‘Look, I’m busy.’ Sighing, Lyndsey walked over to the front door and stood beside it. ‘I would like you to leave.’
‘Sure, I’m going.’ Alice didn’t move. She smiled in the most beguiling way she knew. ‘I’d really like to know. Mark thinks you can help us a lot. We really need someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘That I can well believe.’ Lyndsey was still unimpressed.
‘We’re setting up an overnight shot in the shop. Time-lapse cameras and stuff. Everyone is pretty sure that the ghost will appear. Mark is trying to get the rector to come. He’s threatening to exorcise the place, but we’re not going to let him before we’ve done the shoot. Then we want to film the exorcism to see what happens. It would be really cool to get you on the film too. A spokesperson for the dark side!’ Her eyes were shining.
‘I do not represent the dark side.’ Lyndsey was losing patience fast.
‘Then you’re a white witch?’
‘Look, Alice – ’
‘Please, tell me. I want to know.’ Alice leaned forward and picked up the chunk of rose quartz sitting on the small table beside the sofa. ‘Do you use this in your spells?’
‘No, I don’t. I make models of people and stick pins into them!’ Lyndsey regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I was joking. It’s just, I’m really busy right now.’ Upstairs on the table by the window a delicate watercolour of autumn honeysuckle and spindle berries was drying on the thick creamy paper even as she spoke. ‘Look, you have to tell your director or producer or whatever he is, that he mustn’t go on with this film. He is playing with fire, do you understand?’
‘You must come and tell him yourself. He won’t listen to me.’ Alice paused. Then she put her head a little to one side as a thought struck her. ‘You do know we’ve filmed the ghost, don’t you?’
Lyndsey stared at her. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Filmed it?’
Alice nodded. ‘Really. A face in the shadows on the staircase. They’ll show it to you if you come down to the shop.’ She could swear Lyndsey had gone pale. For the first time she seemed uncertain. She was staring at Alice, but Alice had the feeling she wasn’t actually seeing her.
Alice wondered suddenly if she should have said anything. Mark would be furious if she had jumped the gun in some way. ‘Look, you’d better not talk about this to anyone. I’m not supposed to have told you.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Lyndsey looked grim.
‘So, will you come? To the shop.’
Lyndsey hesitated.
‘It’s really cool. We’re filming on Halloween. That’s dodgy, isn’t it?’ Alice looked pathetically eager.
‘Yes, it’s dodgy.’ Lyndsey sighed. ‘I suppose he chose the date deliberately?’
‘Of course.’ Alice gave an evil smile. ‘What better?’
‘What better indeed!’
‘So, will you come?’
‘I’ll have to think about it. I might come down and speak to him later.’
‘Great!’ Alice stood up. ‘It’s going to be a fantastic programme. He wants to put you up against the reverend.’
Lyndsey frowned. ‘I’m not being put up against anyone.’
Hastily retracting, Alice shrugged. ‘Not literally. He doesn’t expect you both to fight or anything. He just wants both points of view. I’ll tell him you’ll be there later, yeah?’
Lyndsey was staring into space.
‘That OK?’ Alice repeated.
A shadow had appeared in the doorway and Alice shrank back.
‘You at home, Lyndsey?’ Bill Standing stepped into the room.
Lyndsey glanced at him, then back at Alice. ‘Are you still here?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m on my way.’ Alice gazed with interest at the newcomer. He was in his eighties, she guessed. Stooped, with a weather-beaten face and wild, wispy white hair. Brilliant. A warlock! He had shrewd, pale-blue eyes which scrutinised her briefly and without recognition as she stepped past him.
‘Later, then?’ she repeated defiantly over her shoulder, and she stepped out into the daylight.
72
‘There’s things you and me need to talk about, girl.’ Bill waited until Alice was out of sight before turning to Lyndsey. He gave her a long slow look as though confirming something in his own mind. ‘It’s ’bout St Mary’s and what you’ve been doing up there. You’ve been messing about with things, girl. If you’re going to join in this battle you’ve got to do it properly, see?’
