Thieving Fear Read online

  FIFTEEN

  At first Rory thought it was the deepest sleep he'd ever had – so deep that it seemed he might never wake up. His eyelids were gummed shut with such thoroughness that he couldn't tell how dark it was around him. When he tried to blink they didn't begin to respond. He lifted his hands to his face, however little he could feel them. His fingertips must have reached his eyes, despite the absence of sensation. He pushed at the lids, and plucked at them, and clawed at them to no avail. His eyes weren't gummed shut at all; they'd grown shut. They were covered by a senseless mass of flesh.

  He cried out. He must have, even if he couldn't hear a sound. He felt as though he were struggling to raise a scream beyond the surface of the inert lump he'd become. He had only the vaguest impression of scrabbling at his face – perhaps just the knowledge that he must be doing so. He gaped like a dying fish as he screamed again and again. At last he seemed to hear the faintest whimper, so feeble that he scarcely recognised his own voice. He dragged in a breath and screamed once more and crawled up the lifeline of the pathetic noise into wakefulness.

  His face was buried in the pillow, and the quilt was draped over his ears. His fingers were digging into the mattress. The awkwardness of the position surely explained why his body had relinquished many of its usual routine sensations. When he moved his limbs, regaining any sense of them took rather longer than it should. At least he was able to unstick his eyelids and identify that the bedroom was bright enough for late morning, which his boyhood clock – one of the very few items he'd taken from the house in Huddersfield – confirmed it was. Although its large circular face was crowned with bells, he hadn't heard the alarm several hours ago. He reached for the glass of water on the floor beside the mattress and canted his head up to take a drink. Surely he needn't be concerned that he could scarcely taste the water, even if it would ordinarily have been more of an event on his palate. He planted the blurred glass on the vague floor and blinked his vision clearer as he located his phone on the board pierced by a knothole that snagged one groping fingertip. He held the mobile above his face while he fumbled for the button until the display lit up, accompanied by an unexpectedly muted electronic fanfare. Within the last hour he'd missed a call from Hugh.

  Rory levered himself into a sitting position, splaying his legs across the floor, which felt no more immediately solid than the pillow under his fist. He succeeded in regaining more sensation by dealing the wall a good thump with his shoulders to prop himself up. Perhaps the lingering dullness had slowed his mind down, because as he thumbed the key to retrieve Hugh's call he remembered that he'd had a version of the nightmare once before, when Charlotte's sleepwalk had wakened him. Hadn't he dreamed he was in a house but unable even to judge whether it was dark? The memory seemed less important than discovering that Hugh had left no message, or if he had, it was wholly inaudible.

  'Don't mess me about,' Rory grumbled and poked the key to call Hugh. Straining his ears eventually rewarded him with his brother's voice – just Hugh's name inserted in the Frugone answering message. 'Don't just ring and keep your gob shut,' Rory protested. 'I've got enough problems. Call me back.'

  He held the mobile in his fist while he kicked off the quilt and made for the bathroom. Once his belated ablutions were behind him he tramped still naked to the kitchen. While the coffee percolated he gazed out of the window at the unforthcoming view of green hills slotted into a straightforwardly cloudless sky. The first taste of coffee enlivened him somewhat, or the jab of caffeine did. If Hugh wanted to speak to him, he'd had ample time to ring back.

  Should he have called Ellen or Charlotte instead? Rory thought he would feel better for a few sharp words with Charlotte about Ellen. Within three simulations of a bell she said 'Rory. You're a surprise.'

  'I try.'

  'You don't have to with your family. What's up? Not that anything needs to be.'

  'Has Hugh been in touch?'

  'Not for a little while. Today, do you mean? Not even this week.'

  'He rang this morning and didn't say why and now I can't get him.'

  'I expect it won't be too important then, would you say?'

  'I wouldn't, nothing like. You mean because he isn't?'

  'Not at all. I'd never say that, and I'm sure I've never given that impression. If anyone – I haven't, that's all.'

  'You're making out I have.'

  'I should think you're how a lot of brothers are.'

  'One of a mob, you reckon.'

