The Overnight (39 page)

"Every single, absolutely."

He lifts his chin and pokes his face over the shelves at Greg, who scowls and parts his lips, revealing clenched teeth. "I shouldn't leave your mouth open too long, Gregory," Jake is delighted to advise him. "You never know what someone might be tempted to slip in there."

Connie feels as though the murky light is robbing everyone of more than colour—as though it and the interminable night are reducing them to some stark essence of themselves. "I think we've had enough conversation for a while," she says. "It isn't helping us work."

Greg ducks furiously to grab a book. Jake smiles to himself before he stoops for one. Connie fears she may exacerbate matters if she says any more, and tries to focus on shelving instead. She has to hold each unshelved book towards the window to catch the grudging light; she could imagine that each repetition of the gesture brings the fog edging closer. Greg is either determined to set an example or challenging anyone to match his speed; he's making so much noise with books that it virtually blots out a shortlived commotion from the lobby where the fuses are. It can't mean Ray has fixed them, since the lights stay dead. Connie is wondering if she ought to find out how he's coping when Woody proclaims that he and Nigel should let in Greg and Ross.

"They could have done that by now," Greg complains, but that appears to be the sole response. Apart from the thudding of books on shelves there's no sound—no hint of activity beyond the doors. Connie is unable to judge how much of the time that feels inert as fog is used up before Woody declares "You two outside don't have to wait, you know. Maybe if you try to get in that'll do the trick."

As Greg strides towards the door that leads to Ray, he glances back to urge Ross to the other. Connie can't help resenting how Greg fits his badge to the plaque as though it might be readier to acknowledge him than her. She really oughtn't to feel secretly gleeful that it fails to recognise him either. He and Ross start to compete at ramming their shoulders against the doors, and Ross is the first to give in. "I don't—" he gasps and takes a breath. "I don't think Nigel's there."

"I thought he mightn't be," Greg says and deals his door the winning though pointless thump.

Connie succeeds in restraining her irritation enough to ask "Why's that, Greg?"

"I heard him go out before. I'm sure now that's what I heard. He'll have gone to fetch security. He must have seen they're needed at the lift."

"Why wouldn't he phone them?"

"He couldn't where he was, could he? He'd have had to go all the way back upstairs in the dark."

Connie feels stupid for needing to be told that, especially since she must have known the answer. No doubt he's all the more convinced he would make a better manager, not least because she's a woman. As she struggles to think how he might be wrong about Nigel, Jake says "Explain Ray then, Greg."

"I'm not aware of anything that wants explaining. He's a good manager."

"Except he seems to be hiding from you."

"I wouldn't be the one he'd have—" Greg's shadowy face produces its own darkness at his having let himself misunderstand. "If you're asking why he hasn't come to the door, he'll be too busy with the fuses. It'll be a hard enough job as it is without being left halfway."

"You ought to be able to hear him," Ross says. "Did you?"

"Not while we were both making so much noise."

"How about now we aren't?"

"Not at the moment."

"Try shouting to him," Connie suggests, "or would you rather I did?"

"I'm perfectly capable." Greg turns his back on everyone and leans towards the door, where his shadow shrinks into itself. "Ray?" he shouts as his shadow hands merge with the faceless silhouette of his head. "Ray," he yells between his hands. "Ray."

"Sounds like three cheers for nobody," says Jake.

Connie is about to hurry to the door Ray must surely be beyond when Woody's voice reappears overhead. "Angus, if you're doing what I'm hearing, try and think."

"Can't imagine what Woody doesn't want him doing with himself in the dark, can you, Greg?" Jake calls.

"Jake, do give it a rest for a while," says Jill.

"Well, I'm sure I don't want to bother anyone."

Connie's in no doubt that Greg feels a duty to respond. She's about to head off his retort when Woody interrupts. "Leave Nigel and Agnes and see if Ray wants help. If the fuses are fixed the elevator will be, obviously."

Mad thuds a book onto a top shelf before protesting "It's not that obvious, is it? The lift mightn't be on the same fuses. The phones aren't."

"Woody's bound to know what's what," says Greg.

