It was a miserable morning in a forgotten seaside town.
Vivian had been right. The little red light on her answerphone had been a warning: she had not heard from Thea for over a week.
‘I don’t think anyone’s going to show, Viv. You sure Tristan said eight?’ Delia asked, dabbing at the crumbs of cake on her plate.
Vivian was sure. He had said his contact from Ing Enterprises would be there at 8 a.m. at what looked like the Apocalypse Café where the oilcloth was always sticky, the tomato sauce bottle forever empty and the glass on the chiller cabinets clouded with greasy cataracts.
‘Well, maybe they slept late.’ Delia peeled her sleeve away from the table, studying the damage to her coat, though the pattern was such that any stain would have been hard to see. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed, ruffling the underside of it, which was still a light green colour from a recent flirtation with the hair dye aisle. It was part of the deal when you were someone’s oldest friend: occasionally you had to haul your old bones out of bed at ridiculously early hours to go with them to clandestine meetings.
Well, it was the deal if Vivian was your friend.
‘Why would you eat cake at this hour?’ Vivian picked at the chip in the handle of her mug.
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Delia retorted, relaxing back in her chair and folding her hands comfortably over her stomach.
Fair enough, thought Vivian. She gazed out of the window. It was definitely not the morning for a seaside walk, but she noticed someone was out there on the promenade: a man, muffled in a scarf and woollen hat, who had stopped just outside and leant against the railings. Nothing peculiar in that, Vivian told herself. People often paused for a moment to take in the view. Except, well, they needed to be actually facing the view, didn’t they? He was staring the wrong way, not even looking at the sea. Staring at them.
Paranoia. Vivian mentally shook herself: she was not paranoid.
Not completely, anyway.
On the wall there was a clock the shape of a dinner plate with cutlery for hands. It ticked.
They ordered more coffee.
Tick, tick, tick.
Where was the tock? Vivian wondered, resolutely not looking out of the window. That was how it was meant to go: there was meant to be a tock. Tick, tock. Everyone knew that. The clock was clearly defective.
Who were they waiting for? Vivian had been disappointed with herself when she’d heard their contact was called Alex and immediately thought of them as a man, well, a boy really, some computer nerd in a bad jumper. She had resolved to give her first thoughts a good talking-to. Alex could be a woman. Anyone.
The man behind the counter slapped a wet cloth along the top of the chiller cabinet.
Tick, tick.
‘Come on, Viv, it’s been an hour. They’re not coming.’
Maybe the stupid, tockless clock was wrong. She looked at her watch and sighed. ‘You see, I know it’s only been a week and that’s no time, is it? I know I shouldn’t be worried and, if I am, I should go to the police, not sit in dingy little cafés failing to meet complete strangers.’
She tried to imagine explaining it to an overworked policewoman behind the reception desk: ‘You see, my daughter is on a technology trial and she said she’d phone every day but she hasn’t for over a week now and I’m worried about …’
About what? That’s where it all fell apart. What was she worried about? Thea had sounded relieved on the phone the last time she’d spoken to her. She’d got better sleep; it was all working. There was nothing to worry about.
‘But this is Thea,’ she continued. ‘The girl has always been clockwork. She said she would ring every day.’
And just like that, she was right back in those hormone-soaked days after Thea had been born when just looking at her sweet solemn little face caused a rush of every emotion she had ever experienced to swell so violently in her throat she thought she might have to scream just to breathe.
She got up and wrapped her scarf around her.
‘Maybe she’s just forgotten?’ said Delia as they heaved on the door, the cold outside air blasting over them.
‘When was the last time Thea forgot something?’
Delia smiled.
Thea made lists, then she crossed things off when she’d done them and, if the list got too messy, she rewrote it. She kept a calendar and remembered birthdays, put the bins out on time and then reminded Vivian when it was time to put hers out as well.
‘Well, maybe Tristan’s contact forgot then – you don’t know.’ Delia stuffed her hands under her armpits.
‘That’s the thing, Dels. You’ve hit it on the head,’ Vivian said. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this company, about the trial, about any of it. I don’t like not knowing.’
On the promenade across from them, the man was still facing the café. Maybe he had a café fetish? That was it. He had a café fetish, definitely – it certainly wasn’t that he was an Ing Enterprises spy sent to watch them. No. Café fetish was much more realistic.
Vivian didn’t look away this time. She wasn’t able to see if the man was staring right at her from this distance, but she was certain, somewhere in her gut, that he was.
If he carried on like that, standing there and gazing in, leaning against the railings in that irritatingly relaxed way, then she was going to put her umbrella up, march out of the café porch and stomp right up to him …
‘Viv?’ Delia followed her gaze.
Vivian slumped. ‘I’m going to have to go to the police, aren’t I?’
In the dark. That was the phrase, wasn’t it? She was in the dark and she hated it and, worse, her little girl was in there somewhere too.
But that was the thing about the dark.
All you had to do was strike a match, or flick a switch, and the shapes you’d thought were monsters turned out to be just boxes and bags and old junk piled high.
It was time to strike a match.