Lyndsey went to the front door and closed it, then she turned back to face him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You knows as well as I do. That witchy stuff of yours.’
Lyndsey glared at him. ‘I doubt if it’s your business.’
‘It’s my business all right. You’ve been trying to keep Hopkins in his bed, right?’
Lyndsey surveyed him silently.
‘Well, you’re going about it all wrong,’ he went on. ‘You are just going to antagonise him. You’re not strong enough to do this on your own, girl.’
‘Of course I’m strong enough. Wicca is immensely powerful!’
‘Wicca?’ He snorted with disgust. ‘That’s American, right?’
She scowled at him. ‘Wicca has ancient roots in this country. It’s nothing to do with America.’ She folded her arms. ‘If they practise it, it’s because they’ve learned it from us. It’s the one religion this country has given to the rest of the world!’
‘It still doesn’t make you strong enough to cope with this on your own, girl.’
‘So, you’re offering help?’
‘ ’Course I am. And you needs my help fast. It’s Hollantide come Sunday.’
Lyndsey raised an eyebrow. ‘Hollantide?’
‘Halloween. November Eve. All Saints. All Souls. He’ll be stirring then, and others with him.’
‘I know that!’ She looked cross.
‘Well, all your fancy spells and such are not going to tie down anyone as wants to walk. You need the old ways. The real old ways!’ He narrowed his eyes.
‘And you can tell me?’ Suddenly she was watchful.
‘If I’ve a mind. There’s things should be done.’
‘Why don’t you do them, then?’
‘I’m doing them. I went out yesterday and burnt simson round the village. You know what that is? That’s what they call groundsel. That fumigates the place against evil. I sent the smoke all over. And I’ve spoken to the rector.’
‘The rector?’ Lyndsey was disgusted. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘Everything, and don’t you forget it, girl. We got to work together on this.’
‘Oh, no.’ She folded her arms. ‘I don’t think so! Besides, I’m perfectly strong enough. I know exactly what I’m doing!’
‘I don’t think you do. A little bit of humility from you wouldn’t go amiss, girl. None of us can do this on our own. Can’t you see how much danger there is out there?’ He waved his arm behind him. ‘That mist, it just hangs there, waiting, like a black curtain. It’s got such strength in it; such evil!’ He shivered and pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I can show you some stuff, same as I’m showing the rector. Stuff as will hold it and bring the light back.’
Lyndsey scowled. ‘I told you, I don’t need help. You do your thing and I’ll do mine. Besides, this is a women’s thing. Hopkins has to be dealt with by women.’
Bill gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘This isn’t just about Hopkins, girl! It goes far deeper than that. If we don’t go to the root, we’ll never get rid of it. Never. You can’t just dance about up at that churchyard going all iddy biddy “women’s things” ’bout it. Listen to me, girl!’
‘No! Listen to me! I want you to go. Now!’ Lyndsey’s face had darkened. ‘How dare you! This is my business. This is Liza’s business.’
‘You needs the Ward, girl. We’ve got to reawaken the Ward.’
‘I need no one! I can deal with this in my own way. And I will.’ Reaching pas
t him she dragged open the door. Outside, tendrils of mist drifted up the quay. ‘I’d like you to leave.’
Bill shook his head. ‘Do you know what the Ward is?’
‘No. And I don’t want to.’
‘See, you know nothing. Like I said, I reckon they iddy biddy spells of yours are all American. They don’t have anything to do with real life in a real place like this, or maybe you need to learn to do them properly. Look,’ he was getting impatient. ‘You need me, girl, as much as I need you. You, me and the rector. We’re the only ones as knows what’s going on here.’
‘Don’t mention him in the same breath as me!’ Lyndsey’s face was growing red. ‘I don’t need him. And I don’t need you. Now go!’
‘Lyndsey, girl – ’
‘Go!’ she screamed at him suddenly. ‘Get out! I don’t want to hear any more. I know what I’m doing.’ She pushed him so violently, he staggered backwards.
In a moment he was outside. As she banged the door behind him he found himself staring across the river. The Suffolk shore was out of sight now, veiled in dark, soft fog.
