Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  “It’s me, Theo. And Juliet too.”

  Craig opened the door. He eyed her strangely. His hair was in disarray, as if he’d run his hands through it several times. No disadvantage to his appearance though. He still looked amazingly attractive, dressed in dark-blue jeans and a surf-style polo shirt. “No recording equipment?” he said.

  Juliet held her hands out, palms up, and met his gaze.

  “OK. Come in,” said Craig.

  Juliet took a deep breath. She must focus her mind. She needed to find out what had happened to Don. She wanted a hundred percent honesty from Craig for the first time since she’d met him.

  It was a very simple room, with whitewashed walls. There was no sign of the Buddha which she understood to normally be the sole occupant. The furnishings consisted only of two chairs and a small table, and the floor was carpeted in purple. She took one chair, Theo another, and Craig the edge of the table.

  Craig began first, betraying nervousness by a constant twisting of his wristwatch. “The time’s come for us to be straight with each other. I’m sure, Juliet, you’re glad to hear that.”

  “I certainly am,” she replied.

  Theo’s face had now regained some of its characteristic tranquility.

  Craig forged on. “The reason why I run a community of emotional misfits is because I am one myself.”

  “Come, Craig, you’re not being quite fair on yourself by saying that,” remonstrated Theo gently.

  Juliet said nothing. Instead, she studied Craig’s face. Was this the real Craig she saw before her, with frank, open expression? Or was he about to exercise his disturbing gift, and shift appearance again? From the sound of his voice, he’d probably had more than a few extra brandies after dinner tonight. But he seemed sufficiently under control to know what he was talking about. Yes, he was being upfront with them both. But even so – the charismatic, charming Craig, describing himself as an emotional misfit seemed completely out of character.

  Theo evidently felt he could rescue his friend’s reputation. “You do yourself no favour by saying this. I admit, however, that you attract misfits, as evidenced by the members of your group.”

  “Come on, Theo, let’s ditch the pretence,” said Craig.

  The clergyman was silent.

  “Thank you.” Craig hurried relentlessly on, perhaps anxious to say all he had to say, now he was in confession mode. “It’ll be easier for Juliet to recognise, because she’s already quizzed me on my attitude to women.”

  “Yes,” Juliet said. “You say you don’t trust them.”

  “I don’t,” he agreed. “And yet… I did have a vision for everyone here, men and women, and believed it could work. You see, ultimately, I’m an idealist. I’m a perfectionist, a romantic. I have a Great Gatsby vision of the ideal woman in white chiffon at a riverbank picnic.”

  Juliet covered her face with her hands to stop herself laughing, then dropped them to her sides and lifted her head once more. “Craig, where does this vision come from? Are you so much influenced by Scott Fitzgerald?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said, looking slightly ruffled.

  “Are you telling me that Laura, and Beth, and Zoe – and me too – in fact, all four of us women, only ever needed to dress in frothy white and carry parasols, in order to transform the community into an ever-turning wheel of happiness and fulfilment?”

  “Flippancy doesn’t suit you, Juliet,” said Craig severely. “And…”

  She broke in, persisting with the point she wanted to make. “Let me disillusion you. Picnics, and people, are not like that. At a real-life picnic, you sit on woodlice, flies settle on your sandwiches, and the wind blows your napkins away.”

  She saw that Theo’s face was split by a wide grin. “And you get thistles up your backside and stinging nettles inside your trouser legs,” the clergyman said.

  “Now listen.” Craig was clearly disconcerted by these remarks. “I’m referring to Gatsby’s romantic dream, his idealistic vision, the idea of picnics.”

  “Oh, the idea of picnics is lovely,” Juliet persisted. “But – and I’m guessing here, of course, but perhaps Theo might back me up – how often have you, perhaps, in your own life, set out for a picnic, and then perhaps said, I’m not getting out there. I’m not going to sit on that muddy grass? How often have you ended up having your picnic in the car, spilling wine over the windscreen, and getting caught up with the gear lever? It doesn’t matter how lovely the idea of picnics is, if you actually go on one you’ll very often sit on that thistle.”

