by Phil Rickman
‘And when the body wasn’t a woman about my age in a dog-collar.’
‘Not quite what I meant. It just made it less easy to put a name to him. But we will.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Quite young. Thirties.’
‘Suicide?’
‘It’s a possibility, given the time of day. So’s accidental death.’ Annie Howe looked at Merrily. ‘So’s murder.’
‘He didn’t drown?’
‘We should know quite soon.’
‘But he came off the bridge?’
Howe shrugged.
‘If you knew it was my car, why didn’t you come into the hospital and ask for me?’
‘We did. Nobody seemed to know you were there.’
‘The Alfred Watkins Ward, if you want to check. Ask for Sister Cullen. I’ve been with her for the last three hours or so.’
Howe nodded. ‘So it’s unlikely you would’ve seen anything. Ah, well, nothing’s ever simple, is it, Ms Watkins? Thanks for your help. I don’t suppose we’ll be in touch, but if you remember anything that might be useful…’ the wind whipped the skirt of Howe’s raincoat against her calves, ‘you know where to find me.’
Merrily looked down into the swirling mist and dark water. It looked somehow warmer than she felt – and almost inviting.
13
Show Barn
IT WAS RARE to see genial Dick Lyden in a bad mood.
When Lol arrived just after eight a.m., Dick was pacing the kitchen, slamming his right fist into his left palm.
‘The little shit,’ he fumed. ‘The fucking little shit!’
‘He’s just trying it on,’ Mrs Ruth Lyden, fellow therapist, said calmly. ‘He knows you too well. He’s got you psyched out. He knows your particular weak spot and he goes for it.’
There was plenty of room for Dick to pace; the Lydens’ kitchen was as big as a restaurant kitchen, more than half as big as Lol’s new flat over the shop. It was all white and metallic like a dairy.
‘His psychological know-how goes out of the window when he’s dealing with his own son,’ Ruth told Lol. She was a large, placid, frizzy-haired woman who’d once been Dick’s personal secretary in London.
‘Well, you can’t, can you?’ Dick sat down at the banquetsized table. ‘You simply can’t distance yourself sufficiently from your own family – be wrong even to try. I think we’re probably even worse than ordinary people at dealing with our own problems.’
Lol didn’t like to ask what the present personal problem was; Ruth told him anyway.
‘James has been chosen as Boy Bishop.’ She searched Lol’s face, eyebrows raised. ‘You know about that?’
‘Sorry,’ Lol said. ‘I’m not that well up on the Church.’
‘Medieval Christmas tradition. Used to happen all over the place, but it’s almost unique to Hereford now. A boy is chosen from the Cathedral choristers, or the retired choristers, to replace the Bishop on his throne on St Nicholas’s Day. Gets to wear the mitre and wield the staff and whatnot. Terribly solemn and everything, though quite fun as well.’
‘It’s actually a great honour,’ Dick said. ‘Especially for newcomers like us. Little shit!’
‘And of course James now says he’s going to refuse to do it.’ Ruth poured coffee for Lol. ‘When they offered it to him, he was very flattered in a cynical sort of way. But now he’s announced it would be morally wrong of him to do it – having decided he’s an atheist—’
‘What the fuck difference does that make?’ Dick snarled. ‘At least twenty-five per cent of the bloody clergy are atheists!’
‘—and that it isn’t in line with his personal image or his musical direction. He’s sixteen now, and at sixteen one’s image is awfully well defined. How quickly they change! One year an angelic little choirboy, and then—’
‘A bloody yob,’ said Dick. ‘Where’s his guitar? I’m going to lock it in the shed.’
‘He’s taken it to school with him.’ Ruth hid a smile behind her coffee cup. ‘Told you he had you psyched.’
‘Devious little bastard.’ Dick drained his cup, coughed at the strength of the coffee. ‘Right, I’ll get my coat, Lol. Be good to go out and deal with something straightforward.’
‘Moon is straightforward?’
‘Well, you know what I mean. Straightforwardly convoluted.’
