Breaking and Entering

by Wendy Perriam

  ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘No, don’t, darling – please.’ She put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘You’ll only make things worse.’

  Rebuked, he sat in silence, staring at Pippa’s stained and muddy sandals. He was recalling JB’s words once more, about the ‘someone’ who was threatening her. Only a few hours ago he had betrayed her mother yet again; proving just how far he was from being a decent sort of father. And he’d betrayed Claire, too, in a way. If he hadn’t left the camp for his own self-serving reasons, he might have prevented the drowning. After all, he was the one who spent most time with Rick, and he certainly would have warned him about the dangers of the lake – the way it shelved so unexpectedly; the unnerving depth of the water.

  He turned back to Penny, sounding tetchy in his impatience for more details. ‘Look, how the hell did it happen? Can’t Rick swim, or was he on his own, or what?’

  ‘No, he went with Andrew. They were both very hot and sticky and wanted to cool off. And he told us he could swim. But then he’s used to a tiddly public baths, not a lake which is goodness knows how deep. He got into difficulties almost straight away. Andrew saw him struggling and rushed to the rescue. But he said Rick started panicking, and kept thrashing about and hitting him, and swallowing loads more water. Apparently he all but drowned them both. You can imagine how Anita feels.’

  Daniel nodded grimly, though his thoughts were more with the healer. Rick had been brought here, most unwillingly, because he was suffering from mere stomach pains. And now he was fighting for his life. How did JB cope with that? He longed to question, Penny further, but she seemed close to tears again; biting her lip, fiddling with her hair, even gnawing at her thumbnail in a way that reminded him, unbearably, of Rick.

  ‘I’ve been so worried, Daniel, about what we ought to do. I suppose the obvious solution now you’re here is to drive straight home and take Pippa to see Dr Steadman. Maybe he could prescribe something to get her over the shock. But it seems awfully callous just to disappear when Claire’s in such a state, and we don’t even know if Rick will … will make it. Thank God we’re able to phone! That’s the only good thing about those unspeakable reporters – they’ve got a portable phone. Mind you, it’s not very reliable out here in the wilds, but at least we’ve managed to keep in touch with the hospital.’

  ‘Look, who are these bloody reporters?’

  ‘Bloody’s the right word. I’ve never known such ghouls! Someone drowns or dies, and it’s meat and drink to them.’

  ‘But how did they find out about it? Surely no one would start gabbling to the press?’

  ‘No, they were here already – on the spot. Conveniently!’

  ‘What d’you mean? What for?’

  ‘Oh, Daniel, there’s so much you still don’t know. How long have you been gone? It feels like an eternity.’

  ‘Let me see – eight days.’

  ‘It must be more than that!’

  He counted on his fingers. He, too, could hardly believe that only a week had elapsed. It was something to do with Juliet. Once back in her affections (and her bed), it felt as if he’d been with her for months.

  ‘Well, a few days after you left – the Thursday, I think it was – this man turned up and started snooping around. We didn’t know at the time, but he was a freelance journalist who lives in Cwmystwyth. He was alerted by the local Friends of the Earth, who’d carried out a secret test on the stream which runs through here. They found it was full of gunge from the mine – not just tainted, but downright poisonous. There was lead in it and cadmium – which is lethal for the kidneys – and even sulphide of arsenic! I just can’t tell you, Daniel, how furious I was – furious with Stephen most of all. Except I refuse to call him Stephen now. It’s an insult to my father.’

  Daniel was astonished by her vehemence. ‘But, Penny, why blame him? He can’t have known, surely?’

