She sat in the front pew and, hands clasped, gazed up at the carved rendition of the Passion.
‘It’s good to see you again, Frederica.’ It was Father Pete. Perhaps seeing Freddy’s expression, he said, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, I keep doing this.’
‘I’m not really… no, you don’t.’ Ludicrous to say she wasn’t really there. Nor could she tell him that her faith was battered. She was only there to find the woman she used to be in love with.
‘You’re reading Mother Julian.’ Father Pete indicated the book on her lap. Was there astonishment in his tone?
‘No!’ Freddy slapped the cover. ‘It’s not mine. I mean, I have my own copy – had. I lost it.’ She felt herself redden. What the hell. Father Pete was an ordinary bloke in his fifties, not God himself. ‘I was looking for Mags, Margaret McKee. She goes to this – comes to this church.’
‘I know Mags,’ he said.
‘She’s not at work or the library. Or her flat. We arranged to meet and she never came.’ Freddy blurted it all out.
‘Are you worried about her?’
It was polite of him to take her seriously, but Freddy was embarrassed. Mags had been living happily for over twenty years without her. Why be worried? Mags must be in her flat and was ignoring the door and Freddy’s texts. Mags was probably wondering what more she had to do before Freddy got the message.
‘No. Yes. Well, it’s not like her.’ What was Mags like? ‘I heard she came to confession. I hope… hope she’s all right.’
‘If you’d like to talk any time, you know I’m here.’ He gave nothing away.
‘I’m fine. In fact, I’m leaving in a couple of days. Like you said, I’m free to go where I like.’ Freddy thrust out the book. ‘Please, could you give this to Mags? It was on the beach. Where we were going to meet. At the lunette battery where we used to… Please say I found it. No, don’t say that. Please would you return it?’ Flustered, she got to her feet and did something between a curtsy and a stumble as she left the pew.
‘Why don’t you give it to Mags yourself? When you see her.’ Father Pete didn’t take the book. ‘It would be a reason to talk.’
‘Did she mention me?’ Freddy was so surprised by his last comment that the question shot out. ‘Forget I said that.’ She hugged the book.
‘I hope you’ll come again. Perhaps with Mags?’ he said.
With Mags. Did he know?
Outside, a stiff breeze off the River Ouse lifted her fringe. There was a salty tang in the air. She looked up at the church. Yes, the pinkish roof tiles and decorative motifs around the porch were a kind of home.
She had Julian’s Revelations of Divine Love. She wished Father Pete had taken the book; it felt wrong to keep it, as if she’d stolen it. Freddy no longer knew Mags and, unless they could meet, had no way of getting to know her.
A seagull’s call was answered by the desolate hoot of the ferry plying the heavy swell towards France.
Freddy separated the damp pages, careful not to tear the paper. Sentences had been highlighted, no surprise; as well as devout, Mags had been a bit of a swot. At random, she read one of the highlighted passages:
For since I have set right what was the greatest harm, it is my will that you should know by this that I shall set right all that is less harmful…
Had Mags caused harm? Freddy could answer that.
28
TONI
Toni carried the glasses to the table to the usual steady handclap from her team. Three pints of Guinness, two lagers, two glasses of red and six bags of crisps, the last held between clenched teeth. With a skill born of practice she put down each glass without spilling a drop.
‘You’re too cool,’ Malcolm shouted over raucous cheers. He tossed her a five-pound note and, raising one of the lagers, drank it long, to more handclaps. Toni was relieved when he stopped after half of the pint. Malcolm Lane wasn’t one of those blokes and she didn’t want him trying.
The team were in Tarring Neville instead of their local in Newhaven. Toni reckoned it more sensitive, in a town grieving over two deaths in one night, a mother and her son, to drink a glass or ten in honour of closing a case in a village a couple of miles away. She’d put her card behind the bar and got in orders of ribs, fresh fish and bowls of chips.
‘To good old-fashioned coppering!’ Malcolm bellowed. Toni sipped her Merlot.
‘It might not have been Daniel Tyler,’ Sheena piped up.
‘Meaning?’ Questioning the solve was step one in sending Sheena right back to Police Scotland.