  She glanced at Theo. His shoulders were shaking, and he was clearly trying to compose himself. She guessed he understood her perfectly.

  “Juliet, I didn’t realise you held this view of life, and I see I need to do some work on you,” said Craig after a long pause.

  “No, you don’t, Craig,” said Juliet. “My grasp on reality is firm. It’s yours that’s adrift. And by the way, let me remind you of how Scott Fitzgerald chose to end The Great Gatsby. So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. How does that fit in with your ban on looking back?”

  Craig gave her a hard look.

  “Juliet’s right,” said Theo. “You engage with the past all the time, Craig. And so you will continue to do, until you and your father set things right, and create a new future. Yes, this is a picnic. But the thistle in the picnic here,” he insisted, clearly determined to pull the conversation back on track, “as I see it, is the fact that for some time now there’s been no agreement between you and Don about how the place was ever meant to work financially.”

  “We both knew well how it was meant to work,” said Craig, exasperated. “People were to come for fixed-term stays, and pay their way.”

  “And then it went wrong,” said Theo. “People took advantage, and you were too kind to throw them out.”

  “Maybe so,” said Craig. “But right now money is the least of my problems.”

  Juliet stared at him. What an extraordinary statement!

  And Theo clearly agreed. “How can you say that, Craig?” he demanded. “When Don spoke to me about it, he even mentioned bankruptcy.”

  “Out of the question,” broke in Craig. “I still believe that through a realistic approach, I can stave off total disaster.”

  Theo’s retort was swift. “What does realistic mean, exactly?”

  Craig gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “New recruits, Theo, that’s what it means.”

  Juliet made a great effort to put aside her worries about Don, for the time being. “That sounds great,” she said. “But will you win them and keep them with techniques like Dynamic Meditation and Dream Yoga?”

  “Why not?” Craig fixed her with a steely gaze. “Are you about to make a value judgement, Juliet?”

  “Don’t go on the defensive,” she said. “Just listen to me.”

  Craig wore a startled expression. Theo folded his hands in his lap, and listened attentively.

  “In Dynamic Meditation,” began Juliet, “you do your best to hurt people. Oh, I know a few of the group members said they felt released afterwards. But you can’t ignore those who may be damaged in the long term. What do you say to that? Do you still believe it’s the way to earn people’s trust?”

  Craig smiled enigmatically. “My primary object is not earning people’s trust.”

  “All right then,” she continued. “I’ll tell you who I do trust, and that’s Don.”

  Craig’s expression became impenetrable, as if he was hiding any emotional response. Theo was chewing his lip.

  “My father? Why? Even I don’t trust him,” said Craig.

  “I’m well aware of it,” she replied, “and that’s your problem. Everything I’ve heard and seen here proves that he’s the only one with his feet rooted in the real world. I’d trust him with my life.” She stopped abruptly. She hadn’t said, I love him. But she feared they read it in her face.

  Theo began to rub his chin in an agitat
ed manner.

  Then Craig reacted angrily, his face flushed. “My father’s a businessman, Juliet. And he’s twenty-five years older than you.”

  “So what?” she said hotly.

  Craig rushed on. “More importantly, my father’s central motive is profit. Spiritually he lives in No Man’s Land, he’s...” Craig stopped.

  “… honest and trustworthy?” put in Juliet; “Deeply caring behind that brusque manner? Intelligent, singleminded? And with a capacity for love? Which you, perhaps, Craig, are unable to acknowledge?”

  Theo sucked his breath in between his teeth. Craig leapt to his feet. His breathing came faster and faster. For several seconds he couldn’t speak. Then – “Love!” he cried. “What lies has my father been telling you? That’s despicable. After what he promised me before he went!”

  Juliet did a double-take. “Why? What did Don promise you?”

  But Craig had shot out of the room. She and Theo looked at each other in alarm. Then she ran after Craig, closely followed by the clergyman. Whatever had passed between Craig and his father before Don left, she desperately needed to know. Otherwise, where did that leave them all? “Craig, wait! We need to talk!”

