Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  Downstairs, James climbed out of the chair and greeted Alex, hand outstretched. ‘Look, Daddy! I cut myself on Lyn’s special knife!’

  Alex found himself staring at the large pink sticky-plaster on the palm of his son’s hand. There were several long seconds of silence. He raised his eyes to Lyndsey’s face.

  ‘It’s all right, Daddy.’ James sensed an uncomfortable atmosphere and was puzzled. ‘Look, this is Lyn’s magic ointment. She put it on and it made it better.’ Running through into the kitchen, he grabbed the small ceramic jar off the draining board. Pulling out the cork, he waved it under his father’s nose. Alex was aware of some bright green greasy substance. It did not smell particularly nice.

  ‘Lyn …’

  ‘It’s OK, Alex.’ She anticipated his question. ‘It’s herbal. Marigold. It’ll heal quickly and cleanly.’

  ‘But how did he get hold of the knife in the first place?’ Alex frowned.

  ‘It was in Lyn’s bag.’ James, ever helpful interrupted again. ‘It’s OK. Lyn’s put it out of reach so we can’t touch it. But my blood made it dirty.’ He looked extraordinarily sorrowful.

  Lyndsey pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. It never occurred to me the little tykes would rifle through my bag.’ She could see Alex frowning. Read his thoughts. Sense his unease. ‘I would never willingly hurt them, Alex. You know that,’ she said softly. ‘I adore Sophie and James. I would do anything to keep them safe.’

  ‘Daddy?’ Sophie was tired of being side-lined. ‘We’ve saved you a teacake.’ She proffered a jammy, buttery plate. ‘I toasted it myself.’

  Alex smiled. ‘As long as you don’t tell Mummy. You know she doesn’t like me eating butter.’

  The atmosphere relaxed. The children disappeared to collect their things and put on their coats. Alex looked back towards Lyndsey. ‘I do trust you, Lyn, but you must keep your stuff to yourself, OK? I don’t want the kids involved, even by implication.’

  She nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘And I don’t want you reading those books to them, either.’ He nodded towards Harry Potter. ‘There’s enough witchcraft around here already and I don’t think Paula would approve. Anyway, they’re too young!’

  She shrugged. ‘OK, if you say so.’

  ‘And, while we are on the subject, I want you to leave Emma out of your witchy activities, please. You’ve upset her quite a lot.’

  ‘If I’ve upset her, Alex, it’s because I was trying to warn her that she’s in danger, as you know. The kids are nothing to do with it, you don’t have to worry about that. But Emma is different. She’s moved into Liza’s. She is a part of it all, by choice. Her blood, her ancestors, brought her here. Because she doesn’t understand yet, she’s vulnerable. If she doesn’t take care, this will destroy her.’

  Alex stared. ‘What will destroy her?’ He was talking very quietly, not wanting the children to hear.

  ‘Hopkins. His spirit never rested. He pursued his vile cruelty on into the next world, but that did not suit him. It wasn’t enough. So he returned. The people here –’ She waved her arm to encompass the village around them and the town itself. ‘They think about him. They talk about him. Their children learn about him. I saw a school group today with clipboards and notebooks in the town, doing a project on him! They shudder and listen and laugh. Some of them laugh, Alex! And they say how glad they are it was all so long ago, not realising that every time they say his name, he gets stronger.’

  Alex’s usually friendly, gentle face had assumed a strange overlay of distaste. ‘Oh, come on Lyn. That’s all in your imagination!’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ She thumped the table with her fist, an exclamation of irritation bursting from her. ‘Listen to me, Alex. It is real. He is real. Ask that film man at Barker’s shop. Ask Emma. They will tell you. Yes, Emma knows. She doesn’t understand what is happening, but she knows. Make no mistake.’ She sighed. ‘Please, Alex, if you have any influence over her tell her what I’ve said. I shall warn her again but if it comes from you as well maybe she’ll listen. Oh!’ Again the frustration, another thump. ‘Why can’t people see what is in front of their eyes! Why are they so brainwashed by modern stupid science they have lost touch with every scrap of instinct, intuition, common sense! That’s why I gave up at university! There was no acknowledgement that plants, that anything, had a soul; a spirit. They didn’t understand! Emma can feel it. See it. Hear it! I know she can. But still she denies the evidence of her own senses. And that will prove a disaster.’

