by Sharon Jones
‘But what about your chips?’ Tariq called after her.
‘I’ll get them later.’
The festival had lost all the buzz of the night before. The seminars and workshops had resumed, but most people were sitting around in groups, talking quietly. The only music came from a guy sitting outside his sagging green tent, playing something that looked like a big recorder. The low, woody lament said it all.
Poppy stopped beside a patrol car and searched the faces of the police officers, reluctant to go any closer. Michael stopped beside her and sighed.
The lake reflected the grey of the sky. Flat, silent and full of secrets.
‘Poppy? Were you looking for someone?’
She turned to see DS Grant bent over, fussing Dawkins. Dawkins’s tail flapped around, whacking against her legs.
‘You, actually.’
‘Aren’t you gorgeous, hey?’ the policeman crooned.
That was all the encouragement Dawkins needed. He launched himself at DS Grant. Resting his paws on the detective’s shoulders, he was almost as tall as him. ‘Whoa! You are a big girl!’ the man laughed, allowing the dog to wash his face.
‘Boy,’ Poppy corrected.
DS Grant was finally able to push the hound down. ‘Didn’t think they allowed dogs at these things.’
‘They don’t. Someone’s supposed to be looking after him.’
Michael grabbed Dawkins’ collar and pulled him away from the policeman. ‘I heard about the girl in the lake. Just came to make sure…’
‘Ah. Right.’ DS Grant nodded. ‘Were you wanting to talk to the chief?’
‘It’s just I remembered the name of the girl Beth came looking for. It’s Maya.’
‘Right. That’s helpful, thanks. We’ve found the dead girl’s car, by the way. And her parents have been notified, so we’ll be releasing her name this afternoon.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘Did it?’
‘Has to be murder, doesn’t it? People don’t just drown!’
‘I’m afraid sometimes they do. It’s for the coroner to decide now, but the boss is pretty satisfied it’s accidental.’
For a second, Poppy imagined Beth on the postmortem slab, the cold silver blade cutting into her flesh until all her insides had been removed, slice by slice. Her face must have blanched, because she felt Michael’s arm around her shoulders.
‘But what about the guy on the bluff? The one I told you about. Maybe he—’
‘—Was the guy who owns the land. The guy who helped you get the girl out.’
‘Oh.’
DS Grant sighed. ‘Listen, why don’t you let your mum and dad take you home? If it were up to me I’d send the whole damn lot of you home. But the guv’nor doesn’t want any accusations of religious intolerance. Get out of here, Poppy. You’re gonna keep going over it in your head. And there’s nothing you could have done.’
She shook her head. There was Mum and Jonathan’s handfasting to think about. And she couldn’t just walk away and forget about Beth. It would feel like she was abandoning her, just like Maya had.
She and Michael wandered slowly in the direction of Bob’s caravan, where Mum and Jonathan had said they’d be.
As they walked, Michael’s hand slipped away from her shoulders, leaving her feeling cold and alone.
‘You know he’s right,’ Michael said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘You need to get away from here. Why don’t you come home with me? Your mum and Jonathan aren’t going to want to get married now. They’ll probably put it off. Come home. At least sleep in your own bed. Or stay at mine.’
Poppy shook her head. ‘No. I can’t. I’ve got to convince them.’
Michael stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. His eyebrows were pinched together and his mouth was hard. ‘No you don’t. You’re not the police. Why do you always have to get like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like everything is your responsibility. Like the world wouldn’t fucking turn unless you were overseeing it! Jesus, Poppy!’
His words punched into her chest like bullets. She knew it, he was getting sick of her. The pain turned to anger. ‘So I’m just meant to forget her, am I? If you don’t like how I’m getting then you don’t have to stay. I don’t know why you came in the first place!’
‘I’m beginning to wonder myself.’ Michael leaned down and attached Dawkins’ lead. ‘Maybe Tariq can talk some sense into you. Come on, let’s go,’ he seethed, and marched away, taking her dog with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Where’s Michael?’ Bob asked. He was sitting alone at the Formica table in the dreary gloom of the caravan, surrounded by pipe smoke that hung over the piles of books like mist over mountaintops.
Poppy climbed up the metal steps and slid into the bench across from him, breathing in the sickly-sweet tang of tobacco. Bob puffed on his pipe and blew out a smoke ring. It wobbled over the table, like a UFO that was out of fuel. Poppy swiped a hand at it, dispersing the smoke into the atmosphere.
‘I remembered the girl’s name – the one Beth was looking for,’ she said.
‘Oh aye?’
‘Maya.’
‘That’d be Sandra Flynn’s girl.’
‘You know her?’ Of course he knew her. Bob knew everyone.
Bob nodded. ‘Sandra Flynn, Quincy Trevelyan, me and a couple of others set up John Barleycorn back in the late eighties. Sandra stopped coming years ago. But the last couple of times her Maya started coming.’
Immediately, Poppy’s mind began turning over the possibilities. Beth’s Maya. What if she really was here and Beth never found her? Or what if she did find her – last night? ‘What about this year? Is she here?’