  ‘Well, he bloody well should have done! Apparently it’s common knowledge round here that those mines are a source of really damaging pollution. The toxins from the tunnels get washed into the watercourses and all the fish start dying, or the rivers running red. Okay, perhaps we should have thought ourselves, but then we’re strangers to the area, whereas he lives on the spot. I mean, fancy luring all those sick people here – some of them seriously ill – and then exposing them to a danger like that. And he was actually making salves and things from the mud right near the tunnel-openings. As the reporters said themselves, it’s bad enough drinking the poisons in the water, without slapping them on your skin as well. Pippa was forever rubbing ointments into that wretched Bernard’s leg, so God knows what harm it’s done her – or the poor dog, for that matter. And we’re all at risk just by having camped here. Anyway, it’s ruined any notion of community. So much for sisterhood! Everyone’s at each other’s throats and taking sides, either for or against the healer.’ She gave a derisive snort. ‘Some healer! Corinna won ‘t even speak to me because I said it was his fault, and at least he should have thought to check before he set up camp here. She and Happy are like a pair of spaniels, still fawning on him and licking his hand and refusing to hear a word against their master.’

  ‘I can’t understand you, Penny. Okay, the pollution thing’s appalling, and thank heavens it’s been brought to light. But I just don’t believe the healer could have known. It goes entirely against his ethos – unless he’s a madman or a hypocrite. And that’s not likely either. Hell! Last time we discussed the man, you seemed to think he was another Jesus Christ. And, anyway, what about the miracles? You were so convinced about those.’

  ‘I’m not convinced of anything – not now. I mean, when you come to think of it, there were so many different risks. That ghastly lake, to start with, and those poor old crocks like Doris, forced to live rough in terrible conditions. And even Dylan, who’s still here, but no better at all – worse, if anything. And the awful weather we’ve had – rain and storms and lightning …’

  Daniel glanced up through the tent-flaps at the expanse of deep blue sky. The sun was still serenely bright and he could hear some bird or other carolling its carefree song. He wondered for an instant if Penny had dreamt the whole disaster – or invented it, to punish him for Juliet; for his resolve this afternoon to become a ruthless hedonist.

  ‘Of course, the reporters lapped it up – the whole business of us living in a New Age hippie commune, as they will insist on calling it, and the drama of the storm, and the healing sessions and wonder-cures. It’ll be splashed all over the national press tomorrow. The local freelance chap sold the story to the Daily Express. I suppose it does make marvellous headlines – the miracle-worker who poisons his patients!’

  She reached out for an apple, bit into it aggressively, then put it down, as if she had already lost all appetite. ‘Anyway, these two Fleet Street hacks arrived – Dave the photographer and Zoe the reporter. Except of course we didn’t know that. Dave passed himself off as a teacher, and said he was especially keen on geology and wildlife, so he’d brought his camera with him. Well, he snapped away quite merrily without rousing our suspicions. And we also swallowed his story chat Zoe was his girlfriend and suffering from ME. Actually, she’s as tough as old boots, but no one smelt a rat until the point where Rick was carried down the hillside on a makeshift stretcher-thing. He looked quite dreadful – sort of limp and bluish-pale, and lying so horribly still you’d have thought he was dead already.’ Her voice began to falter again, but she regained control; continued with real bitterness.

  ‘You’ll hardly credit this, Daniel, but in the midst of all the commotion, Dave got out his camera and started taking photographs! I mean, everyone else was absolutely devastated – in tears and everything, but at least we were trying to help. And that bloody Dave just stands there, fussing with his light-meter! Andrew went berserk. He actually yanked the camera away and flung it on the ground. That did it! Dave launched himself on Andrew, and while the two of them were fighting tooth and nail, Zoe suddenly announced that th
ey were press, and that Andrew ought to welcome Dave, not clobber him. God! She sounded like some missionary, come to root out evil. She said the healer was a total fraud who had deliberately deceived us all, so she and Dave intended to expose him …’

  ‘But what about Rick?’ Daniel interrupted, less concerned with public exposés than with his own private photographs: Rick’s nondescript brown hair flopping into his eyes; his dirty bitten fingernails; the threadbare jeans, patched with bits from Claire’s old paisley dressing-gown; his gruesome bone-collection. He picked up Penny’s discarded apple, as if it needed comforting, sat cradling it in his hands, wishing he could concentrate. She was answering his question and he wasn’t even listening.

  ‘The ironic thing was that it was actually Dave and Zoe who took Rick to the hospital. They probably only offered because they wanted to be in at the kill. But it still seemed the best idea. I mean, that camper-van is really big and comfortable, and it’s got a proper bed in the back. And there was room for Claire and Corinna and … and … everyone.’

