The fog was worse in Leominster, which was why the bus was late, the driver explained. Fog, just when you thought you’d got rid of it!
Then again, if the bus hadn’t been late, Jane would have missed it – thanks to the Reverend Bloody Watkins.
She slumped down near the back and felt sick. That was it, wasn’t it? That was really it. There was no way she could go back there tonight. Outside the bus windows, the hills had disappeared, the view of fields extended about fifty yards, and then all you saw were a few tree-skeletons.
Why had she done this to herself? Why hadn’t she just sat it out, mumbled a few apologies about going to the psychic fair and… but that wouldn’t have worked, would it? Mum knew about the Pod. How the hell did she find that out? Was the Pod leaky? Had it been infiltrated by Christians?
This was just like so totally unfair. Jane felt sad and shabby in her old school duffel coat – hadn’t even had a chance to find something else. If you’re storming out, you had to do it, like, now! You couldn’t blow the whole effect by going up to your apartment to change into your tight black sweater and your nicer jeans, or collect your new fleece coat.
Ironic, really. This morning, doing her salute to the Eternal Spiritual Sun, she’d thought: What is this really achieving? And thinking of the women in the Pod, how basically sad most of them looked. And yet the fact that they were so sad completely discredited Mum’s crap about them only being interested in Jane because her mother was this big-time Church of England exorcist.
This was all so mega-stupid. If the bitch hadn’t been so totally offensive, the two of them could have sorted this out. That remark about Jane having no boyfriend, that was just, like, well out of order. Boyfriend like who? Dean Wall? Danny Gittoes? The really humiliating aspect of this was that Mum herself – not long out of leather pants and tops made out of heavy-duty pond-liner – had been pregnant at nineteen, so presumably had been putting it about for years by then.
Life was such a pile of shit.
When they crawled into the bus station behind Tesco, Jane didn’t want to get off. She had her money with her, but she didn’t feel like shopping. Especially while walking around with Rowenna in all her designer items, and Jane in her dark-blue school duffel. What was she going to buy Rowenna, anyway, that wouldn’t cause mutual embarrassment?
She made her way out of the bus station and across the car park, hoping there was nobody from school around – which was too much to hope for on a Saturday close to Christmas. Everybody came into Hereford on Saturday mornings – where else was there to go?
The fog was cold and she didn’t even have her scarf. Tonight it would probably be freezing fog. Suppose Rowenna couldn’t organize her a room, what would happen then? It was a lie, natch, that Jane knew loads of people; she didn’t know anyone in the Pod well enough to beg a bed. Worst-case scenario, some shop doorway in the Maylords Orchard precinct? Or did they have iron gates on that? And then at two a.m. some dopehead comes along and rapes you.
OK, if it came to it, she probably had enough money to get a room in a hotel. Not the Green Dragon obviously, maybe something between that and the pubs where the junkies went to score. Funny how homely old Hereford took on this new and dangerous aspect when you were alone, and destined to stay alone, possibly for ever.
She turned down where the car park dog-legged and the path led through evergreen bushes to the archway under the buildings and into Widemarsh Street… and then Rowenna laughed lightly and said, ‘Why don’t we do it here? We’d be hidden by the fog. That would be pretty cool.’
Huh?
Jane stopped. There were cars parked fairly tightly here, with thick laurel bushes just behind them.
You could tell there were two people in the bushes, standing up, locked together. Jane backed up to the edge of the main car park. Vehicles were coming up out of the tunnel from the underground part, and one of them hooted at her to get out of the way. So she moved to the edge of the undergrowth and flattened herself against the wall.
They probably would never spot her from the bushes, as she couldn’t see them properly either. She wouldn’t have known it was Rowenna but for the voice. She could see the guy better, because he was pretty tall, and from here it looked like most of his tongue was down Rowenna’s throat.
‘Don’t you think this has appalled me too?’ Dick Lyden was raking his thick, grey hair. ‘I can only offer you my profoundest apologies and assure you that it won’t happen-’
‘It fucking has happened,’ Denny snarled, his back to the door of Lol’s flat, as if Dick might make a break for it. ‘It’s done. It exists. If I hadn’t been listening to the words – which I usually don’t – I’d be down as producing it!’
‘Denny, don’t do this to me,’ Dick pleaded.
‘Don’t do it to you?’