  He was halfway down the narrow staircase. “Too late,” he shouted. “I’ve had it up to here with that filthy old Judas. I’m off.”

  “What do you mean? You’re leaving your own community? But what about the group? And where are you going?” cried Juliet. Why had Craig taken her final words so badly? And what had Don promised his son before he quit? And was she deceiving herself about Don anyway? Wasn’t it clear he simply wanted out? To cut his losses, and let Craig sink, and Juliet too?

  Craig had now vanished through the small doorway beside the inglenook fireplace. Juliet burst into the dining room to witness a surreal sight; Rory quietly dusting the wrought-iron brackets with a feather duster, humming to himself. She braked for a second. Yes, she knew some community members had evening work duties, but trust Rory to do it this late; even if it did make sense to clean the dining room while the others were out of the way.

  What lent the scene an extra air of unreality was the fact that behind him lay James, wrapped in his most disgusting rags. He smelt as if he’d not washed for several days. Stretched out over three dining chairs, apparently in a trance, he clutched an empty wine bottle.

  Juliet stared at James, incredulous. As she did so he raised one hand and waved at her. Hadn’t he noticed Craig gallop through the room, pull the door open, and hurl himself through the doorway? She wanted to go after Craig. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from James. How did he do it? He was so convincing. She almost believed in the squalor where he lived: in a squat somewhere, with drug addicts and other alcoholics; beyond the reach of social services, and well below the poverty line.

  With a concerted effort, she wrestled her focus back onto Craig. With no further hesitation, she pursued him. She’d no idea whether Theo was following. She grabbed a torch from the small table to the left of the front door, which had swung wide open. She hardly needed it on this summer night. Better take it anyway.

  She fled out into the forecourt. “Craig, stop. You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive. Where will you go at this time of night?” Snapping the torch on automatically, she sped round the house to the parking area, gravel crunching beneath her feet. “At least tell me where you’re going,” she called, as she reached the north west corner of the house.

  Then she saw headlights flash. Craig was pointing a remote key into the parking area. He leapt into his Saab and banged the door shut. The engine sprang into life, and he began to reverse. Where was he off to, for heaven’s sake? Barnsley? Or the Severn Bridge, with a view to jumping from the highest point?

  As the rear lights picked her out, Juliet turned, dazzled. Someone else was close by. Raising her torch, she directed the beam into James’s face. He’d followed. She suppressed a shudder. Upright, he looked even more ghastly than he had in a horizontal position. “James, have you come to help?” she demanded. “Or to make things worse?”

  How bloodshot his eyes were. Had he rubbed an irritant into them? No, must be contact lenses. For several moments, they both stood transfixed. His stench assaulted her nostrils. Was this the same man who wore bespoke tailoring and Armani aftershave? His tramp’s garb had been steeped in some noxious substance. The greasy matted hair dangled around his face.

  She willed herself to hold the torch beam steady, picking out his purple features. His theatrical make-up skills were excellent. He still clutched an opened bottle, but it was different from the one she’d seen him with earlier. Turning the torchlight full on it, she saw it bore the label Dom Perignon. There was only a small amount left at the bottom.

  “James! Have you drunk that all by yourself?” she cried. She astonished herself. After all, at this stage – who cared?

  He nodded slowly, a manic grin beginning to form itself on his face. “And very nice it was too,” he said. “I only wish you’d joined me earlier, Juliet, and I would have shared some of it with you.”

  “Oh, shut up, James,” she retorted. “Craig’s out of his mind and I need your help!”

  She spun. Craig was now well into his three-point turn, bringing the Saab round to face the north east corner of the house. With Craig in a distraught frame of mind and not fully in control of his vehicle, Juliet dreaded to contemplate what he’d be capable of once he stepped full on the gas. He’d probably think nothing of mowing her and James down. At that moment, James found voice again.

