Past Darkness Page 6

  ‘What the hell…?’

  The street resembled a war zone. A large gap conspicuously glared at him from across the street, where the house and the grocery shop had recently been. Windows in other houses were boarded up with wooden shields.

  As Karl emerged from the car, Tommy Naughton came out of the house, greeting him with an outstretched hand.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Karl.’

  ‘Not a problem, Tommy.’

  ‘My goodness, that’s some car you’re driving,’ Tommy said, staring at Karl’s most cherished possession. ‘Is that a Ford Cortina GT?’

  ‘You have the eye, Tommy.’

  ‘They don’t make them like that any more. A classic.’

  ‘You’ll never believe where I got it,’ Karl said, beaming with pride.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Remember The Sweeney TV show?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Tommy’s eyes lit up. ‘One of my favourite shows, from the seventies. Regan and Carter, John Thaw and Dennis Waterman?’

  ‘Well, that beauty of mine was one of the original ones used on the show. I bought it from a man who worked in the BBC. They were actually going to scrap it. Can you believe that?’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘Sacrilege.’

  ‘Exactly. Cost me a fortune. I’ve had it restored, bit by bit, over the years.’

  ‘I can see that, and what a job you’ve done on it. A beauty, as you say.’

  Karl was quickly warming to Tommy. Few people – notably unappreciative Naomi – truly understood the appeal of the car, or the dedication needed to maintain its beauty and longevity.

  ‘I could talk all day about the car, Tommy, but unfortunately I have to change the subject.’ Karl cast his eyes across the street. Kids were chasing each other across the stark gap in the streetscape. ‘When you told me about the fire, I didn’t realise just how devastating it’d been.’

  ‘I know. Shocking to look at. And what remained of the two buildings has already been pulled down, for safety reasons.’

  ‘I can see the kids are taking no heed of that.’

  ‘It isn’t for the kids’ safety. It’s for the safety of the peelers. The kids have been throwing bricks at them, so they’ve had the remains demolished and all the bricks removed. The Housing Executive is refusing to replace the broken windows in the other houses – ours included. They only replace broken windows caused by rioting, not by gas explosions.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You know, people in this area don’t have a lot of money. Replacing widows is expensive.’

  Karl shook his head in disbelief. ‘Only in Belfast would they encourage a riot to have broken windows replaced.’

  ‘Come inside. I’ll get Theresa to make some tea.’

  As he was about to enter Tommy’s home, Karl hesitantly asked, ‘I don’t mean to offend you, Tommy, or the good people living here, but…well, do you think my car’ll be safe? I’d hate to see anything happen to it.’

  Tommy smiled. Winked. ‘Don’t worry about that. No-one in this area will mess with your car when they see whose house it’s parked outside. Guaranteed.’

  Inside the small, terraced residence, Karl was ushered into the parlour by Tommy.

  ‘I’ll be back in a sec, Karl. Got to get the boss.’

  The parlour was spotlessly clean, filled with knick-knacks, alongside religious pictures adorning the walls. Small, framed photos of Pope John Paul II and John F Kennedy sandwiched a larger one of the Sacred Heart. Across the room, resting atop a fireplace, a group of family photos was displayed. A china cabinet in the corner was packed with Capodimonte porcelain figures, and for a brief, melancholy moment, Karl thought of his father giving such figures to his mother, home from trips around the world as a merchant seaman.

  True to his word, a few seconds later, Tommy returned along with a small woman with piercing eyes.

  ‘Karl? This is Theresa, the wife and boss.’

  Theresa Naughton’s hair was proudly grey, with no cover-up dye. Despite the passage of time, her striking good looks were still prominent in the bone structure of her face, all captained by that pair of commanding eyes.

  ‘Mister Kane. I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for coming.’ Theresa extended her hand. Karl shook it, gently.

  ‘Not a problem, Theresa, and please, just call me Karl.’

  ‘Karl it is. Let me get you a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘If I’m not being too cheeky, Theresa, would you have any coffee?’

  ‘I love a cheeky man, Karl. Coffee you shall have. Sit yourself down, take the weight off your feet.’

  Tommy waited until Theresa had left the room. ‘She’s taken a shine to you. It’s not everyone she makes coffee for.’

