The Overnight (37 page)

"Someone will be with you any minute, Agnes, if they aren't already. You'll forgive me saying your name that way, but I guess I could claim this is American territory, and we don't pronounce it like that. I should let you guys down there know Nigel is having to let Agnes out of the elevator, and Ray's getting ready to switch the power back on for us, are you, Ray?"

There's no response. No doubt Ray knows his voice won't reach Woody. The resumption of silence allows Angus to notice the drawers under the L-shaped shelf that holds the computers. If anyone objects to his search he can tell them Woody wanted him to try whatever might help. He's tired of feeling dull and useless, and worse than tired of being alone with Woody's voice through the door. He crosses the overcast room and pulls out Connie's drawer.

It contains half a pack of tissues in carefully parted cellophane, a ballpoint with its end pushed up the neck of a plastic cat's head stained grey by the light, a birthday card swarming with a basketful of kittens and lying on an unused envelope, an assortment of scattered paper-clips. He's wondering if any of the latter could be turned into a picklock when Woody's voice returns to the door. "Still thinking out there, Angus?"

"Thought," Angus mutters as he grasps that the dark strip at the back of the drawer is not a shadow but a twelve-inch metal ruler. "Thought," he calls on his way to inserting the ruler in the slit beside the lock.

The angle of the light, such as it is, has prevented him from recognising that the frame overlaps the outside of the door by a fraction of an inch. He jams the ruler between them and uses both hands to dig it in until it grinds against the bolt of the lock. As he struggles to work the ruler around the end of the bolt, Woody remarks "You're quiet again, Angus. Stuck?"

The word Angus mumbles rhymes with that, because now the ruler won't move in any direction, even when he leans on it so hard it feels close to cutting his hot moist prickly hands. Can he break the doorframe away from the lock? He hauls the ruler sideways, which produces a faint reluctant creak. The thin line of shadow between door and frame is undergoing some change, but none that appears to make sense. How can it be shrinking or growing more vague? "Wait a minute," Angus blurts.

"I've been hanging around a whole lot longer."

If it weren't for the door they might be close enough to shake hands, that's if they weren't shoving or punching or otherwise attacking each other, but Woody's unseen presence makes Angus feel more alone with the dimness, especially since it's growing darker. When he twists around he sees that Nigel's computer is emitting significantly less light than its mates. He dashes across the office and shakes the monitor rather than switch it off and on. Do the blackened icons really quiver like dead leaves on the surface of a pool that has been disturbed? Surely all that matters is that the screen brightens, though not much, as Woody shouts "Want to give me an update?"

"We were losing power somehow."

"Yeah? It's fine in here."

If it's as fine as that Angus is tempted to leave him to it, but he knows Woody's voice would follow him anywhere he ended up. He hurries back to the door and throws all his weight against the ruler. The doorframe responds with a feebler creak than before, and Woody protests "You're quiet again. I still don't know what you're doing."

"I'm trying to get the lock open," Angus says through his teeth.

"Hey, you didn't tell us you were a cracksman. Guess I'll have to keep more of an eye on you."

Angus assumes Woody is joking, undoubtedly smiling. Nevertheless he grows clammy with anger. He hurls himself against the ruler with all his might. Something yields, and he nearly runs into the wall. The doorframe has proved more than equal to the ruler, which has bent almost in half.

At first he thinks his vision is blackening with rage or from his effort, and then he understands that the room is darkening. All three computer screens have dimmed until their displays of icons are barely visible. He runs to Nigel's monitor and tries to shake some sense into it, but if anything it turns murkier. He lets it be and taps Ray's with a knuckle. Immediately all the icons vanish as if the screen has gulped them down.

He's holding up one uncertain hand as though that may persuade the computer to spare him anything worse when the screen brightens. That has to be reassuring, though it conveys the impression that a light has swum closer behind a swollen wall of fog. He moves to Connie's monitor and knocks on the screen.