‘Poor Dick,’ Ruth said when he’d left the kitchen. ‘It’s an honour for him rather than James. A sign that he’s really been accepted into the city. He needs that – needs to be at the hub of things. He’s a terrible control-freak, really, in his oh-so-amiable way.’
Lol said, ‘Do you guys psychoanalyse one another all the time?’
Ruth laughed.
Outside, it began to rain, a sudden cold splattering.
‘Wow.’ Jane was observing her mother from the stove. ‘You really do look like shit.’
‘Thank you. I think we’ve established that.’
Merrily had told her about being delayed by the police investigating a body in the Wye. But that evidently didn’t explain why she looked like shit.
‘You need a hot bath,’ Jane said. ‘And then off to bed.’
‘The bath certainly.’ No question about that. Merrily watched the rain on the window. It looked dirty. Everything looked dirty even after twenty minutes before the altar. Scritch-scratch.
‘So.’ Jane shovelled inch-thick toast on to a plate. ‘You want to talk about the other stuff?’
‘What makes you think there’s other stuff?’
‘Do me a favour,’ Jane said.
The kid had realized, from quite soon after Sean’s death, that her mother would need someone on whom she could lay heavy issues. There were times when she instinctively became a kind of sensible younger sister – with no sarcasm, point-scoring, storage of information for future blackmail.
‘Hang on, though.’ Merrily looked up. ‘What time is it? The school bus’ll be going without you.’
‘I’m taking the day off. I have a migraine.’
‘In which case, flower, you appear to be coping with the blinding agony which defines that condition with what I can only describe as a remarkable stoicism.’
‘Yeah, it’s a fairly mild attack. But it could get worse. Besides, when you’ve really sussed out the way teachers operate, you can take the odd day off any time you like without missing a thing.’
‘Except you never have – have you?’
‘A vicar’s daughter has to be flexible. If I went to school, you’d stay up and work all day, and by the time I got home you’d be soooo unbearable.’
‘Jane—’
‘Don’t argue. Just have some breakfast and bugger off to bed. I’ll stick around, make a brilliant log fire – and repel all the time-wasting gits.’
Merrily gave up. ‘But this must never happen again.’
Jane shrugged.
‘All right,’ Merrily said. ‘No egg for me, thanks. My digestive system can just about cope with Marmite.’
‘Right.’ Jane brought the teapot to the table and sat down. ‘What’s disturbed it exactly?’
Merrily sighed a couple of times and watched the rain blurring the window. And she then told Jane about Denzil Joy.
Some of it.
Rain sheeted down on Dinedor Hill, the twisty road narrowing as they climbed.
Dick was clearly disappointed when they ran out of track for the massive Mitsubishi Intercooler Super Turbo-Plus he’d borrowed from Denny for the weekend. Dick was contemplating a move into four-wheel drive.
Lol unbuckled his seatbelt. ‘If you go any further, English Heritage’ll be down on you. It’ll be in the Hereford Times – “City Therapist Squashes Ancient Camp”.’
‘You may scoff. But I do feel it’s important to be a good citizen. We chose to come here – which confers responsibility.’ Dick braked and reversed into something satisfyingly deep and viscous. ‘Even to something that just looks like any other hill.’
‘You have no soul,
Dick.’
Dick squinted through the mud-blotched windcreen. ‘Buggered if I’m staggering up there in this weather. What am I missing?’
‘Nice view over the city. For the rest, you need a soul.’
‘Imagination.’ Dick leaned back in the driving seat, allowing the glass to mist. ‘I have very little, thank goodness. The ancestors… Jung would have found plenty to go at, but I’ve never been particularly drawn to the idea of the collective-unconscious, race memories, all that. It sounds good, but… what do you think?’
‘I’m inclined to believe it. I’ve got a bit in common with Moon, I suppose.’
‘And you fancy her. Well, of course you do. Awfully sexy creature.’
‘Yes.’ Lol had been half expecting this. ‘She is.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Dick started ticking off plus-factors on his fingers. ‘You’re both on your own. I’m her actual therapist, not you, so no ethical barriers. Do find her attractive, don’t you?’
