by Paul Cornell
“Do you have any tea?”
Autumn stopped, looking as if Lizzie had just denounced her as a sinner. “There’s an aisle of teas,” she said.
“Well, then,” Lizzie refused to be anything less than attentive and positive, “one of those would be nice.”
Autumn put down the bottle, and they went to awkwardly explore the aisle of teas, arranged, as far as Lizzie could see, in order of . . . genre? If teas had that? “So . . . this is . . . quite a change for you.”
Autumn halted, her hand on a box of something that advertised itself as offering relaxation in difficult circumstances. “Look who’s talking. You were Lizzie Blackmore, under Carl Jones, under the Ping-Pong table, school disco. And now you’re a . . . reverend, vicar, priest, rector, whatever.”
“But I always . . . believed.” She didn’t want to add that these days she wasn’t so sure.
“And I always thought you’d get over it.”
Lizzie nearly said something very rude out loud. She took a moment before she could reply. “Autumn, we are standing in your magic shop. And you’re still having a go at me for being a believer. How does that work? Are you, I don’t know, getting the punters to part with their cash and then laughing at them for being so gullible? That doesn’t sound like the Autumn I used to know.”
Autumn wasn’t looking at her. “It’s not like that.”
“So you do believe?”
“I’m still an atheist. It’s complicated.”
“You don’t get that with craft shops, do you? ‘Will this fitting hang up my picture?’ ‘It’s complicated.’”
“Don’t you dare take the piss. You don’t know—!”
Lizzie couldn’t help it. The sudden anger in Autumn’s voice had set off her own. “You dropped me when I went away. You dropped me like a stone.”
“That was complicated too. That was when things got . . . messed up.”
Lizzie felt the anger drain from her. One facet of Autumn’s character back in the day had been that she came to you when she needed something. She was always the one who knocked on your door in the middle of the night, sobbing. Had something bad happened to make her come to Lizzie’s door again today? “Did you stay in Lychford back then? Or did you go away too?”
“A bit of both.” A clenched grin.
“Where did you go?”
Autumn seemed to think about it. Then she shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come to see you. I’m sure you’re busy, Reverend, I’ve just got to . . .” She gestured towards the inner door. “You see yourself out.”
Lizzie desperately wanted to argue, but just then the shop bell rang, and a customer entered, and Autumn went immediately to engage with her. Lizzie looked at the time on her phone. She needed to go to see Mr. Parks. “If you need me, Autumn,” she called as she left, and it was on the verge of being a yell, “you let me know.”
The following evening, Judith decided to do something she had never deliberately done before. She was going to participate in the civic life of the town. Which meant that first she had to negotiate getting out of her house. She went to put the recycling out, having spent a relaxing five minutes crushing cans with her fingers, and found that her neighbour, Maureen Crewdson, was putting hers out too. Maureen had found herself running for mayor, unopposed, because nobody wanted to do it. “By accident,” she’d said, having one night had a few too many Malibus down the Plough. Of all the people Judith had to put up with, she was one of the least annoying. She had, tonight, the same weight about her shoulders that Judith had seen for the last few weeks. “I’m coming to the meeting tonight,” Judith told her, and watched as, imperceptibly, that weight increased.
“I didn’t think you’d be bothered with all that. Are you for or against the new shop?”
“I’ve decided I really don’t like it.” Since summat had had a go at scaring and then attacking her for considering voting against, that was.
The weight on Maureen’s shoulders increased again. “Oh. It’s going to bring so many jobs to . . . sod it, can we please not talk about it?”
There was some strangling emotion wrapped around her, something only Judith could sense, that would take a bit of effort to identify. Judith didn’t feel up for poking into her business that much at this point. She knew better than to go rummaging into private pain. Looks like it’s going to rain, dunt it?” Judith felt the relief as she left Maureen to it, and went back inside to make herself a cup of tea while considering her exit strategy. She waited until a few minutes before she had to go, then took a deep breath and called up the stairs. “I’m off to the meeting.” Silence. That was odd. What had happened to the noise from the telly? “Arthur? You hear what I said?”
