Voices in the Dark Read Free Page A

collaborator?’ said Jasmine.
    ‘Come on, Jas,’ said Michael, ruffling her hair. ‘I’ll teach you a card game.’
    I caught his glance and followed him out of the room, and Jasmine came after us. We sat on the floorboards of the shop, between the counter and a rack of old clothes, and Michael dealt out his stained playing cards and occupied Jasmine with a list of rules. She was still close to tears, but the distraction worked. In the back room, some argument was rising between Mr Pascal and Mr Barone. I tried to listen, but the rain obscured their voices. It was coming down hard again. Trader’s Row was deserted, except for the old newspapers that circled in the rising gale.
    ‘Your turn, Anselm,’ Michael said, making me start. I had been thinking of other things. He handed me two crumpled cards, and I played my turn without knowing what numbers I put down. The storm rattled the windows and howled in the chimney. It made the side gate crash and shudder against the wall.
    ‘I should go out and lock that,’ I said.
    I got up and went out. In the yard, the wind was ferocious. I wrestled the gate back into place. Then, as I turned to close it, there was a quick movement in the shadows on the other side of the street. Someone was standing there, in the dead space between the two gas lamps, watching me.
    The man’s silhouette was strange; there was something unearthly about it. I looked at him, and he stared back at me. Then he turned and walked away. The breeze made the lamps gutter, and in that jumping light, I could not make out his face. But as he vanished, I saw what it was that made his outline strange. Across his back was a rifle. It gleamed as the darkness overtook him. The rain was driving down hard now out of a dull grey sky. I shivered and bolted the gate and went in.
    At first I thought I would mention it to the others. But the Barones and Mr Pascal and my grandmother were all getting up to leave. After they had gone, a cold silence fell on the house, and I did not dare to raise the subject. Leo sat down at the table and rested his head against his arms.
    ‘Are you all right?’ said my mother.
    ‘I will be all right tomorrow.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘At least he is buried now,’ said Leo. ‘That’s the worst thing, not knowing. All that ceremony makes things better. I don’t know why, but it does.’
    None of us answered. He was speaking from experience. His parents, the famous Harold and Amelie North, had been missing for more than two decades. I knew that he still lay awake at night because he did not know where they were. It seemed Leo’s family was condemned to suffer every time our country rose and fell.
    ‘Come on,’ said my mother, picking up the box of Aldebaran’s things. ‘Let’s go to bed. Nothing is right this evening.’
    We followed her upstairs to the living room and watched while she lit the lamps and Leo turned over the fire.
    ‘Here,’ she said, setting the box down on the mantelpiece. She put on the ring. I took the medallion and Jasmine the box. ‘Are you not even going to open this book, Leo?’ my mother asked.
    Leo shook his head. ‘What’s the use?’
    ‘What’s the use? Uncle must have meant something by it. Don’t you want to know what it is?’ He shook his head again and closed the bedroom door behind him. My mother left the book lying on the mantelpiece. It was still there when we put out the lamps.
    It was half past eleven, but from the square of light falling below the window next to mine, I could tell Michael was still awake next door. On nights when neither of us could sleep, we opened the windows and leaned out and spoke to each other. We had done that since I was a little boy and our family first came to the shop on Trader’s Row. ‘Michael?’ I said, and pushed the window up. After a few seconds, I heard him raise the window on his side.
    ‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘It must have been a long day.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Here. Take