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘But you think she doesn’t fancy you – that it? Oh, I think she does, old son. I think she does.’
Lol felt awkward. ‘Maybe we wouldn’t be too good for each other. You don’t get to laugh much around Moon.’
‘Not a terrific sense of humour, no,’ Dick conceded.
‘Like, you want to make her happy, but you don’t somehow think she’d be happy being happy.’
And that was it really: you couldn’t help feeling that life with Moon was destined to end in a suicide pact.
‘Lol,’ Dick said, ‘I realize you’re a sensitive soul, but you don’t particularly need to think about psychology when you’re shagging someone, do you?’
‘Yuk,’ Jane said. ‘I mean… yuk!’
‘Quite.’
‘I mean, it’s awful, it’s tragic, and everything. But it’s also… really inconsiderate. I really think you should’ve walked out. Like, how were you to know these nurses weren’t lying? Nobody should have to make a decision like that, with the old guy’s clock running down the whole time.’
‘It wasn’t an actual exorcism. It wasn’t much at all, in the end.’
‘Sounds like that’s what the older nurse wanted, though. An exorcism.’
‘Possibly.’ The parts Merrily hadn’t mentioned included the scratching finger and other sensations. The subjective aspects.
‘Face it.’ Jane poured the tea. ‘It’s a crap deal, Mum. They send you in armed with a handful of half-assed prayers and platitudes which are supposed to cover all eventualities. You’re holding a duff hand from the start.’
‘Well, not—’
‘It’s like with these evangelical maniacs, where you like go along and you’re looking a bit off-colour and in about three minutes flat they’ve discovered you’re possessed by seventeen different demons and the next thing you’re rolling around on the floor throwing up. You could really damage people.’
‘It’s a bit more disciplined than that but, yeah, I know what you mean. It is a minefield.’
‘And it’s just useless liturgy. Like, with all respect, what real actual practical training have you had? It’s not like you’ve even done any meditation or yoga or anything. I mean… theological college? Does that even equal, say, two weeks at a respectable ashram?’
‘I think it possibly does,’ Merrily said, but wondering.
‘But you’re not really spiritually developed, are you? Not like Buddhist monks and Indian gurus and guys like that. Like, you can’t – I don’t know – leave your body or anything. You’ve just read the books. And yet they want you to mess with people’s souls.’
‘It’s supposed to be God who does the actual messing. That is, we don’t believe we have any special powers. We kind of signpost the way for the Holy Spirit.’
‘You ever ask yourself, if the Holy Spirit is so ubi… all-overthe-place and on the ball, why does it need a signpost?’
‘We have to invite the Holy Spirit in, you know?’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s one of the rules. Deep theology, flower.’
‘Bollocks,’ Jane murmured. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t let Hunter get away with this.’
Merrily paused with the mug at her mouth. ‘He’s the guv’nor.’
‘He’s a tosser.’
‘But I will call him. I’ll have a bath and a rest and then I’ll call him.’
‘Maybe Rowenna could get some of the SAS cross-country guys to elbow the flash git into a deep ditch,’ Jane mused. ‘Muddy his fetching purple tracksuit.’
The rain was battering the barn windows, and Lol was sure there was an element of sleet to it now. But Dick was all sunshine, like his row with the boy James had never happened.
‘Well, this is super.’ Clasping his herbal tea to his chest. ‘This is quite magnificent.’
And it was. The little barn was transformed. All the boxes had disappeared, everything put away, everything tidy. A bright coal-fire on the simple, stone hearth. Fragments of black pottery arranged on a small shelf. On the wall alongside the steps to the bedroom loft was a detailed pen-and-ink plan of, presumably, the Dinedor Iron Age community – round huts with stone bases and conical thatched roofs. Moon had made mysterious marks on it: dots and symbols – archaeologist stuff.
Ideal Homes show barn?
‘You were right and we were wrong,’ Dick told Moon. But he was smiling at Lol and the smile said: I was right and you were wrong.
Above the fireplace was a gilt-framed photograph of a smiling man leaning against a Land Rover. The man’s smile was Moon’s smile.