This silence had something aware in it. Mentally girding her loins, Judith set off up the stairs.
Arthur was sitting where he always sat—in the bedroom, in his favourite chair, which he’d had her haul up here, the sound of his ventilator sighing and heaving. It was normally obscured by the constant noise of the telly, but the mute was on, and Arthur was fiddling with the remote, trying to get the sound back. He was watching some quiz show. That and ancient whodunits were all he watched, the older the better. Judith kept the Sky subscription going just for him. He didn’t acknowledge her arrival. “Arthur, I said—”
“I heard you, woman. You’re leaving me again.”
She didn’t let her reaction show. “It’s only for an hour, and your programme’s on in a minute.” Waking the Dead. He loved gory mortuary dramas. Of course he did. She took the remote off him and tried to find the button to unmute it, which was hard in this light.
He looked up at her with tears in his eyes. “You’ll be sending me away soon. Your own husband. You’ll be putting me where you don’t have to see me.”
“If only I could!”
His face contorted into a sly grin, his cheeks still shining. “Will your boyfriend be there tonight, full of Eastern promise? Oh, that accent, he’s so lovely, so mobile!”
She kept on trying to work out the remote, not looking at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you old fool.”
“That’d make it easy to send me away, wouldn’t it, if I was going mental? You reckon he can make you feel young again? You’re planning to get rid of me!”
“I bloody can’t, though, can I?” Judith threw the remote at somewhere near him, turned on her heel and marched out of the door, only for her conscience to catch up with her, along with his howls of laughter, on the first step of the stairs. With an angry noise in her throat, she went back in, managed to switch the sound back on, slapped the remote back into his hands, and then left the cackling old sod to it. She put on her coat. As she got to the front door she heard his laughter turn to stage sobs, or real sobs, but still she made herself get outside and close the door without slamming it behind her.
2
The town hall was packed. A table had been placed at the front of the stage, under the Union flag and the Gloucestershire coat of arms. Displays on easels to the left and right showed artists’ impressions of Lychford with a new superstore at the heart of it, lush greenery surrounding it, children playing and adults waving to each other outside it. Judith looked around her awkwardly, aware that she’d had various issues in the past with several of the locals who’d gathered here to voice protests against the store being built. She caught the eye of Eric and Sheila Parker, the couple who’d led the anti-superstore campaign on Twitter and had leafleted the town about it. They were here in matching “Stop Sovo” T-shirts. Judith realised, with horror, that they were heading over to talk to her, and couldn’t find, at a quick glance, anyone else she knew well enough to get into a conversation with. There were, just occasionally, drawbacks to being a nasty old bitch.
“Judith!” called Mr. Parker, reaching out both hands as if to hug her. “You’ve seen the light.”
“You could say that.”
“I can’t believe Sovo’s gall, trying again,” said Mrs. Parker. “This is
how all the supermarket chains do it. Lose the first public vote, work out what they can bribe the locals with, win the appeal. This meeting is the bribery part of the process. The council votes next week.”
“How are ‘our side’ doing?” asked Judith, wincing silently at having used the verbal speech marks. She never could force herself to bloody join anything. From the look of the crowd in the room, divided very cleanly in twain, each side having sat with those who agreed with them, the feeling of the town was about evenly split.
“I think we’re going to win. Just. Every vote counts.”
Maureen, looking just as burdened as earlier, walked up onto the stage and took a moment to prepare her papers. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I’d like to introduce you to David S. Cummings, Chief Executive in Charge of New Development, Sovo Superstores International. I hope you’ll give him a fair hearing.”
A heavily built man with strong shoulders and nice eyes, dressed in a very expensive suit, took to the stage. There was a mixture of applause and catcalls.
“That’s their fixer from head office,” whispered Mrs. Parker.