Woody doesn't know that Ray isn't answering or that Nigel has gone for help. Nigel seems to be taking his time, and meanwhile what is Agnes expected to do? Connie marches to the door outside which Greg is loitering and raps on it with her knuckles. "Ray, can you at least let us know you're there?"

She doesn't shout. Being shouted at may have distracted him and made him too annoyed to answer. She presses her ear against the door in time to catch a restless shuffling that sounds impatient, and then a curt grunt. He must be too busy or concentrating too hard for words. "Success, Greg," she says. "Maybe some things need the female touch."

"I didn't hear him."

"I did." She's very close to losing her temper with his willingness to interfere. "And he doesn't want us disturbing him when he's fiddling about with no light."

She gazes at Greg with a patience that makes her eyes feel like hot weights until he retreats to his shelving. She's amused to observe that he can't let himself appear reluctant to move, which might imply a lack of commitment to the task and to the shop. Then Woody's voice demands "Does anyone else find it hard to believe Angus is still calling and not going where he's told? You'd think he didn't want us to have light to work with."

Is Angus another of the distractions that made Ray unresponsive? Connie returns to the aisle where she's shelving and picks up a book in each hand for extra speed, only to find that trying to read two covers by the stifled glow makes her feel retarded to half her pace. She reverts to her old method, hoping furiously that Greg didn't notice. She has shelved a few books with thunks that are meant to sound triumphant but that strike her as just dull when Mad says "Am I the only one that thinks we're assuming a lot?"

Apparently she is, because Greg clunks two books home before Ross gives in to asking "What about?"

"Obviously you heard Ray, Connie, and I understand why he's not saying much, but why are you so sure Nigel's gone for help, Greg?"

"Perhaps you'll tell me where else he could have gone."

"Suppose he just couldn't bear the dark any more? Maybe there's no light at all in there."

"Please." In case she doesn't have the wit to grasp why he's outraged Greg adds "Management doesn't act like that."

"I might."

At once Connie wishes she hadn't admitted that, even to suggest Mad may have a point, because Greg emits a low brief hum she thinks is the most insulting noise she has ever heard. She's about to train her icy rage on him when Jill asks her "Even if you'd be leaving Agnes, Anyes in the lift?"

"You're right, I can't see Nigel doing that, or me."

"If he went for help," Mad persists, "why isn't he back? He's had time to stroll all round Fenny Meadows since we heard the door go."

"Obviously," Greg says, only to leave his audience in suspense while he stoops for a book and lifts his smug grey face above the shelves, "they weren't in their hut and he's had to track them down."

He glances through the window and then peers at the book. For an instant Connie thinks she glimpses activity in the fog, but the unstable shapes that she must have imagined were nowhere near as tall as Nigel or a guard. She expels the impression from her mind as Jake says "Am I allowed to speak yet?"

"It sounds as if you've started," says Greg. "Try and make sure it's worth hearing."

If anyone needed to give Jake permission it surely ought to have been Connie. She's on the brink of saying so when Jake turns ostentatiously away from Greg to ask "Was that Angus I heard?"

"When?" says Mad.

"When you were arguing about Nigel."

"Nobody was arguing," Greg informs him. "We were establishing the situation. Some of us try not to make everything into a squabble like schoolgirls."

Jake looks to see who's offended, which leaves Connie feeling as unsympathetic to him as she already was to Greg. "Whatever you call it," Jake insists, "you were making a row."

His victory seems to terminate all conversation. With visible reluctance Jill asks "What did you think you heard?"

"Angus calling out or trying to. He sounded a bit shrill."

Greg's expression suggests that the shrillness is all Jake's. "Did anyone else hear anything like that?"

While nobody appears to want to take Greg's side, everybody's silence does. "Well," Jake says, "if it wasn't Angus it must have been Ray."

Greg utters a short laugh of pitying disbelief, but Connie wonders if Jake's persistence is making Greg as nervous as she's growing, or if he hasn't the intelligence. Before she can tell Jake to keep his fancies to himself, Jill says "Why aren't we hearing them?"

