by Phil Rickman
‘Denny, I have learned a lesson.’
‘But the crows, man – how the fuck’d he know about the crows?’
‘It’s an old Celtic harbinger of death,’ Lol said quickly, because he’d never actually told Denny about the crow.
Denny looked dazed for a second, then shook himself like he was trying to shed clinging shreds of the past. He moved away from the door, his earring swinging less menacingly. ‘All right, I’ll let them back in, so long as Lol turns the knobs.’
Dick looked at Lol.
‘OK,’ Lol said. Puzzled about what Denny had meant – how the fuck’d he know about the crows? – and still wondering how James could have been so crazy as to sing that song blatantly in Denny’s face. Like the boy needed to see how far he could go, how much he could get away with, how badly he could hurt.
‘Thanks,’ Dick said humbly. ‘Thank you both. You know I… This is going to sound a bit cranky coming from a shrink, but I am a Christian sort of shrink, and I feel that becoming Boy Bishop will somehow help to straighten the lad out.’
‘What is this Boy Bishop balls, anyway?’ Denny said. ‘You hear about it, read bits in the Times, but I never take much notice.’
‘More people ought to take notice or we’ll lose it, like so many other things. It’s a unique example of the Church affirming Christ’s compassion for the lowly.’
‘But it’s always a kid from the Cathedral School,’ Denny pointed out. ‘How lowly is that?’
‘It’s symbolic – dates back to medieval times. The boy is Bishop until Christmas, but doesn’t do much. Gives a token sermon on his enthronement, makes the odd public appearance – used to be taken on a tour of churches in the county, but I think they’ve dropped that. It also illustrates the principle of the humble being exalted. It’s about the humble and the meek… something like that.’
‘The humble and the meek?’ Lol said. ‘That’s why they chose James?’
‘All right, I know, I know. I suppose they chose James because he was a leading chorister. And he’s a big lad, so the robes will fit. And, of course, he, ah, rather looks the part.’
‘Like I said,’ Denny shrugged, ‘it’s basically balls, isn’t it?’
‘I see it as a rite of passage,’ Dick persisted. ‘I don’t think you can do something like that without experiencing a man’s responsibility.’
Lol thought this was not the best time to talk about a man’s responsibility in front of Denny.
But Denny didn’t react. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Tell the kid I can maybe do the studio Monday. I’ll feel better tonight when the funeral’s over.’
When Dick had gone, he said to Lol, ‘I’m still looking for somebody else to blame for Kathy. He just got in the way.’
Lol nodded.
‘I’m closing this shop, by the way,’ Denny said.
‘This afternoon – for the funeral, Viv said.’
‘For good. We close at lunchtime, we don’t open again.’
‘Ever?’
‘I’m shifting the records to the other place tomorrow. And big Viv, too. Extending the shop space into a store-room. If you’re selling hi-fi, it makes sense to have a record department on the premises. This one was never big enough to take all the stock you need to really get the punters in. It was just… Kathy’s shop. I don’t ever want to come here again.’
‘And this flat?’
‘It won’t affect you unless I can’t manage to let the shop on its own, in which case I’ll maybe sell the whole building. Sorry to spring it on you, mate, but nothing’s permanent. You’re not a permanent sort of guy anyway, are you?’
Lol forced a smile.
‘See you at the crem then,’ Denny added. ‘There won’t be a meal or nothing afterwards. Won’t be enough people – plus I’m not into that shit.’
‘Denny,’ Lol said, ‘when you said to Dick, how did he know about the crows, what did you mean?’
‘Leave it.’ Denny opened the door. ‘Like you said, it was nothing, a coincidence. Just the way some things cause you to remember other things. Some memory pops up, and you put it all together wrong.’
‘What memory?’
‘You don’t let go of things, do you, Lol?’
‘Some things won’t let go of me. It’s guilt, probably.’
‘You didn’t like her, did you?’ Denny said.