  'You're a bit of a hedgehog today, aren't you, Rory? Are you worried about something?'

  'Can't you speak up? That's not helping.'

  'How's this? I'm in the office, you understand.'

  'If you want rid of me just shout.'

  'I don't. I asked you what was wrong, if something is. Why do you think Hugh would have called?'

  'I know why he should have.'

  'Do enlighten me.'

  'About Ellen.'

  'Why, what's wrong with her?' Charlotte said urgently enough for him to resent it on Hugh's behalf. 'What have you heard?'

  'Stuff you mightn't want us to. We know how you're messing with her book.'

  'I wouldn't put it that way, and I don't believe Ellen would. She's turning out to be quite the pro.'

  'Maybe that means something different where I live.'

  'As far as I'm concerned it means professional.'

  'I wouldn't know.' When this was met by a silence even more muffled than her voice kept growing, Rory said 'I wouldn't, are you saying?'

  'I wouldn't, no. I'm sorry if you've somehow run away with the notion I think I'm better than you. I don't believe I've ever given that impression.'

  She was giving it now, Rory thought; her language and her tone were. 'Anyway,' she said, 'I should be getting back to work. How's yours?'

  'I'm working on an idea,' he retorted, and at once it ceased to be a lie. 'I'll say ta-ta. Hugh may be trying to call.'

  'Let's hope,' Charlotte said and left Rory with silence, which was just what he seemed to need. It felt like the seed of a project based on his dream. Only one visitor at a time would be admitted to the installation, a lightless room. The visitor would have to don a face-mask and earplugs and padded gloves and other special clothing – anything that would muffle their sensations. Or could this be done less cumbersomely? In any case cameras would monitor visitors while they explored the room as much as they dared. It would be entirely empty and no doubt a good deal smaller than they imagined, since the experience was about stimulating the imagination – indeed, letting it loose to perform. Nothing and Nobody seemed to be the ideal title, not least because it felt capable of describing Rory himself. It was close to reviving his nightmare, and he decided to leave developing it further until he'd dealt with his very probably needless anxiety about his uncommunicative little brother. He took a tasteless gulp of coffee as he called Hugh's number, but the only answer was the message with Hugh's voice almost lost in it. 'Still me. Still waiting. If you've got owt to say, for buggery's sake get it said,' Rory urged and moved up the list to Ellen's number.

  He was doing his best not to lose patience by the time she interrupted the distant bell. 'Rory? Yes, it's me.'

  'No need to sound ashamed of it.'

  'If you say so.'

  'I bloody do, and you ought. Has anyone been saying different?'

  'I suppose not,' Ellen admitted, and with even less conviction 'Not that I've heard.'

  'That'll be because they haven't been.' When he didn't hear agreement Rory demanded 'Has Charlotte been making you feel bad about yourself?'

  'Charlotte,' Ellen said with an approximation of a laugh. 'Why would she want to do that?'

  'Doesn't want to doesn't mean she hasn't, the way she's been getting you out of shape. Sounds like she's treating your book like she owns it just because she paid for it. Watch out or there'll be nothing of you left. You won't recognise yourself.'

  She was silent for so long that even Rory wondered if he'd said too mu
ch until she spoke. 'They haven't paid me yet.'

  'Then they're treating you like you're their slave and you shouldn't bloody let them.'

  'Oh, Rory, I truly don't think so,' Ellen said, more in the manner of her old self. 'Charlotte says it's how publishers have to work. I think she's helping me find out there's more to me as well.'

  He might have been persuaded by her enthusiasm if he hadn't caught a laugh, so odd that he didn't recognise her voice. Rather than acknowledge it he said 'Have you heard from Hugh?'

  'What about?'

  'I don't know what you talk about.' This sounded ridiculously jealous, and Rory tried to amend it by adding 'Maybe your next book.'

  'I haven't heard from him for days, and it wasn't about that. What are you trying to get at now?'

  Rory could see no way to avoid saying 'He thought where you could make it happen.'

  'So have I.'

  For no reason Rory could define he was reluctant to ask 'Where's that?'

  He was assuming she preferred not to discuss it until the book was written, unless her answer had been inaudible, when she said 'Thurstaston.'

