by Jodi Taylor
Chapter Four
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Less than twenty miles. That was practically next door. I had no idea I was so close. But at least any lingering doubts about my next move were gone. I could be home in a few hours. I could see my house again. And I was strong there. I would find a solution somehow. Suddenly, I don’t know why – Sorensen seemed the least of my problems. The first thing to do was to get out of this place as soon as I could.
That turned out to be easier said than done.
Veronica Harlow was sitting behind the reception desk, entering invoices on her laptop. She looked cold and calm and as immovable as one of the Three Sisters themselves. She looked up enquiringly and pinned a smile to her lips.
‘Did you enjoy your lunch?’
I passed over how she knew.
‘Yes,’ I said shortly, ‘it was excellent. May I have my bill please?’
She blinked. ‘Why?’
‘So that I can catch the afternoon bus.’ Which wasn’t quite the answer to the question she’d asked.
Silence settled in the room. I could see her colour solidifying around her and knew there was going to be a problem.
She made no move. I glanced pointedly at the clock. ‘I’ll pick it up after I’ve done my packing.’
She slid smoothly out from behind the desk, blocking my path upstairs.
I felt a flash of anger, overlaid by fear. I should have stayed away from here and just got on the bus. Blame my parents who brought me up to be honest and settle my debts. Not a problem, however. I’d abandon my belongings. I had my handbag with my purse inside. I could leave everything else. I was determined. Come hell or high water I was going to be on that bus. I turned for the front door.
An old woman blocked my path. This, I guessed, must be Miriam. Veronica’s mother. Short, blocky, white haired and with Becky’s disturbing pale eyes. I know Veronica had told me she was sick, but she looked as immovable as one of those stones outside to me. Her colour was mostly purple, thin in places, but spiky and aggressive. I heard a movement behind me and didn’t have to turn around to guess that Becky was sliding out through the kitchen door. Their colours reached out to each other, each reinforcing and strengthening the other. These were very powerful women.
I stood very still. My first thought was to wonder if Dr Sorensen had got to them somehow and they were to hold me here until he turned up to claim me, but surely that was nonsense. He couldn’t possibly know I was here. Could he?
And here came that familiar slide into panic. I had to stop doing that. I fought to stay calm, saying, ‘Did Sorensen make you do this?’ but I could see by their colours they hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. So, if this was nothing to do with him, then what was going on here?
I knew from experience there are worse things in this world than Sorensen and it was dawning on me, rather late in the day, that I had catapulted myself into the middle of one of them. I had wild thoughts of barging Miriam aside and running – just getting out somehow, but I was willing to bet there were more of them out there.
As if reading my mind, Miriam smiled sourly and stepped aside. Through the glass panels in the door I could see three or four women gathered oh so casually at the gate. One of them was the barmaid from the pub, and I think the two elderly women were there as well. I was trapped. I wouldn’t get six feet and somehow the thought of any of them laying hands on me was not pleasant.
Unbidden, a thought came into my head. What would Michael Jones do?
Lay out the old hag with a single punch, kick down the front door, fight his way through the massed ranks of his adversaries and escape in a black helicopter was the answer to that one, and not tremendously helpful.
No, he wouldn’t. He would say, ‘Bide your time, Cage. Your chance will come.’ And he would be right. Good to know he was making himself useful even though all this was his fault.
I drew myself up and said calmly, ‘Is there some problem?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Veronica. ‘Is there?’
My heart began to thump. ‘Not that I am aware of.’
‘We understood you were to stay, Mrs Page.’
Well, at least she didn’t know my real name. I’d blurred my signature in the register. I could have been Cage or Page and she’d gone for Page.
‘I’ve had a message,’ I said. ‘Family illness. I have to leave.’
Becky giggled. ‘No signal here.’
I didn’t have a mobile anyway.
Veronica looked at me. ‘Why would you lie?’
‘Why would you keep me here?’
‘You were sent.’
I thought about the seemingly unending stream of trains and buses I’d taken over the last few days. Here, at least, was one statement I could answer truthfully. ‘No, I wasn’t. My arrival here was entirely random.’
‘You were brought here. To us. At this special time.’
The only sound was the crackling fire. A log dropped, making me jump and sending sparks everywhere.
Her mother frowned. ‘Becky, see to the fire.’
Becky sighed heavily. Orange rippled through her colour but she complied, poking the fire viciously and almost hurling on another log. The fire crackled and more sparks whirled up the chimney. So, Becky didn’t like being told what to do. Becky didn’t like being the baby of the outfit. Becky wasn’t happy with the hierarchy here. All very interesting, but not helpful to me at this particular moment.
I turned back to Veronica, swallowing down a sick feeling of fear. I was in trouble. I was sure I was in even more trouble than I realised. My instinct was to demand to know why they would keep me here against my will, but I mustn’t allow myself to be distracted from the most important thing of all which was to get out of this place as quickly as I could. Even if I had to walk. A year ago, I would have laughed and said this was England. No one could be held anywhere against their will, but I’d been held against mine. I’d been a prisoner in Sorensen’s clinic. Michael Jones had got me out. Obviously now, when he could have made himself useful, there was no sign of him.
