by Fay Sampson
“I know that now. But a thing like this makes you suspect everybody.”
Lucy was unaccountably blushing. “Well,” she said, with an attempt at lightness. “We ought to get back to St Colman’s and bring the rest of them up to speed.”
“Peter will be glad they’ve caught them. It hit him hard.”
“I hadn’t realized how much he cared about her.”
“No,” Aidan said. “Sometimes these things take you by surprise.”
They walked in silence, side by side, towards the village, watching Melangell skipping in front of them.
“I have to give it to you,” Elspeth told Lucy in a gruffer voice than usual. “I only came here to humour Val. But, well… it’s not everyone who would have carried things through, under the circumstances. Good show. I shall read the Venerable Bede with different eyes in the future. And that was right, what you told us last night. Your monks didn’t just give up after the Vikings. They took Cuthbert’s body away to begin again somewhere else. And in time, the Benedictines moved in to start over again on Lindisfarne. Life has to go on.”
Valerie came forward and put her hands on Lucy’s shoulders. She bent forward, rather awkwardly, and dropped a dry kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know you did what you had to.”
Lucy murmured embarrassed denials of their need for thanks or apologies. She watched the two women loading their cases into the elderly Bentley.
It was over, she thought, with a strange sense of astonishment and relief. Somehow she had got to the end of this week.
She looked over her shoulder to find Aidan and Melangell coming out of the house. Aidan was in shorts, with a loaded rucksack on his back. Melangell was skipping beside him carrying a smaller, bright pink knapsack.
Lucy started to raise her hand in farewell. Then she hesitated.
“Are you sure you want to do the pilgrim thing again and walk back over the sands? I could give you a lift across the causeway.”
She saw a flash of something unreadable in Aidan’s eyes.
“What do you think, partner?” he said to Melangell.
The girl put her head on one side. “We… ell, I suppose the monks sometimes rode horses.”
“And we’ve got a long drive south ahead of us when we get to the other side. Yes, please, if you’ve got room for us.”
Lucy felt an unexpected lift of her heart.
The Bentley was already pulling out on to the road. Elspeth stuck a hand through the open window and gave them a cheery wave and a toot of the horn.
There were only four of them left in the car park of St Colman’s. Inside, Mrs Batley had given Lucy a surprisingly affectionate goodbye.
Peter had the boot of the VW open. He stood back to make room for Aidan and Melangell’s bags.
“You drive,” Lucy said, on a sudden impulse.
Peter’s heavy eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”
“You can take us down the A1 and along Hadrian’s Wall. I’ll take over when we reach the motorway.”
She settled into the front seat, with the Davisons in the back. It would have been a long hike for them along the line of posts that led from Lindisfarne to the mainland. By car, the journey would be over all too quickly. Why did she feel she wanted to prolong it as long as possible?
Peter took them cautiously out of the car park and swung right along the coast road. Lucy’s throat tightened as she recalled that gut-churning drive along this same road in the fog. They came to the bend in the road where they had discovered the Cavendishes’ 4x4. She half-turned to see if Melangell was remembering that chase too.
But the child’s face was eagerly alive. “We’re like King Oswald, riding back to Bamburgh after visiting St Aidan.”
They ventured out onto the narrow strip of tarmac which was all that distinguished the causeway from the surrounding sands. The tide was out, and the flats shimmered with occasional pools. The refuge box loomed ever closer. Then they were over the deep-water channel and the mainland was speeding towards them. Peter pulled into the small car park on the right.
All this time, Lucy had not found anything to say to Aidan, though she had chatted to Melangell. She felt a wall of obligation standing between her and the red-bearded photographer. She owed her life to him. It made impossible the normal friendship that might have developed after their abrasive start. Now that the time had come to bid him goodbye, she did not know what to say to him. Yet, as father and daughter got out of the car and retrieved their bags, she felt a wrenching sense of loss.
The two of them stood, meeting each other’s eyes, at a loss for words.
It was Melangell who rescued them.
“Shall we see you again?”
Lucy caught the start of surprise in Aidan’s eyes. He looked from his daughter back to Lucy.
“Well, we don’t live far apart,” she found herself saying. “You could come over some time, if you like.”
“Yes, please! When?” Melangell cried.
Lucy turned more gravely to Aidan. “They released Karen from hospital yesterday. I’ll be conducting Rachel’s funeral when I get back. It won’t be the jolliest of parties, but it would be good to have someone there who knew her, who saw what happened. I’d be glad of the support.”
She held her breath.
“Of course I’ll come. But maybe later… if Melangell wants to…”
Lucy’s heart dropped a little in disappointment. Would he only come because of Rachel, or Melangell?
His hand closed over hers, warm and firm. “Thanks,” he said, “for a lot of things.”
She ought to give him her enormous thanks for saving her life. But she stood, tongue-tied, conscious of the pressure of his hand, his skin against her own, the steady light of those grey-blue eyes, the colour of the North Sea behind him.
Too soon, he dropped her hand. They stood awkwardly in silence. Then he shouldered his rucksack and began to move towards their car.
Melangell lingered for a moment. She looked up at Lucy conspiratorially. “He likes you,” she whispered. “He’s sad about Mummy, but he likes you too.” She ran forward and put her arms round Lucy’s waist. “And so do I.”
Lucy told herself it was the wind whipping tears into her eyes as she watched them board their car. Then she slipped back into the passenger seat and let Peter drive her south along the road the monks of Lindisfarne might have carried Cuthbert’s body. Into a new and still unforeseeable reality.
Questions for Groups
Lucy leaves the police force to be ordained. How does the attitude of a police officer to a crime differ from that of a minister?
How much would eight-year-old Melangell understand about what was going on?
Are the stories about seventh-century Northumbria relevant to the modern plot?
Is there anything that could have been done to help or protect Rachel?
Is the portrayal of the apparently successful pastor James fair?
Is there a danger in taking a site that is sacred to many people and making it the scene of a violent crime?
How important is the setting of the novel? Would the story have been the same if it had been set on the mainland?
How did you find the device of telling the story through alternating viewpoints?
Did you feel that Aidan was being true to Jenny’s memory?
Is it possible for a crime novel to have a happy ending?