Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  She experienced a pang of wistfulness. The farmhouse looked very peaceful: a visual representation of everything Juliet felt a community like this ought to be. Loving, tranquil, harmonious…

  And yet, here she was, being eaten up by all sorts of worries. Zoe, and her infatuation with Theo. The doubts over Theo’s background. Then the fact that she still hardly knew who Craig was, and what he was about.

  Was he hiding something? What really lay behind his dysfunctional relationship with his father? And was it any business of hers anyway? But the answer to that, she knew, was yes. Because she cared about it – despite all her best intentions, she cared deeply. And she still hadn’t resolved the mystery of who wrote that letter to Craig. The writer clearly loved Craig, longed for him to come quickly, had felt guilty about him in the past, but had now been forgiven by Craig. Juliet wanted to know who that person was. She felt she had a right to know. And she wanted to be rid of this terrible feeling in her stomach whenever she saw Craig. Was it yearning? No, impossible! All she knew was that it was tearing her apart.

  And then there was the question of Rory and his unpredictable outbursts of aggression. Juliet knew Rory needed to be locked up. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not while Craig, for some twisted reason of his own, allowed him to run loose in this community. Rory had said sorry to her, in Craig’s presence, but it rang hollow. And she still felt sick when she found herself revisiting the sensation of his hands around her neck.

  And yesterday she’d listened in on a very private exchange between a bitter and rigidly opposed father and son. Later she’d offered to help. And she’d foolishly used the word desperate to describe Don’s state of mind. Then Craig had stunned her by using the same word of himself. Craig desperate too? Desperate for what? And before he could show her, James had come in and Craig had slammed down the barriers again.

  She looked almost tearfully at the house. Though she was in less physical pain now, an undercurrent of anxiety was never far away.

  The back door opened and Don walked out. At once she brightened. She couldn’t help but see the Yorkshireman as rather like a lifeboat, cresting the waves of anger and desire and secrecy she found herself struggling in… Crazy, she knew, especially as he was probably part of the problem, but she needed something to hang onto.

  As she watched, he headed in a northwesterly direction across to the woodland path. The afternoon sun slanted through the copper beeches, marbling the gravel and fence with an intricate pattern of light and shade, reminding Juliet that it had been her earlier intention to take a brisk walk. She ran after him, catching up with him on the other side of the stile. “May I join you, Don?”

  “Of course, Juliet,” he said.

  They began walking up the track together. “Any news of Theo?” she enquired.

  “None at all,” said Don. “Worried about him, are you? A fair few others here are getting twitchy about it too.”

  “Which is odd really, when you come to think of it,” she said. “I mean, why should it upset them if he’s defrocked?”

  “No idea,” said Don. “After all, lot of pagans, aren’t they?”

  She chuckled. “Apart, that is, from Patrick.”

  “A lot of that stuff’s mumbo jumbo too,” grumbled Don.

  Juliet decided to let the subject go. She was in no position to argue any theological points with Don. And now she heard footsteps approach, scrunching the leaf litter on the track. Rory came into view, with an open book in his hand.

  “Take it easy, Juliet,” murmured Don. “I’m with you. It’ll be all right.”

  She felt a surge of warmth and gratitude to him for these words – and for guessing her feelings. Not something she’d have thought Don excelled in. Her response to this took her by surprise. Don seemed so dependable, so solid, so real. And then she reminded herself that she’d listened in to a conversation where Don had bribed his son, and backtracked from dealing honestly with him. So she had her reservations about the Yorkshireman too. Even so, for a moment she almost felt like hugging him, but reined herself in just in time. She wasn’t at all sure how Don would have taken it.

  And then she realised Rory was very close to her. She stepped back quickly. He wore a black string singlet, drawing Juliet’s attention to his white bony shoulders and arms. He’d teamed this with a pair of black wet-look trousers. This outfit distracted her for longer than she realised. All the time her heart was pounding. Would he attack her again? No, of course not! Don was with them. Don would protect her. She knew she’d be safe.

