23

Mason clapped his hands like a giant toddler too excited to speak until he had managed to calm down.

‘Daniel, this all sounds perfect,’ he said. ‘You’re a godsend.’ He winked at the boy and then produced a silver signet ring from his jacket pocket and held it up in the orange light oozing out of the naked bulb. ‘I drop by so Lawson can solve a little problem of mine, because he’s my go-to guy for anything I can’t sort out, and discover you’re here too. Daniel! The . . . the . . .’ He wafted a hand in front of him as if trying to catch the right words eluding him. ‘The . . . “magic boy” . . . who can help Lawson do even more wondrous things than he ever could before.’

Mason slapped his thigh so hard that Daniel flinched. ‘This is all meant to be. This is . . .’ he drummed a big finger against his lips, ‘. . . fate.’ He beamed and shook his head. ‘You have to marvel at the way the world works, don’t you? About how things always pan out the way you need them to.’ He held out the ring to Lawson. ‘I want to see you two at work solving this problem of mine. I’m fascinated to see what you and the boy can do with this connection of yours. This . . . this . . .’

‘. . . fit,’ finished Lawson.

‘Precisely. So tell me what you can about the man who owned this ring for starters, Lawson. Think of it as a test for you both. I want to know if this fit can help you find the flask you know I’m so desperate to have. Tracking it down is your top priority after all, and you’ve been working on it for weeks.’

But Lawson shook his head. ‘Our last effort took a lot out of me. I don’t know how hard we can push making the fit for now. About what might happen if we do.’

But Mason didn’t seem to hear. He just grabbed Lawson’s wrist, popping the fingers open, and put the silver ring in his palm, then perched himself on the seat of the armchair and took out a small black notebook and a pen.

‘Lawson, you work for me, remember? Or would you like me to remind you some other way? I could ask the lads to help with that,’ he said, jolting a thumb towards Frank and Jiff.

Lawson stood staring at Mason for a moment and closed his fist round the ring and shook his head. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

‘He’s gonna nick that ring, boss,’ giggled Frank, licking the scar above his lip.

‘Yeah, it’ll vanish right in front of our eyes,’ said Jiff, who shifted about to get comfortable on the sofa. Daniel noticed that the man had a hunched back, the top portion of his spine humped like something had been stuffed beneath his jacket.

Mason raised a hand and the two men stopped laughing and the room filled with quiet. The only sound was the hum of the naked bulb above them.

Daniel looked at the floor when Mason stared at him, unsure what was going to happen or what he should do. And then he felt that warm golden sensation flicker up in his chest again.

When he looked up at Lawson, the man’s white face was already strained, the little tendons standing out in his neck like lengths of cord pulled tight. Lawson nodded and managed to smile. ‘Just focus on me, Daniel. Don’t be scared. Let’s just do what we did last time and see if I can connect with you even better than before.’

He closed his eyes. He clenched his fist harder round the ring, the knuckles shining whiter. Mutterings started rolling off his lips in whispers that could barely be heard.

Mason leant forward as if trying to listen, flipping open his notebook and readying his pen. Frank and Jiff were watching intently too.

When Lawson’s voice began to rise a little louder, Daniel felt the sensation in his chest increase. Like a hummingbird flitting, caged behind his ribs. The golden shimmer inside him grew brighter and warmer, filling out the secret space even more than it had done before.

Images wafted at the corners of his eyes, drifting round the dull-lit room, vanishing if he looked too closely at them.

The body of a man, lit by a street light . . .

. . . lying in a pool of blood in a quiet road bordered by shops shuttered up for the night . . .

. . . the silver signet ring on his little finger.

Silver boot tips beside the dead man’s head and then somebody’s hand reaching down, the fingers hooking round the handle of a leather briefcase lying in the road.

A white car disappearing down the street into the dark.

He could hear Lawson describing these things as if he was seeing them too behind his lidded eyes. Lawson told Mason it was his money in the briefcase. That it had been taken from the man who had been wearing the silver signet ring after he had been knocked down by a white car. Mason was nodding as he listened, jotting down details in his notebook, his tongue darting out between his lips as he concentrated on what Lawson was telling him.

‘Who took it, Lawson?’ he asked. ‘Who took my briefcase full of money?’ Lawson’s face twitched harder, the muscles dancing in his cheeks, his lips bleaching as he tried to see more. ‘Who was it, Lawson?’ growled Mason, his pen poised. ‘Tell me the number plate of this white car at least. Something I can use.’

