by Phil Rickman
Against Karl. Dennis behind him now – reluctantly, of course. Dennis was a nice guy. Karl Windling wasn’t. Karl wouldn’t give up. He’d come again to the cottage. And when Karl had finally exhausted his limited powers of persuasion, when he realized there was nothing else to be done, nothing to lose, nothing to gain, he would become destructive. His pride would demand it.
Lol walked on, becoming increasingly depressed. All this blossom, promising apples. The only harvest last year had been logs from dead and dying trees. Last winter, he and Alison had bought a trailer-load of apple logs from the Powells. On the wood-burner, with the doors open, it had perfumed the whole room. No logs like apple logs for perfume; if traditional Christmas cards were scented, this was how they’d smell.
Lol had wanted to make love with Alison on the rug beside the stove at Christmas, but it had never happened.
How she’d changed. How classy she looked in her dark-blue riding gear, very point-to-point. Classy, but not sexy. Too militaristic.
When he turned round, the cottage had vanished into a tangle of white-dusted trees. Soon, he’d reach the so-called Apple Tree Man, where he and Colette had found Jane. It would be today’s test to get that far on his own, to touch the Man’s scabby bark. And then he’d turn and go back.
Clouds had gathered and the sky was nearly white, with holes of wet sunlight and veins like cheese mould. The trees closer packed, their blossom exploding around him, like a flour bomb; whichever way he turned it was the same, and even though there was no breeze, the whiteness seemed to swirl. He felt disoriented, but he wouldn’t stop. A battle against himself. He moved on through the warm, windless snowstorm. When he looked up, the blossom and sky absorbed each other and floated down around him like a crinkling shroud; he didn’t like that, looked down at the ground.
Where he saw, God help him, the girl lying across the path. Apple blossom around her face, like lace.
17
Whiteout
‘OH, HI,’ COLETTE Cassidy said without enthusiasm. ‘You want to talk to my father?’
Merrily’s heart plunged. The girl shouldn’t be here. She should be somewhere – anywhere – forbidden. With Jane Watkins.
‘Because he’s out,’ Colette said.
She had a luscious, sulky mouth, which seemed to be all there was under heavy, mid-brown hair. She had in abundance what you could only call Attitude. Merrily saw in Colette a lot of things she’d never seen in Jane. Yet.
The girl leaned inside the doorway of Cassidy’s Country Kitchen, arms folded, long denim legs straight. It was a wide doorway, built into what had evidently been the bay of a barn. Colette hardly barred the way, but there was a certain type of customer her presence would deter. And probably another type it would attract.
‘Colette, where’s Jane?’
Colette shrugged. ‘I should know?’
‘I hoped you would, yeah.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ Colette said. ‘Sorry.’
Through the flower transfers on the high, glass doors, Merrily saw Caroline Cassidy scurrying across the delicatessen. Caroline spotted her and changed direction.
‘You’re sure?’ Merrily said.
‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Vicar,’ Colette gave her a Nutra-sweet smile as Caroline came out. Tipping a glance at her mother that said, At least, not like I lie to her.
‘Merrily!’ Caroline wore a kind of milkmaid dress with gingham sleeves; only true townies dressed like this. ‘We’ve been dying for you to come ...’
‘Hello, Caroline.’
‘... but I said to Terrence, for God’s sake don’t pressure the girl, she’s far too much on her plate to worry about our little festival.’
Throwing her all into a smile of sympathy and true compassion. Right now, it almost helped.
‘I was just asking your daughter if she’d seen Jane.’
Caroline’s face hardened. ‘Colette?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Colette levered herself upright. ‘I really haven’t, OK? I mean, like, what is this, for Christ’s sake? Just because we went out once and got a tiny bit pissed, everybody thinks we’re on some kind of permanent pub crawl. I saw Jane for a few minutes last night and I haven’t seen her since, OK?’
‘Colette, two coffees. Go.’ Caroline pushed her daughter through the doors, turned back to Merrily. ‘Is there a problem here? When did you last see her?’
‘This morning. When she left for school.’
