Dark Corners

Chapter 3

19th November 2019

Evening

With the last customer gone I locked the shop door and closed the blinds, and felt exhausted. My hangover had faded by lunchtime, thankfully, but it had been replaced with an emptiness that had lasted the rest of the day, and with Esther leaving early, the final few hours of serving people, smiling politely and cleaning up the mess created by toddlers had been a slog. I hoped people didn’t think I was being rude. I tried my best to be upbeat, but really, I bet it came across as just beat. And now that the day was done, I wanted nothing more than to step under a hot shower before falling into bed. But I couldn’t go home, not just yet – Esther had left me a list of chores. I should have been a little annoyed she didn’t trust me to undertake the jobs needed for our business. But then again, these past few weeks, I’ve hardly been a paragon of trust. Sometimes it felt like she was actually my boss rather than my business partner. I guess that said more about me than her.

Grabbing the list, I walked over to the speakers and connected my phone. Opening my music app, I loaded my ‘classics playlist’ and turned up the volume. Then, I set about cleaning the last remaining tables and loading the dishwasher. Tina Turner’s ‘Nutbush City Limits’ came on, a song that always made me feel better. It reminded me of a time long before business and broken hearts. A time before 1998. Before that night. Before Chloe.

That song, like all the others in my playlist, took me back to being young, perhaps nine or ten. Mum and Dad were still together, still happy, and my memories were of endless summer days, the smell of rain on hot tarmac, of Refresher sweets in paper tubes, of bike rides, noisy clackers in the wheels and beads on the spokes that created an almighty din as we rode. This song reminded me of my friends. All of them.

With the tables cleaned and the cups and plates in the dishwasher, I disinfected the counters and cashed up the till. Despite how I was feeling, it hadn’t been a bad day. Maybe the best mid-week takings we’ve had in a while. With the takings in hand, I was down to my last job. Double-checking the front door was locked, I went out back to the safe and opened it, removing the cash from Sunday and yesterday. Esther and I probably should bank every day, but it cost to deposit money, so we opted for twice a week instead. And whoever was last on Friday and Tuesday had to prepare for the bank run for the following morning. As I inputted the numbers and double-checked the amount in each denomination, I could feel a fresh headache begin to form behind my eyes. I knew I didn’t have any painkillers left, so instead I grabbed a miniature bottle of Shiraz from the wine shelf and opened it. I told myself a glass of wine whilst doing the books was a normal thing to do, that I was just like everyone else. It wasn’t true, of course – drinking while battling the hangover from the day before wasn’t normal at all. But I pretended and doing assuaged some of the guilt.

I sat at the table nearest the till and took off my glasses. I pinched the bridge of my nose, relieving a little of the pressure, and I let myself enjoy a few sips of the wine. Over the music, which had moved on from Tina Turner to an early Kylie Minogue, I could hear rain hitting the glass of the shop front. I used to love the sound of rain once, but not now. Outside in the street, the shapeless silhouette of a person came into view. They stopped outside the window. I couldn’t see their features through the blinds, and I couldn’t work out if they were looking directly towards me, or directly into the rainstorm. Regardless, I held my breath for a moment longer than I should have. My mind took me back to somewhere I didn’t want to visit. Just to be safe, I reached over and put the bag of cash behind the bin. When I looked up, whoever was there had gone. And then I thought, what if it was Oliver? What if he had come back to see me, to offer an explanation as to why he took off without offering so much as an apology for his inability to do it face to face?

Jumping up, I knocked my wine over and dashed to the door. I unlocked it and stepped outside. The rain was falling so hard it hurt the top of my head. I looked left and right, but I couldn’t see anyone. As I locked the door again, a shiver ran up my spine. I reasoned it was the cold rain, and nothing else, but still, I turned the music down before cleaning up the mess I made, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up on end.