  ‘I seem to have that hypnotic power over all beautiful women, Tommy. I just can’t help myself. I’m a wee bit puzzled, though.’

  ‘Puzzled?’

  ‘For such a sickly woman, she looks very healthy, if you don’t mind me saying?’

  ‘I’ll go give her a hand,’ Tommy said, quickly leaving the room.

  Outside in the street, a Mister Whippy ice-cream van had pulled up. Its Pied Piper jingle almost instantly conjured up zombie-like children out of nowhere, drawn magnetically towards it.

  ‘Freezing out there, and they still want ice cream,’ Theresa said, entering the room a few minutes later, followed by Tommy carrying a tray laden with goodies: coffee in a Shelley fine-bone coffee pot; sugar and milk occupying small silver containers; an army of assorted biscuits overflowing the plate.

  ‘She only gets this out if the Pope’s coming to visit,’ Tommy grinned.

  ‘Behave yourself, Tommy Naughton,’ Theresa said, smiling. ‘Don’t be shy, Karl. Get tucked in. A big man like yourself needs his grub.’

  Karl poured himself a coffee, and took a biscuit out of politeness. He sipped the hot liquid.

  ‘This is a great cup of coffee, Theresa. Haven’t tasted one like it in ages.’

  Theresa smiled, and Karl swore she was blushing. Theresa reached over and removed one of the photos on the fireplace. She began pointing out the people in the picture.

  ‘This is our daughter Pauline, and son-in-law Charlie. And those two wee angels are Dorothy and Cindy. All gone to their reward now.’

  Karl took the photo and nodded. ‘A beautiful family, Theresa.’

  ‘Do you have any grandchildren, Karl?’

  ‘Not for another few years, I hope.’ Karl laughed nervously. ‘I’ve one daughter. Katie.’

  ‘Katie. That’s a beautiful Irish name. Katherine, meaning pure and clear.’

  ‘Well, she certainly has made me financially poor over the years, that much is very clear.’ Karl handed the framed photo back, his cynical nature suspecting Theresa of wanting him to see the family as real people – people he would begin to care about, rather than just names in the newspapers.

  ‘Do you genuinely think you’ll be able to clear Pauline and Charlie’s names, Karl? Tommy seems to think so.’

  Karl looked at Tommy, then back at Theresa.

  ‘What I told Tommy was – and I was quite clear on this – I would look into it, but couldn’t promise any results. There’s not a lot I can do unless someone tells me something they didn’t tell the police. From what Tommy tells me, no one around here would tell the police anything. But they’ll probably regard an outsider like me as some sort of cop as well, and give me the cold shoulder, if not a hot fist in the mouth.’

  ‘We have a saying around here: It’s often a person’s mouth that breaks his nose. But word has been sent out that you’re okay, Karl.’ Theresa’s voice spoke with authority. ‘You’ll be getting no punches. If anyone knows anything, word will come back to me and I’ll see you get it.’

  ‘That helps, but I have to be honest. I spoke to a good friend of mine in-the-know, a highly respected pathologist. He’s looked at the report, and according to him, everything seems above-board. He reckons the cops have it right.’

&nbs
p; Just then, in walked a beautiful mackerel tabby cat, the distinctive ‘M’ stamped across its forehead. The cat had attitude and was having a bad fur day. It looked maniacal, like it had just escaped from a cat asylum, or had forgotten to take its medication.

  It stared up at Karl, its green eyes narrowing like Clint Eastwood confronting an adversary in a spaghetti movie. Around its neck, a tiny bauble dangled.

  ‘That’s Tiddles. You’re sitting on her seat,’ Theresa said, smiling. ‘She’ll try to intimidate you by dead-eyeing you, but just ignore her. Whatever you do, don’t stroke her. She hates being stroked by men.’

  ‘That’s something Tiddles and I have in common then. I don’t like to be stroked by men either.’ Karl returned the smile, even though the damned cat was making him nervous with its hypnotic stare. ‘To be honest with you, I’m not the greatest of cat-lovers.’

  Theresa shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s okay, not everyone is. Cats aren’t like dogs. They do as they see fit. Bet you’re a dog lover?’