‘Oh, yes, she goes to that ... comprehensive. Isn’t there a special bus?’
‘She wasn’t on it.’
Caroline shook her head with a jingle of earrings. ‘Teenage girls are so utterly thoughtless. She’s probably stayed behind to play tennis or something.’
‘You think so?’ For a moment, Merrily clutched at it. Caroline Cassidy was perhaps twelve years older, she had a very difficult daughter; this must have taught her something. She took Merrily by an arm.
‘Come and have that coffee. You’ve been very lucky with Jane if this is the first time she’s done this to you. Look, why don’t you ring the school from here? There’s always someone around these places for hours.’
‘No, it ...’ It came down on Merrily that, according to the cider-swigging youth, Jane hadn’t even taken the bus this morning. How long, she wondered despairingly, were you supposed to wait before you called the police?
Caroline Cassidy propelled her inside, sat her at one of three empty tables in the deli, went back to the door and turned over the laminated closed sign.
‘You know, teenagers, much more than children, have a problem moving to a new place.’
‘She’s done it several times,’ Merrily said. ‘OK, she was unhappy about it at first, but lately she’s been fine. More or less.’
‘Is there anyone she knows, locally, apart from Colette?’
‘Nobody ...’ She thought of this man, Lol. She’d been remiss; she ought to have checked him out. ‘Nobody special. Look, I’m sorry, I’m probably worrying about nothing, but didn’t a girl go missing from Kingsland or somewhere a few months ago: Petra ...?’
‘Good, I think. Petra Good. But that was back in the winter. Look, Merrily—’
‘And they haven’t found her, have they?’
‘My dear, you won’t find many parts of the country where there isn’t a girl missing. That doesn’t mean— Colette, isn’t that coffee ready yet?’
Merrily said, ‘Do you know Lol Robinson?’
Caroline sniffed. ‘Works for her, sometimes. Miss Devenish. Odd little man. Alison Kinnersley, James Bull-Davies’s ... partner ... she used to live with Robinson. They bought the Timlins’ cottage in Blackberry Lane – old couple, he died, she went into a home. Hadn’t been there more than a few months and Alison’d taken up with James. One suspects there could be a drug problem.’
‘What?’ Merrily’s fingers tightened on the seat of the rustic, wooden chair.
Caroline’s look was penetrating. ‘Jane knows him?’
‘She had one of his records, that’s all.’
‘Aw, look ...’ Colette dumped two coffees, with cartons of cream. ‘He’s harmless. He’s just screwed up is all’
Her mother looked up sharply.
‘Look,’ Colette said, ‘we’ve all been round there. At first, you think like, wow, a rock musician, and you’re expecting him to have his own studio and cool people around, but he’s like ... like he could be a bank clerk or something. One old guitar. Anyway, he’s all messed up over Alison. He won’t stay around here. Or, if he does, he’ll like OD or something.’
‘I have to go.’
Merrily stood up. She was thinking of that album. The track called ‘Song for Nick’. Jane asking her, as they lay in their sleeping bags, You ever know anybody who committed suicide?
‘You’ve been very kind. But what if she’s come back to the vicarage or the inn? I’m sorry—’
‘Drink your coffee, Merrily, please. Colette, go to the vicarage, go to the Black Swan, ask around and be discre
et.’
Colette went without a word and Caroline gently pressed Merrily back into her chair, sat down opposite her.
‘I can assure you she’ll leave no stone unturned. My daughter is being ultra cooperative – at least until after the party.’
‘Sorry. Party?’
‘Didn’t Jane tell you? She’s certainly invited.’
‘Well, I—’ There was obviously a whole lot Jane hadn’t told her. Merrily drank some coffee, although she was starting to feel sick. ‘She probably mentioned it and I forgot. Things have been ... you know.’
Caroline slid a hand over Merrily’s, squeezed it. ‘You’re taking on too much. You really ought to let us help. Alfred delegated. He’d learned, you see. No, the party ... Oh dear, it’s her sixteenth. People say we must be absolutely mad to let her have it in the restaurant. But what I say is, better our own premises here in the village than some awful disco-club in Hereford. We’ve promised to go out, but Barry will be in charge. Our restaurant manager. Barry’s awfully capable.’