When I’d finished preparing the morning bank run, I returned all of the money to the safe, grabbed my coat and locked the shop before walking as quickly as I could to the Underground. Despite it only being just after seven, it felt later, the darkness complete and all-consuming. The footpaths were littered with fallen leaves that only this morning looked beautiful; now they glistened like slugs under the streetlamps and were slippery underfoot. I walked fast, my head down, trying to see behind me until I reached the newsagent where I’d bought the water earlier today. I picked up a bottle of wine, paid, and feeling a little less uneasy I headed down the stairs into the warmer, stale air of the Underground.

Chapter 4

20th November 2019

Morning

I roll onto my side and try to open my eyes. I manage to open one, just a sliver and it closes again. My bedroom light is on, it’s too bright, it hurts too much. And the drill is there. Hammering away.

Shit, Neve. You did it again, didn’t you?

I fall out of bed, landing on my elbow, right on the knobbly bit that should have jolted pain into my hand, but instead it jolts the other way, a mainline straight into the space behind my eyes. The hammering becomes an intense throb. It hurts my head so much I think my eyes will burst. I gingerly get to my feet. I’m really hungover, more so than most days. I stagger into the kitchen, the bottle I bought on the way home is lying on its side, a small pool of red where the dregs had dripped. And there is a bottle of vodka beside it. Oliver’s vodka. I must have raised a glass to him last night. The bottle is empty. I cannot remember how much was in there when I got home after being spooked at work.

I go back into my bedroom to grab my phone. No missed calls, no texts, no fiancé saying he is sorry for leaving without taking anything with him. But the consolation is, it’s just before seven and I’m not late for work. I shower, wash my hair, dress. It helps. I feel less like I want to pass out. I try to find my glasses; I must have left them at work. I still have an hour before the café opens. But I want to show Esther I meant what I said, about trying harder. I can get the till ready. Warm the place up. I may even dig the Christmas decorations out of the box in the back of the storeroom and start giving The Tea Tree a more festive feel.

Despite the headache I’m feeling good about today and, grabbing a breakfast bar, I leave, locking my door behind me. It’s raining. Not like last night’s downpour, but the kind that feels like TV static on your skin. Stopping at the nearest shop I buy as many painkillers as I can without raising an eyebrow of suspicion, pop two and head into the station. Thankfully, the train is far less crowded than yesterday, and I find myself at Ealing Broadway in what seems much less time than usual. I even had a seat for the entire journey, a real treat.

The rain stopped as I left Shepherd’s Bush station, and with my painkillers starting to kick in, I took my headphones out of my coat pocket and plugged into my playlist. As I turned onto Richmond Way, I could see our café in the distance. And even without my glasses, I knew something was terribly wrong. It was in the way people were slowing down as they passed the shop. The way they had to walk around something on the floor. I hoped I was mistaken, but as I drew closer, I could see rainwater shimmering on broken glass. A few more steps and I could see where the glass should have been. Our shop’s front door had been smashed in. I could see the tables and chairs scattered on the floor within. We had been robbed. I must have let out a gasp or a cry or something because people looked at me, their quizzical expressions changing as they realised it was my shop. I fumbled in my bag for my phone. It wasn’t there. I must have left it at home. Shit, Neve. Of all the days.

A woman approached, she asked if I was all right. I wanted to say no, of course I’m not bloody all right. But the words didn’t come.

‘Has, umm, could somebody ring the police, please?’ I asked, unable to look away from the mess inside the shop.

‘I have already. They’ll be here soon.’

I nodded towards her and started for the door, taking my keys out of my pocket as I approached.

‘Perhaps it’s best if you stay outside? Until the police arrive?’ the woman said. I didn’t look back, just put my key in the lock, trying to jiggle it open. It was stiff as it usually was, but eventually it gave, and I opened the door. I don’t know why I bothered. There was no glass in the frame. I could have stepped in without needing to unlock it. Just like the person who robbed us did.

