The Tintagel Secret

by Sarah Till

  I stiffen and face him.

  'You mean the murders?'

  He nods and pulls on his roll up.

  'Yep. Those. Bad. Very bad. Who would do that to those lovely women?' My skin prickles and I turn away to him a little bit too quickly and he grabs my arm. 'So what do you know about it?'

  'I don’t know anything about them. I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I, Jer? But I do know I’m in danger. It started ages ago. I kept getting notes, at first they were just asking for and 'item' but then they got more menacing. I thought it was Julia for a while, but then I realised that they were real, that I had something they wanted. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then I worked it all out.'

  So here we were. At the end of his little quest. This is the bit of the story where he gets what he wants. The endgame. His eyes narrow.

  'What? What do you have, Lizzie? Where is it?'

  I weigh it up now, do I tell him or not. I might as well, as he already knows. He’s already almost certain I have it.

  'I've got the Holy Grail.'

  He starts to laugh loudly, then breaks into a desperate hacking cough.

  'Fucking hell, Elizabeth, all this has really sent you doolally hasn't it. The Holy Grail. Great. What about the tooth fairy and Dumbo? Are they just over there too? So show it to me then, this Holy Grail. Where is it?'

  I smile a little now, glad he's at least playing the game. I laugh and join in.

  'I know it isn't the real Holy Grail, but my Mum found it on the beach at Cadbury Castle, buried, and my Dad believes it is the Grail. All my family have gone mad because of it, now it's burning me up with guilt. Whether it’s the grail or not, someone's after me. And it.'

  He taps his temples, thinking deeply.

  'So, if you think it's this whoever's killing them women is after, why didn't you tell the police? So they do know about the notes, do they? Have you spoken to them?’

  Lovely. He thinks I think he’s the killer. Outstanding. I shake my head.

  'No. I couldn't tell them 'because they would try to find my family and Andrew and then they'd all see how I was living. I'd buried the Grail with Emma, my baby, and it wasn't until I blurted it out and they dug up the grave I managed to get it. I managed to hide it up my sleeve.'

  'So did they find it?'

  I shake my head.

  'No. I've still got it.'

  He stares at me for a long time.

  'So they dig up your dead baby's grave but all you're worried about is something you don't think is precious. Then you keep it and hide it. Hmm. Doesn't add up, Elizabeth. I think you're a bit in love with that Grail yourself, on the quiet. So if you don't think it's real, why have you kept it? Why not hand it over?'

  Yes, Jer. Why don’t I hand it over to you, eh? Why don’t I?

  'No. No, that's not it. It's because of my family. Because I want to keep something that every one of them had held. I want to be one of them again. You know, be part of it.' I stare at him, and he stares at me. It’s stalemate. ‘So why are you so interested anyway? What’s it to you?’

  He scratches his head. I know it’s a turning point, he could just tell the truth now and get it over with, but he doesn’t.

  'Me? No. Nothing. People just don’t understand what’s important to me. The thing is, Elizabeth, when we become like us, we sacrifice the people who don't understand. We're on the last line of our defence, after this there's nothing. We're underneath the system, it's irredeemable. Something has happened in our lives that has flicked a button in our minds, catapulted us into survival mode, desperate. Not by our own choice, but by a need for shelter, food and rest. We do what we have to do. You have to understand that.'

  He flicks his dog end into the fire and I think of Celia, and how the curve of her life had sent her into a place where she was no longer accepted. Is that what had just happened to me? All this time I have been living in Tintagel, had it been redeemable? Had my confession sealed my fate as a bag lady forever? But I do understand what he wants. I just want him to say it. Jer coughs harshly and turns away to wipe his mouth.

  'A button in our minds? So you think we're mentally ill, or something? I don't feel mentally ill. I don't even feel particularly depressed, which was what the psychologist said I was.'

  He laughs.

  'No, no, no. Not mentally ill. Although that'll be a convenient excuse them who want to put you away, out of sight, will say. Believe me, they've tried to tell me I'm depressed, paranoid, even schizophrenic. I'm just waiting for senile now. All of those merit a nice little bed-sit, with a pass-card entry system so they can keep an eye on me. So I'm not sleeping outside or running a Harley whilst I'm eating beans straight out of the can in a lay-by. Not looking after myself, I think they called it. Heh.'

