Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) (25 page)

‘I remember. Sorry. I was just being polite. I
didn’t want to put you out or make you feel like I might expect a lift every
night.’

Silence.

‘Did you like him, Alex?’

‘Who?’

‘You know who.’

‘Oh, Mark. Well yes I did, at first.’

‘Until you saw him by daylight, eh? Found he was
not that great looking after all?’

‘I thought he was attractive, when he was nice.
Then I saw his true colours, which were disagreeable, and they marked his
features.’

‘Will you promise me something?’

‘I might.’

‘If something happens to us– say something was to
happen which made you not want to be with me any longer. Promise me you won’t
go off with
him
? I know I’m a jealous prat in asking – I can’t help it.’

‘For so many reasons, Thom, it could never happen.
I’m not going anywhere for a start. Mark means nothing to me now and never
will. Though if it makes you feel better, you have my promise.’

When he kissed me goodbye I felt incredibly
positive, incandescently happy. That night however I recalled the feeling of
something deviant stirring in the undercurrents. I drifted into a half-sleep
where a rough sea of slumber tossed me about all night long.

I couldn’t wait to tell my
mum about Thom. It was the first time I would mention him. The moment I arrived
at her house – she’d barely started making coffee – I was chewing off her ears
about him. We were soon shopping in the West End. I was never into the latest
trends, but during those few days I found enough to make me smile. I went extra
feminine and bought a flowy dress (my first since junior school), and
accessories. Unconsciously done I’m sure, to support that truth that most men
don’t want a girlfriend who know the offside rule, who dress like their best
mate. They want a girlfriend to be feminine in all her own delicate right. This
is partly so they can rib you for it, and make as many chauvinistic remarks as
they please. Certainly Thom was one of these men. Though I wouldn’t be less
like myself for anyone. I found he just brought it out in me.

I returned home Thursday evening and spent most of
the journey exchanging texts with Thom. As threatened, Adrian tooted up outside
my house early the next morning. I rushed out with my hair dishevelled and
slightly damp. My mind was elsewhere.

‘You look happy!’ he remarked as I climbed in the
jeep. ‘Looking forward to some hard work?’

I suppose I did look cheerful, and I was, since the
end of the week drew near – I would soon see Thom.

Adrian, I discovered, hadn’t started any packing. Not
a thing. In fact, some of his gadgets weren’t disassembled or even unplugged.

‘I’ve just been so busy with work,’ he said defensively.
‘A friend said he’d pop round yesterday, but he’s gone down with something.’

‘Man-flu?’ I asked.

‘Probably.’ He laughed.

‘So where do you want me to start?’

He pointed to the kitchen. I knew I’d get assigned
crockery detail. When he popped his head in he commented that I was in another
world. This was his way of telling me I was working too slowly. I couldn’t help
it, I wasn’t really there. I was in a car park reliving a first kiss.

Once we’d finished I found I had a missed call from
Thom. He’d left me a voicemail and I listened to his deep zealous voice excitedly.

‘
Alex…
’ he said my name with the whisper of
a thrill. ‘
I hope you haven’t forgotten me while I count a week of days in
this nut house, doomed to stare at your empty cell until your return. I can hardly
wait to see you Sunday. Call me later if you can.
’

I did, the moment Adrian dropped me home. It was
after nine and we talked until midnight.

I met Beth on the train
Saturday morning. Adrian drove to work early, promising to drop us home after
the show. We arrived at the Barbican theatre in good time owing to Beth’s
influence. The stalls were buzzing in anticipation for The Casting of the Black
Arrows: a dark, Faustian style production.

It wasn’t a comedy, yet we found it difficult not
to laugh excessively at the maniacal portrayal of one main character. For the
interval we drank coffee and ate snacks in the lobby. Beth was quiet. I suspected
why. We had such a close friendship. Sometimes I felt an almost telepathic
connection with her.

‘I have some news,’ I announced slowly.

‘I’m surprised you could go the whole way here
without telling me.’

‘You know?’

‘Hmm, let me guess!’ she said, pouring a sachet of
brown sugar into her coffee. ‘Going by the near constant smile plastered on
your face. The fact you’re wearing colours I didn’t know you
knew
existed. And the dreamlike state you keep falling into whenever there’s a spare
microsecond. Could it be something to do with a tall, dark-eyed, mysterious
curator?’