The sound of glass crunching under my weight seemed to echo off the walls and squinting, I scanned the room. Tables had been overturned. Chairs knocked over. But, as far as I could see, nothing was missing. The glass was still intact on the serving counter but some of the cakes from the display cases were gone. With my heart pounding so hard I could feel it behind my eyes, I leant over the counter. I expected to see the till missing or smashed open but it too was untouched. My glasses sat on the top, where I left them last night. Putting them on, I looked around the café once more. It was a mess, but I couldn’t see anything, besides a few cakes, missing. It confused me. Why would someone break in for a piece of cake?

It didn’t take long before I could hear sirens approaching, followed by blue lights from the police car bouncing off the walls. Two officers stepped in, looked over the place, took my details, Esther’s details, and told me forensics would be out soon to dust for prints. They didn’t seem bothered by it all, but, I guess, awful as it was, little had actually been taken. They speculated it was probably a bunch of kids, but I was told not to tidy yet, not until the forensics had finished. All I could do was sit and wait for Esther to turn up so we could call a window company, our insurance, post on our Facebook page that we were shut – as well as everything else I knew we had to do but couldn’t yet process. I sat and waited for what felt an eternity for her to arrive, as I couldn’t call her. I didn’t know her number, it was stored in my phone as it had been for the past nearly two decades. Of all the days to forget your phone. I made a mental note to learn it. I bet she knew mine.

Esther arrived twenty minutes after the police left. She looked as shocked as I must have done.

‘Neve? What the fuck?’

‘Someone broke in last night.’

‘Shit!’

‘Yeah, shit.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘Of course I have,’ I snapped. ‘Sorry. They’ve been and gone.’

‘Shit,’ she repeated as she stepped over a patch of broken glass and sat on a stool beside me. I wanted to hug her but didn’t.

‘I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t call the police!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Cheers, Esther.’

‘Sorry, I just… is there anything missing?’

‘A few cakes.’

‘Cakes?’

‘Yeah, a few chocolate muffins, some other bits.’

‘Is that it?’

Esther stood and walked towards the display and looked in behind the glass. Then, leaning over, she looked at the till.

‘They didn’t even touch it,’ I said.

‘That’s weird. Lucky, but weird,’ she replied as she sat beside me once more. We both stared at the chaos of the shop, passive, like we were at the cinema. ‘They just took cakes?’ she asked again.

‘Little shits with the munchies, no doubt.’

‘Really? Are kids that bad?’

‘Worse,’ I said quietly, remembering how when I was a kid, it wasn’t cakes but booze from the local off-licence. ‘I’ve been told not to tidy until they come to dust for prints. Otherwise I would have started.’

She nodded and looked to the bin which had been knocked over, the contents scattered on the floor. If we’d not been robbed, she would have no doubt said something about me not emptying them, especially as it was on the list. I almost offered an apology but saw she had narrowed her gaze on something and, following her eye line, I saw her look at the empty bottle of wine.

‘I only had one, while cashing up, and I paid for it.’

‘Neve, you were so hungover yesterday…’

‘It was only one. Just to take the edge off.’

‘That sounds like something a person with a drinking problem might say.’

‘I don’t have a drinking problem.’

‘That’s another thing they would say, right?’

‘Esther!’ I said, my voice sounding louder and more wounded than I intended.

‘Sorry, yes, now isn’t the time. I just worry about you.’

‘Well, don’t, OK? I’m all right. I’m on the mend.’

‘OK.’ She smiled. ‘So, I guess now all we can do is wait for the fingerprint people to come. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Left my phone at home. Shall I make us a coffee?’ I asked, already getting to my feet as I knew what her answer would be.

‘Good idea. Neve?’

I turned and glanced back at Esther, who – for a moment – looked smaller than she usually did, her petite frame somehow swallowed by the mess around us. Although she called my name, she wasn’t looking at me, not at first, her eyes were back to the small empty bottle of wine on the floor. ‘Things will get better, you know that right?’

