4
Casper Younge
Laura Leach rose quickly, before the end credits came up, before the lights in the cinema went on. She wanted to beat the crowds of people tearing for the exits. Not that there were often huge crowds; but it was particularly busy tonight, being a new feature. She didn’t like to be caught up in the crush, having bodies pressed against her, touching, brushing sleeves. Didn’t like the rush of excited noise, the energetic chatting as people descended the purple-carpeted stairs to the foyer animatedly dissecting the film they’d just seen.
She could have remained behind till last, but then she’d have to sit there all alone in the revealing glare of the lights, a spectacle for people filing past. That was worse. So she was the first out of the heavy swing doors, down the stairs and through the foyer, past the now-closed ticket booth and kiosk. First out into the warm night air.
It was around 10.30pm, had only been dark for half an hour or so. She had a coat on but didn’t need it really, not with it being so warm, but without it she felt a little bit naked, a tad vulnerable. She found her car parked some way off in a side street. A blue Hillman Imp that had cost her more to repair and keep on the road than it did to buy. She could easily afford something far grander, she knew that, but that sort of thing would only attract attention and that was the last thing she wanted. The Hillman suited her needs just fine, when it behaved itself. She learned to drive whilst still at boarding school at the age of 16. Pestered her father like crazy to pay for lessons. Privately she saw it as a way of being able to drive home whenever she wanted, but of course that wasn’t going to happen. She was too young to be careering around in motor cars, her father had told her. So she passed her test and had to wait a long time before she could get a car of her own. That was before she came into money. Now she didn’t have the heart to trade in the old Hillman. Besides, it was familiar, trusted, comforting, had a certain homely smell. She even found she talked to it, mainly to gently chastise the thing when it got all stubborn on her. How could she replace it with a complete stranger?
Laura drove the few miles out of Langbridge to Devereux Towers. It took all of fifteen minutes. It was a straight road out, rarely busy. The Hillman’s suspension struggled with the ruts and potholes of the hard-baked track to the house. She had it in mind to pay to have tarmac put down, but that would mean having builders nearby for weeks on end and she didn’t feel at all comfortable with that.
She pulled up outside the main door to Devereux Towers, a huge oak-panelled affair her father had salvaged from some church or other. It had masses of studded ironwork lacing its surface, great chunky hinges, bands of metal embracing it. The thing reminded her of a chastity belt, she thought grimly. How fitting.
Once the car’s headlights were turned off the entire place was plunged into darkness. There were no streetlamps here, no lamp over the door – her father felt he didn’t want the faux medieval façade of Devereux Towers defaced by the modern world, and had even resisted the installation of a discreet letterbox in the wall by the door. Laura had to walk to the beginning of the track, where there was a post box on a pole, to retrieve letters.
The ivy looked like the scales on a crouching dragon, she thought, drawn to glancing up at the high walls; the shining leaves rattled in the thin breeze, sounding as if it were a faraway crowd applauding her return. She went through into the hall and flicked on the light switch. With that one simple action the joyful escapism of the evening, the last sweet residue of the memory of the film sugaring her thoughts, were washed away. Devereux Towers had her in its claws once again, smothering her with its dark corners, cold marble and cold stone.
She went into the kitchen, fixed herself something simple to nibble and then sat down in front of the TV. It was the biggest television she could find, an ITT 28-inch, and colour too. It brought a little of the cinema into her house, she felt. But all that was showing was Appointment with Fear – a re-run of Universal’s The Wolf Man – so she hurriedly turned it off. Even the music during the opening credits to Appointment with Fear disturbed her, and the images of all those horrible, scary faces melting into each other made her shudder. And that was even before the main film began.
She turned everything off and went upstairs to get ready for bed. She still had her bedroom in the tower – Laura’s Tower – but not the same room her father had prepared for her. No, not that one. Though she paused briefly outside the blue-painted door to it. At her waist, fastened to the belt of her skirt, was a key. She was tempted to open the door, to go inside, but she turned away at the last minute, a tear in her eye, her chest beginning to tighten, her breath firing out in rapid bursts.
No, not tonight. She could not go in there tonight. She could not face what was behind the blue door. She could not face her past.
So she left it locked and made her way to her bedroom. It was large, spacious, the walls curved exactly like the walls of her childhood bedroom, and it had the same long-arched window; but of course it never felt the same. It never felt warm or comforting. It always felt cold and functional, as if she were but a temporary lodger there.
She left the curtains open and got ready for bed, slipping beneath the covers. She listened to the ivy tinkling on the windowpane; the scrabbling of mice or something between the joists in the ceiling. She preferred the dark. She could get lost in the dark. Hide away, safe from curious eyes. No one could find her in the all-consuming blackness of the night.
Monday was Laura’s shopping day. Most people chose Saturday, largely because that’s when people didn’t work and had the added benefit of the street market. But she didn’t have to work so she chose Monday. Langbridge was quieter then anyway. Not as many people in the street or in the shops. So she drove her little Hillman into town and parked in one of the two small car parks. Always the same space, if she could manage it, arriving around 8.30am to ensure she secured it. She popped into the butcher’s shop first.