‘I liked her more towards the end.’
‘You wouldn’t fuck her because you didn’t like her. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s kind of honourable, I suppose.’
‘No, it isn’t. Tell me about the crows.’
Denny came back in, shut the door. ‘When she was a kid, they used to put her in her pushchair in the farmyard, to watch the chicks and stuff, yeah? And the crows would come. Crows’d come right up to her. They’d land on the yard and come strutting up to the pushchair. Or they’d fly low and sit on the roof, just over the back door. Sit there like vultures when Kathy was there. Only when she was there.’
Lol thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stiffened his shoulders against the shiver he felt. ‘How long did this go on?’
‘Until the old man shot them,’ Denny said.
‘Do you remember Hilary Pyle?’ Barry Ambrose asked her.
‘I don’t think so. Who was she?’
‘He,’ Barry said. ‘It was in some of the papers, certainly the Telegraph, which always seems to splash Church crises. But they didn’t know the whole story. Even I… I didn’t know that was her name until this morning. Where’s she now, the girl you asked about?’
‘She’s at my daughter’s school.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Barry. ‘But then people do sometimes change, don’t they?’
‘If they want to,’ Merrily said, ‘they have to want to. So what happened to this Hilary Pyle?’
‘She did. He was a canon at the Cathedral, forty-five years old, married, with kids. I didn’t know him particularly well, but I assumed he was a sound bloke. Certainly not the kind you’d imagine taking up with a schoolgirl.’
‘Rowenna?’
‘Soldier’s daughter. Wasn’t named in the papers – I think she was underage – in fact I’m sure she was. Fifteen or something. Also there was some question of rape when they first arrested Hilary, so the girl couldn’t be named in the press, but he certainly was.’
‘Now I remember. About two years ago? But he—’
‘Yes. Poor bloke hanged himself in his garage. Leaving a note – rather a long note. Do you remember that? It was read out at the inquest – he’d apparently requested that.’
‘Remind me.’ Merrily felt a stab of foreboding.
‘It was a rather florid piece of writing; he kept quoting bits of Milton. He said the girl was sent by the Devil, and this caused a bit of amusement in the press. Just the sort of thing some clergyman would say to excuse his appalling behaviour. “Sent by the Devil.” She was a pale little thing, they said, but she knew which levers to pull, if you’ll pardon the, er…’
Merrily found she was writing it all down on her sermon pad.
‘You said there was more… other things that didn’t get into the press.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m frankly amazed it didn’t get out. But I suppose the people who knew about it realized what the bad publicity could do. I think it was probably as a result of this that I, of all people, was asked to take on the Deliverance ministry here. They wanted an outsider, someone previously unconnected with the Cathedral. You see, it’s so easy for a panic to spread. Look at Lincoln and the Imp. Look at Westminster. There are always people who’ll look for the dark hand of Satan, aren’t there?’
‘Not us, of course.’
‘Quite.’
‘So what happened?’
‘After Hilary committed suicide, two other canons confessed to the Bishop that they’d also had relations with this girl.’
‘Jesus!’ She hadn’t been expecting that.
&n
bsp; ‘It was thought there was another one, but he kept very quiet and survived the investigation. Not a police investigation, of course.’
‘Did anybody talk to the girl herself?’
‘Quite frankly, I don’t think anybody in the Cathedral was prepared to go anywhere near the girl. What happened, I believe, was that the Army arranged for her father to be based somewhere else. Hereford, obviously, though no one here knew where they’d gone – nor wanted to. It cast quite a shadow for a while. Perhaps it still does: I know a number of previously stable marriages have gone down the tubes since then. Poor Hilary’s suggestion of something evil had gathered quite a few supporters before the year was out.’
‘Barry, I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re going to tell your daughter, Merrily,’ Barry said, ‘but if she hangs around with Rowenna Napier she might start growing up a little too quickly, if you see what I mean.’
‘I owe you one,’ Merrily said.