Lol was sitting on the window ledge. He had no meaningful contribution to make to this.
‘How old is your boy?’ Dick said to Denny.
‘Eleven – and a half.’
‘I’d like to think you didn’t have this to come, Denny, but at some stage in his adolescent years you’ll wonder what kind of monster you’ve foisted on the world – as well as trying to think what you did to become the object of his undying hatred.’
Sensing that Dick was actually close to tears, Lol said, ‘Did you find out how he came to write that song?’
‘Oh, well,’ Dick escaped gratefully into anger, ‘an artist… an artist gathers his inspiration wherever he may find it. Art is above pity. Art bows to no taboos. You know the kind of balls they spout at that age. I don’t… I don’t actually know what’s the matter with him lately. He’s become remote, he’s arrogant, he sneers, he does small spiteful things. A complete bastard, in fact.’
Lol said, ‘That’s your professional assessment then?’ and Denny finally smiled. ‘The point is,’ Lol continued, ‘that the song isn’t going to be heard any more, because Eirion Lewis says he’ll refuse to play it. He’s not a bad kid, it seems.’ He glanced apologetically at Dick. ‘A bit older than James, so perhaps he’s come through the bastard phase.’
‘In the final analysis,’ Dick said, ‘this is my fault. Ruth and I discuss cases, and quite often the boy’s pottering about with his Walkman on and one thinks he’s not interested. Little swine was probably making notes. It’s a… I suppose a diverting tale, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a family tragedy,’ Denny growled.
‘Denny, I have learned a lesson.’
‘But the crows, man – how the fuck’d he know about the crows?’
‘It’s an old Celtic harbinger of death,’ Lol said quickly, because he’d never actually told Denny about the crow.
Denny looked dazed for a second, then shook himself like he was trying to shed clinging shreds of the past. He moved away from the door, his earring swinging less menacingly. ‘All right, I’ll let them back in, so long as Lol turns the knobs.’
Dick looked at Lol.
‘OK,’ Lol said. Puzzled about what Denny had meant – how the fuck’d he know about the crows? – and still wondering how James could have been so crazy as to sing that song blatantly in Denny’s face. Like the boy needed to see how far he could go, how much he could get away with, how badly he could hurt.
‘Thanks,’ Dick said humbly. ‘Thank you both. You know I… This is going to sound a bit cranky coming from a shrink, but I am a Christian sort of shrink, and I feel that becoming Boy Bishop will somehow help to straighten the lad out.’
‘What is this Boy Bishop balls, anyway?’ Denny said. ‘You hear about it, read bits in the Times, but I never take much notice.’
‘More people ought to take notice or we’ll lose it, like so many other things. It’s a unique example of the Church affirming Christ’s compassion for the lowly.’
‘But it’s always a kid from the Cathedral School,’ Denny pointed out. ‘How lowly is that?’
‘It’s symbolic – dates back to medieval times. The boy is Bishop until Christmas, but doesn’t do much. Gives a token sermon on his enthronement, makes the odd public appearance – used to be taken on a tour of churches in the county, but I think they’ve dropped that. It also illustrates the principle of the humble being exalted. It’s about the humble and the meek… something like that.’
‘The humble and the meek?’ Lol said. ‘That’s why they chose James?’
‘All right, I know, I know. I suppose they chose James because he was a leading chorister. And he’s a big lad, so the robes will fit. And, of course, he, ah, rather looks the part.’
‘Like I said,’ Denny shrugged, ‘it’s basically balls, isn’t it?’
‘I see it as a rite of passage,’ Dick persisted. ‘I don’t think you can do something like that without experiencing a man’s responsibility.’
Lol thought this was not the best time to talk about a man’s responsibility in front of Denny.
But Denny didn’t react. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Tell the kid I can maybe do the studio Monday. I’ll feel better tonight when the funeral’s over.’
When Dick had gone, he said to Lol, ‘I’m still looking for somebody else to blame for Kathy. He just got in the way.’
Lol nodded.
‘I’m closing this shop, by the way,’ Denny said.
‘This afternoon – for the funeral, Viv said.’
‘For good. We close at lunchtime, we don’t open again.’
‘Ever?’