Merrily was only half-listening. She was thinking of suicide. Mass suicides of once-rational people, like the Heaven’s Gate thing. Suicide was contagious. God, you really thought you knew your own child. You thought your generation was going to be different. There was going to be nothing you wouldn’t be able to talk about, that you couldn’t iron out between you. But every generation, there was something new growing in their heads, something terrifying.
‘Terrence has gone to see Richard Coffey,’ Caroline said brightly ‘They were hoping to catch up with you over the weekend. Richard’s got some friends down from London, a theatre director whose name I ought to know but I’ve forgotten. They were hoping to put their proposals to you ... for the church?’
Maybe it was the Church. God. God had come between them, made Merrily into a remote figure. Or even an embarrassment. The way Jane looked at her when she went to pray. She’d thought that was just going to be a phase.
Caroline said, ‘They want to show you they can present Wil in a way that would cause absolutely minimal disruption to normal services and things. Hasn’t Richard been to see you yet? With his friend? One has to say he totes that young man around like a trophy wife.’
‘I ... I’ve been putting people off. Until we got settled into the vicarage. Well, not settled, exactly, that could take years. But, you know, in. Oh my God, we’re supposed to be moving tomorrow.’
‘We’ll help. Of course we will. Everything will be absolutely fine, you’ll see.’ Caroline paused, eyes narrowing. ‘We, er, we heard James came to see you.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know what’s got into that man. He was always so enthusiastic about developing the village economy and restoring a degree of self-sufficiency. Suddenly, he’s become a positive millstone, and Terrence is terribly scared that Richard will simply turn his back on us and the whole festival will be a disaster. It’s all so worrying.’
‘You seem to be ... treading on old corns.’ Merrily drank some more coffee; most of her mind was out on the square with Colette.
Caroline scowled. ‘That illustrates precisely what we have to overcome if we’re going to get this place buzzing. The past is over. It can’t harm us. But we can use it. Do you see? We’re lucky enough to have these wonderful old buildings, set in such beautiful countryside, and an absolute wealth of traditions. But, Lord, we mustn’t let them hold us back.’
Merrily suspected Caroline Cassidy had just said something deeply flawed, but her anxiety wouldn’t let her concentrate.
There was a tapping on the glass.
‘We’re closed!’ Caroline called out. Then she said, ‘Oh, no.’ Pushed her coffee cup aside. ‘Bloody woman. Now she really does make you think you’re trapped in some ghastly timewarp.’
Caroline opened one of the double glass doors.
‘Is that the vicar I see with you, Mrs Cassidy?’
Merrily stood up, heart thumping.
Miss Devenish was hatless. She wore a shapeless dress with a geranium pattern. Her hair was in two plaits which looked as strong as anchor chains. Her face was grave.
‘Ah. Mrs Watkins. Yes. Could I talk to you, please? In my shop?’
Lol was shivering in the dark. Hunched into a corner of the loft, hugging his knees; he felt like a priest in a priest’s hole. Hunted.
Filtered through a tiny, mossed-over skylight, the only light in here was green. It was unearthly, it made his fingers look like corpse fingers; he shuffled to squeeze himself into shadow.
Although his eyes were fixed on the green skylight, the pictures rolling in were all white. The warm blizzard of blossom in the orchard. The disorientation.
The whiteout. And the girl. Her features indistinct, a corpse under a pale catafalque of blossom.
Oh God, the girl.
The mews was deserted. The shops had closed, the afternoon clouded over. Lucy Devenish didn’t speak until the double doors were between them and the face of Caroline Cassidy, puckered with resentment.
‘Appalling woman. Never tell her anything you don’t want the entire county to know.’
Merrily said, ‘Lucy, unless this is really important, could we perhaps talk tomorrow? I’m honestly not thinking too well at the moment.’
But it clearly was important. ‘Come to the shop.’ Lucy Devenish took her arm and led her into the mews. ‘Please.’