  This time, he hurled a string of expletives – language that, from her brief acquaintance with him, she’d never have believed him capable of. Whether his words were directed at her or Craig she couldn’t tell. Perhaps he meant to warn her. His final words convinced her he did. “Get out of his fucking way!” James bawled.

  Juliet dived to safety just in time. “James!” she screamed. But he made no reply. Instead, he twirled, and flung the bottle into the woods. It was the swiftest overarm serve she’d ever seen. Then he vanished.

  Her thoughts raced. Time was running out. Craig was in reverse, and moving fast. A voice inside Juliet’s head said: He’s too close to the barn. The next thing she heard was a loud bang. Then a sickening crunch of metal being distorted, mangled and giving way. And a fountain of fragmenting glass.

  Craig had slammed on the brakes too late.

  21

  Wheel of Love Retuned

  “Drink?” said James. “I think we need one after what’s happened.”

  “You’re joking, aren’t you?” said Juliet.

  She, Theo and James stood together in the entrance hall, gazing at each other. The ambulance had just sped away up the drive, taking Craig to Cheltenham General Hospital. Juliet was still trembling in every limb. After the 999 call James, demonstrating his presence of mind even whilst festering in his rags, had made two further telephone calls, the first to Don to let him know what had happened, and the second to Craig’s motor insurance company. The car would be a write-off.

  “I should have gone to the hospital with him,” said Juliet.

  James looked at her severely. “Don’t be silly,” he said in clipped tones. “I’m in charge now, by the way.”

  God! What would this mean for the community? A tramp running the place. And Craig with who-knew-what multiple injuries. Suppose he had brain damage? Suppose he became paraplegic? Suppose he… None of it bore thinking about. She swallowed the emotions threatening to seethe to the surface, and felt sick to her stomach.

  “You think you’re worthy to lead this group, James?” she said. “That would be...”

  “Yes, Juliet?” retorted James. “Go on, say it. That would be... what? A farce? An outrage? Or...”

  “Words almost fail me,” she said, “but in view of your regular appearances as a down-and-out, and your behaviour with the champagne...”

  She stopped. He looked at her strangely. And as he did so, a memory nudged her. A conversation between James and Crai
g in his study. Something about missing bottles...

  “James,” she said, “while I’ve been here, I admit I’ve eavesdropped on a few conversations. And one of those conversations was between you and Craig. It was about some champagne that had gone astray.”

  Now he stared at her. So did Theo. In the next moment she intended to voice her suspicions. She wondered whether James would call her bluff. After all, it was only her word against his that the conversation had ever taken place.

  “You promised to find the secret indulger,” said Juliet.

  “I did indeed,” replied James. His expression gave nothing away.

  “Come on. The truth, James,” she said.

  “The truth? A rare commodity,” he sighed. “But on this occasion I will offer it to you, free, Juliet. You want to know who the secret indulger was?”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied. She still half-expected him to deceive her.

  “It was me,” James said.

  “But why...? How...?” she began.

  “We all have a black hole in our psyches,” he said. “Consider Professor Joad, eminent philosopher and debater who fell from grace when he was convicted of travelling on a Waterloo to Exeter train without a valid ticket, and was found to be a frequent fare-dodger...”

  Juliet almost gagged in disbelief. “What the hell,” she asked, “has Professor Joad got to do with you nicking the champagne, and betraying Craig?”

  “Moral bankruptcy,” said James sagely, as if it was a badge he wore with pride.

  Juliet had had more than enough of his carefully scripted dramatic irony. “James, go and change,” she said wearily.

  “Of course. Right away,” said James, going upstairs.

  And not a moment too soon, she thought, as she turned to Theo.

  “What do you make of that, Theo?” she asked.

  “How much champagne was involved?” enquired Theo.

  “A case of it, apparently,” she said. “A dozen bottles.”

  The young clergyman shrugged. “Even in the few years of my ministry so far, Juliet,” he said, “I’ve seen and heard things I could never previously have believed. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. And I admit sometimes I fear the surprises that still lie ahead of me. Still, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”