  'That's weird. It's his as well.' Rory refrained from mentioning that it was also his own but said 'He was going to look it up and tell you what he found.'

  'Do you know what he did?'

  Her voice had grown so faint that Rory couldn't judge whether it was urgent or wary or both. 'I don't,' he said.

  He shouldn't mention Thurstaston Mound or Arthur Pendemon in case his brother would. Just the thought of doing so seemed capable of shutting him inside himself, blanking his vision and filling his ears with an utter hush, but he heard Ellen say 'I went there.'

  'Any use?'

  Presumably she answered him. As he strained his throbbing ears he managed to distinguish some kind of mutter. He wouldn't have said it was Ellen except for knowing it had to be. 'I didn't get that,' he complained. 'Say it again.'

  The response was so incomprehensible that he could have imagined it was mocking him. He shut his eyes in case that helped him concentrate his hearing, but it felt like cutting off another sense. He widened them until they stung and gazed at the blank sky. 'Can you hear me?' he said. 'Something's up with someone's phone, it sounds like. Tell me another time.'

  Had she gone? Rory pressed the mobile hard against his ear. Surely her phone was the problem, because he was able to hear his brother, or at least the message with Hugh's voice embedded in it. 'Me again. Where are you? Lost your phone?' Rory said without raising an answer. He'd had enough of waiting. It would be Hugh's fault if Rory disturbed him at work.

  'We're your Frugo superstore at Huddersfield. Competing to be cheapest. This is Doreen serving you. How can I help you today?'

  Rory had already tried to interrupt, but there was no stopping the formula. 'Can I speak to Hugh Lucas?'

  'Who wants him, please?'

  'I'm his brother.'

  'Hold for a moment, please,' she instructed Rory and gave way to Vivaldi performed on an instrument centuries younger than the composer. After a number of seasonal bars and two assurances that Rory's call was important to someone, Doreen said 'Putting you through.'

  As soon as the acoustic fell away, not down a hole but into the body of the supermarket, he said 'Hugh.'

  'It's not, no. Wouldn't be.'

  'He'll be here in a moment,' another girl called. 'Is that the can man?'

  'I'll ask him. Tamara wants to know –'

  'I'm Rory Lucas.'

  'Says it's him. Doesn't sound that mad.'

  'Ask him if he's after any models.'

  'Tamara –'

  'I heard,' Rory said with the impatience he'd been reserving for Hugh. 'Are you offering?'

  'He's asking if we're offering.'

  'Tell him there's plenty of his kind on the shelves.'

  'Maybe we can give him a bulk deal. There's plenty of your kind –'

  'I'll do without your bulk, thanks all the same.'

  'What's up, Mishel? What did he say?'

  'You don't want to know. Skitting how we look and he can't even see us. Can't see anything worth seeing if you ask me. He's as rude as his brother,' Mishel said and directed her voice at the phone. 'If you've got anything else to say you won't be saying it to us.'

  He could hardly wait to begin speaking until he heard his brother take the phone. 'Christ, are they the sort of twats you have to work with? I thought it was just that wanker that got himself promoted over you. Don't let anybody tell you you haven't got it hard. I wouldn't be able to keep my gob shut if I had to put up with the likes of them as well as whatever you said he was called, Dustbin, it ought to be. Sounds like waste all right. A load of crap that thinks it's better than the rest of you.'

  'Who do you think you're talking to?'

  Rory shut his eyes and had to open them at once. 'I wouldn't know. Who?'

  'I won't use the words you've been using.'

  'Hugh doesn't either, so don't take it out on him.'

  'What's he saying, Justin?' Rory heard one of the girls enquire with something like concern.

  'Back to work, ladies, please. This isn't for your ears.' To Rory the supervisor said 'I take it your brother has been claiming he's been victimised.'

  'He's said nowt about it. Doesn't mean he hasn't been. I'm warning you not to, that's all. Anyway, why am I talking to you? I asked for him.'

  'I'm assuming you aren't very close.'

  'You do a bloody sight too much assuming, pal,' Rory said, all the angrier for feeling that the accusation was related to the truth. 'What's your reason if you've got one?'