  He noticed how she’d avoided using JB’s name. Indeed, he no longer had a name. She refused to call him Stephen, and he hardly merited the term ‘healer’ in the circumstances. Even his own ‘JB’ seemed crassly inappropriate since the trauma of the drowning. Rick had called him the Mega-Wanker, he remembered with affection and distress. They had laughed about it together, plotted joint rebellion over a bag of Creamline toffees.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Penny, thrusting a distracted hand through her hair, ‘they were just driving off when Pippa started shaking – I mean, really shaking, as if she had a high fever. I insisted she He down, but …’

  ‘I’ve got to see her, Penny! We can’t just leave her on her own when she’s so dreadfully upset.’

  Penny gave a despairing shrug. ‘It won’t do any good. I’ve been trying to get through to her all day. She wouldn’t even let me sit with her, though I promised not to say a word, if that’s what she preferred.’

  ‘Well, I feel I ought to try, at least. And if she still refuses to talk, I’ll walk on up the hill and get some air. There’s so much to take in, I’m feeling a bit strange.’

  Penny hugged him suddenly. ‘I’m sorry, darling. Here I am, ranting on, and forgetting what a shock it is for you. You were closer to Rick than any of us.’

  Yes, I was, he thought, registering the grimness of the past tense. If Rick didn’t pull through, then part of himself would die as well – his skinny restless child-self. He dragged himself to his feet. ‘I won’t be long. Okay?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll stay here and wait for you. I can’t face the thought of supper. I feel absolutely wrung out. And everything’s so awkward with those reporters hanging around.’

  ‘Why the hell are they still here?’

  ‘Well, Zoe came sneaking back once she’d phoned her story through. And Dave’s still at the hospital. Apparently he almost broke his neck trying to get the photos on the next fast train to London. But now they’re safely with the Express, I expect he’s hovering by the bedside, camera poised to record Rick’s dying breath.’

  ‘Penny, don’t!’

  ‘Well, they make me sick, the pair of them. I mean, Zoe’s got a bloody cheek daring to show her face up here again. I suppose she’s after another story – “Feuds Tear Healing Camp Apart”.’ She jabbed her foot against the canvas, the tent shuddering in protest. ‘She arrived with the freelance journalist – the one who came originally about the water pollution thing. And they brought another photographer – a creepy little man called Boyd.’ She broke off for a moment, chewed her thumb again. She seemed to have caught the habit, unconsciously, from Rick. ‘What depresses me the most, Daniel, is the way the others have let themselves be conned, especially Pat and Megan. It’s as if they want their pictures plastered all over the papers. They probably think they’ll be paid a big fat fee. Well, perhaps they will. Good luck to them!’

  Daniel squeezed her hand sympathetically, though he couldn’t really understand her venom. She seemed more distressed about the media-hacks than about the actual drowning. Was it because they’d used deception to infiltrate the camp, or more to do with the unpalatable fact that they’d knocked her idol from his pedestal? She had put such trust in Stephen – her all-wise, all-powerful father-figure – but now he’d been revealed as highly irresponsible, if not an out and out fraud. He had also failed to do anything for Pippa, who would be leaving here more disturbed than when she’d arrived.

  He slipped out of the tent and looked warily around. The group outside the tepee had disappeared, thank God. He had no wish to be grilled by journalists, or approached by rival factions in the camp and asked to give his verdict pro or anti JB.

  He slunk the long way round the field, keeping in the shelter of the bushes, then sprinted up the hill, only slowing down when he was safely out of sight. He stopped to inspect the stream, which looked as clear and sparkling as ever. Could it really be polluted? He drank a mouthful from his hands, as if defying it to poison him. It tasted fresh and clean. He splashed some on his face, hoping it would clear his head, wash the dark stains from his mind. The images were harrowing: Rick’s gangling body too long for its stretcher; Dave’s camera nosing into close-up; Claire’s magenta glasses, their glittery glamour subverted by her tears. And Pippa, shaking uncontrollably. What in God’s name could he say to Pippa, to ensure he wasn’t dismissed, like all the rest?