‘We thought you’d be a bit, ah, cut off up here,’ Dick said. ‘A bit lonely? But this is your place, Moon. What are you going to do?’
‘Well, I’m going back to work in the shop.’ Moon wore the long grey dress, freshly washed; without mud on the hem it looked like a hostess dress. Her very long hair was in a loose, lush plait. ‘For a while, anyway.’
‘Playing it day by day.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic, Dick.’
She didn’t smile. She hadn’t looked at Lol. He felt he’d betrayed her.
‘What I meant, Moon,’ Dick said, ‘is that you clearly no longer feel the need to hurry – rush from one experience to another. You’ve been away, you’ve been through all kinds of changes, and now you’ve returned to repossess your past. Your past, your place, firm ground – it must feel wonderful.’
Moon said nothing. Dick took this as agreement, and nodded enthusiastically. It was the conclusion he wanted, the neat outcome of a very singular case. He had her all packaged up in his head: at least an article for Psychology Today or whatever he subscribed to. Moon was getting better. Moon was taking responsibility for herself.
So why, to Lol, had she never seemed more of an enigma? What had caused her suddenly to launch into this place like a team of industrial cleaners? As if she’d known they were coming. Or someone else? Determined that the barn should project the image of a balanced, settled academic individual.
It was a façade; it had to be.
And the picture of her smiling father disturbed him. If Dick had noticed it, he didn’t comment. Lol looked closely at the photograph. When it was taken, Moon’s father would have been about Denny’s age – early to mid forties. He looked more like Moon than Denny did, the same smile and the same deepsunk, glittering eyes. Something black and gnarled lay on the mantelpiece below the picture. Lol bent to examine it.
‘Don’t touch that!’ Moon almost ran across the room, eased herself between Lol and the fireplace.
Lol stepped back. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘It’s very delicate.’
‘What is it?’
‘I found it. It was only about ten yards from the barn. Someone had started digging out a pond some time ago and never finished it, and there was a heap of soil where the ground was turned over, and it was actually projecting – sticking out.’
She moved aside to let them see, now they realized they mustn�
��t touch. It was knobbled and corroded, about ten inches long.
‘Anyone else, if they didn’t know about these things, they’d think it was just an old tractor part or something. I mean, nothing much has ever been found up here. A trench was once cut from the ramparts to the centre of the camp, and nothing much was found there except lots of black pottery and an axe-head.’
‘It’s a dagger,’ Lol decided.
‘A sword. Confirmation for me that this farm – not so much the house, but the farm – has been here since the Iron Age. It was waiting for me to find it. You see, now?’
‘Fate,’ Lol said hollowly.
‘Oh no,’ Moon said. ‘Far less random than fate.’
‘What’s that mean?’
Moon shook her head. He thought she smiled.
‘You could take it to a museum, have it cleaned up by experts.’
Moon was horrified. ‘Nobody’s going to touch it but me. I don’t want the flow blocked by anyone else’s vibrations.’
‘Good for you, Moon,’ said Dick. ‘Look, we must have a good long chat.’
‘Yes, but not today,’ Moon said. ‘My landlords are coming over for lunch. Tim and Anna Purefoy? From the farm?’
‘Ah.’ Dick nodded. ‘Excellent. Getting to know the neighbours.’
‘I’m meeting all the people who live around the hill – for my book. If I’m going to trace how the community’s changed over two millennia, I have to examine its components. Quite a few of the newcomers here are very interested too. They’re going to help me.’
‘Terrific.’ Dick looked like he wanted to pat her on the head. ‘Can’t wait to read it.’
Later, when Dick went to have fun reversing the Mitsubishi out of the morass in front of the barn where someone had once started to dig a pond, Moon came to stand next to Lol in the doorway.
‘Don’t bring him here again.’
‘He’ll hear you.’
‘I don’t care if he does. I don’t want him here. He’s an idiot. Denny only employed him to get the court off our backs.’
‘Your back, Moon.’
‘He’s an idiot.’
‘He means well.’
‘Lol, If you come here again as Dick’s assistant, I won’t tell you anything in future. I don’t need people around me I can’t trust.’