thought Richard bleakly. There was something about the idea of dying on the toilet that filled him with a feeling that was a half-breed born of horror and embarrassment. Didn’t medical statistics show that you’re as likely to die sitting on your toilet seat with your pants round your ankles as in your own bed?

  Not everyone did, though. And again he was struck by the absurdity of sitting here with a glass of brandy in his twitchy fingers, watching a cartoon, while in a mortuary somewhere what was left of two men coagulated in half a dozen or so plastic tubs.

  ‘Christine!’ screamed Joey from the bathroom. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Joey … Joey, it’s okay,’ called Christine. ‘We’re still here.’

  Joey sounded shaken. ‘I – I couldn’t hear voices. I thought you’d left me. I – is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, Joey,’ Richard said, surprised by how relaxed his own voice sounded. ‘Take it easy. We’d tell you if anything was wrong.’

  Joey called twice more in that panicky way as they watched television. Amy didn’t seem to notice, still locked safely away in the familiar world of the cartoon.

  When it was finished she turned to any empty area of carpet and said, ‘Right, Boys. Outside. You can sleep in the car park.’

  ‘Ready for bed?’ asked Christine.

  Amy nodded and yawned. ‘Can we go home tomorrow, Mum?’

  ‘We’ll see, honey. Kiss Dad goodnight.’

  Richard kissed his daughter and hugged her tight, as if she was all that stopped him from falling down into a pit full of darkness. ‘Goodnight, love.’

  Christine led Amy to the bedroom that opened directly off theirs.

  Later, after she’d returned, Joey came out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. When he spoke it sounded sheepish. ‘I’m sorry about that. Nerves. I just kept imagining that Beast thing was directly over the room, and …’ With a visible shudder he helped himself to more brandy.

  Michael tapped on their door and walked quickly in.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Richard expectantly.

  ‘In a minute. But first …’ He changed channels. ‘I think you’d want to see this.’

  Twenty miles outside Blackpool, Rosemary’s plans began to run less smoothly. She was low on petrol and looking at the gauge when she heard the horn.

  She swerved across the road, pumping the clutch instead of the brake. The van crunched up on to the pavement and ran twenty yards across a strip of grass, crunching bushes before stopping a foot from a garden fence.

  By this time it was all but dark. In the house in front of her the occupant whipped back the curtain in obvious surprise at the sight of a van almost plunging into their garden. ‘Christ, Rosemary,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t get yourself caught now!’

  She switched the headlamps on to full beam. All the occupants of the house would see were the dazzling lights. And that’s all the description they’d be able to give
to the police.

  Then she slammed the van into reverse. The tyres buzzed like chainsaws across the rain-soaked grass. Juddering, the vehicle moved backwards, crushing more bushes, tyres throwing up a spray of mud.

  Without looking, she bounced the van back out on to the road. Another horn sounded. Spitting fury, she yelled at them to Shut it! as she crashed the gears into first and pushed the van towards Blackpool.

  No sooner was she out of that when more images, crystal bright, began to flash through her head.

  Amy was transmitting images of what she saw again.

  Rosemary saw what looked like a bedroom in a very old building, with beamed ceiling and leaded windows. Beyond the windows were mountains dotted here and there with sheep and every so often a farmhouse. Amy was being led by the hand to bed in a small room off the large one. Through the window there she could see the red Volvo Amy had travelled in, standing in a car park. Beyond that, the ground sloped down towards a fast-flowing stream. Raindrops began to slap the window panes.

  The woman tucked the girl into bed. She said, ‘Sleep tight, Amy.’

  ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ Big yawn. ‘Mum. Why does Michael say he doesn’t know Rosemary Snow when he does?’

  Again horns sounded, lights flashed. Something crunched along the side of the van. Rosemary didn’t think it was another car. Perhaps a road sign or lamp post.

  The van still ran soundly enough so she pushed on. Plenty of time to look at the damage later.

  But she knew two things for sure. She knew Michael hadn’t taken the family to Blackpool. That mountain scenery could be either Scotland or Wales – or even the Lake District, come to that. Secondly, Amy knew the name Rosemary Snow. Maybe this telepathic link was two-way. Maybe if she thought hard enough she could get some message through to Amy.

  On the outskirts of Blackpool, she parked the van in a side street, then, climbing into the back, she kicked aside balsa wood spars, rolls of masking tape, the Messerschmitt wings and Stuka fuselage. Once there was a big enough space she lay down, covering herself with a coat that had been draped over the driver’s seat. It smelt of poor hapless Robbie’s sweat. It would have to do. There’d be time for comfort and clean bedding when this was over.