‘Meaning nothing.’ Malcolm would guess that Sheena was pissing off her boss. He knew more than anyone that, with a few drinks inside her, Toni’s charm could go walkabout.
‘We never got a bead on that man who visited Karen late one night.’ Sheena was fearless. A quality Toni admired, just not now.
‘You seemed pretty sure earlier,’ Toni reminded her.
‘I am sure, just raking through the coals.’ Sheena gave a lazy-cat smile over the rim of her large glass of Malbec. ‘All the same, if you believe that witness, Mrs Haskins, Karen had a new man every night. But what if there was a man? If that’s what drove Daniel nuts. And if she did have a bloke, then who is he?’
‘We can’t chase ghosts, we barely have the resources for positive sightings.’ Toni took a gulp of wine; ignoring her dentist’s warnings of staining your teeth, she held it in her mouth, savouring the rich, mellow taste. They had chalked up a solve in record time. Sheena wasn’t going to put a damper on things.
‘Good work, everyone.’ Eyes on Sheena, Malcolm clashed his half-drunk lager against her glass. ‘Sheena, you going back to that second neighbour clinched it.’
‘Thanks, sir.’ Sheena sipped her G and T.
The next hour passed in a cheery blur of small talk – footy, kids, Sheena’s passion for off-road cycling – with glasses never allowed to stay empty.
‘Toni.’
Toni twisted around in her chair. Freddy Power was at the door.
She pushed aside chairs to get to her, disasters unspooling in her mind. Ricky was fishing. The weather was terrible. She hadn’t wanted him to go.
‘Is Ricky here?’ Freddy scowled at the room.
‘He’s out on the boat. Why, what’s happened?’ Toni felt the floor tip. The wine was acid in her stomach. She hated it when Ricky was at sea. He diced with death every time he raised the anchor. Or loosed the rope.
‘That’s good. He would tell you not to listen to me.’ Freddy looked wild, her hair mussed, cheeks blotched with the cold. ‘It’s Mags. She’s missing.’
‘Take a breath, Fred. Missing how?’
‘Missing as in not anywhere. What other kind is there?’ Behind her Toni was aware of a lull in the chat. ‘She hasn’t replied to my messages. I’ve called round to her flat.’
‘Did you try the library? Or maybe she’s gone away.’
‘Yes, of course I did: the library, the church, her flat – if she’d gone on holiday, she’d have told you.’
‘I doubt it. Mags has always been a devoutly dark horse.’ Toni was sorry. After all that, Mags had bottled out of seeing Freddy.
‘You’re thinking Mags doesn’t want to see me. But she didn’t open the door to you either.’ Freddy thrust out her hand. ‘Then I found this.’
‘Revelations of Divine Love.’ Toni read the book’s title, although she’d seen it only last Friday and knew it from the convent.
‘It belongs to Mags. I found it at the battery.’
‘She probably dropped it.’ The floating sensation increasing, Toni leaned on the back of a chair. It was a while since she’d put so much booze away. She brushed at Freddy’s coat. ‘Freddy, maybe let Mags sort herself out, yeah? Give her space? Tell you what, come over and have a drink with the guys. We closed the Munday murder this afternoon. You’ll hear soon enough, her boy did it. Be great to introduce that lot to my oldest mate.’
‘You’re not listening.’ Freddy could be scary when riled, b
ut Toni – and Mags – had always been impervious. ‘We were meant to meet. Mags didn’t come.’
‘Yes, I know, but well…’ How to put it? You stir up too much stuff that Mags doesn’t want to face.
‘It’s got Mags’s initials. See?’ Freddy stabbed at the writing in the book with a finger.
The letters swam. Just how pissed Toni was sank in. Sheena’s doubt about the case niggled. Mentally, Toni ticked off the evidence. The solve was solid.
‘Toni?’ Freddy shouted above the hubbub from the table. ‘Are you listening?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ The only other time Toni had been this drunk was after her dad died. She’d drunk the rest of his whisky and been sick in the garden.
‘What do you usually do when someone goes missing?’
‘It depends on their age, if there’s a threat to life… Look, it’s far more likely Mags’ll have gone away.’ Toni caught sight of Julian of Norwich’s face on the book. Mona Lisa lips, eyes inviting salvation. ‘Maybe to Lourdes.’