Now she was frightened.
41
Take Me
IN SLATER’S, BEHIND Broad Street, Jane had a deep-pan pizza and stayed cool – reminding herself periodically about Dean Wall, the slimeball, on the school bus in the fog, and what he’d said about Rowenna and Danny Gittoes.
Gittoes was Dean’s best friend, and slightly less offensive, but the thought of Rowenna’s small mouth around whatever abomination he kept in his greasy trousers was still pretty distasteful, especially when you knew it could be true.
‘Calm down, kitten.’ Rowenna had a burger with salad, mayonnaise all over it – oh, please.
‘I just lost it completely.’ Jane was sitting with her back to the door and the front windows, watching the cook at work behind a counter at the far end. The problem with Rowenna was that she was so incredibly charming; she gave you her full attention and you felt so grateful she wanted you as a friend.
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I slagged off the Church, rubbished everything that means anything to her. Said she was ambitious and arrogant – and that I’d rather sell my soul to the Devil than spend another night there. I guess this was not what Angela had in mind when she talked about leading Mum towards the light.’
Rowenna laughed. ‘And you didn’t mean a word of it, right?’
‘I meant it at the time.’ Jane cut another slice of pizza. ‘She also said we were spending too much time together. She suggested I should be going out with boys, can you believe that?’
‘That’s uncommon,’ Rowenna said. ‘They’re usually terrified you’re going to get pregnant.’
‘Like… there’s nothing wrong with me,’ Jane said experimentally. ‘I don’t have problems in that area. I’ve had relationships. It’s just there aren’t any guys around right now that I could fancy that much.’ It occurred to her they’d rarely talked about men.
‘The choice is severely limited.’
‘Almost nonexistent.’
‘Sure.’
‘Like, I travel on the bus every day with Wall and Gittoes.’
‘Don’t,’ Rowenna said. ‘I may vomit.’
She grinned, shreds of chargrilled burger on teeth that were translucent like a baby’s. Come on, Jane thought, it might not have been her at all by the car park. It might not.
‘Could we perhaps lighten up now?’
‘I keep thinking of those tarot cards,’ Jane said seriously. ‘You said it seemed like a pretty heavy layout, right?’
‘Kitten, it’s ages since I even looked at a tarot pack. You forget these things.’
‘You don’t forget. Those are like archetypal images. They’re imprinted on your consciousness.’
‘That guy in the denim jacket fancies you.’
‘He’s looking at you. He’s just wondering how to get me out of the way. Death – that was the first of them.’
‘Yeah, but the Death card can also just mean the end of something before a new beginning.’
‘The Tower?’
‘It’s been struck by lightning. There’s a big crack, with people falling off. That speaks for itself really: some really horrendous disaster, something wrenched apart.’
‘Shit.’
‘Or it could just mean a big clear-out in your life: throwing out the stuff that isn’t important.’
‘Like, if I don’t get away, I’ll go down with the Tower?’
‘Say the Tower, in this instance, represents your mother’s faith in this cruel Old Testament God, and you’ve got to help shatter it.’
‘It could have been a prediction of what began this morning, though, couldn’t it? Everything quiet, right? Me getting ready to go out. She’s had this decent night’s sleep for once – well rested, looking much better. And then like, out of nowhere, we’re into the worst row for like… ages. It just blew up out of nothing – like the Tower cracking up. And then I say that thing to her about the Devil. It just came out; I wasn’t thinking. And that… that was the third card.’
‘Don’t panic.’ Rowenna put down her knife and fork. ‘The Devil isn’t always negative either, you know. The Devil was invented by the Christians as a condemnation of anybody who thought that they, the Christians, were a bit suspect. But actually the Devil’s vital for balance in this world.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Living with a vicar, you’re bombarded with propaganda. But when you look at the situation, all the Devil represents is doing what you want, not what you’re told. Satan is just another word for personal freedom. So maybe Satanists are just people who don’t like rules.’