At once the icons sink out of view, and he's afraid the light will. It flickers and then steadies, but can he trust it? With a pair of knuckles he knocks twice as hard on the glass. He's reminded of tapping on an aquarium to rouse whatever creatures live within, which must explain why the greyish pallor that swells towards him looks more solid than a glow—almost solid enough for a head that's rising to the surface of the medium that has rotted it shapeless. It sends him back to the door with renewed eagerness to liberate Woody. As he leans on the far side of the ruler to bend it back into shape, it gives with hardly any resistance, flinging him past the door with a handful of metal that scrapes over the wood.

The ruler hasn't even snapped in half. Less than a third is left protruding from the gap. As prickles flood over Angus's skin, Woody calls "Sounds like you did something at last."

Once Angus has regained enough control to shout rather than scream he confesses "I've broken the ruler."

"You've broken what?"

"The ruler I was trying to pry your door with."

"You're not the cracksman you wanted me to think you were, then. I guess it's back to brute force. Want me to get you some company?"

He can't be referring to the noise behind Angus, so distant or muffled it's practically inaudible. Angus glances back and tells himself he's dreaming on his feet from being up so late; no blotchy lumps can be nuzzling the insides of the computer screens. "Who?" he blurts.

"Let's try for a couple of the jocks down there." So immediately that Angus starts, dropping the fragment of ruler, Woody amplifies his voice to call "Ray, Nigel, one of you or both, why don't you stop what you're doing long enough to open a door so Greg and Ross can help Angus. Can't imagine why you didn't think of doing that already."

Nor can Angus as he wills them to respond. It's impossible that they could have failed to hear Woody, yet they aren't answering. Could the faint sound at Angus's back have some connection with them? Perhaps it's Agnes or Nigel thumping on the lift doors. He has distinguished nothing further when Woody's voice blots out the sound. "You two outside don't have to wait, you know. Maybe if you try to get in that'll do the trick."

Before long Angus hears a series of irregular thumps downstairs. They're louder than the other sounds, which nonetheless feel closer. He's becoming less able to look behind him as Woody says in his biggest voice "How about you, Angus? You hearing anything I'm not?"

Angus feels as if replying may draw attention to him, especially since all he finds to say is "What would I be?"

"Ray or Nigel or both, I'd hope."

Angus strains his ears but only grows uncertain how many sounds he's hearing and from where. "They haven't said anything yet."

"Greg and Ross, take a breather. Angus, give Ray and Nigel a shout."

Shouting fails to appeal to Angus. He sees his pallid shadow flattening itself against the dim wall and wishes he could be as anonymous and unobtrusive. It's only because he realises Woody will harass him until he does that he yells "Ray? Nigel? Woody wants to know what's happening."

At first he seems to have invited silence, but it's followed by an outburst of surreptitious thumps as though objects too soft for hands or heads are blundering against glass. Soon Woody renders them inaudible by demanding "Any message for me?"

"I didn't hear any, sorry."

"I won't tell you I'm surprised. Sounded like you were shouting at me, not them. Why don't you go find them and report back. You sure aren't achieving much here."

Angus would be grateful to escape him and the noises in the room if that didn't take him closer to the dark. He's unable to decide which is least welcome as he sidles out of the office. He very much prefers to avoid seeing the computers, but the alternative is to watch his shadow drag itself like a stricken faceless puppet along the wall. It makes him feel like a frightened child lying awake in the worst of the night, not even certain it's his own shadow or what it will do if the light goes out. Why couldn't he have learned to drive? It would have let him turn back from the fog tonight instead of being delivered to Texts by his father. As the shadow glides ahead of him it turns elongated and distorted as an amoeba trying to resemble a man before it loses its hold on the doorway to the staffroom and sprawls expansively into the dimness. Angus remains in the doorway and plants his hands around his mouth, though his fingertips block some of the view of the indistinct shapes in the staffroom. "Ray? Nigel?" he shouts. "Can you answer?"

He doesn't want to listen any harder than he absolutely has to, not when it makes him more aware of the soft insistent blundering behind him in the office. Surely it's Woody shifting impatiently against the door as a preamble to demanding "So who's said what?"

A sly blurred voice imitates his much larger one, and Angus has to tell himself it's on the speakers downstairs; that's why it's coming from the dark. "Nobody has yet," he admits.