‘You forgot sarcastic,’ I said, grinning, ‘and irresistible,’
I added, blushing.

‘And probably conveniently rich or something too.
So…’

‘So, we’re together now.’

Beth hugged me. ‘And when did this come about?’

I could see she was happy for me as I told her
about our first date. But when I’d finished, I read in her eyes something she
wanted to say, but couldn’t – at least not without encouragement.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘You’re my best friend. It’s your
job. Say it.’

‘You’re so happy. I don’t want to.’

‘Happiness can be temporary. If you’re not sure
about something, anything, then just say. Tell me he’s too old, or something.
Whatever it is, I can take it. But I warn you now, it won’t change my mind.’

‘It won’t? Right, so long as I don’t influence
you, here goes. When he walked over to us that day at Costa Coffee–’ She
paused.

‘Go on.’

‘I can’t explain why–’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Maybe
it was something in his eyes, or the way he moved, but– but I got goose-bumps,
Alex. I felt like I should run or something,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t explain
it.’

‘What?’ I laughed nervously.

‘I think I would have been a completely different
person around him that day, if Ellie hadn’t have been all cute with him. You
know how she is with strangers. It was shocking how she took to him so well. It
convinced me that what I’d felt wasn’t anything to do with him, but now I – I’m
sorry. I just thought I should say. But I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘No, not at all! I don’t know what to say to that
though. He is a little fierce looking, I suppose. Stacey calls him all sorts of
names all the time, because of his dark eyes. I just hope she didn’t manage to
influence you, Bee.’

‘Do you know, maybe that’s it.’ She smiled uncomfortably.
‘Stacey’s said a million times that he looks like a ghost or a mannequin, or
a–’ She stopped, seeing my face. My bottom lip came out.

‘Alex, if anyone was going to scare Eloise into a
crying fit, it’d be Thom, right?’

I smiled. ‘Right.’

‘Then, like I said before, he must have the soul
of an angel.’

‘But the eyes of the Devil.’ I couldn’t help
saying with a giggle.

We were still laughing when retaking our seats.

Beth’s words hadn’t cut me, although they
resounded in my head for the rest of the day. She was only looking out for me.
Her approval was more important than most, but I saw Stacey’s influence being
the foundation of her comments.

After the show, we met Adrian at Stage Door. He
hadn’t seen Beth in about a year, so they caught up while we walked to the jeep.

‘So what did you think of the show, girls?’ he
asked. ‘Good, wasn’t it?’

‘It was great,’ we said unanimously, looking at
each other with a giggle.

‘Do you remember the first set change?’ he went
on. ‘You must have seen the people in black, wheeling off the screens and
bringing on the props? I was one of them. I flew the goose at the end as well.’

Beth sat up front with me in the back. She had to
be home for Eloise, otherwise we might have made an evening of it in Moorgate. While
Adrian and Beth chatted away, I checked my phone. I had a text:

Hope
you enjoyed the show, Cassandra. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Thom X

And I couldn’t wait to see him. Once we got to
Beth’s and she thanked us both for a great day, I waved her off and made a snap
decision.

‘Adrian, will you drop me at the Cray? It’s
roughly en route.’

‘What do you want to go there for at this time?’

‘It’s only half-seven. I have a friend who lives
there. It’s okay. I’ll get a lift home.’

On the drive, I rolled my window down and stuck my
head out of it like an excited dog on the way to a big park. I noticed the waning
moon glowing with a red hue.

I didn’t want to speak in front of my stepbrother,
so I sent Thom a text to say I was coming by. Adrian dropped me at the gates. The
house’s main door was ajar and I saw the caretaker just about to lock up before
going back inside. I went in this way, so I could see if Thom was in his
office, or go up to his apartment via it. Most of the lights were off inside,
except for some in the Great Hall, where I could hear the caretaker whistling.
I didn’t bother to say hello, it might raise questions and get passed back to
Evans. Besides, I was hell-bent on seeing Thom. As I gained the Colman Smith
Gallery, I heard the front door shut with a great thump and the stiff lock
turn. It brought back memories of the blackout and Thom locking us in. There
was so much more to find out about that, and now I was happy to let him tell me
in his own time.