As Lawson’s voice grew louder and more garbled, repeating the things he had already said, Daniel felt the wonderful warmth in his chest start to burn and become painful. It felt like the flame from a match was being held against his skin. As Lawson’s voice became more frantic, the pain worsened.

‘Stop,’ said Daniel. ‘Stop. Something’s not right.’ He wasn’t sure if he had said that loud enough. Or said it at all. His mouth felt like it was turned inside out. ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said again, but all he heard was a mumble in his throat.

‘What’s that, boy?’ asked Mason. ‘What did you say?’

But Daniel ignored him, focusing on Lawson instead, who was starting to shake, one of his eyes rolling up white into his head, like a pebble had been placed in the socket.

‘Let go,’ said Daniel with all the strength he could muster in his voice, the pain in his chest increasing as if someone was turning up a dial. ‘This feels as far as we can go.’

Lawson wiped his nose with the back of his hand and there was a tiny stripe of blood across it, wet like paint. ‘Don’t panic, Daniel,’ he said. ‘You need to keep your heart open. We need to see how much of a fit we can really make.’

‘Attaboy, Lawson,’ said Mason. ‘Keep working it. Tell me who stole my money.’

‘But something’s not right,’ replied Daniel, shaking his head. ‘It’s painful. It’s not like it was before.’

‘Don’t shut me out,’ shouted Lawson, his face waxing and waning, shining with sweat. ‘Don’t you want to know what we can really do? If we can help your father?’

There was a painful knocking in Daniel’s forehead now. Each time he blinked, he saw Lawson’s face inside him and it felt as though the man was trying to take over his body with his very being, reaching deep down into him. He could sense how scared Lawson was of Mason. How desperate he was to find out what the big, bald man wanted to know.

But, as the burning sensation in Daniel’s chest became more intense, he gritted his teeth and tried to ride it out because he wanted to know what the fit could really do too, whether it might be powerful enough to bring his father back.

‘I won’t shut you out,’ he gasped. ‘I want to know. I want to see what we can do.’

Mason whooped. He muttered and swore and wiped his brow with the back of a meaty hand.

Daniel heard a strange sound starting up inside him, a clicking, like someone flicking a light switch on and off. Slow and regular at first, then steadily becoming faster and faster, until it was just a constant buzzy sound, warbling inside him. It pounded his ears like an alarm. When it stopped suddenly, without warning, Daniel felt a jolt, as if a wire had been cut, and the pain in his chest vanished immediately too, leaving just a hole again, filled with cold, gleaming dark.

Everyone in the room saw Lawson’s fist explode like a grenade.

The stump of his wrist was left raw and red and white. Like something still oozing blood on a butcher’s slab. The hand itself was nothing but mess on the walls and the ceiling.

Frank picked a bloody finger out of his lap and held it up, making a face to Jiff, who was laughing hysterically.

Lawson dropped to his knees and his head lolled forward on to his chest, the stump of his arm still outstretched as though being offered up for inspection. He began to shake and cough and he raised his head, and, when he opened his eyes, he smiled, apparently unaware of his missing hand.

But then, slowly, his smile reversed, becoming the mirror image of itself, and he began to shake, his cheeks draining whiter and whiter. He tried clutching his arm to his chest, cupping his remaining hand round it, below the stump, and rocking it like a baby.

‘Help me,’ he whispered. ‘Help me.’

But no one moved as Lawson’s stump pumped more blood down his arm.

‘Who’s got my money, Lawson?’ asked Mason calmly.

Daniel knew that Mason’s white handkerchief was on the floor beside Lawson. He knew he was kneeling down and picking it up. And he knew he was wrapping the handkerchief round the man’s arm, fumbling with both ends of what was to become a simple knot to try and stem the flow of blood.

But he did not seem to own these movements. They just seemed to happen of their own accord.

As soon as it was tied, the handkerchief was already soaked, leaking crimson drops on to the floor. When Lawson put out his good arm to try and steady himself, it collapsed at the elbow as soon as he put some weight on it and he hit the carpet with a grunt. He lay on his side in the shape of a question mark, a fierce line pumping in his throat, looking up at Daniel through narrow-slitted eyes.

There was so much blood it was eating up the carpet.

And sitting in all that red was the silver signet ring.

When Mason crouched beside Daniel and touched the top of his shoulder, the boy flinched, and Mason had to grab him tight with one big hand so he didn’t topple over. The man picked up the ring from the floor with a tissue he had plucked from a box on the sideboard. ‘Go and get a glass of water from the kitchen,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll ring for an ambulance.’