I made my voice firm. ‘In case I haven’t made myself clear, I would like to leave now. If you won’t prepare my bill then I’ll leave without it. If you won’t allow me to pack my belongings then I’ll abandon them, but leave this place I will.’
She smiled. ‘You are very welcome to make the attempt, Mrs Page, but I doubt if they’ll let you go.’
‘Who won’t?’
‘The ones who brought you here.’
I controlled my temper with an effort. ‘Who brought me here?’
She didn’t answer me directly. ‘We knew you would come.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ I said, doing my best to throw cold water on all this mystic claptrap. ‘Even I didn’t know I was coming.’
‘Well, not you specifically. We just knew someone would come. Someone always answers the call.’
‘I am here by accident. Random chance.’
‘There was nothing accidental about it. You were called.’
I became aware that all this discussion was wasting time. I turned to the door again. ‘Be that as it may, I have to go.’
‘I’m afraid that’s just not possible.’
‘People are looking for me.’
‘No, they’re not.’
‘Actually, quite a lot of people are looking for me,’ I said, suddenly hoping to God they were.
‘Well they’re not likely to look here.’
‘They’re very good at getting what they want.’ Again, hoping to God they were.
‘Are you wanted by the police? Because if so there’s no need to worry about that any longer.’
‘They will find me.’
‘They won’t. Really, they won’t. You know they won’t. You belong here. With us. Now, you’ve had another tiring day. Why don’t you lie down in your room with a nice cup of tea?’
Their interlinked colours were glowing. They were strong. I wasn’t going to get out this wa
y. I would go to my room, wait until the bus turned up, climb out of the window, sprint across the green and jump aboard. They could hardly pursue me in broad daylight, could they? And even if they caught me and dragged me back, the bus driver would have something to say about it. Even if only to his mates on his return to the depot. And surely then someone would take some action …
‘Becky, make some tea.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because I’m making Mrs Page comfortable and your gran isn’t well. Go on now.’
She sighed in the way only teenagers can and swung back in through the kitchen door.
‘After you, Mrs Page.’
I allowed myself to be taken to my room.
She seated herself at the dressing table, but I heaved my suitcase onto the bed and began to pack.
‘You’re wasting your time, Mrs Page. Please believe me.
They won’t let you go. Please understand, your life will be so much easier – indeed your life here will be very pleasant indeed – if you can simply accept what is happening.’
‘My life is already very pleasant indeed, thank you very much.’
She very pointedly didn’t mention my bedraggled appearance yesterday, my obvious exhaustion, or the fact that there was obviously something very wrong with my life.
I ignored her, concentrating on folding sweaters and jeans and carefully placing them into my suitcase. I took my stuff from the bathroom and zipped it into my toilet bag. She was still talking. I checked the wardrobe and under the pillows.
Someone tapped at the door.
She said brightly, ‘And here’s our tea,’ for all the world as if we were about to enjoy a pleasant afternoon in front of the fire.
I said nothing. A plan was forming. Not now. Not while there was two of them. I’d get rid of Veronica somehow. I was betting they’d send whining, sigh-heaving Becky to collect the tea tray. Veronica was bigger and taller than me, but I reckoned I could take Becky easily. And then … So I sat in the armchair and allowed Veronica to pour my tea.
She smiled at me. ‘I’m sure you have all sorts of clever plans to escape but they won’t let you go, you know.’
I was looking at my tea. It was fine – no dark colours swirled around it – they hadn’t tried to drug me, but I didn’t mind betting Becky had spat in it. I set it on the small table beside me and said, ‘Go on then, tell me. Who won’t let me go?’
‘Oh, I think you know who has brought you here to us.’
I was too tired and frightened to play silly games.
‘Pretend I’m stupid.’ Although I couldn’t help reflecting that I must be very stupid indeed to have got myself into this situation. Yes, I was tired and disoriented and heartsick, but the signs had all been there and I’d missed or misinterpreted nearly every single one of them.
She sipped her tea. ‘You have rested and eaten here. You have partaken of the Stones’ bounty. They will not let you go.’
I was grateful for the gathering shadows in the room because half of me wanted to laugh – although that might have been hysteria. They were all obviously mad. The other half was suddenly very afraid indeed.
‘We knew you would come.’
‘Me?’
‘Well, we knew someone would come. Someone always comes.’
I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘I told you. I am here by accident.’
‘There was nothing accidental about it. You were called.’
Her colour said she was telling the truth. The truth as she saw it, anyway. She genuinely believed the stones had power – and I knew they did because I’d sensed it myself when I got too close to them. I could feel fear begin to build inside me and tried to shut it down and think clearly. Because powerful or not, they were just stones. So forget the stones and any possible weird goings on – my first priority was to escape three slightly batty women. In a village full of more slightly batty women. One of whom was in here with me.
‘Why?’
‘I told you. You were called.’
‘I don’t mean why me – I mean why anyone at all.’
She got up and switched on the bedside lamp. ‘Miriam is dying.’
‘What has that to do with me? I’m not a doctor.’