  He’s off the subject now, and it’s back to business as usual. Clever. He’s avoided the issue. I finally cut through the small talk and summon up the courage to ask him.

  'So how are you? Where have you been? You don't seem yourself.'

  He laughs again, this time longer and harder, with a deep cough at the end of it.

  'So I see, when I bother to look. But who cares?'

  I stare at the grains of sand on the floor of the cave. I draw a heart with an arrow through it with a stick, and then rub it out with my foot. Who cares? Who really cares? It's a good question for people like us. I tug his leather jacket, and he momentarily pulls away, then leans back into me.

  'I care. Jer. Me. I care. Despite everything.'

  His face is orange, lit by the flame's reflection, and he looks very old.

  'Yeah. I know that, Elizabeth, and that's what I mean. I know you care, but you shouldn't. I'm a bastard. I'm bad for women.'

  'Don't say that. You've been good to me.'

  He snorts.

  'Have I? I only come back here once in a while, expecting you to drop everything and be here with me.'

  I laugh now.

  'Yes, I have to drop my busy social life with all the shopping and parties.'

  He's shaking his head.

  'OK. So it's not that. It's not the being here that makes me a bastard. I keep coming back, and that's good, we have good times, fun, laughter, the feel of another skin. It's the leaving. That's what it is. I've seen you standing in the road, waving at me, the saddest eyes I've ever seen. But I still go, and I could stay, you know. There's nothing stopping me staying. You've fallen in love with a bastard.'

  I sigh heavily. So that’s his plan, is it? To flatter me into submission.

  'Love? Who says I'm in love? Isn't that just a luxury reserved for people who don't have to rummage through bins or wear fourth hand clothes? Those who have a proper roof over their head? Oh, I'll have my tea, sleep, be warm and then I can think about loving someone. Don't flatter yourself, Jer. Love was the last thing on my mind.'

  I check, out of the corner of my eye, that he doesn't look hurt, and he doesn't. He knows the script. He’s probably rehearsed this moment in his head many times. His head is bobbing up and down in a perpetual nod, and he pokes the fire with a stick.

  'So why are you here now, then? What is it if it isn't love? What's the moon face about? And where's your fucking hair?'

  I burst out laughing.

  'I'm here because you're my friend. Or at least I thought you were. We're not lovers, Jer. Are we?'

  'It depends what you mean by love, doesn't it? I would say that we were. You're the only person I can rely on, the only person I know will be here when I come back. Call it love, or an anchor, or a grounding or caring for someone, but here we are. Again. I don't know Lizzie. Is it all about sex? If I suddenly jump on top of you now and we have sex, does that mean we're in love?' He throws the stick in the fire and we watch the flames temporarily rise. 'Not that I've got the energy.'

  He hasn't got the energy. His movements are slow and laboured, and it's an effort to raise his hand up to his mouth. I'm embarrassed by the silence that means I have to look at him, so I speak.

 
; 'So you're not bothered that I'm a criminal, then? I've got a caution. I might even be charged with murder.'

  He smiles.

  'I'll raise you a GBH. fraud and an affray for your caution and possible murder which, by the way, could only ever be manslaughter, and you would be tried as if you were a child. If it ever got to court. But I can tell you, Elizabeth, it's a good I didn't know about this brother of yours before, or he'd be a dead man. I know a few Angel's who'd like to send him to heaven.'

  'Well the police are handling it now. I don't suppose I'll hear anything for a bit, so let’s not worry about it. Where have you been, then? And have you seen a doctor?'

  As if on cue, he coughs again.

  'That's two questions. You're only allowed one. I'll take your first questions. I've been back home to the Midlands, seen some old mates, a couple of ex-girlfriends, just to check I had no bambinos. I've been to my mother's grave, and my grandmothers.' He coughs again, his breath Short. 'Funny things them graveyards. They mess with your head. I stood in front of her grave, where she's buried next to my grandmother and her sisters, and I could swear I could hear her singing. Jerusalem. Made me all sleepy, it did, like I was a child. Made me feel like I was in front of a big hearth, huge, with wet washing steaming, and the smell of stew in a pot. Like a child at bedtime. And then I knew what I had to do. Do you think she told me, Elizabeth?'