"I'm surprised at you, Jill," Greg says, leaning on her pronoun. "Obviously because there wasn't anything of the sort to hear."

"I don't mean that, Connie. Angus must be down by now, so shouldn't we be hearing them talk?"

Connie tries not to resent having needed to be told as she stalks along an increasingly dark aisle towards the exit to the staffroom. The illumination at the exit isn't much better than no light at all. The door has begun to remind her how her bedroom looked once when she was little—when she wakened in the middle of the night to catch all the doors in the room skulking in the dimness and holding themselves motionless on behalf of whatever had taken up residence behind them. She almost pounds on the door to render it harmless and elicit a response. Instead she calls "Sorry to disturb you, but is Angus with you, Ray?"

"Oh yes."

It has to be Ray's muffled voice, unless it belongs to Angus. Whoever spoke must be preoccupied, since he barely forms the words. Though she won't pretend she's eager to hear it again, Connie asks "Are you both all right?"

"Oh yes."

At least they both answer, though the words are even less clear; she could fancy that their mouths are growing somehow looser. She has the grotesquely unnecessary notion that she's deluding herself she recognises them; she can't tell which is which. More to the point, she sees no reason why her questions should amuse them. Her impression that they're close to bursting into laughter goads her to demand "How are you getting on?"

She would like not to believe that they repeat their answer, if in voices so thick they sound muddy with mirth. The sluggish syllables are barely comprehensible, not least because they're almost blotted out by Woody's overbearing intervention. "What's happening with you, Connie? Doesn't look like much."

She grabs the nearest receiver, which looks like a glimmering bone. She has to duck close to the stand to distinguish which button will enlarge her voice. "I'm trying to find out what Ray and Angus are doing. I thought you'd want to know."

In a moment he transfers himself to the receiver. "So what are they?"

"I'm not sure. Listen for yourself." Holding the phone towards the door fails to relieve her of much of her nervousness, because her shadow elongates itself grub-like across the spines of books. "Ray, Angus," she nevertheless shouts. "Woody's hearing you on the phone if you want to let him know where you're up to."

She braces herself for another repetition of their phrase, but has to conclude they meant it as a laddish joke at her expense as she's met by a silence that feels more mocking still. "Come on, you had enough to say before. Woody wants to hear it now."

She pokes the receiver at the silence so angrily the earpiece almost knocks against the door. Once her arm begins to ache with stretching the cord she snatches the phone back to her face. "They aren't answering."

"Could be they don't like your tone."

This strikes her as wholly unfair. "Perhaps you'd better show me how to do it, then."

"Give me a smile and you've got it." When she bares her teeth fleetingly at the ceiling Woody says "I hope you can set the team down there a better example than that" and sends his voice into the air. "Ray, Angus, Connie's holding the phone outside the door. One of you talk to me."

Fishing at the dimness appeals to Connie less than ever. The door isn't shifting, about to spring open; she's simply unable to hold the shadow of the phone still. After quite a few seconds Woody booms "Are you sure they can hear me?"

"If you can hear me," she shouts, "you'll be able to hear them."

"Ray or Angus, speak to me."

Connie has to watch the door appear to tremble restlessly for altogether too long before Woody's voice shrinks into the receiver. "Tell me you heard them and I couldn't."

"Not this time."

"What did they say before?"

"Nothing that made any sense."

"To you, maybe, could that be?"

"To anyone." She makes herself turn her back on the door to call across the shop "What did you think they were on about?"

The five grey faces grow dimmer and less defined as they swing towards her. Once they've all finished pivoting they seem to delegate Jill to murmur "Who?"

"Them," Connie says, confining some of her anger to jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "The comedy team. Ray and Angus."

"I don't know how funny you'll think this is, but I didn't hear them."

Connie's about to indicate how little she's amused when she realises the others are pleading deafness too. "Well, I did," she says and finds her cheek with the receiver again. "I heard them, except they weren't saying much at all."

"Guess they're too busy doing what I told them to."

He has brought her back to a conclusion she reached some interminable time ago. She's gaining the impression that their ability to think and communicate is close to falling dormant and already dragging time down with it. "Do you want me to leave them to it, then?"