“We’ve heard the bribery has become literal,” said Mr. Parker. “The word is that the mayor has taken some sort of backhander.”
Judith realised, with a sudden ache in her chest, that now she understood what she had felt around Maureen. She made the effort to look more closely, as only she could, and found weakness and fear and betrayal caught in the folds of the mayor’s cardigan like smoke. Maureen looked up from her papers and made eye contact with Judith and the conflict in her eyes confirmed everything. Judith had to turn away, and found she was looking at Shaun, her son, in his uniform. He was pointing at her in surprise.
“You’re here. You’ve taken a side.”
“Yes.”
“Because I was very much hoping—”
“That I wouldn’t.”
“Just so we’re clear—”
“I won’t throw anything.”
“See that you don’t. I don’t want to have to arrest you. Again.” He pointed to his eyes and then to her, and, with another glance at her over his shoulder, marched back to his place at the back of the hall.
Judith found a seat next to the Parkers as Maureen brought the meeting to order. She made a few more words of introduction, then gave the floor to Cummings, who stood and held out his hands, palms up, asking for the audience’s indulgence. There were again boos and cheers in response. He smiled. “Being booed in a town hall. Now I’ve really made it as a pantomime villain.” His accent was middle class, straight down the middle. “Good evening, everyone, your honour, councillors. Sovo are back here, having opted to go through the appeal process, because our research indicates fifty percent of you want us to build a store in Lychford.”
“And half of us don’t!” called Mr. Parker.
“The town council, I’m sorry to say, are also split down the middle. So, as most of you will be aware, next week they’re going to put this to a final vote.”
“You’re tearing this town apart!” yelled Mr. Parker. Mrs. Parker put a hand on his arm, but he shook her off.
Cummings gestured towards a flipchart. “We’ve heard your concerns and adjusted our plans. I hope the changes may persuade a few more of you towards our point of view. We aim to meet challenge with investment. Investment in people. The creation of over two hundred new jobs. Yes, our new facility would change the shape of Lychford. But we hope it’s for the better.” He turned the first sheet, and revealed an even more lovely painting of an idyllic store in local surroundings. Below it was a more detailed map.
It took a moment for Judith to understand what she was looking at. She took her glasses from her pocket, stuck them onto her nose, and stared at what had been revealed. She had wondered if there was any connection between the fleeting poke of mystical energy she’d run into and the proposals about the store, but she’d never imagined this.
“By diverting these roads,” Cummings indicated on the map, “the proposed new store would actually bring more traffic to local businesses.”
Judith suddenly found she was on her feet. Beside her, the Parkers grinned and urged her on. “You’ll cut off Compton Street?”
“Yes, and that will mean—”
“That the streets don’t cross at the Market Place!”
“Which is why we’ll be building, free of charge, a new Market Place parking zone—”
“You bloody fool!” shouted Judith, before she could help herself. “You’ll open the gates to the other worlds!”
There was silence, followed by a little awkward, embarrassed laughter. Judith heard, from the back of the hall, Shaun make a little groan of anguish.
She looked down to see the Parkers staring up at her in amazement, but she had her opportunity, they were listening to her, she couldn’t stop now. “This town is shaped like it is for a reason! The roads, north south east west! The walls that protect us, seen and unseen, follow that pattern, use it as their foundation! The ancient boundaries, our defences—!” She could hear both sides of the audience starting to catcall now, shouting for her to sit down. She’d actually united the town in something. But she had to say this, they had to know, it was so important. “We’ve already lost the tree line on Maiden Hill—”
“That was kids playing with bonfires!” hissed Mr. Parker. “For God’s sake, sit down!”
“There’ll be nothing to stop it! Don’t you understand? I understand now why I felt something trying the defences! If you do this, then the things that are out there, that want to get in—!”
The doors to the hall burst open. A great wind blew leaves in and sent papers flying. There were screams. Everyone, Judith included, turned, to see a figure standing silhouetted against the streetlights outside. The figure halted, seemed to realise that he’d made a big entrance, and turned to grab the doors and heave them closed behind him. He was, his actions revealed, a thin, long-haired youth in a leather jacket. He turned back to the crowd and looked awkward. “What?”