  Alex sighed. Her passion was frightening him. And, he realised grudgingly, she had him half convinced as well.

  ‘Look, I will talk to Emma, but I don’t want to scare her – ’

  ‘She is scared, Alex! What she needs are weapons. The tools to fight the bastards!’

  Alex glanced up at the cupboard at which James had pointed. ‘Like your special knife?’

  ‘Yes, like my special knife.’

  Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I will talk to her, Lyn.’

  ‘Good. Do that.’ She saw two enquiring small faces in the doorway and she turned away, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘The kids are ready.’

  ‘So I see.’ Alex held out his arms and they ran to him.

  ‘Don’t forget, Alex, will you?’

  Lyndsey stood on the doorstep and watched as they walked away along the quay.

  Her last words were whipped away on the wind.

  62

  Wednesday evening

  The plan was that she would ring Alex from the train so he could come and fetch her. Paula pulled out her mobile as the train rattled towards Manningtree. In the office she had found herself staring out of the window as it grew dark, seeing the streaks of red in the wind-swept sky, seeing the dark clouds streaming across a horizon bisected by a forest of high-rise buildings and suddenly, unexpectedly, and not for the first time, she was overwhelmed by claustrophobia. She wanted to go home. She wanted to walk by the river. She wanted to be out of this stifling air-conditioned, stressful place. It was days like this when suddenly she wondered if she were mad working all day everyday while Alex stayed at home. Other days of course she knew exactly why. She adored the work, the people, the buzz. You didn’t get that in the country.

  She phoned the house, listening crossly to the tone ringing on unanswered, then she phoned Alex’s mobile. It was switched off. Frowning, she tried again as the train pulled in at the station. He wasn’t expecting her yet, of course. She was so much earlier than usual but supposing he had forgotten he was supposed to come and fetch her? Supposing he was round at Emma’s again? She frowned. After her long talk with Emma she had decided that on the whole she didn’t like her. The woman was self-centred and weird. The trouble was, she was also very attractive. There was no denying that. But surely Alex had got the message? No, he wouldn’t be there. He was supposed to be collecting the children and he would never forget that. He was just a bit vague sometimes. She smiled to herself fondly, as so often torn between her envy of the way he had adapted to the necessity of living at home after his career collapsed, her frustration that he seemed content to live life now at so much slower a pace and her incipient jealousy about what he might be up to while she was not there to keep an eye on him.

  She only hoped that whatever he was doing, he had remembered to collect the car from the garage that afternoon so that tomorrow they would be back to their usual routine; she hated being dependent on anyone else because this was exactly the sort of thing that could happen. There was nothing for it. She would have to start walking. There was no way she was going to hang around at the station for hours and she was not about to waste money on a taxi.

  Slinging her briefcase over her shoulder, she headed down through Lawford, walking slowly along the road past the industrial estate. There were dozens of other people pouring off the train and out of the station too, but slowly they passed her until she was alone, walking more and more slowly, hoping at every step that her mobile would ring or s
he would see Alex’s car heading towards her down the road. She couldn’t walk all the way to Bradfield. The best she could do was to head into Manningtree itself and wait at the pub until he made contact.

  As the road went under the railway arch she stopped, her arms aching from the weight of the briefcase and her feet sore from her town heels, and fished out her mobile again. There was still no reply, and there didn’t seem much point in leaving a message.

  ‘Damn!’ Where was he? How did he think she was going to get back without a lift? She glanced at her watch and realised suddenly that he was probably not back from fetching the kids from Lyndsey’s. Wearily, she hefted her case up again.