I saw a glow coming from under his office door. He
was in there, probably still working. Relief steadied me – it had crossed my
mind I might be stuck if he was out. I hadn’t received anything back from the
message I’d sent. All the better to surprise him, I thought.

Twenty-three

‘The toughest reflection is that of truth, which is only visible to
some.’

I was about to knock, but
instinctively I raised myself up on tiptoes to peel back the sign and peer
inside. My heart raced to see him in there, leaning over his desk with his
hands flat down, his head tilted forward. He looked in deep thought and by his
posture perhaps even troubled. He’d teased me once about talking to myself and
now here he was doing it. I heard him repeat my name several times and I
smiled. It was with longing in his tone.

Then his voice slammed, ‘What will she think of
me?’ as he covered his face with his hand.

Confusion seized me. Did he think it was all a
mistake? Was it all falling apart before it had even begun?

He paced the room, before going over to the window
and closing the blinds. Returning to his desk, he switched off the lamp so that
the darkness swallowed him whole. I might’ve then knocked if he was going
upstairs. Before I made a decision, a warm light cut through the room, sharp
and unending. It was a blinding shade of burnt orange that sliced the office in
half. My eyes hurt to look at it, but after a few moments it darkened. It came
from inside the wardrobe where Thom now stood having just opened its doors. I
couldn’t see what produced the light; it was such a strange glow.

Thom opened the doors fully. Inside were shelves
and on them piles of paperwork, like a huge filing cabinet and not a closet at
all. A full-length mirror covered the inside of one of the doors, which I could
just make out. The light appeared to be coming from that. Thom seemed to be
examining his reflection, which I couldn’t see at this angle, and therefore he
couldn’t see me in it. He stroked his cheek like a man contemplating a shave.
His face contorted and he mouthed something like ‘Disgusting!’ as he took a
step forward to study himself closer.

The light reddened as he stepped up to the looking
glass. – I saw his reflection. I shuddered! I stood poleaxed! I wanted to run,
but that part of my brain – the reptilian hindbrain – sent a desperate message
that I understood loud and clear.

‘Be still! Do not move, breathe, or blink, or you
will be seen and attacked!’

I obeyed. I was still. My feet locked to that
spot. Whatever it was in the mirror, it was not Thom. It was ghastly! The
reflection stared back at him. Eyes like discs of black flame. So fiercely wide
in deep jagged sockets beneath a crumpled forehead. Its skin was more
translucent than white, like thick ice. Deep blue veins ran in branches under
the gaunt cheekbones. Ivory eyeteeth protruded the grey bottom lip. Hardly any
cartilage sat at its nose and ears, just sharp edges of thin waxy skin.

My eyes darted between Thom and that
Thing
in the mirror. They were hardly alike. It was as though he was looking on to
another world bathed in flame-light. Though their black eyes were similar, and
something about the mouth perhaps. To Thom’s black mop it sprouted wiry almost
transparent hair. My blood crept cold in my veins. I couldn’t believe what I
was seeing. My heart pumped so loudly I thought he would hear, as it raced into
a dissonant rhythm of hard thumps. Thom just stared at it. I dared to study
them both; so different, and yet it moved as Thom did and wore the same
clothes. Its wrinkled neck seemed longer. The fingers of the Thing were gaunt.
Its skin stretched and sliding over the bone; spread like the legs of a spider,
only pale and hairless.

Involuntarily, I gasped! The Thing in the mirror,
but not the man, shot its head my way. Its eyes stabbed at mine, and Thom
followed its stare. The Thing gave off a bestial cry. I fell flat on my feet. I
turned to sprint, fast as I could out of the room. Down the hallway. It felt
like wading through mud. Thom suddenly appeared before me – I ran into him. He
cuffed my wrists in his hands and began pinning them together.

I shouted inwardly ‘NO! GET OFF!’ but no words
emerged as I struggled.

‘Shhh!’ he cooed softly. Rapidly. Pulling me
nearer to him with force. ‘Don’t– don’t be afraid!’ His eyes were blazing as he
said this.

Those black discs of fire were there in his
sockets. All else on his face said he was more alarmed than I was.