  'If you were you'd know not to ring here for him.'

  'I know we're not meant to ring him at work. I just want a quick word to see if anything's up with him.'

  'Plenty, I'd say, but you can't do it here.'

  'Why not? Spit it out, for Christ's sake.'

  'I'll terminate this call if there is any more abusive language.' When Rory squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep his lips that way, Justin said 'He was sent home yesterday until further notice. It looks very much as if he's been doing something to his brain. I don't know who's responsible or who he thinks he has to impress.'

  Rory widened his eyes once he was sure he would say only 'What's he been doing?'

  'Behaving completely inappropriately for a Frugo employee. I'm not interested in what other people may get up to, but it won't do for anyone who wants to hold down a real job.'

  Rory succeeded in maintaining restraint for Hugh's sake. 'You've not told me what he did yet.'

  'I'm afraid I can't discuss it with you. I wouldn't want my employers to be sued for alleged slander. Some people seem happy to claim payment however they can. Of course I'm not referring to anyone specific.' As Rory tried to visualise the supervisor's fat smug face Justin said 'I take it you'll be visiting your brother. I hope you'll devote your efforts to helping him in any way you can.'

  'I don't need you to tell me that,' Rory declared and rang off before he could say anything else. As long as the job was Hugh's choice he shouldn't jeopardise it any further. His fury grew as he listened yet again to the message, and he could scarcely wait for it to finish droning so that he could say 'Can't you answer, for Christ's bloody sake? I know you're not at work. It's me. It's your brother. Whatever's up, you can talk to me.'

  His ignorance of the situation felt like a lump of nothingness at the centre of his brain, and capable of blotting out his thoughts. Suppose Hugh was indeed unable to answer? From the little Justin had implied, Rory suspected that Hugh might have given way beneath the accumulated pressures of the job or, to judge by Rory's solitary experience with them, of his workmates. When teaching had almost broken him down he hadn't wanted to admit it or even to speak to his family for weeks. Charlotte had sent him encouragement, Ellen had kept assuring him how much they all cared about him and would look after him, but Rory believed it had been his own roughness that had dragged Hugh out of the dark lonely pit he'd become. Th
at sort of conversation, more like a monologue, was best conducted face to face, and Rory was already dressing. He shoved his feet into a pair of trainers that were muddy from the moors and hurried down the corridor to slam the door behind him.

  The lift was a grey box for eight people, seven of them represented by space. Without its control panel and the midget door to the emergency phone it would have been entirely featureless. Well before it descended twelve floors Rory found the sight of little more than nothingness unwelcome. His mind must be narrowed down to worrying about his brother, because when he stepped out of the tower block the car park and the queues of vehicles on the main road seemed flattened by the sunlight, insufficiently present. He rubbed his eyes and blinked stickily as he headed for the van.

  How hot was the interior? As he drove to the road he lowered the window, but wasn't sure if that made any difference. A Volvo almost blinded him with its high beams to indicate that it was making way for him. The traffic was reduced to pacing the pedestrians by roadworks that had occupied a lane. Rory closed the window, even though he couldn't smell the gathering fumes, and laid his mobile on the seat beside him as the traffic halted ahead.

  A lorry that blocked most of his forward view crawled a yard before stopping with a muted flare of brake lights – grimy, they must be. Its next effort covered half the distance, and the eventual one after that even less. When Rory saw a gap alongside he swerved into it, only just ahead of a Rover, which flashed a blank patch into his eyes. Presumably its horn wasn't working, but the driver compensated with a vigorous mime. Now the traffic in the inner lane was overtaking Rory, and the length of the lorry kept him out, forging forwards beside him but never far enough to let him dodge behind. His fists were clenched so fiercely on the wheel that he'd ceased to feel them. A Peugeot in front of him surged ahead several yards, but not enough to overtake the lorry so that Rory might be able to. His frustration seemed to swell behind his eyes, clogging his senses, and for too many seconds he imagined he was hearing his own voice only in his head. 'Ring ring. Ring ring,' he said, or rather the phone did.