  It was only minutes later that the streetlights went out.

  Paula stopped and stared round her, shocked and disorientated. Not just the streetlights, but every light had vanished. The houses behind the hedges on the far side of the road, the factories on the industrial estate which ran alongside the river on her left. Everywhere. The sudden total darkness was unnerving and with it came silence. The mist was drifting across the road in front of her, bringing the cold salt smell of the mudflats. She shuddered. This autumn seemed to have been particularly foggy and she hated it. She listened. It was coincidence, surely, that there were no cars on the road which only moments before had been quite busy. That there were no footsteps on the pavement. It was as though suddenly she was the only person in the world. Strangely frightened, she took a tentative step or two forward. She had lost her bearings totally. Panic swept over her. She clutched her briefcase to her chest, turning round and round.

  Then to her enormous relief she saw lights in the distance. The car headlights drew closer, slicing through the mist, and she could see the road again, see where she was, the pavement, the trees in the arc of light. The car slowed beside her. A window lowered.

  ‘Mrs West? I thought it was you. Do you want a lift?’

  Paula couldn’t see the face. Didn’t recognise the voice.

  ‘I’m Judith Sadler. I teach at the local school. Do you remember, we met last Christmas?’ The door nearest her opened invitingly.

  Paula sighed audibly with relief. ‘What’s happened to the lights?’ she asked as she climbed in and reached for the seatbelt, her briefcase leaning against her knees.

  ‘Power cut. I heard it on the radio. It covers miles, apparently.’ Judith drew away from the kerb. ‘Has your car broken down?’

  Leaning her head back against the headrest with another sigh, Paula explained.

  Judith raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not come back to my place? You can wait there in comfort until your husband collects you.’

  ‘Could I really?’ Paula was grateful, still unnerved by the sudden total darkness; the unexpected fear.

  Judith had a large torch on the hall table just inside the door. With the help of its beam she located a box of white candles under the sink, and the kettle which she set on the gas. ‘There. That’s better.’ The house was warm, the candlelight comforting. Paula watched as the other woman made the tea, suppressing the unworthy thought that she would have vastly preferred a large gin and tonic.

  ‘You are lucky having a husband who is prepared to look after your children.’ Judith counted four Rich Tea biscuits from a packet and put them on a plate.

  ‘He’s a saint,’ Paula agreed with more sincerity than she had intended.

  ‘Does he collect them from school every day?’

  Paula helped herself to a biscuit. ‘No, we have a horrendously complicated system of school runs. Most of the time it works. Today, for instance, the mother of one of James’s friends takes them back to her house in Mistley. Lyn collects them on foot and takes them back to her cottage, then Alex collects them from there at six.’

  ‘Lyn?’ Judith paused as she was pouring out the tea. Her face in the candlelight was deeply shadowed.

  ‘Lyndsey Clark. She does quite a bit of child-minding for us.’

  ‘I see.’ Setting down the pot, Judith put the two cups and the plate of biscuits on the tray. ‘Perhaps we should go through and sit in the lounge. It would be more comfortable.’ She added the candlestick to the tray. The flickering light illuminated the plate, which now had only three biscuits. Judith stared at it, frowned, and put the tray back down. Fetching the packet she took out another biscuit, carefully added it to the plate and picked up the tray again. Paula was mortified.

  They sat down in the lounge, Paula on the sofa, Judith on the chair opposite, the candlelight for all its softening shadows showing up the formality of the room and its cold lack of comfort. Paula perched on the edge of the seat, already regretting that she had agreed to come. She looked around for her briefcase and realised she had left it in the hall. ‘Perhaps I should just try Alex again. My mobile is in my case …’

  ‘In a minute.’ Judith’s voice was peremptory. ‘First, I feel I have to say something.’ She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She was frowning. Paula raised an eyebrow as she leaned back in the sofa and waited.