"Can't hear you."

"Nothing yet," Angus yells through the dimness into the dark, which appears to acknowledge him with a restless twitch.

"Still can't. Why don't you try just talking to me instead of the rest of the store."

Angus could retort that back at him, but turns barely far enough and long enough to call "They aren't answering."

"Well, that makes no sense. They can't have gone anywhere. They certainly aren't on the sales floor, am I right, Greg? I'm right. Listen, Angus, you aren't doing what I said yet. I told you to find them, not shout at us. Better not get the idea you don't have to do what I say just because I'm locked in for a while."

The choice of whether to stay in the unsteady dimness or venture beyond it feels like a nightmare from which Angus has no chance of awakening. Like a nightmare, it seems to cancel time, so that he can't tell how soon Woody demands "Did you go yet, Angus?"

"I'm going," Angus nearly shrieks and twists around to ensure Woody hears. What he thinks he glimpses sends him out of the room, even though he's leaving most of the light behind. He's already less certain, or trying to be, that grey lumps were flattening token faces against the insides of the computer screens, smearing the glass with wide loosely grinning mouths that looked both voracious and imbecilic. He's the imbecile, he makes himself think, if he lets his imagination paralyse him. All that's wrong is lack of sleep. He can still prove to Woody that the British don't let the side down.

Is Woody so concerned about being trapped in his room that he has forgotten Agnes is suffering worse? Angus dodges across the staffroom, which appears to be composed none too specifically of dim fog, and leans through the entrance to the stockroom. An unnecessary amount of darkness encloses both sides of his head. "Agnes?" he shouts. "Nigel? What's the latest down there?"

He wants to believe he hears Agnes pounding on the lift doors, having exhausted most of her strength, but the sounds aren't ahead of him. There's only silence in that dark. Is she unable to hear him or too frightened to answer? If the latter is the case he's dismayed by how much he sympathises. Nigel must have locked himself out of the building; that would explain the second clank of the doors and his subsequent lack of response. Angus is about to try to reassure Agnes that she's no longer alone and himself that she can hear when Woody's giant voice intervenes. "Angus, if you're doing what I'm hearing, try and think."

That seems not to require an answer, which at least means Angus doesn't need to look towards the office, where the foggy glow is flickering as if things are moving in it. So long as it's in and not out of, Angus silently pleads as Woody adds "Leave Nigel and Agnes and see if Ray wants help. If the fuses are fixed the elevator will be, obviously."

If that's so obvious, why didn't he mention it earlier? Angus resents being made to sound foolish to the entire shop. "Agnes," he shouts between his hands. "I'm going to help with the fuses and then you'll be fine."

His resentment of Woody's comment drives him across the staffroom to show everyone he isn't useless. So little of the wakeful dimness follows him that he's barely able to see the door to the stairs is closed. Has it been rendering Ray's shouts inaudible? Angus hurries past the time clock, not least because its dial reminds him of a porthole against which a face might flounder, and pulls the door open. He's stepping forward to shout to Ray when he collides with an object crouching outside the door.

It's a chair. Ray must have blocked the door with it, only for the action of the metal arm to dislodge it. Angus shoulders the door wide and props the chair on two legs against it before he takes another step. There's more than dark ahead of him. Are the stairs being flooded? If that's making Ray attempt to draw the longest breath he can, isn't he ever going to stop? Even if he's breathing through his mouth the inhalation sounds too large. It takes Angus far too long to understand he's hearing the muted roar of the hand dryer in the Gents between the staff lockers and the top of the stairs. The watery sound is in there as well. "Ray," Angus calls, "is that you?"

In a moment the dryer breathes its last. He waits until he's beyond wondering if that was a response, which at least gives him time to identify water splashing in a sink. Someone has left a tap running. It will have to stay like that until there's light. "Ray, can't you say something?" he urges at the top of his voice.

He's nowhere near as loud as Woody, but then he doesn't have mouths all over the shop. "Does anyone else find it hard to believe Angus is still calling and not going where he's told? You'd think he didn't want us to have light to work with."