Before I knew it, he’d scooped me up while I
tussled. He was carrying me back into that room! My mouth still wouldn’t comply
with my brain. Completely inarticulate, I wanted to scream ‘NOT IN THERE!’ but
it was too late; we were now inside. My hands shook uncontrollably. I could no
longer feel my legs. The lamp came on and as we neared the wardrobe, the door
of it closed under the shadow of his hand, despite both his hands on me. 

‘It won’t harm you,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t let
it!’

I must have lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes,
I was in his apartment, laid out on his sofa, covered with a blanket. He was
sitting near my feet, nearest the door, and seemed to be guarding the exit. I
knew I hadn’t been dreaming. I started up.

‘Take it easy, Alex!
No
, don’t struggle! You’re
wild with fright and excitement! Be still a moment, there’s nothing to fear! You
said so yourself, remember, people only fear what they don’t understand!’

I took a breath as if I’d been without air for too
long. Once I gained some control over myself, I sat up and kept still. I say
kept
still, but in truth, I had no choice. A trance-like weakness came over me. Though
my heart still raced, my muscles broke down. I saw white spots. My skin was
clammy and I felt lightheaded and sick. I fell into some paralysis with shock.
He turned away putting on a lamp. Quickly he got up and came to my side.

‘Alex? Alex, can you hear me?’ His exacting voice
was a distant echo. He waved a hand before my eyes.

I moved my head a little in answer.

‘What can I do?’ he said, more to himself. ‘Are
you hot? You have gooseflesh but feel feverish. Your eyes are glazing over. Are
you anaemic? Diabetic? Or just horrified!’

‘Sugar,’ I whispered, which took some effort to
say. My breath was short and left me feeling deprived of energy. ‘I need
something… sweet.’

I don’t know where he got it from, or even if he
left my side, but a glass was put to my lips. I recognised the black syrupy
drink, the bubbles fizzing under my nose. I wasn’t partial to this kind of
drink, but on one occasion when my blood sugar levels plummeted, I had found it
a speedy remedy. I came round within minutes, feeling almost re-energized. My
clammy skin though left me chilly and I shivered. Thom took the glass away and
threw a blanket round my shoulders. He hesitated at putting his fingers to my
skin again, but then did so.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Better.’

Shoving his fingers through his hair, he stepped
back.

‘This isn’t how I wanted you to find–’ He cut off
angrily, came to my side and spoke gently. ‘Are you still cold? Do you want the
fire on?’

I didn’t answer. Just stared forwards. He put it
on anyway, turning to look at me every few seconds as he did so, as if
ascertaining that I hadn’t run for the door. Unable to think straight I had to
look away from him. I gazed out the window instead, and saw a blur of him
reflected in it from the lamp. It reminded me of how you might see something
through frosted glass.

‘You cannot look at me?’ he questioned.

‘I feel sick. I want to go home.’

‘Not yet!’

He kept his distance now, as I watched his fuzzy image
in the window.

‘I could tell you you’d hit your head and imagined
it all! But I won’t insult you by lying. I’m strangely glad you’ve seen it.
I’ve been fretting on the subject so much. It’s a relief in one way.’

‘What is it?’ I whispered.

He was silent for a minute or so.

‘The Devil!’ he began at last. ‘A demon – a
vampire!’ He paced the room behind me. ‘Whatever you want to call it! The most
unimaginable thing! A parting gift from an old–’ He cut off and plonked himself
in the armchair. His hand went to his face. Standing up again, he recommenced
pacing with a great supply of energy.

I closed my eyes a moment to escape the room, only
to hear cawing outside. It sounded like demonic laughter, and that they were
laughing at me. I turned to note them perched in the trees: a murder of crows,
charcoal black against a darkening sky. One of those crows looked right at me with
its yellow beady eyes. I shrank back. How many creatures were there in the
world like that one in the mirror: a possession of demons, a massacre of
vampires?

‘You know what I am, Alexandra?’

Of course I knew; the world was full of them, in
the literary sense. At first I thought it was something to do with the wardrobe’s
mirror. I must have voiced this because he was now speaking as if in reply to
me –

‘Destroy it? You think I haven’t tried
everything!’ he sighed. ‘Smashing the mirror? No! It’s not some
magnum opus
of Basil Hallward’s! It’s not in one mirror. It’s everywhere that I am, in me!
I could see it in the window glass there if I choose to. I don’t look often, but
I was looking at it tonight wondering what you would make of it – what you
would make of me. And you’re in shock; look at the state of you! You’re
trembling and look like you’re about to faint again?’