Relieved laughter swept the audience. Judith looked helplessly around her. The moment had been lost.
Cummings was watching her, sizing her up, obviously wondering how dangerous this lunatic was. “I’m sure,” he said, “that this lady’s views are something we all want to give . . . appropriate consideration to.” Which made the audience laugh once again.
Judith sat down, lost.
She made it through the meeting, despite the Parkers hissing icy comments at her, and then had to head for the door—away from where Cummings was shaking Maureen’s hand, away before more people could tell her what a stupid old woman she’d been. They were right. She shouldn’t have blurted it all out like that, should have found some reasonable way to say it. If she knew people here better, if she’d had some more friends to call on—! Stupid old woman, stupid! Shaun intercepted her before she got to the door. “Mum, it’s okay.”
“No it isn’t, boy. It isn’t for any of us.”
“Oh, thank you so much for that, Judith.” Mr. Parker caught up with her. “Use a spell and magic this away, won’t you? You made our case look ridiculous!” The horrible thing was, he was right. At the end of the meeting there’d definitely been more applause for David Cummings than abuse.
Shaun stepped up to him. “See you later then, Mr. Parker.”
After a moment he took the point and marched off, finding his wife. They, and many others, gave Judith baleful glares as they headed out.
“Thank you, people who don’t understand metaphor.” Judith turned at the welcome sound of the new voice, to find Sunil at her side. He was smiling in his usual wry, understanding way. He was wearing his spectacles tonight, which, she knew, would have been a big decision for this handsome seventysomething man who took such good care of himself. She reflected again that there were just a few things about which Arthur was entirely correct. She appreciated Sunil’s support, but she really didn’t want to have this conversation with him now. Still, she let hi
m take her arm and escort her to the door.
PC Shaun Mawson had become aware at an early age that his mum believed in some weird stuff. Not that she’d ever shared the details of it with him. He’d asked about the details several times and been told he couldn’t know about it because he was a boy. Judith’s reputation for fearsome confrontation had helped him through school, where the teachers had seemed as nervous of her as his classmates were. As an adult, with her getting on a bit, he’d gotten increasingly fearful that her mouth might one day get her into something she couldn’t get out of. So it was with a sense of relief that he watched her leave the hall. He wasn’t sure what he thought about Sunil taking her arm in public like that, mind you. Yet another reason for people to talk about Mum. His thoughts were interrupted by a hand grabbing his shoulder and spinning him round. He found he was facing the long-haired stranger whose dramatic entrance had caused such laughter, who was now appraising Shaun with a piercing stare. “You know her, don’t you? Tell her well done for having a brain. She’s the only one who talked any sense.” His accent was hard to place, perhaps Irish, perhaps the sort of cockney who’d been in America too long.
“Very kind of you, sir, now we’re trying to empty the hall . . .”
The man made a guttural sound at him, then marched off into the crowds that were flooding past, trying to stop and persuade them. “Why didn’t you listen to her wisdom? Damned people! Don’t you value your short little lives?” Which Shaun didn’t like the sound of, but when he tried to catch up with the man, he found he’d lost him in the crowd.
Sunil walked with Judith through the quiet of the car park. She was heading back towards his car, she realised, without either of them having commented on or thought about it. His concern didn’t annoy her, which was unique. He was someone in this town who wanted to understand her, who even liked her, and that was unique too. After a moment they were alone under the trees by the bridge, at his car, with no bloody Parkers or anyone else to see them. Judith let out a long breath of relief. She’d only just realised, but she was still so angry and frightened for the future that she was shaking. She found she was hoping Sunil might put an arm round her, but no, he was far too decent to do that. “If only they’d understood,” he said, “as you say, the shapes of things are important. When I start a new business, I look at demand, at where the customers are—”