Yellow After Dark

It's still raining when Candice looks to see James staring in the window of the diner, which to all intents and purposes, is a greasy spoon cafe but for the fact that it does not lock its door.

Drenched in neon reds and greens, it serves coffee and home-made pie and offers respite from the darkness of the world beyond those plate-glass windows.

Spattered with droplets, James stares in through from the night side; he is soaked with rain and drenched in shadow.

The sight of him makes Candice's stomach tighten.

He's here; it's time.

*

I stare in through the window, my breath fogging the glass. Inside I can see shapes, vaguely human, barely moving. They are lit by the glow of humming colour around the diner. Their faces are hidden; I need to go inside.

The warm air is stale and rushes at me when I push the door open. It creaks on its hinge. The sound makes three heads swivel to look at me, and I meet their gazes.

One of them knows.

I approach the counter, a long strip of metal and plastic at the far end. The man behind it is tall and broad, like me.

Sat on a stool on this side is an older man, withered and hunched, a khaki anorak draped over his narrow shoulders like a thrift-store wraith. His sunken eyes glare at me as I stand beside him, but I ignore them.

I assume the man behind the counter is Dan; the moniker is scrawled in cheap neon above his head.

'Evening. Coffee?'

'Information.'

My bluntness doesn't seem to bother him, like he's been expecting it.

'We do coffee here, and cake. Nothing else.'

I feel rattled. Sense that scrunching up of my stomach, the clenching of my fist in my pocket.

Breath in.

'I'm looking for my son.'

Breath out.

Dan's expression doesn't change, but I feel the old man tense beside me. I glance at him. He is staring up at me through wiry eyebrows; cold eyes, dark with judgement.

I continue, 'I was told he was here.'

It is the old man who replies, 'Well he's not.'

Dan's hand shoots across, holds his palm out to calm him, 'Easy, Terry.' His tone is firm but gentle. The old man's prickles relax into his anorak.

Dan says, 'Look around. It's not a big place. You can see he's not here.'

I scan the room slowly. There is only a young woman, her back to me.

No sign of my son, and yet I have a sense that I cannot leave.

Not yet.

'Tea', I demand.

With my hot mug warming my palm, I cross the diner and slide into one of the plastic bucket seats. I set the mug down on the cracked formica table top and bow my head, pressing my hands into my eyes until all I see are flickering spots.

He's here. I know he's here.

I release my face, dropping my hands to the mug, cupping it and see movement ahead of me.

Two tables away, a little diecast toy car is placed on the surface. The tiny hand that deposited it disappears below, only to return with a second car that parks behind the first. A third is butted up behind them both.

I watch with tired eyes as the hand pops up a fourth time, but this time a tiny yellow flower is carefully laid down at the end of the train.

I'm suddenly aware of my heart pounding in my head and shake it until it stops.

I look at Dan and Terry, and they are pretending not the look at me.

The door creaks and clatters and someone new walks in. A young man, a hoodie pulled down as he stalks across the diner to the counter, meeting my eye as he passes. I do not look away. Eventually, he does, but not until he scowls. Aggression radiates from him in waves.

He turns away to order coffee and my view of him is blocked.

A young woman sits in front of me. She is petite in her frame, but her shoulders are broad, her arms long; they fold across her yellow top, and her head tilts a little as she smiles.

'Are you okay?' Her hair is long, straight, she moves it with an air of nervousness.

I want to be annoyed at her intrusion, but somehow, I am not. Still, I answer gruffly, 'No.'

'I'm sorry to hear that', she says, then adds, 'I'm Candice.'

I shrug and sip my tea. It has already gone cold. I can feel her watching me, so I ask, 'What do you want?'

Candice pauses, considering her words, 'I knew your son.'

I frown, lean forward, 'Here?'

'Once. But not for a while now. He's not here any more.'

I grunt, 'You're lying. He's here.'

Her expression is insistent, 'No, I'm not. I liked Chris. He was always very kind to me, but at the same time, he seemed very lost.

'Did you ever get that feeling?'