‘Aye, I reckon she is. Sam Wyatt said he’d seen her yesterday. She hasn’t registered or paid, but that’s not unusual. That girl don’t think rules apply to her.’
‘I should go and tell the police.’
‘Or you could keep an old man company.’
‘But—’
‘—And leave the investigating to them that gets paid to do it.’
Bob sucked in his lips until they disappeared behind the long silver beard. His pale blue eyes stayed trained on hers, fixing her in the seat. She wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Fine.’ Poppy sighed and flopped back against the worn-out cushions. She picked up a book on herb lore and began flicking through. The pages were filled with photographs of familiar hedgerow plants and their supposed medicinal qualities.
‘Read that book you sent me,’ Bob said.
She dumped the herbal on top of a three-inch thick tome on Mysterious Britain. ‘Oh yeah? What did you think?’
The old man nodded thoughtfully and tapped his pipe against his bottom lip. ‘Made a lot of sense. Course, it’s only science catching up with what Druids have known for millennia. Ask any Pagan and they’ll tell you that thought can affect the outcome of things.’
She might have known he’d say that. ‘But don’t you get it? It’s not a god, or goddess, or spirit. It’s science. It’s the way the universe works – quantum particles communicating with each other at a level we’re not conscious of. There is no god or spirit – it’s all rational and quantifiable. If we had the tools to measure it.’
Bob chuckled. ‘You say potato, I say p’tar-toe.’
Poppy found she was smiling. She was never going to convince Bob – he was a lost cause. But that was OK; there were some things in life – some people in life – who weren’t meant to change. They were meant to stay the same – like the cosmological constant. Change that and the whole universe would be thrown into a great almighty flux: up might be down, and gravity might disappear. Like her and Michael. Who knew what the quantum effects would be of them being anything more than frien
ds? If they started going out then rivers might flood and a small Melanesian island might sink into the sea.
Bob clamped his pipe back in his mouth and puffed out a cloud of smoke.
‘I know you’re angry about your dad, lass. But that’s no reason to turn your back on all that you’ve been raised to respect.’
‘Why not? He has! But that isn’t why I don’t believe in...that stuff.’
‘Then why?’
Poppy shrugged. She began straightening the piles of books. ‘I suppose I just...’
‘Saw the light?’
‘Yeah.’ Science was light. What had religion ever done except divide people? ‘Yeah, I saw the light,’ she said, defiantly raising her gaze to meet Bob’s.
‘And it has nothing to do with nearly drowning?’
‘What? No!’
‘Only to be expected,’ Bob said, nodding. ‘People thinks they know about nature – think it’s all springtime and flowers blooming. All life and rebirth. Then there comes a time when they have to look the dark goddess straight in the eye and they don’t like what they see. People think of Mother Earth as a gentle lady. They forget that she’s also death.’
‘I know that,’ Poppy said, frustrated that he was treating her to a lecture from Paganism 101 when she’d grown up with the stuff. ‘That’s not why I don’t believe in it any more.’
‘Someone your age, not ready to die, well, it’s only natural to be scared of that side of the goddess.’
‘What had I ever done to her?’ she blurted. It was out before she could really think about what she was saying. ‘I mean – I – I don’t mean her – I’m just—’ She stared at the piles of books, searching for the words.
‘Angry,’ Bob said, gently. ‘Aye. I was pretty fucking angry myself, tell you the truth. I’m angry about that lass dying too.’
Poppy looked up. The old man stared steadily back, took the pipe from his mouth and blew out a smoke ring. The circle of swirling smoke danced between them, as fragile as the circle of life he was so keen on.
‘What makes you think she was murdered?’ Bob asked.
Poppy shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t have killed herself. She was too worried about Maya.’
‘From what I heard, they’re sayin’ it was an accident.’
‘Crap. She was fully clothed. Who goes into the lake fully clothed?’
‘You did.’
‘I was paddling.’
Bob’s face remained neutral. ‘Maybe she was paddling and slipped over, hit her head.’
‘She was murdered. I know she was murdered.’
‘How can you know?’
‘I just do!’ Poppy said, her blood pressure rising.
‘That your scientific opinion, or her quantum particles communicating with yours?’ He chewed the pipe, trying to hide a self-satisfied grin.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ha-ha!’
Bob chuckled. He leaned forward and for a moment studied her. Sometimes, when the old Druid stared at her, she could almost believe that he saw things that others couldn’t.
‘You should go and have your cards read,’ he said, eventually.
What? She wasn’t about to waste her money on... Hold on a minute. ‘I thought you didn’t like Tarot? Thought you said it was misused by all and sundry?’
‘Interesting lad, that Tarot reader. The one that’s doing the workshop. Had a bit of a troubled past from what I hear. The craft set him on a different path though – changed his ways. Writes books now instead of burning them.’
‘That’s all very interesting but—’
‘—Him and Maya – they were an item last time I heard.’
‘Maya’s boyfriend is here?’ Poppy slid out of the bench. ‘He’s actually one of the workshop leaders?’
‘Jonathan knows him from years back.’
‘Sorry, Bob. I’ve gotta—’
‘—Now hold your horses.’
‘I’ve got to go and find him. He’ll know where Maya is.’