‘Morning, Miss Leach,’ said the butcher. He seemed to come from the same mould as all butchers, thought Laura; large of frame, belly pushing at his white apron, pink-cheeked, looking smiling and happy even with a meat cleaver in his hand. He was hammering out lamp chops. ‘Usual, is it?’ He’d already wiped his bloodied hands on his stained apron, adjusted his straw hat and was piling brisket onto the weighing scales. ‘Lovely day,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied, looking away to avoid his pebble eyes. ‘Beautiful. Set to last, too.’
‘Too hot for me though,’ he admitted. I’ll be glad when it cools down.’ He popped the meat into a bag, hand automatically going to the sirloin. ‘I hear they’re planning on closing down the Empire,’ he said absently, making conversation.
‘Oh no!’ she said, horrified. ‘Where on earth did you hear that?’
‘Oh, here, there and everywhere. I can’t rightly remember now, as you ask. But it’s been on the cards a while, I reckon.’
‘Well they can’t do that!’ she said shrilly. ‘They just can’t!’
He glanced uncertainly at her outburst as he rang up the till. ‘Not up to us now, is it? They can do as they please,’ he said with an air of finality, taking her money and handing back change. ‘Still, who needs them, cinemas? We’ve got telly now, haven’t we? And let’s face it, these days it’s all a load of American rubbish they’re showing. What’s happened to good old British films? Where are the Norman Wisdom films? Bring back the Ealing Comedies and all that.’
‘What? Ealing?’ she said vaguely. ‘I love America!’ she cried and he smiled awkwardly at her. ‘They are so – so colourful and positive!’
‘Well, yes, I suppose they are, if you like that sort of thing.’
Laura wasn’t really listening now. She went out of the butchers and into the newsagents, buying a Langbridge Gazette, the local paper, and hurriedly scanning the pages for news of the supposed closure. But she didn’t find one solitary article about the Empire. She was in a half-daze throughout the remainder of her shopping, feeling she wanted to burst into tears. How could they? Whoever they were, she thought acidly. Petty, faceless bureaucrats making decisions in back rooms that affect people’s lives. She hated them! She hated them all!
She backed the Hillman out of the parking space and there was an almighty bang, the car coming to a juddering halt as the engine stalled. Startled, she turned around to look over her shoulder and saw that she’d run into the back of another car that had also been reversing out.
‘Oh my God!’ she said in alarm, her hand pressed into her mouth, unsure what she should do.’ Oh my God, what have I done?’ She began to panic. Froze to the spot, terrified of getting out. She glanced fearfully in the wing mirror and saw a man emerging from the car behind her. ‘Oh my word! This is terrible! Terrible!’
The man came slowly round to her window. She heard a light tap of fingernail against glass. Without looking up she wound the window down, expecting the worst. A loud, blazing voice, a torrent of verbal abuse.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘We appear to have a little problem.’
Her heart crashing, her chest feeling as if someone were stamping all over it, she turned her head to look at him. It was a handsome, smiling face that greeted her. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a set of quite extraordinarily white teeth.
‘I’m so, so sorry!’ she stammered. ‘I’ll pay for it. I’ll pay for everything! My attention was elsewhere, I’m so, so sorry!’
He looked back to his own car. ‘Really, it’s not that bad,’ he said. ‘And you know, I think my attention was just as far away as yours. You’re not entirely responsible. In fact, I’d say it was entirely my own stupid fault. I was pulling out far too fast for such a small car park.’
‘It sounded awful!’ she said, hardly daring to look at him.
‘Really, it’s not as bad as it sounded. It rarely is. Please, come and take a look for yourself.’
Reluctantly she opened the door and accompanied the man to the rear of the car. There were pieces of broken rear light on the ground, and the bumper of his car was dented. ‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry, really I am!’ she said.
‘I’m more concerned about what I’ve done to your lovely little Hillman Imp,’ he said. He bent to his haunches. She couldn’t help but notice the way the sunlight bounced off his healthy-looking hair. ‘See, it’s not that bad, but you’ll need some minor work doing. Largely cosmetic, I’m happy to say.’ He rose to his feet. ‘And all my dratted fault for not looking where I was going. That will teach me not to be so impatient.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a notebook and pen. ‘I suppose we ought to swap names and addresses for insurance purposes,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Casper Younge – pleased to meet you!’ he said, flashing that warm, engaging smile again.
She shook his hand. ‘Laura Leach.’ The contact brief. ‘I really don’t want the bother of involving insurance companies,’ she said. ‘I’ll pay for anything, whatever it costs. I can write you a cheque.’
He held up both his hands. ‘Hold on there – I’ve said it was my fault. It’s up to me to pay. OK, to save no-claims bonuses I’ll stump up the cash.’
‘I couldn’t let you…’
‘You don’t have a choice!’ he replied brightly. ‘I insist. It would hardly be proper of me to take advantage of a lady in distress, would it?’ He scribbled on the piece of paper. ‘Here you are; this is my telephone number. When you’ve taken the car to the garage and got a quote then give me a ring and I’ll settle up.’ He put a finger to his lips to stem her protestations. ‘I insist,’ he said, thrusting the paper into her hand.
With that he gave a smile and a wave and went whistling to his car.
She stared at the phone number, her heart racing.
* * * *