‘Yep,’ I responded too quickly. ‘The insurance will cover it; we’ve got a crime reference nu—’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said, bringing her eyes to mine. ‘You’re not keeping something from me?’

‘What, no, of course not.’

‘You were drinking a lot back at uni when… you know.’

‘Esther. I’m fine. I’m OK.’

I tried to smile, to show her I was all right, and she didn’t need to worry about me, she had enough on her plate. ‘I promise.’

‘OK,’ she said, not convinced. ‘I’ll find the insurance policy so we can give them a ring.’

‘I’m sorry, Esther,’ I said, although I had no idea why.

‘Me too,’ she replied before touching me on the shoulder as she made for the stockroom at the back. As I waited for the coffee machine to warm up, I looked at the door, the glass on the floor and I knew they wouldn’t find any prints. Kids were smarter than that, despite also being completely thoughtless sometimes. But, with only a few cakes missing, I knew no harm was really done. Kids just being kids.

Chapter 5

June 1998

Six weeks before…

‘So, Baz and I were bored the other night and decided we’d go for a walk,’ Michael started as he took a drag on his cigarette.

‘You’re always bored,’ interrupted Holly without looking at him. She was keeping watch on the school, making sure none of the teachers were unexpectedly patrolling the field several hours after school had finished.

‘Holly, you don’t need to keep watch now, we aren’t going to get into trouble.’

‘My dad would kill me if he thought I was smoking.’

‘But you’re not. And anyway, as soon as the bell sounds at 3.15, the teachers don’t give a shit what we do.’

‘But…’

‘Holly. They care even less just before 8 p.m.,’ Chloe added, trying to reassure her twitchy friend.

‘Sorry, you’re right.’ Holly smiled, resuming her thoughts about Michael. Most of his stories began in the same way: either he was bored, or Baz was bored, or they both were. And usually, his stories culminated in them being in trouble. That boredom had meant he had been suspended on three occasions in their secondary school career, and instead of sitting all fourteen exams, he would end up taking only nine.

‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ continued Michael, shooting a mean but playful look at Holly. ‘We were bored, and we went for a walk, and we discovered something really cool. Wanna see it?’

‘Not really,’ Jamie chuckled.

‘Come on, I promise, you’re gonna love it. You’re all gonna love it.’

Jumping to his feet, Michael urged the group to move.

‘How long will it take? I’ve got revision to do,’ Holly protested, and although Neve, Jamie and Georgia were thinking the same question, no one backed her up. It was typical of the group. Despite how closely knit they were, they still didn’t want to appear any different to Baz and Michael, who cared very little for anything besides having a good time.

‘I’m glad you mentioned the exams,’ Michael continued, ‘because what we found will help us with the stress of the bastards.’

Without waiting, Michael turned and walked away from the group towards the back corner of the school field, where a hole had been cut in the fence so they could nip out at lunch and buy cigarettes from the local corner shop. It had been there for years, before any of them started the school, and everyone knew about it. Baz joined at his side, followed by Jamie and Georgia.

Neve noticed Georgia was starting to change her look. Her usually unkempt hair was scraped back, and she could see the hint of make-up. It was subtle, and no one spoke of it, but Georgia was becoming one of the prettier girls within the group. And it changed how she walked. Instead of stomping like the tomboy she once was, she now held her head high, kept her gait light. It gave her a new air of confidence. She was blossoming, and although the boys hadn’t seemed to notice, Neve knew it wouldn’t be long before they did.

Chloe and Neve picked up the end of the group, curious about Michael and Baz’s ‘discovery’. The pair were a liability, but a lot of fun along with it. Georgia linked arms with Holly, probably making sure she didn’t bail as she so often did. As they walked, Chloe and Neve chatted about how there was nothing left to discover in the village. It was too small, too samey. After only a few minutes of walking, it became clear where they were being led, and it piqued everyone’s interest – even Holly’s. Michael and Baz had led them to Mine Lane, and as they stepped foot on it, everyone stopped. Mine Lane, and what was at the end of it, was the place ghost stories were written about. As kids they’d told each other tales of dark shadows walking aimlessly at night, and hearing the cries of those who had died. As young children, they’d run past its entrance, too afraid to look down in case a spectre grabbed them and dragged them below. That fear was still there, still tangible.