‘I said hold your damn horses!’
Poppy folded her arms. ‘All right – horses bridled and steady!’ she said, but her heart was skittering like a bucking pony.
‘Word of advice from an old heathen—’ He took down a tin from the shelf above him and took out some money and handed it to her. ‘Don’t go charging in there making accusations. Try for once to keep that tongue of yours from flapping. Listen to what the lad says. And for pity’s sake, don’t go lecturing him on physics.’
‘Beth could have spoken to him. He might know what happened. He could even be the killer. I mean, he couldn’t have liked Beth showing up – not if she fancied Maya.’
‘Boy’s not a killer. Wouldn’t let you go near him if I thought he was.’
‘That based on careful psychological profiling, or his quarks communicating with yours?’
‘Ha-ha!’ Bob chuckled. ‘You listen to the cards. Happen they might have something to tell you. And if Maya’s with him – you be careful around that girl. She’s trouble.’
CHAPTER NINE
Poppy scanned the marquee for someone who looked like a Tarot reader. The workshop had just about emptied out, but in the corner, beside a table piled high with books, a guy was holding court.
His head was shaved apart from one tuft at his forehead that was dyed green. His tanned, sculptured face was cocked to one side, listening to someone.
But hold on! She knew him. He was the guy who turned up last night, demanding to talk to her new stepdad. Bob had said they were friends, but Jonathan hadn’t treated this guy like a mate, he’d treated him like a patient who’d overstepped one of his carefully maintained professional boundaries.
She watched the Tarot reader handling the crowd with all the skill of a snake charmer. Last night he had been as agitated as the lake in a gale, but now he was calm and in control. He was sort of handsome, actually. There was something about him that reminded her of an exotic bird, a kind of deadly beauty.
Several women in the usual Pagan garb flocked around him, emitting nervous giggles every time he opened his mouth. It was like a scene from a school disco – just with added juju. But it didn’t look like any of them were with him. So where was Maya? Poppy sauntered over to the table and picked up one of the books. The front cover bore a Tarot card – the one with the world on it – and it was entitled Tarot: A Road to Self-Discovery by Kane Riverside.
‘I feel like I’ve learnt so much!’ one of the women was saying. ‘Like I’m learning to read the cards all over again.’
‘I’m glad the workshop inspired you,’ Kane said. His voice surprised Poppy. It was soft, posher than she remembered, and totally clashed with his green-haired, tattooed persona.
At that moment, his gaze drifted over the heads of the women to Poppy. His expression didn’t change, but the muscles in his neck visibly tensed. He stared at her, his wide eyes almost the same green as his hair, strange and unnatural. She knew she should look away, but he held her gaze like he had some kind of Superman tractor beam.
Poppy felt herself blushing. God, he was going to think she was one of his adoring concubines. She dropped his book back on the table and turned away – trying to find something else to focus on.
After a few more minutes of fan babble, she heard Kane excuse himself and a second later felt a presence beside her.
‘Did you want to buy a book?’ he asked.
Poppy bit her lip, felt in her pocket for the thirty quid Bob had given her and held it out to him. ‘I was hoping that you’d do a reading for me.’
His gaze travelled down to her chest. She was about to be morally outraged when she realised that he was just reading the logo on her sweatshirt. GOD IS DEAD. Bugger! She probably should have changed into something that was a bit less in his face.
He smirked and started towards the marquee entrance.
‘Put your money away,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘But…?’
‘Come on. It’s a long time since I did a reading for a signed-up sceptic.’
She followed him, almost having to run to keep up with his long strides. He led her away from the bustle of the tents, waving and acknowledging various people en route. They entered a small clearing on the edge of the lake where long twigs had been bent to form the skeleton of a sweat lodge.
For years, Poppy had been fascinated with all things Native American and had begged Bob’s friend, a Lakota medicine woman called Mo Little Wolf, to let her join the adults in the purification rite. Not this year though.
Kane stopped a little way from the lodge and sat cross-legged on the grass.
‘Take a pew, Sceptic,’ he said.
Poppy kneeled a couple of feet away from him and watched as he produced a silk-wrapped bundle out of his jeans pocket. The sun was trying to break out from behind the clouds, but the heavy grey battleships were doing a good job of holding the line.
‘I’m not a sceptic,’ she said.
He unwrapped the cards and spread out the square of brilliant green silk over the ground, making the grass look yellow and dreary. The guy definitely had a green theme going on. All a bit predictable really.
‘No?’
‘No.’ She tugged at her sweatshirt. ‘Haven’t you heard of irony?’
‘Is that what it is?’ He gave her a knowing look that made her wonder if he and Jonathan had talked about her. But Jonathan didn’t do that with clients. Or at least he wasn’t supposed to.
‘So why do you want me to read your cards? What are you hoping to get out of it?’ Kane asked.
She remembered the cover of his book. She shrugged. ‘Self-discovery. Isn’t that what Tarot is all about?’
‘And she didn’t even go to my workshop.’ His eyes flicked up at her. Amusement danced in them. He wasn’t her type – and he was way too old for her – but she could see what Maya saw in him. Something exciting and dangerous.