  “Good book, Rory?” asked Don. “Or something depressing of Oleg’s?”

  “No, no. The Celtic Way of Prayer. Theo lent it to me yesterday.” Rory said this in a strained tone of voice.

  Ah! said Juliet to herself – so this was the book Theo told her he thought would help Rory. She still strongly doubted whether it would. Then a fanciful idea struck her. Perhaps Theo was praying for Rory right now. If so, she hoped Theo was praying for safety for her as well.

  She examined Rory’s face, which was pale and gaunt, but she didn’t achieve eye contact. Nor did she want to, particularly. “Is the book helpful?” she forced herself to ask, thrusting her hands into her pockets, and ensuring that she kept at least one metre of clear space between herself and Rory.

  “A little,” said Rory. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t actually reading it just now. I was looking at this.” He held up a sheet of notepaper, closely covered with handwriting, then slipped it back inside the front cover.

  “Oh. A letter,” said Juliet. “Someone from the outside world?”

  Rory nodded, looking slightly sheepish.

  “My sister. We keep in touch from time to time. She’s in a Buddhist retreat centre up in the Highlands.”

  Juliet felt a stab of surprise to learn that Rory had a relative at all, especially one whom he took the trouble to exchange chatty letters with, in between his violent episodes. She wondered if his sister knew how far Rory was from the Buddhist ideal of non-violence and compassion. “So you and your sister are both in spiritual communities?” she said. “But what a coincidence.”

  Rory shot her a suspicious flicker of a glance. It was just like the one he had given her before she asked about his thorn in the flesh. She withdrew another step. Don put a reassuring hand on her arm, then dropped it back to his side.

  “So why doesn’t your sister email you?” asked Juliet.

  “Never!” said Rory with alarming force. “Her retreat centre forbids the use of computers.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes. So we always write letters to each other instead.”

  “I can understand that. It makes sense. People take more care with letters.” Juliet was conscious of her own efforts to keep the conversation amiable, now she knew how easily an incautious remark could light his tinder-box.

  Rory unexpectedly turned, and looked down the slope, at the honey- coloured stone of the farmhouse, just discernable through the trees. She and Don followed the direction of his gaze.

  “It looks so peaceful,” Juliet ventured. A harmless remark, she believed. But once again she was thrown off course by Rory’s response.

  “Craig’s too soft on who he lets in,” he said sharply.

  “Who do you mean?” she asked.

  “Theo, for a start,” said Rory. “Means well, but… why did Craig invite him? A Christian cleric? What does he have to do with us?”

  This astonished Juliet. Why target Theo? Especially as Rory had once described him as a soul mate. And then it occurred to her that Rory might be flailing out at Theo as a first target, before closing in on his main quarry again: her. She felt Don move closer to her as if he too sensed a warning in the air.

  Rory picked up a stick and started stabbing it into the nearest tree trunk with vicious thrusts. They reminded Juliet of a Viking putting eyes out. She tried to see the funny side of it, and couldn’t. And then her suspicion was confirmed. Rory’s finger shot out accusingly. And it was pointin
g at her. “You too, Juliet,” he rapped out. “Why did you come? Since you turned up, Craig’s changed.”

  “Changed? In what way?” she protested.

  “Craig adores you,” Rory brought out through gritted teeth. Juliet fell back, shocked. “He wants you,” stated Rory, “for himself.”

  She couldn’t bear to listen to any more of this. “No, Rory,” she cried. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

  Rory ignored her. “I say Craig should keep his hands off.” Juliet’s face was on fire. She didn’t dare look at Don. Then Rory blurted, “He wants the best, doesn’t he? Both worlds. The heaven and freedom stuff. And sex. All in the same package.”