I look down at my mug, 'I knew that he was hurting, but he'd never tell me why. Or couldn't. Words just seemed to get stuck in the air between us.'

As I speak, the young man in the hoodie is taking his coffee to a stool further along the counter, moving into my line of sight. I catch his eye again, refuse to release it and I see his jaw clench.

'I know the feeling', Candice says, drawing my attention back to her.

'You were friends?', I ask.

She half nods, and I reply to the motion, 'I can see him liking you. You would be his type.'

Candice laugh, suddenly and loudly. All eyes dart to her, to me. She chuckles, 'I'm not so sure that's accurate.'

'No, he liked gentle people. He's a gentle boy... quiet... delicate.'

My mind drifts back in time, to my son, playing with his cars in the park. He would leave them there, I'd recall, almost every time, he'd forget them. And other boys, they wouldn't play with him. Else they'd taunt him, make him cry.

'What are you staring at?'

The voice startles me. I am looking at the young man as I come back to the present. He stares at me, without blinking, the promise of violence in his tone.

Why is he reacting so defensively?

Because he knows something.

I am on my feet quickly, my hand catching my mug and tipping it over. Candice jumps. I sense movement from the others, but I am a locomotive, barrelling towards another.

Dan is between us, having jumped the counter, trying to defuse and placate, but my mouth is running and what I am saying I cannot even understand myself.

The young man is shouting at me, at Dan, 'I didn't start this! This old boy needs to back off before -'

I don't hear the rest, because Terry is now weighing in, pulling on Dan's clothes, trying to let the young man get at me, 'Let him do it, Dan! He bloody deserves it after all he's done!'

They're all hiding something, I realised with bitter clarity and grab at Terry's anorak, 'Tell me where my son is!'

'I ain't telling you anything!'

Dan attention is split between the separate altercations but a stray word from Terry creates friction with the young man and suddenly they are calling each other names.

I step back a little and catch sight of something.

There is a little corridor beside the counter, and at its mouth, just for a moment, is a little boy. His pure face is illuminated for a moment, then he is gone.

I move quickly after him. The corridor dark and empty but for a glow coming from one of two doors.

When I get to the doorway, I find a stainless steel kitchen. The worktops are scratched and dulled from use, but still manage to reflect the sodium light streaming from security lights outside the high, narrow windows.

At the far end stands the boy.

My eyes sting. I rub them again, my vision blurred. staring back at me and my throat closes up, 'Chris?'

He speaks, and although my ears are ringing, I can hear him, 'When I was small, we were so close, dad. You and I on our adventures. It didn't matter if we were shopping or playing in the park. We were a team; we would always be a team, you said.

'But I got older, I got lost. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine. Black and white became grey, everything that we took for granted was no longer there, and even the most simple things became muddled.'

I step forward, squinting, trying to make sense of the words, the source of them unclear, confusing.

'I became lost in a darkness I did not understand, and neither did you. We lost each other there. Our team was broken.'

I feel a hand on my cheek. It is soft. Familiar.

'It took many, difficult years, but I found my way out of the dark. I discovered, and became, who I always was, but to you, I was changed.'

The small boy leans forward, comes into focus and Candice says softly, 'I knew you loved me, but it wasn't enough. I don't know what caused it, but you couldn't follow me out of the dark; your mind won't let you.'

My mind feels suddenly lighter. The words fall from my mouth as I touch the face of the child that I had never lost, 'Candice.'

*

It's still raining when Candice looks to see James staring back at her at the door of the late night diner.

He is smiling at her. He knows her face. She can feel the love for her.

Dan is beside her, his hand on her shoulder as he frowns with concern, 'This has got to stop, Candice. People got hurt this time.'

Candice nods sadly, 'I know, Dan. I do. All I can do is to thank you all, but I think we're getting closer.'

She looks at Terry bandaging his hand.

Dan sighs, 'We'll help you all we can, but we might be right back here in a few months if his mind doesn't accept - '

'I know', Candice interrupts him, placing a hand on his, 'But I have to believe that it will, Dan. I have to hope, because what else is there?'

James smiles at her and she smiles back. She watches her father leave the diner once more.