‘It’s not funny!’ Freddy thundered. ‘If you won’t do anything, I will.’ She pivoted on her heel and left. Toni was about to follow when Malcolm called.
‘Settle this for us, guv!’
‘What?’ Toni went back to the team.
‘Where is Kiev? Sheena says it’s in Russia, Tommo reckons Romania. I’ve got a fiver on Poland. Winner takes all.’ Malcolm raised his eyebrows at her in case she’d missed his hint to say Poland. Toni wasn’t in the mood to lie.
‘Ukraine.’ She reached over Malcolm for her coat. ‘I’m done in, going to hit the sack. Good work, y’all. Add that to my winnings.’ She tossed in fifty quid and went to the bar to settle up her card.
Occasional headlights on the A26 pierced the darkness. Sobered by the fresh air and unwilling to call a taxi, Toni set off along the verge, the glow of the Newhaven incinerator her lode star.
29
MAGS
‘“…all grew dark around me in the room, as though it had been night, except for the image of the cross in which I saw a light for all mankind…”’
The voice in her head broke off. For the first time, Mother Julian offered no comfort. Mags couldn’t embrace death as Julian had. She did not want to see Christ. She wanted to be in her living room, warm and safe. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Fear, a terrible gnawing, tore up her insides and strangled the breath from her. Freddy.
She lay on her side, her face against rough stone floor. Her hands and feet were bound tightly. Shapes floated in the darkness. The air was cold and damp. She smelled the sea. Heard waves smashing on the beach. Groggily, her head hurting, her cheek pressing down, Mags pieced together snippets of memory. She had been meeting Freddy. She had hidden in the battery. She had had something to tell Freddy. What was it?
That was it. She was in the battery. She had gone inside to hide. She had slipped and been knocked unconscious. Freddy had come and, not finding Mags, gone away. Why had she wanted to hide from Freddy? Cowardly. She couldn’t have been hiding from Freddy. She had wanted to tell her that what she had done – or not done – had been for the best. The best for who?
Mags had lost track of time. How long had she been there? Who had shut her in? She had never imagined it was possible to be frightened and feel sorry for yourself at the same time. She should not feel sorry for herself. She had meddled where she had no business. This was her punishment.
She succeeded in lifting her head and felt something drop. The merest sound, a chink. She shuffled into a sitting position and, leaning back, managed to scrabble with her fingers. She felt a tiny, hard object.
It was her crucifix. Her captor must have ripped it from her neck when he overpowered her. Mags was overwhelmed with devastation. God had abandoned her.
Freddy wouldn’t know that Mags had wanted to see her. That Mags had got to the battery early. That she’d wanted to tell Freddy everything.
Freddy couldn’t know how Mags was sorrier than she could ever say. Mags didn’t have Mother Julian’s fortitude. She wasn’t ready to die.
Mags tried to stand, but her ankles were bound. She wriggled on the cold, damp floor, but was helpless. The stuff had been removed from her mouth, which was a relief, but tightly gagged, she couldn’t call for help.
Who had done this to her? Mags trawled through her life. If she knew who it was, she might be able to persuade them to let her go.
An angry library user? Had she upset someone? She’d had a spat with a young man standing for the council who had leaned right over the counter when she was ordering his parking permits. Last week the would-be councillor had been unpleasant when she wouldn’t let him display his leaflets. Toni would want motive. Was it a reason to kidnap her? Who would vote for the councillor if they found out? If anyone ever did find out. Articulating the word ‘kidnap’ horrified her. A word that had nothing to do with her.
Countless people got cross with her. The librarians were on the front line for complaints about cuts to opening hours, cuts to jobs, the television licence fee. Some of these complainants battled with mental illness, but few were threatening or violent. Unless she counted the elderly man who’d thrown red paint at the crime books section, yelling Murder! Luckily, he’d missed. She’d calmed him down until the police came. Had that made him angrier? Was it him? If it was, what did she have that he wanted?
Mags felt the panic return. Her young assistant, Edward, had been made redundant. When she told him she was sorry, Mags had been shocked that he called her an old cow. She should retire and give the next generation a chance. What had Edward expected her to do? She was only forty, for God’s sake.