From even a few yards away, Ledwardine Lore looked like an old-fashioned fruit shop. Then you saw that none of the apples in the window were real and small butterfly creatures were all over them. Merrily experienced a momentary illusion of being outside herself, as though nothing at all here was real, as though this was an enchanted village in a child’s dream. It was a moment of strange relief.
‘Come in, Merrily.’
The door was unlocked, but the shop had closed, the lights were out. It was dim inside. The smell of apples was overwhelming.
‘Hello, Mum,’ Jane said softly.
Lucy Devenish didn’t put on the lights. As though she didn’t want Merrily to see Jane too clearly.
The kid was on a stool up against the counter. Her features were indistinct. There was a couple of yards between them, so Merrily couldn’t tell whether she was smiling or serious. All around her, things shaped like apples. Mugs, candles, ornaments. Pot fruit, wax fruit, fluffy fruits.
Breath bolted into Merrily. Her anxiety swelled for an instant and then burst, like a boil. Relief, but a discoloured relief.
‘Oh Jesus,’ she croaked finally. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Jane said nothing. Merrily saw that she was holding an apple-shaped mug, faintly steaming, between her hands, as if for warmth.
Lucy Devenish shut the door.
‘She’s been with me,’ she said.
Merrily turned on her angrily. ‘For how long?’
‘Oh,’ Lucy said. ‘All ... all day.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Her vision adjusting to the dimness, she saw that Jane still wore her school uniform, even the blazer, even the tie. ‘She should have been at school, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on? What’s happened to her?’
‘It was me,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘I went for my early-morning walk and I’m afraid I collapsed. In Blackberry Lane. Stupid of me, I thought the fresh air would make me feel better.’
She had her back to the door, her face almost entirely in shadow.
‘It’s ... it’s a blood pressure problem. One forgets one’s age. All I can say is thank God for Jane. I was lying in the hedge when she found me. Somehow, she got me home. And then she made me some tea. And she insisted on staying with me. I kept telling her to leave, but she wouldn’t. Of course, she missed the bus.’
Jane didn’t move, her hands still clasping the steaming orb of the apple mug.
‘I wanted to drive her to school, but she said I wasn’t fit to drive in my condition. A bossy child.’
‘You could have sent her to find me,’ Merrily said cautiously. ‘I could�
��ve taken her.’
‘Oh. Well. If I’m being truthful – I’m sorry, Jane – that was why she didn’t want to find you. Because she said you would only have insisted on taking her to school and she told me she didn’t want to have to explain to everybody.’
Merrily sighed. ‘I’ve been worried sick. When she didn’t get off the school bus ...’
‘She’s been helping me in the shop. We rather lost track of time. I’m so sorry, Merrily.’
‘I just wish somebody had told me. How are you feeling now, Miss Devenish?’
‘Much better, thank you.’
‘Have you seen the doctor?’
‘That twerp Asprey? No, thank you. And indeed, Merrily, I’d be very grateful if you wouldn’t mention this to anybody. Tell the Cassidy woman to mind her own damn business.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Your daughter’s done everything. Take her home.’
Caroline Cassidy’s gossip-greedy gaze alighted on them as soon as they emerged into the mews.
‘Oh, Merrily, I’m so glad!’
Perhaps she noticed Jane’s vacant eyes, because she backed off a little, with a meaningful glance towards the door of Ledwardine Lore.
‘She, er, she was helping Miss Devenish,’ Merrily said.
‘All day?’
‘No, that was ... a mistake on my part. I got a little confused. Everything got kind of criss-crossed. I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss.’
Caroline’s tilted smile showed she believed not a word, and who could blame her.
Jane was silent. Crossing the market place. Merrily kept glancing at her, sure she was a little pale. In curious contrast, as it happened, to Miss Lucy Devenish, who’d looked as ripe and ruddy as one of the apples in her damned shop window. Blood-pressure – balls.
They crossed the square to the church and the vicarage shoulder to shoulder, but there was distance between them.
Into the silence came a long, low rumble from the church. Merrily could see through the lych-gate that the porch doors were wide open, like amplifying hands. The sound was like the rising drone of an enormous vacuum cleaner.