  “I think this is all in your imagination, Rory,” pleaded Juliet. She held her breath. If she put up any further defence, or tried to argue, Rory might turn ugly again. Though she did now feel that Rory’s words had begun to explain the kind of twisted thinking that might have led him to attack Oleg last Sunday night, and then describe it at dinner on Monday evening as a near-death experience. In that case too, he had probably imagined that Oleg was much better off than him. And his feelings of jealousy had overpowered him.

  But of one thing she was sure in this case – Rory’s speculations about her and Craig were deluded.

  Rory continued his rant. “Craig’s got it all. But look at me. What have I got? Nothing.” His voice took on a tone of self-pity. “My sister. What would she think?” he lamented. “She’s so happy where she is. But I...” He began to sob.

  Don and Juliet looked at each other helplessly. Neither of them could help Rory: he made it so difficult for himself. And Juliet was afraid to let her guard slip; nor could she forget what those hands of his had done.

  But in the next second Rory’s tears had vanished, and he clenched his fists with frustration and anger. Juliet’s heart was hammering against her ribs. Rory’s unpredictability frightened her. “But Craig,” Rory went on bitterly, “gets the best of both worlds.” A few beats of time passed. Then he clapped his hands to his face, in another sharp mood swing. “I’ve even offered Craig more money, and he’s refused.”

  “What?” Don gasped.

  “Didn’t you know?” Rory asked in a disconcertingly low-key tone of voice.

  Don’s mouth hung open. He broke a twig from an overhanging branch, and then split it in two. He looked to Juliet as if he was about to explode himself. What she would do then, she didn’t know – other than run for it.

  “Perhaps it’s best if you take this up with Craig later, Don,” Juliet suggested gently, hoping to defuse the situation.

  Neither man spoke. She turned back to Rory, and quickly switched the subject to something she hoped would be less sensitive.

  “Tell me about your sister, Rory. She sounds very kind and thoughtful, if she writes so many letters.”

  Rory nodded. Juliet noticed this subject seemed to calm him down. He visibly relaxed.

  “You say she’s in a Buddhist retreat,” Juliet prompted him.

  “Yes,” Rory said.

  Juliet looked at him, intrigued. “How does your sister find their teachings?” she asked.

  “She finds they make sense.”

  Don shook his head. This clearly meant nothing to him.

  “The Buddha teaches that we should tread the Middle Way of compassion,” said Rory, as if reciting a passage from a handbook of Buddhist doctrine. Certainly Juliet thought the words sounded strange on Rory’s lips, when compared with his own past record of behaviour towards others. However she simply nodded courteously, determined to tread carefully with Rory.

  Don on the other hand seemed to have lost some of his caution, and now opened up another line of conversation which threatened to become contentious. “So the Buddha taught that, did he? Well, I must admit I’ve always found it very difficult, especially with Craig. Not that I’m saying I have always been in the right, of course.”

  Ah, thought Juliet. So Don was in confession mode now, was he? Did he believe this might defuse Rory?

  “Craig’s mother liked me well enough,” continued Don. “At first. But walked out one day. Craig was six months old.”

  “Six months?” A sense of pity held Juliet.

  “After that, bit of coming and going. Then she disappeared for good. Age seven, he was.” Don shrugged. “There you have it. All in the past. Nothing to be done about it.”

  Rory looked dubious.

  “Did Craig ever try to find her?” asked Juliet.

  “Yes. But nothing came of it.” Don drew two or three deep breaths. “Craig still blames me.” He took several moments to recover from this admission. Neither Rory nor Juliet said anything. Meanwhile, two wood pigeons rushed at each other in the uppermost branches of the closest beech tree.

  “So,” said Rory, “What do we do now?”

  “Beats me,” muttered Don. “So hard to satisfy, Craig. Truth. That’s what this place is supposed to be about. He can’t face it himself.”

  Rory’s face darkened. “Truth?” he said.

  Something in the way he said that word warned Juliet to retire a few steps back, further behind Don’s left shoulder.

  “Yes.” Don regarded him with a puzzled expression.