  He trudged on up the hill, resenting the beauty of the countryside as it basked in the evening sun; the sky a boastful gold, the clouds haloed and luxurious. All nature was affirming life: a whirr of swifts swooping across the stream; the usual sheep still munching placidly; the grass itself a vibrant green. As he approached the ruined cottage he was aware how apprehensive he felt, not only on account of Pippa, but because of his own memories of the place. He steeled himself to walk up to it; peered in through the empty window-frame. He could see nothing but a stretch of stony floor, bleak and uninviting. Perhaps she’d gone, but where?

  ‘Pippa,’ he called softly. ‘It’s Daniel. I’m back.’

  He was answered only by the noises all around him: the rapturous stream tumbling down the hillside, two hoarse-voiced crows flapping from a thorn-tree, the orchestra of insects in the grass.

  He stepped softly through the doorless door, relieved to see Pippa’s blaze of hair – the only splash of colour in the gloom of the interior. She was standing with her back to him, leaning against the wall; face pressed against the stone, arms hanging limply by her sides. Her total stillness so unnerved him, his words faltered into nothing, and all he managed was to stutter out her name. She made not the slightest response; stood motionless, unhearing, as if she were part of the wall itself.

  He took another step towards her, the stones scrunching under his feet. ‘Listen, darling … Penny told me how upset you are. The whole thing’s just so awful, I still can’t take it in.’ Tentatively he reached out his hand, let it brush her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’

  He recoiled as if he’d been scalded. He had never heard such fury in her voice. Penny was right – pointless trying to talk to her when she was in such a hostile mood. He retreated through the doorway, shading his eyes against the brilliance of the sunset. The sun was already sinking, birds flying home to roost. It would be dark in another hour or so – terrifying for her to stay out here alone, with the eerie shadows, that chilling sense of isolation he remembered all too well.

  He turned back, cleared his throat, uncertain what to say. Even if he simply warned her about the dark, it might provoke another violent reaction, and any attempt at dialogue seemed guaranteed to fail. If Penny couldn’t get through to her, what chance had he, for heaven’s sake? Emotional encounters had never been his strong point, and his own grief on this occasion made him still more inept. But maybe he could build on that, admit how shocked he felt.

  ‘I … I think I do know how you feel, darling. It’s hit me really hard as well – especially the
fact that Rick was …’

  She suddenly exploded into life, wheeling round to face him, both fists clenched. ‘Don’t say his name! I don’t want to hear it, ever!’

  ‘But surely … I mean, wouldn’t it be better …?’ He was so appalled by her appearance, he hardly knew what he was saying. Her clothes were bedraggled, her eyes puffy and inflamed; her whole face distorted from crying; red marks on her forehead from the imprint of the stones. Instinctively, he moved towards her, put his arms around her.

  ‘Get off, get off! I hate you! And it’s all your fault anyway.’

  She blundered past him and through the door, stumbling over the tussocky grass, running headlong down the hill. He dashed in pursuit, frightened for her safety. She wasn’t looking where she was going and might fall and hurt herself. He managed to catch up with her, grabbed her by the arm, steered her to a low and crumbling wall – another relic of the mine.

  ‘Okay, you hate me, Pippa, and everything’s my fault.’ He was out of breath, his voice laboured and staccato. ‘But you’ve got to tell me why, and what I’ve done. We can’t go on like this. We’ve just got to sort it out. So let’s sit down here, the two of us, and have a proper talk.’

  She began to sob hysterically; her head pressed right down on her knees, so that he couldn’t see her face. The few sheep grazing near them shied away in fear. The wild noise she was making seemed to startle the whole countryside; her outburst like a hand-grenade flung into the tranquil evening and blitzing it apart. He let her cry, one arm around her shoulders, as if to stop her breaking up, as these walls had broken up, these once-sturdy cottages. Bit by bit she quietened, if only through exhaustion and the sheer effort of such grief. Then he realized she was trying to speak, and strained to hear the words through her painful, strangled gasps. He was relieved when she sat up, at last, though her face was so blotched and swollen it alarmed him just to look at it.