  Her hostess pursed her lips solemnly. ‘You must understand, I wouldn’t say this unless I was truly worried. I would never interfere in anyone’s business normally.’

  Paula stared at her suspiciously. What on earth was the woman getting at? She waited, her eyes fixed on Judith’s face.

  It came out at last. ‘Do you realise what Lyndsey Clark is?’ Judith paused.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘She is a witch!’ Judith gave an ostentatious shiver.

  ‘Oh, I know she likes to think she is a – what do they call it? A Wiccan.’ Paula laughed. ‘It’s nothing. Fairy tales. She’s playing silly games to shock people. It’s not real.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs West, you’re so wrong!’ Judith was indignant. ‘My dear, please don’t be fooled! The girl is very persuasive. She is very plausible, but the fact remains that the person you are entrusting your children to, worships the Devil. She is involved in the satanic. Have you not heard about satanic ritual?’

  Paula went white. For a moment she could not speak. ‘You are surely not suggesting that Lyn is involved in that sort of thing?’ She was aghast. ‘With men?’

  Judith shrugged. ‘They are all involved in the most unspeakable things.’ She shook her head. ‘I knew you hadn’t realised. I just knew it! Your husband is such a sweet man, it would never occur to him to question her. Even the rector thought she was fairly harmless. I soon put him right on that score. If I had my way people like that should not be allowed to live in decent society. I didn’t realise she was looking after your children; had I known that, I would have spoken to you before! After all, I’m the person nominated by the PCC to check up on people who work with children in our parish.’ She gave another shudder. ‘This is the way it starts – the way they always work. At first they seem completely innocuous and gain people’s confidence. Then they move in on the children.’

  Slowly Paula shook her head. ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying. She’s always so sweet with the children. They adore her.’

  ‘Of course. She has to gain their trust.’

  ‘No. No, I can’t believe it!’

  ‘Listen.’ Judith edged further forward on her chair. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, because the rector spoke to me in confidence, but now he has realised what is going on, he is very worried about it. About the whole area, not just Lyndsey. She is part of something far bigger. He asked me to pray about it.’

  Paula studied her face. She did not like this woman at all, she realised suddenly. She was a smug, sanctimonious cow. But was she right?

  ‘God will show us the way to get her out of the community,’ Judith went on. She leaned back and folded her arms. ‘And she’ll soon start to get the message if no one will employ her. She did housework for old Ollie Dent. I’ve had a word with him and she won’t be going up there any more. If you sack her too that will be a start.’

  Paula reached absent-mindedly for her forgotten teacup. ‘It seems awfully hard.’

  �
��But necessary. After all, if she begins to see the error of her ways there may yet be hope to save her soul.’

  The tea was cold. Paula made a face and put it down. ‘Are you sure about all this?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Judith stood up. ‘Are you prepared to take risks with your children?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then how can you hesitate?’

  Paula stood up, too. ‘I’ll talk to Alex. Tonight. In fact I must ring him or he will be wondering where I am.’ She turned towards the hall. Behind her Judith smiled. She was doing God’s work. He would be pleased with her.

  63

  As long as he kept busy, it was all right. Mike had had wall to wall appointments all day, finishing up with tea in an old people’s home. It was getting dark when at last he made his farewells, gently unclasped a frail blue-veined hand from his own and made his way out to the car. Sitting in the car park, staring out of the windscreen, it was several minutes before he reached for the keys in the ignition. During those minutes he had been fighting the longing to turn his back on Manningtree and drive across the Stour into Suffolk, to Tony and Ruth’s. It had been hovering all day, the thing at the back of his mind. It was like a great black bird, a shadow at the edge of his vision waiting to pounce. His head was heavy; he felt as though he were jet lagged; all he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep and yet he was afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. Especially afraid of his dreams. Taking a deep breath, he fired the engine and let in the clutch. The car slid out of the narrow parking space, hesitated at the entrance gate and resolutely – reluctantly – turned back towards Manningtree.