73
Police Constable John Furness was finally going off duty. With a deep sigh of exhaustion he stepped out of the police station and stood looking up and down the road. A clammy white mist was drifting up from the river, dark against the trees in the garden opposite. He shivered. It had been one hell of a day. What was happening to the world? To this town? This was a nice place. Usually. So why was it suddenly so full of violence? What had made that woman, today, start hitting her child in the Co-op? Screaming and screaming, she had behaved as though she were possessed by some evil demon. And the old boy up near the sailing club. Why had he decided to pick up an axe, walk solemnly down the middle of the road and sink it into one of the boats drawn up on the beach? When John Furness had arrested him, axe still in his hand, the bloke had stared at the axe as though he had never seen it before. Then he had laughed. Laughed! ‘You’re not going to believe this, young man,’ he had said. ‘It was the voices. The voices in the mist. They told me to do it.’
They’d called Dr Good to that one. The old boy was carted off to the funny farm, crying, asking for his axe back, saying he had to finish the job.
Walking over to his car, John Furness glanced up. The mist was growing thicker. He could feel it soaking into his clothes, hear it dripping from the trees; he was breathing it in, icy, cold, smelling strongly of the sea.
Fumbling in his pocket for the car key he pulled it out and aimed it at the lock. His hands were cold and he dropped it into a pile of wet leaves and suddenly the rage was upon him, too. Swearing and shouting, he kicked the car, then he kicked the leaves. The key flew towards the fence, but he didn’t see it. Already the red veil had descended over his eyes and all he could see was the fog and the blood and all he could hear was the rush of the sea in his ears.
74
The old herb beds were still there under the weeds. Emma stopped to rest her back, the fork thrust into the dark rich earth. Near her the robin watched from its perch on a lump of flint. She groaned softly. Her head was thumping. Two cups of coffee had done nothing to push away the effect of the sleeping pills and she felt drugged, ill and exhausted. She surveyed the ground in front of her. The herb garden had been laid out in two sections. This area consisted of six narrow parallel beds, presumably stock beds. She had found old leggy plants of hyssop and lavender, sage and rosemary and, almost throttled by the weeds, old springy cushions of threadbare thyme. Then there was the more ornamental, central garden which must until fairly recently have contained a wide variety of more unusual herbs. Some were still growing strongly and could be rescued from the sea of grass and weeds. Others had long ago been overwhelmed and would have to be replaced. There was a third area, a bit behind the rest of the garden, where she had found the most unusual herbs of all: monkshood, henbane, deadly nightshade, cinquefoil, hemlock. Witch’s herbs.
You want to cut those back hard. Liza would have.
The voice was tetchy, clearly irritated by her tentative efforts.
Emma shook her head. She glanced round. There was no one there. ‘Go away!’ She knew she was going mad. She had to be.
The fork fell sideways into the mud and Emma jumped. She put her hand to her head.
We got better things to do than work in the garden.
The voice in Emma’s head was strong. Determined. Emma closed her eyes.
We know what we’ve got to do, don’t we, Em!
Emma put her muddy hands to her face. ‘Stop it!’
Oh, come on. You and I’ve got things to do. Someone to see.
‘No.’ Emma was shaking her head from side to side. The robin watched her curiously from bright eyes, ready to fly at any moment. There was no sign of the cats.
You know where we’ve got to go. What we’ve got to do!
It was the sleeping pills. They must have made her psychotic. She was having an episode. Her mouth was dry, her lips sore, her eyes red and gritty. Either the tablets or the lack of sleep was depriving her of her reason.
We know where he lives, don’t we, Em? The voice was confidential now. We can find him easily. He thought he had escaped. The voice was laughing quietly. But I told him I’d find him. And you’re going to help me!
Suddenly the robin took flight, crying its alarm. Emma looked up. Min had appeared between the hedges at the top of the garden. She sat down, watching Emma with great intensity. Behind her, in the dark shady places at the edge of the narrow strip of woodland, the scarlet berries of cuckoo pint stood out like lamps.