He took a step towards me. I slowly turned around
to prevent him coming closer.

‘All this time,’ I mumbled. ‘It was true!’

‘I wanted you to know, Alex, but how could I tell
you? Eventually I hoped to find a way. I tried to be as honest as I could,
though fear turned me defensive and I used humour to relieve it. I can’t help
what I am, and I never wanted to deceive you. I could not be deliberately
dishonest with you.’

I shook my head, unable to comprehend much of it.

‘Will you let me explain?’

I looked towards him but I couldn’t lay my eyes on
his. Those eyes were that Thing’s and it made me want to run. I looked away
again. It was hard to conduct any reasonable thought process; I highly
suspected I was dreaming. But if I was, I might as well find out the depth of
the delusion.

‘What did you mean,’ I began, ‘when you said it
was a parting gift? If you want me to understand, you’d better tell me
everything. How did this happen?’

He threw himself into the armchair again and leant
forward, resting his elbows on his knees. After a moment of looking at the floor,
he leant back.

‘You don’t know how many times I’ve rehearsed telling
you about myself. Now it comes to premiere night, I find that all my rehearsals
have been in vain. I don’t even know where the beginning is to start with. But
I’ll try.’

What a different look he had on his face, to the
other numerous times he’d teased me about revealing the truth. He looked like –
forgive the tired expression – but he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

‘A very long, long time ago – no! That’s no way to
begin. You see, Alex, my father was the eldest son of an English nobleman, from
a very respectable family of wealthy merchants – and Protestants, I might add.
You’re not a silly girl. You’d have already deduced by some key words I’ve used
that I’m not talking about the 1970’s. I’m talking centuries ago, two in fact.’

He stared at me intently, waiting for some
response.

‘You’re telling me that you,’ I muttered, ‘
you
,
Thom, are from the 1800’s?’

‘Correct. This will be hard to accept, but let me
explain. When my father was a young man, he fell in love with and secretly
married one of the family maidservants. An Irishwoman named Imogen. A
beautiful, warm-hearted girl. She was my mother, and a dark, blue-eyed Roman
Catholic. Their marriage was discovered whilst they expected their first child.
Attempts were made to separate them, but my father, very nobly, refused to
privately divorce her. Therefore, his father disinherited him and turned him
away without financial support – most probably in the hope of forcing him to
reconsider. He did not. Now you must imagine, Alex, a very different way of
life to that of today; almost like a foreign land, where men are answerable to
their fathers and women are answerable to everyone. Reputation, connections,
were as important as money and status. So, without any of these, cut off from
the family entirely, my parents travelled to Limerick in Ireland on what little
my father had to hand. There they sought aid from my mother’s family, who were
quite poor. Despite monetary issues they were a contented lot, and very
hospitable to my father. You must picture in your head, Alex, these people as farmers,
living in a small village on land owned by local gentry. I was brought into the
world already, before my parents had left England. Born on the road to Bristol,
and given my father’s name.

‘He was a well-educated man. But in Ireland then
it was difficult for him to procure work, and being English didn’t help. He was
particularly good at drawing, having had the privilege to learn from masters
all his life. Sadly architecture was then a profession in decline. He couldn’t
even hope to become an under-draftsman for half the salary. So he ended up
working with my grandfather on the farm.

‘My sister, Bronagh, was born two years after me.
In the following decade we lived more comfortably than before, for a while.
It’s funny how memory works. I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew
up, only that I wanted my father to be proud. School for Bronagh and I was too
expensive, but my father made time to educate us to his standard. That is until
he died.

‘His own mother had been against their marriage,
but she wrote to my father from England asking his forgiveness. She wanted to
see him, her first-born son, and find a way to reunite the family. I remember
my father’s relief and excitement at going to see her and his home again. It
gave him a new lease of life. I’d never seen him that way before. I watched a
bag of bricks lifted from his shoulders. He set off and we received word from
him when he reached English shores. It was a long time after that when we heard
from one of the other servants, whom my mother kept a correspondent. He’d had
an accident on the road, which fell his horse and proved fatal. He never made
it to see his mother.’