‘That’s a bit simplistic, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘OK, what about the low-lifes who killed that crow in the church?’
‘So?’
‘Well, that’s got to be evil.’
‘OK,’ Rowenna said. ‘One, there’s nothing to say they killed the crow. Two, it was a church nobody uses – a redundant church, right? Three, what’s the difference between that and any normal protesters who disagree with what something stands for and go in and trash the place? Suppose these are just people who are seriously pissed off at how rich the Church of England is – and how totally useless, like the House of Lords… a complete con to keep people in order.’
‘Well… maybe.’
‘There’s no maybe. That was your subconscious talking. Your inner self crying out to be free by coming out with the most outrageous thing possible in a vicarage, right?’
‘Or I just wanted to get up her nose.’
‘You’re back-pedalling. You didn’t plan what you wanted to say before it came out, so it has to be an expression of your innermost desire to be free. Listen, do it.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘There you go again. Put up or shut up. So do it: give yourself to the Devil. You just stand up and open your arms, and you breathe, in your most seductive voice: Lord Satan, take me…’ Rowenna giggled. ‘It’s just words, so it can’t harm you… but it’s also an invitation to your inner self to throw off the shackles. I reckon if you actually said that in a church, you’d get this amazing buzz.’
‘No thanks.’
‘See’ – Rowenna pointed her knife – ‘you’re just completely indoctrinated. You will never escape.’
Jane was uncomfortable. She’d felt cool and superior when she’d first come in, but now Rowenna had turned the tables. She was a wimp again, a frightened little girl.
‘Ro,’ she said. ‘Any chance of sleeping at your place tonight? I can’t go back, can I?’
‘Sure you can go back. Take Satan with you. By which I mean, go back with your head held high, with a new attitude.’
‘It would just be one night.’
‘Oh, kitten…’ Rowenna sighed. ‘That could really be a problem. We have this diplomat from the Middle East staying with us. I’m not supposed to even tell you this, because there are a lot of people want this guy dead. It’s a security job – and we’re the safe-house, you know what I me
an? Armed guys in vans parked outside all night? It’s really, really tedious.’
‘Oh.’
‘It happens to us quite often. It means that anybody wants to stay with us, they have to be vetted weeks in advance in case something crops up.’
‘What am I going to do?’
Rowenna leaned over and squeezed Jane’s wrist. ‘You know your problem? You worry too much. You still have this deeply constricted inner-self. OK, the Pod will help sort that eventually – and I mean eventually.’
‘What’s wrong with the Pod?’
‘Nothing. It’s fine as far as it goes. It’s merely a reasonable outlet for bored housewives too timid to have an affair. You must have realized that by now.’
‘I thought it was quite heavy, actually.’
Rowenna smiled sympathetically. ‘Listen, I have to go now. Go on, ask me where. You’re gonna like this.’
‘Huh?’
‘The Cathedral.’
‘I thought we were going shopping!’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Rowenna said ruefully. ‘I just forgot what day it was. I have to meet my cousin, who—’ Rowenna looked up. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Where?’
‘Guy looking at you through the window.’
‘You tried that one earlier,’ Jane said.
‘He’s not bad actually, if you’re into older men. He’s wearing black. He’s all in black. I think he’s coming in.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Jane bit off a corner of pizza. ‘It’s fucking Satan, right?’
‘He is. He’s coming in for you.’
A draught hit the back of Jane’s ankles as the door to the street opened.
* * *
Just when Merrily was in no mood to talk to him, Huw rang.
‘How are you, lass?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘I’ve rung a few times,’ Huw said. ‘I’ve prayed, too.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s been the problem?’
As though they’d spoken only last night and parted amicably.
‘Rat-eyes,’ Merrily said, ‘probably.’
‘Oh aye?’ No change of tone whatsoever.
She told him calmly that she had been the subject of what seemed to be a psychic attack. She told him it had now been dealt with.