Emma shoved her hands into her pockets with a shiver, staring round. The garden was empty; the voice in her head had gone. To her dismay she found there were tears trickling down her cheeks. Suddenly remembering, she groped for the piece of card with the rector’s prayer. She couldn’t find it and realised in dismay that it was in her other jacket.
You’ve got friends, haven’t you? She remembered Piers’s words as she walked into the kitchen and kicked off her boots. Did she? Were they real friends or had she been here such a short time they didn’t count? Not when it came down to it. They had been kind, Mike and Alex, but that was just because they were nice people. Paula didn’t seem to like her at all. And Lyndsey? Was Lyndsey a friend? She wasn’t sure. Washing the mud off her hands, she sniffed and, tearing a piece of kitchen towel from the roll on the wall, blew her nose, trying to stop her tears. She stared at the white pot of sleeping pills on the worktop near the empty milk pan. Last night she had made herself the warm milky drink prescribed by the doctor, taken the pills and gone upstairs to bed. She had gone to sleep at once, but the dreams had returned with renewed force. Muddled. Violent. By three o’clock she was awake, befuddled by the drugs, wrapped in her dressing gown, sitting at the kitchen table with another mug of milk in front of her. At about half past four she had fallen asleep again where she sat, her head cradled in her arms, to be awoken as it grew light with Sarah’s insistent voice in her head.
Emma, get ready. We have to find him, Emma. The time is right. He’s here.
Emma sniffed. Picking up the saucepan, which had been standing on the side since the early hours, she put it into the sink and ran some water in on top of the skim of scorched milk.
Emma! The voice was peevish. Why won’t you listen to me, Emma?
‘Go away!’ Emma turned off the tap. She reached across to the radio sitting on the window sill next to the pots of herbs and moved it to the table, turning it on. A woman was talking, her voice carefully modulated, interested. An interviewer cut in with a question, the woman paused, rephrased her words, carried on. Emma didn’t have a clue what they were talking about.
Emma!
‘No!’ She took a deep breath and reached for the phone. A bland message greeted her, followed by a beep.
‘Alex? It’s Emma. I’m sorry to bother you –’ She broke off, trying to steady her voice. ‘Look, I wonder, if you’re there, if you could come over? Please. I need to talk t
o you.’ To someone. The tears threatened to take over and she hung up, embarrassed. Stupid. What would he think? If only Flora had rung back when she had asked her to come again and stay this time. But she had gone away on a course somewhere and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. And Piers. Piers hadn’t rung back either and she wasn’t going to ring him again. And it would be ages before her mother came home. Miserably, she wandered over and surveyed the view from the kitchen window. The sky was clouding over. Rags of windblown cloud were piling in from the west. The apple trees were whipping disconsolately around, leaves scattering amongst wasp-eaten windfalls. She didn’t want to go out again. But she had to go somewhere. Where Sarah would leave her alone.
Without giving herself time to think any more, she reached for her car keys and headed for the door.
Driving through the town, she noticed the door to Barker’s shop open. Two men were carrying something inside and she recognised one of them as Colin. She found a parking place and walked back. ‘Hi!’ Their van was parked with two wheels on the pavement and Joe was lifting out a betacam as she stopped beside him. ‘Hi!’ His grin was friendly. ‘Come for tea and cakes?’
She managed to laugh. ‘Is it that obvious? OK, you’ve twisted my arm, but only if you let me go and fetch them this time.’
‘You’re on. Mark’s upstairs.’
The scene upstairs was even more chaotic than usual. A mass of cables were being linked into a network covering every part of the room. Emma set down the food on top of a box containing cartons of soap powder. They were still working around the shop’s stock. ‘So, how are you all?’ She hoped she didn’t look too white and pathetic. She had seen Joe glancing at her surreptitiously as she put down the cardboard box she was using as a tray.
‘OK!’ Mark paused in his work and set down the clipboard he had been scrutinising. ‘You don’t happen to know where Mike Sinclair has gone, do you?’
Emma shrugged. ‘Isn’t he at the rectory?’
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