‘You do know we aren’t allowed in there?’ Jamie said, shifting from one foot to the other.

‘Yes, we know.’

‘Then where are we…’

‘You’ll see, have a little patience,’ Michael said, smiling knowingly to Baz. ‘Come on.’

Baz and Michael continued down the lane, and the group followed in silence, coming closer to the entrance of the old mine. They stood huddled together, and Neve looked back towards the main road, expecting someone to come and shout at them to leave things alone. The lane itself wasn’t forbidden, and there were no fences that stopped them walking down it, no signs – not like the mine. The ground was still sacred to the people who worked the pits and shouldn’t be tainted by anyone who didn’t. Everyone in the group had someone in their family who had once worked there, as did every soul in the village. But unless you’d actually descended to its belly, you were silently forbidden to go anywhere near it.

The mine had only been closed less than a year, and already the road was showing the signs of neglect. Cracks lined the tarmac as seeds from hardy weeds forced their way through. Above their heads, the trees were beginning to form a canopy, turning the road into a tunnel as the branches hadn’t been artificially pruned by passing lorries. And below the canopy, the few lamps that still contained a bulb didn’t light up the evening sky. The electricity supply had been cut off. The place felt desolate, the atmosphere tense to everyone except Baz and Michael who continued to bounce down the lane without a care in the world. Neve could see everyone was a little jumpy at the sounds that emanated from the densely packed trees. Chloe held her best friend a little closer, and thought of ghosts. Eyes watching. Waiting to spook them. With each step, it felt like the lane was getting darker.

Baz and Michael slowed as they drew close to the old entrance barrier that was still there, its paint faded and mossy. It was pointless it being there, as twenty feet behind it was the metal fence that surrounded the entire land of the colliery – a footprint that was larger than the rest of the village.

‘I’m not going in there,’ said Holly shakily as they stood in front of the barrier.

‘Me neither,’ agreed Georgia, who for once wasn’t worried about what anyone thought.

‘Please, as if we’d be that stupid,’ said Baz, waiting for someone to agree. No one did. ‘We aren’t here because of the mine.’

‘Yeah, there’s no way we would go down there,’ Michael agreed.

‘I thought you two were fearless,’ Chloe teased.

‘We are,’ said Baz, haughtily. ‘But no fucking way would we go there.’

‘Then why are we here?’ said Holly, checking her watch.

‘Because of this.’

Baz gestured to his left at the old security hut that once checked and allowed vehicles and foot traffic onto the site. The building, roughly the size of a large shed, was made of metal and concrete, designed to be hard-wearing and functional. The hut was positioned in front of a stand of trees, probably planted to act as a sort of barrier behind the hut. Its windows and doors were boarded up with sheets of metal that had been welded to the structure, intentionally impenetrable.

‘What are we doing here?’ asked Chloe, exasperated with the boys for wasting time and making her walk so far.

‘Well, we were thinking. You guys are so burnt out with exams and all that stuff,’ said Michael, not noticing Chloe’s annoyance. ‘So, we figured we needed a space to unwind and de-stress.’

‘Again, so why are we here?’

‘Come with me, I’ll show you.’

Taking Chloe by the hand, Baz led her towards the trees and guided her to squeeze between them and the hut, Michael urging the group to follow. It wasn’t until they traversed between the wall and trees that the group understood why Baz and Michael were so excited. There was a small hatch that hadn’t been welded shut, probably forgotten or overlooked. Baz dropped to his knees and opened the hatch inward, sliding his wide frame through the gap, disappearing from sight.

‘Come on!’ he bellowed from within, his voice sounding like he was shouting through a hand clamped over his mouth.