‘Do you not think that the number of times you’ve been late over the last year and all that texting your friends in work hours might make you easy pickings?’ Mags had loosed both barrels. Could it be him? It could. Where is it? The question that might have been in her head haunted her. Where was what?
Freddy. The sound came from far off, like a remembered voice in a reading. Had she shouted? Mary held custody of Mags’s sin.
Mags’s head hurt, as if her skull was an eggshell held together by her scalp. The pain had a sound; it was the jangling of a gaoler’s keys. Discordant. Unremitting.
Gradually, Mags understood that what she could hear was not in her head. Edward, please. But the gag meant no sound came.
Mags’s scrabbled the crucifix and the chain into a bundle. Her mind blank with terror, she was blindly aware that she must leave something for Freddy.
30
FREDDY
The harbour glittered with lights. The ferry was in, car passengers long disembarked; little traffic was coming out of Newhaven. The incinerator glowed like a spaceship landed within the darkened downland.
Freddy stormed along the road. The faintest glimmer on the tarmac showed her the way. Embroiled in a mental shouting match with Toni – she’d been prepared to do eff-all about Mags – Freddy was oblivious of where she was beyond keeping off the verge to avoid tripping in a culvert.
She should have known Toni would refuse. Mags was a forty-year-old adult with no apparent threat to her life. Had she gone on a pilgrimage? But then, why agree to meet? Revenge? For what? Freddy had done what Mags wanted and left town. Her dad had sworn her never to tell a soul and that had suited Mags too. Only Toni knew the truth. And she hadn’t even told Ricky.
As she blundered along, the road a fuzzy strip tapering away, Freddy’s fury with Toni meant she heard the noise behind her before she registered that it was a car. The hiss of tyres skimming the tarmac, the drone of the engine. She tripped on a stone. The hedges and tarmac were bathed in pale light. Behind her, the car advanced. The road was wide, there was no other traffic, she marched on, her mind on Mags. The car rounded the bend. Freddy was startled by the headlights. Her shadow elongated before her on the road. Spinning around, she was caught in the glare. The driver must have seen her.
The night was so quiet that Freddy could clearly hear the rising hum of the
accelerator as it gathered speed. It took her a few more moments to comprehend that the car wasn’t swerving. It was coming right at her.
Freddy dived for the verge. Wheels bumped up onto the grass. The scrape of metal on stone. The car had hit the kerb and left the road. It was coming after her. With a final effort, Freddy pushed into the hedge; brambles scratched her face and ripped her jeans. She tumbled out into the field beyond and, her legs jelly, crawled, pushing with her arms, along the earth.
The car was so close that exhaust fumes enveloped her. Coughing, Freddy sat up and peered through the hedge. Brake light further along the verge. The driver was stopping. Fuckwit. He must be pissed – he’d pinned her in his headlights. No way had he not seen her. The lights went out. Darkness and silence.
Then the black shape revved. The bastard. About to shout, Freddy stopped. Did she want to confront a maniac? Her eyes readjusting to the dark, she watched in a kind of limbo as the car, lights back on, sped away towards Newhaven. He’d doused the lights but even so she couldn’t read the registration plate or see the colour of his car.
Freddy felt a tickle on her cheek; her finger came away wet. Her cheek stung – she would be covered in scratches. Either side of the road were fields; the nearest sign of life was in Tarring Neville, where there was a pub full of drunk police detectives. Freddy knew already how helpful they’d be.
Her phone vibrated. Sarah must have surfaced. She’d have checked on Freddy and discovered she couldn’t track her. Freddy felt the pull. Sarah would rescue her. She’d get there from Lewes in fifteen minutes. Warm car. Cosy room with a drink. A hot bath. A comfortable bed.
The text was from Mags: I’m walking on a pilgrimage. Leave me alone.
*
The fishery was in darkness. The high galvanised fence appeared to glimmer phosphorous grey in the moonlight. The wind had died down. All was quiet.
Too quiet. Although the tracts of boggy land thick with reeds, the railway bridge stark against the velvet sky and the endless hush of the tide were familiar, tonight everything had an eerie, unsettling quality. The incident with the car had frightened her more than she realised.
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