  ‘No, it’s got nothing to do with that. A few years ago, my ex-wife threw her…’ Karl almost said ‘pussy’, but quickly corrected himself. ‘…cat in my face.’

  ‘My goodness!’ Theresa looked horrified. ‘What a horrible thing to do. Poor thing.’

  Karl knew for certain that Theresa’s words of sympathy were directed squarely towards the cat.

  ‘I still have a few scars its claws gave me, above my left eye.’ Karl shifted his head slightly, where dull sunlight was coming in through the window, but Theresa didn’t seem interested in his wounds.

  ‘Did the RSPCA get their hands on the dreadful woman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Scandalous. Surely to God they could’ve charged her with something?’

  Having an affair with another woman, whose dick was bigger than mine?

  ‘Unfortunately, no, Theresa.’

  After a few more minutes of small talk, Karl finished his coffee and stood to leave. ‘I’ll start checking out some of your neighbours tomorrow, see if they can add anything to what you’ve already told me. Other than that, you have my card. Call me if you can think of anything.’

  ‘Thank you for coming, Karl. It really is appreciated,’ Theresa said, standing.

  ‘I hope you enjoy your holiday, down in Donegal,’ Karl said.

  Theresa looked puzzled. ‘Holiday? What holiday?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. Didn’t Tommy tell you about the holiday he has planned for you?’ Karl smiled wickedly at an uncomfortable-looking Tommy.

  ‘Huh! It’ll be a first, him taking me anywhere.’

  ‘Well, a little bird named Naomi told me that’s all about to change.’ Karl turned his attention on Tommy. ‘Isn’t that right, Tommy?’

  Tommy’s face was performing nervous ticks. ‘What? Oh, yes. Of course…of course…it was my little surprise, darlin’.’

  ‘More a shock than surprise,’ Theresa said, eyeing Tommy suspiciously.

  Outside, rain was coming down in thick, dirty grey pellets. Karl gave the car a good once-over, dreading the prospect of nail-lines or dents. Nothing. He smiled with relief. Quickly got in. He adjusted the mirror, momentarily framing a man, seemingly staring at him from across the street. Tall. Stocky. Defiant.

  Karl started the engine, and then spun the car around, slowly passing the man. He was dressed in a dark, heavy raincoat, buttoned to the throat. A hat hung low, its brim covering most of the forehead and the hedges of eyebrows. Something black loitered in his right hand, and for one heart-stopping moment, Karl thought it was a gun, until he realised it was a camera.

  Probably just one of the local hard men keeping an eye out, doing a bad Humphrey Bogart, thought Karl.

  But there was something disturbing about the man’s face. He wasn’t hiding it with the pulled-down hat, as Karl first thought; he was highlighting it, using the hat to force one’s eyes to focus on that part of the face, almost as if he wanted to make sure Karl saw it. A large ‘Z’ stencilled into his face.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once when you were only two,

  I used to sit right next to you,

  I’d guard you bravely as you slept,

  And comfort you each time you wept.

  Tim Price, Teddy Bear’s Lament

  A chill wind was howling outside the old house, like the lonely ghost of a trapped wolf. Dorothy felt she was drowning in her own shadow in the spreading dark.

  The girls huddled under the thin blankets and filthy clothing, neither talking, both shivering. Dorothy was trying to stop her teeth from chattering, but was failing miserably. A couple of times, she tried huddling up beside Tara for some combined body heat, but her attempts were quickly shunned with an elbow directed to the ribs.

  Five minutes had passed since Dorothy’s last overture to secure some body heat. This time she would be a bit craftier. She eased over stealthily towards Tara’s body. She could feel the heat, even though a couple of inches divided them. Then, disaster. Her leg touched Tara’s.

  ‘Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! That’s sore. Why’d you nip me in the thigh, Tara? I was only trying to keep warm.’

  Tara trained her eyes upward, not even deigning to glance in Dorothy’s direction.

  ‘Don’t ever touch me. I don’t like to be touched – by anyone. It creeps me out. Make the same mistake again, and you won’t get off so easy, with just a little nip.’

  ‘Can…I at least get the bear, and hold it? Please. Can I?’