  “You, Don, are the last person here qualified to use that word,” said Rory. He slapped his hand hard against the nearest tree trunk. “Especially as a blunt instrument to hit Craig over the head with.”

  “I never meant it in…” began Don. Then he stopped. Perhaps he was reconsidering his words. “Do you think I’m a hypocrite?” he asked.

  “No,” said Rory. “Blind.”

  “Blind to what?” asked Don.

  “The truth about Craig.”

  Don subsided. His next words were uttered in a much lower tone. “As it happens, I have my suspicions. But I won’t name them.”

  “D’you want me to name them for you?” enquired Rory.

  Juliet looked from one to the other expectantly.

  “No,” said Don.

  “I’ve known the truth about Craig for months now,” said Rory.

  Don lost his sense of caution. “How dare you suggest you know my son better than I do?”

  “Because it’s a fact.” Rory grabbed the older man by both shoulders. Juliet cried out. This was it. Don had done it now. If Rory started beating him, how could she help? If she ran off to fetch help, what state would Don be in by the time the rescue party arrived?

  Reckless, desperate, she leapt forward. “No, Rory. Let Don go at once.”

  For a moment she succeeded in distracting Rory. He loosened his grip on Don. The older man fell back. But Rory grasped hold of him again. “Not until you admit the truth about Craig. How can you be such a fool?”

  14

  A Fear Not Yet Overcome

  The next morning, Friday, opened with muted skies; and even when the sun cut through, a sullen humidity worked relentlessly to lower Juliet’s spirits yet further.

  What the truth was about Craig, she still did not know. Rory’s battle-hungry approach had worked against him. Both Don and Juliet had been so intent on loosening his grip, and then putting plenty of distance between themselves and Rory, that the question remained unanswered – although she herself had her ideas. A gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach reminded her of this. Rory’s revelation was going to be about Craig’s sexuality. She felt sure of that.

  But what she couldn’t be sure about was whether Rory’s opinions on the subject would bear any relation to the truth at all. Although Rory himself might have intense feelings towards Craig, that in itself proved nothing about Craig’s own sexual preferences – unless, of course, Craig had responded to him in some way, and given him cause for hope.

  But nothing had been resolved up on the woodland track. Rory’s behaviour had put paid to that. Always the same, thought Juliet. Violence never solved anything. And yet Rory still seemed to believe it was worth a go. Why, she didn’t understand. What was it all about? She had her theories, and yet did they really f
it? There was no time for theories anyway. She had to keep on the alert. Watch out for Rory. Don’t ever let him get you alone. Not if you value your life. She touched her throat as she thought this, and shuddered.

  And another serious question remained unanswered too. There was still no news from Theo. Zoe had heard nothing, and had been in tears the last time Juliet spoke to her about it. Juliet felt even more fearful that Theo was indeed planning to stage a second disappearance.

  And meanwhile, Craig, too, was being elusive; and with Zoe now maintaining a chilly distance, Juliet felt restless and on edge.

  But an hour after lunch, the skies held a much brighter aspect, and with the atmosphere fresher, she strolled across the forecourt, portable recorder slung over her shoulder, all set up to record, and microphone in hand. She stopped to watch Patrick painting the garden gate. His eye-catching overalls nearly matched the colour he’d chosen for the gate: peacock blue.

  He seemed totally absorbed in his work, and it wasn’t a task that provided good sound effects. She didn’t consider it worth breaking into his concentration with a request for an interview, and began to walk away. At this he unexpectedly spun round.

  “Hello, Patrick.” She was at the ready with a friendly smile, and held the microphone out. “Would you like to tell the listeners what you’re doing right now?”

  He supplied a brief description, in a surly voice. Oh dear. What was the matter with Patrick?

  He laid his brush in the tray. His expression was guarded. He muttered something about Theo. The name seemed to occur in the same breath as committed a mortal sin, and outside the grace of God. Then he added a remark in which she caught the words languish and years in purgatory.