  'I don't know. I'm not the biggest family person, as you know. But yes, she could have done. Wherever she is. Yes, she could have.'

  He's sitting up straight now and turning to me.

  'She told me to come here to you. To Tintagel. Home. To where my heart is, where I can sit and talk to someone, be with someone. To sleep. Because I need a rest. I can't carry on like this. I've been so tired, and I've been sleeping on people's sofa's and in spare bedrooms. But it didn't feel right.'

  I snigger.

  'So you chose to come here, to me, probably the only person you know without a home? Or have I got something else you want?'

  'It's not the home, Elizabeth, it's the heart.'

  I think about the other thing I buried with Emma, my heart, and how it had been here at Tintagel all the time. Jer's talking about love has shocked me, because I've thought about it a lot, and I've always told myself that I've never been in love. I thought it was because I was different, unemotional, strange, ethereal; I thought that was why I had never had the shop-bought heart, Valentine’s day version of love. The closest I had ever come was with Stan at the beginning, but that was escape, not love. Totally different. My latest theory about why love has eluded me was that I lost the ability when I committed the terrible act on the headland, and the Top Secret information I held was blocking my ability to love.

  Now, I realise I had loved all along. I had loved so much that I had given up my life to be in Tintagel, to be near the idea of a daughter who had, years ago, become one with the dirt and the sand. I'd loved so much that I had carried on pining for a son who had other priorities, building a totem to him in my heart, and finally testing the strength of it and expecting it to be returned. Stan, it goes without saying, never surpassed fondness. So, I realise now, as I sit in a cave with Jer, that I have certainly loved; the problem is that until now, I haven't been loved back. It's never been returned. Until, possibly, now.

  I take his hand and he feels cold. We huddle closer to the fire, and my head rests on his shoulder. He's humming a tune, something familiar and we sway from side to side, the warm glow making us sleepy. We've been sitting here for hours, it's early evening now, and the sun glints off Daisy's chrome fittings. She's loaded with a large backpack and two side carriers and she leans dangerously to one side. Jer seems unconcerned, he's squeezing my hand and wheezing a little. Suddenly he jumps up, and it looks for a moment like it's taken all his energy. The he pulls me to my feet.

  'One thing I've never done is slow danced outside. On a beach. I've seen loads of people do it, and envied them, that closeness, bodies fitting together. But no one ever asked me. And I never asked them. Funny what you think of isn't it?'

  I kick off my shoes, his boots are off too, and we run down to the water's edge. We find a sandy stretch amongst the rocks, and he takes my hand, twirls me and holds me around my waist. My head rests on his chest, and I hear a low humming. It's Something Stupid, and I join in, my pitch a little higher. We dance in the water, the sun first on our backs then on our fronts, and I can feel his hot breath on my hair. I've suddenly forgotten about all my problems, and I'm listening to Jer's heartbeat, a tiny echo in his hollow sounding chest.

  It's a first time for me as well. No one ever took the time to really court me, or to carry on with something that was personal to just the two of us. Stan would never have dreamt of dancing – that would mean spontaneity. He wasn't big on gestures. We'd danced once at his company dinner dance, erect and far apart, we'd attempted a waltz. It was adequate, and we made no mistakes with our feet. The steps were in perfect line and our arms are the correct angles, two individual dolls forced together in a pose. Jer and I, on the other hand, melded together, sunk into each other, and I wondered why I hadn't chased him when he had ridden off last year, or the year before. I'd always feared that I was one of dozens of women chasing him down streets all over the country, perhaps even further afield. His Hell's Angel ways would naturally attract women, and maybe he had an Elizabeth in every town? Or several in this town?

  I couldn't ask him because that would be more than one question. And anyway, it didn't matter right now. Unlikely though it seemed, a bag lady and a worn-out biker were currently silhouetted in the setting sun, a space normally reserved for those who were betrothed or at least beloved. Jer moves his head a little and rests his lips on my bare neck. A little thrill runs through me, and he squeezes my hand.