  Tara rolled her eyes. ‘As long as it stops you yakking for a few minutes, get it from the mattress.’

  Dorothy scuttled up the mattress, found the hole, removed the bear, and scuttled quickly back in from the freezing air. Under the blanket, she kissed the bear and hugged it tightly.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re kissing that old thing. I saw a rat pissing on it, a couple of nights ago.’

  ‘You’re only saying that to be mean. Isn’t she, Mister Bear? You’ll keep us safe, won’t you, Mister Bear?’

  ‘You probably believe that, don’t you?’ Tara replied, sarcastically.

  ‘Things happen when you believe. That’s what my mum always says.’

  ‘Well, isn’t your ma the smart one? Bet she’s as thick as you.’

  ‘My mum isn’t thick. Why are you so mean? I’m not talking to you any more.’

  ‘Best news I’ve heard since you came here.’

  Ten seconds went by.

  ‘Where did you find the bear?’

  ‘Thought you weren’t talking to me? If you must know, it was hid behind a hole in the wall.’

  ‘What’s its name?’

  ‘Name? You really are a kid, aren’t you? How the hell would I know? There’s something scribbled on its left paw, but the letters are faded. “King”, or something like that. I couldn’t make it out too well. Probably the name of the stupid kid who owned it a million years ago.’

  Dorothy began scrutinising the paw. ‘I can see it, some sort of name. Not King. Kang…? Kinl? No. Ka…Karl! That’s his name: Karl…’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Night. Karl. Walking in slow motion. Fog everywhere. In the distance, a large Victorian house looms, penetrating the miasma like in an old Hammer horror movie. The house will devour him, swallow him in one gulp. His heart is beating so hard it hurts his ribcage. He tries to stop walking, but the house’s magnetic grip keeps pulling him in.

  I don’t want to go there. Please…someone…help…

  His shoes start tripping him. Too big. He kicks them off, and continues onwards like a zombie. The house is getting bigger and bigger, his fear more acute. Trousers start slipping from his waist. He almost stumbles over them as they slide down his legs. Wiggles out of them. Followed by his underwear. The coat he’s wearing feels like a large gorilla stradd
ling him. It pulls away from him like a leaf in autumn. To his embarrassment, he is now completely naked, but bizarrely getting smaller, thinner.

  A child.

  Help me…please…someone. But it’s not his deep, baritone voice he hears pleading. It’s a squeaky, pubescent echo of anxiety and panic.

  Closer. The house comes closer. Its shadow reaching out to him. Threatening to grab.

  Please…

  His hand touches the door handle. He turns it. Involuntary. Door opens. A tidal wave of blood is unleashed like water into a sinking ship. Fills his mouth with the taste of iron and dry cotton. He’s gagging. Choking. Drowning.

  The bloody tide pulls him inside. A body floats by. His mother. Naked. Dead. Her skin shredded. He reaches for the body. Pulls himself on to it. Like it’s a bloated surfboard. Holding on for dear life. Gripping her spongy breasts. His face rests in her face. The stench of her rot is nauseating. Her eyes are open. Overripe with horror.

  Reflected in her pupils is a scene, like an old-time movie projector, flipping instantaneous movements of reel. Blurs slowing down towards an understanding of time and object.

  He looks deeper and deeper into the eyes. Directly behind his mother, a man stands, naked, bloody knife in hand, laughing. He resembles a centaur but in pig form, draped in a butcher’s bloody apron. He mounts her, his corkscrew cock excited and rigid, ready for entry into her vortex.

  Nooooooooooooooo! Karl is screaming, but no ears are listening.

  Behind the man, lurking in shadows, two young girls point their fingers accusingly at Karl. Blood is dripping from the tops of the tiny fingers. The drops parachute towards the ground, hitting it in slow motion, forming the words, You let him murder us, you did nothing to stop him…

  Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

  ‘Karl! Karl, wake up!’

  ‘Huh…? What…?’ Karl blinked a few times. His mouth tasted like dusty glue. Brow damp with sweat. Chest heaving.

  ‘You were having a nightmare,’ Naomi said, her worried face hovering over his. ‘You screamed out a few times. You okay?’