‘Doctors can’t help her now. Her time has come.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m sorry to hear that but there isn’t anything I can do.’
‘Oh, but there is. We are three. We are always three. When one moves on, another always turns up to take her place.’
‘And you think that’s me?’
‘I know it’s you. The Stones have brought you here – to this place and this time. Exactly where and when you are needed.’
‘But …’
‘I must go.’ She stood up. ‘There are arrangements to be made.’
‘But …’
She closed the door behind her and turned the key.
I got up, finished my packing, closed and locked my suitcase, turned off the light, and waited for Becky in the dark.
Chapter Five
She took her time but Becky turned up eventually. I heard her footsteps coming along the corridor and then the rattle of her key in the lock. I rose silently to my feet and took a firm grip on my case. It was only a weekend bag but I would be putting some force behind it.
She opened the door into my dark room. The tray was in plain sight on the dressing table. She took a step into the room. I got behind her and swung my case at the back of her head. It nearly whirled me off my feet so I don’t know what it did to her – I didn’t stop to check.
I ran out onto the landing. Straight into the arms of Miriam. Sick she might have been, but she was still more than a match for me. I’m not a violent person. My parents had loved me a lot and I’d loved them. Ted had been a wonderful husband and I still missed him every day. And then he died too and my life had changed. All I knew of violence was garnered from watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I struggled as much as I could. She didn’t do anything. She didn’t have to. She just held on tight until Becky staggered back out and the two of them manhandled me, kicking and struggling, back into my room again. I was flung face down onto the bed and before I could do anything, the door slammed. And then opened again as someone threw my suitcase back in after me. Somehow, that added insult to injury. I thumped the bed in frustration and then thought – the bus – and ran to the window.
It hadn’t opened last night and it wouldn’t open now. Neither of them would move. I ran from one to the other but it was useless. I tried everything but nothing worked. I suspected they were nailed shut. I banged on the window. No one heard. And even if they had … It wasn’t just the three women at the Travellers’ Rest. I had a feeling I’d be taking on the whole village. There was no way I’d even be allowed to get to the bus stop, let alone board the bus itself.
I stood at the window and watched women and children going home at the end of the day. Groups of chattering women gathered, broke and gathered again before finally turning off into their cottages. Doors closed shutting out the night. Lights began to appear in windows around the green. Except in the village shop where the lights went out. The village prepared for the night. Darkness had fallen. In every sense of the word.
It was at this point I realised I was never going home. Something awful was about to happen here.
My handbag had fallen open, spilling its contents onto the dressing table. Among them were the leaflets I’d picked up from the pub. How I wished I’d just walked away. I could have walked to the next village and picked up a bus there, although a small voice told me I wouldn’t have got far. They’d have found me long before that.
One was the Woodland Trust leaflet and the other gave the history of The Three Sisters. I skimmed over the bits Veronica Harlow had already told me but there was an interesting section at the end. It was headed The Year Kings and Their Function in Ancient Societies.
I won’t tell the whole story here, but in all its variations it is a simple one.
In a matriarchal society, the function of the Year King was key. Every year, a young man, sometimes a chance visitor but sometimes specially chosen, was appointed as Year King. Nothing was too good for him – he would have the best of food and drink and any woman he desired. His only function, apart from having a rollicking good time for twelve months, was to be sacrificed at the year end. His death – often extremely violent and bloody – would ensure the harvest for the coming year and general good luck and prosperity for all. Failure to die at the appropriate time could spell ruin for a community.
The writer went on to speculate whether the Ceremony of the Year King could possibly be connected to the Three Sisters, happily assuring his readers, however, that the coming of the Christian church had put a stop to all that pagan nonsense.
I read this cheerful little snippet through several times and then crumpled the pamphlet and threw it across the room.
No one came near me for the rest of the night. There was no evening meal.
When I couldn’t bear my thoughts any longer, I went to stand at the windows and watched the moon travel across the sky. Then I lay on the bed and thought and thought. And I didn’t make the mistake of thinking like Elizabeth Cage either, with her touching but misplaced trust in the authorities to make everything right. I lay in the dark and thought like Michael Jones.
Presumably because of my failed attempt yesterday, Veronica and Becky brought breakfast together. Veronica stood by the door while Becky, resentful and aggrieved, banged the tray down on the dressing table and then, at a nod from her mother, departed, slamming the door behind her.
Veronica remained behind. Michael Jones would tell me to take this opportunity to gather as much information as I could, so I did.
I poured myself a cup of tea because I was thirsty, took a deep breath and said, ‘This is the ceremony of the Year King, isn’t it?’
Her colour deepened significantly and her voice took on that faintly fanatical tone. ‘The Stones demand blood.’
‘I bet they do, but what do you get in exchange?’
‘There is a covenant which dates back thousands of years. When the first traders visited these shores, they brought the Great Mother cult with them. It’s a simple arrangement – we feed the stones and they keep us safe. As they have always done. You’ve seen for yourself. Our village is perfect. Not for us the hideous developments of the 21st century. No motorway slices this village in half. We haven’t suffered the slow decline of village life. Look around you. You’ve seen this place. Everything is beautiful. No one even gets sick here.’