  'You know I'm home for good, don't you? I won't be leaving again. I'll be staying here now.'

  My arms tighten around him, and we dance in the water for a little bit longer. He's stroking my hair as I hum softly into his chest, and the world tips over into night. I hear the problem before I see it, bubbling and churning before Jer's body convulses into a deep retch. He lets me go and runs out of the water, and stands doubled over, hands on knees. I stand beside him, my and on his back, and feel the strength of his pain. When he stands up again, he has blood on his hands and there is a faint blue line around his mouth. He rinses his hands in the sea as I look on, horrified, at the line of red liquid that seeps from the corner of his mouth.

  We're back in the cave now, and he's sheepish. I'm no doctor, but I can see this is serious.

  'Come on, Jer, we can't stay here tonight. We have to go to my place.'

  He shakes his head.

  'No. I want to stay here. With you.'

  'And I say no. You need to be inside. You need to be warm. And in the morning you need to see a doctor. How long have you been like this? How long?'

  He coughs again, as if to prove me right, and pulls his boots on. His eyes meet mine and for once he is serious.

  'That's more than one question, Elizabeth. More than one question.'

  CHAPTER 26

  We struggle up the steps from the beach, Jer riding Daisy as I drag Macy. He would normally push her along, but he doesn't look as if he has the strength. It's almost as if we are marching towards somewhere, his feet purposefully placed one in front of the other, onwards. Macy clatters along beside Daisy, and we reach the end of the lane.

  'So it's up there is it? Are you going to show me it?'

  I turn to look at him. Beads of sweat drip from the end of his nose, and he's looking at the steep incline. He's got a weird look in his eye and I know that, like everyone else, he's here to see the Grail. But I want him for myself, and I’m going to get him. I’m willing to play along. We’ll both have what we want by the morning.

  'What?'

  'This house. Coombes Cottage. It said in the paper that's where you live.'

  I sit on a wall and smile.

  'Mmm. I do li
ve there. And it is at Coombes Cottage. But it's not what you think, Jer.'

  He wipes his face on his leather jacket.

  'No. I didn't think it would be, to be honest. I couldn't picture you sitting in front of a log fire, on a fancy sofa. And even if you were, then...'

  'Why am I so scruffy? Is that what you mean?'

  He laughs loudly now.

  'No. Not really. I already know why you're like you are, Elizabeth. Like I said before, they say we have something missing, people like us. Something missing up here.' He points to his forehead and pulls a face. 'But I think we've got something extra, a survival instinct. Something that helps us carry on against all the odds.'

  'Well, that's as maybe, but we haven't got a choice have we? We keep waking up and going to sleep and waking up, what choice have we got?'

  He turns Daisy's key and rides her slowly up the hill, me trailing behind with Macy. The hedgerows are full and green and in some parts we have to walk single file. Not much traffic gets up here anymore, just nearby farmers wanting access to fields. It's quiet except for the loud birdsong, calling us home. Eventually we reach the house, white and imposing in front of us. There's another note pinned to the door and I snatch it away before Jer sees it and shove it in my pocket. I open the door and Jer parks up Daisy, ready to follow.

  'Oh, no. We can't come in here. I'll open the side gate.'

  He stares at me.

  'Why, Elizabeth. What's wrong? What's in there?'

  He pushes the door open and the light seeps through the dust. A pigeon makes a dash for it and he ducks out of the way.

  'Bloody hell. What happened?'

  I try to remember, the details a fuzzy as the air, full of glistening particles and vague emptiness. How can I tell him what Andrew did, and how I let him, how I was so stupid not to realise? How, because I was desperate for all the love I had given out to be returned, I had let him trample me and take everything?

  'I had a leak, and I had no money to get it fixed.'

  We walk through the house, Jer's face a picture of wonder as he makes footprints in the dust beside my well-trodden marks. He only gives himself away when he ducks before he turns into a corner with a low beam. I open the back door and the scent of flowers hits us both at the same time. His face is lit by the dusk and he smiles.