‘I’m shifting the records to the other place tomorrow. And big Viv, too. Extending the shop space into a store-room. If you’re selling hi-fi, it makes sense to have a record department on the premises. This one was never big enough to take all the stock you need to really get the punters in. It was just… Kathy’s shop. I don’t ever want to come here again.’
‘And this flat?’
‘It won’t affect you unless I can’t manage to let the shop on its own, in which case I’ll maybe sell the whole building. Sorry to spring it on you, mate, but nothing’s permanent. You’re not a permanent sort of guy anyway, are you?’
Lol forced a smile.
‘See you at the crem then,’ Denny added. ‘There won’t be a meal or nothing afterwards. Won’t be enough people – plus I’m not into that shit.’
‘Denny,’ Lol said, ‘when you said to Dick, how did he know about the crows, what did you mean?’
‘Leave it.’ Denny opened the door. ‘Like you said, it was nothing, a coincidence. Just the way some things cause you to remember other things. Some memory pops up, and you put it all together wrong.’
‘What memory?’
‘You don’t let go of things, do you, Lol?’
‘Some things won’t let go of me. It’s guilt, probably.’
‘You didn’t like her, did you?’ Denny said.
‘I liked her more towards the end.’
‘You wouldn’t fuck her because you didn’t like her. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s kind of honourable, I suppose.’
‘No, it isn’t. Tell me about the crows.’
Denny came back in, shut the door. ‘When she was a kid, they used to put her in her pushchair in the farmyard, to watch the chicks and stuff, yeah? And the crows would come. Crows’d come right up to her. They’d land on the yard and come strutting up to the pushchair. Or they’d fly low and sit on the roof, just over the back door. Sit there like vultures when Kathy was there. Only when she was there.’
Lol thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stiffened his shoulders against the shiver he felt. ‘How long did this go on?’
‘Until the old man shot them,’ Denny said.
‘Do you remember Hilary Pyle?’ Barry Ambrose asked her.
‘I don’t think so. Who was she?’
‘He,’ Barry said. ‘It was in some of the papers, certainly the Telegraph, which always seems to splash Church crises. But they didn’t know the whole story. Even I… I didn’t know that was her name until this morning. Where’s she now, the girl you asked about?’
‘She’s at my daughter’s school.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Barry. ‘But then people do sometimes change, don’t they?’
‘If they want to,’ Merrily said, ‘they have to want to. So what happened to this Hilary Pyle?’
‘ She did. He was a canon at the Cathedral, forty-five years old, married, with kids. I didn’t know him particularly well, but I assumed he was a sound bloke. Certainly not the kind you’d imagine taking up with a schoolgirl.’
‘Rowenna?’
‘Soldier’s daughter. Wasn’t named in the papers – I think she was underage – in fact I’m sure she was. Fifteen or something. Also there was some question of rape when they first arrested Hilary, so the girl couldn’t be named in the press, but he certainly was.’
‘ Now I remember. About two years ago? But he-’
‘Yes. Poor bloke hanged himself in his garage. Leaving a note – rather a long note. Do you remember that? It was read out at the inquest – he’d apparently requested that.’
‘Remind me.’ Merrily felt a stab of foreboding.
‘It was a rather florid piece of writing; he kept quoting bits of Milton. He said the girl was sent by the Devil, and this caused a bit of amusement in the press. Just the sort of thing some clergyman would say to excuse his appalling behaviour. “Sent by the Devil.” She was a pale little thing, they said, but she knew which levers to pull, if you’ll pardon the, er…’
Merrily found she was writing it all down on her sermon pad.
‘You said there was more… other things that didn’t get into the press.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m frankly amazed it didn’t get out. But I suppose the people who knew about it realized what the bad publicity could do. I think it was probably as a result of this that I, of all people, was asked to take on the Deliverance ministry here. They wanted an outsider, someone previously unconnected with the Cathedral. You see, it’s so easy for a panic to spread. Look at Lincoln and the Imp. Look at Westminster. There are always people who’ll look for the dark hand of Satan, aren’t there?’
‘Not us, of course.’
‘Quite.’
‘So what happened?’
‘After Hilary committed suicide, two other canons confessed to the Bishop that they’d also had relations with this girl.’
‘Jesus!’ She hadn’t been expecting that.
‘It was thought there was another one, but he kept very quiet and survived the investigation. Not a police investigation, of course.’
‘Did anybody talk to the girl herself?’
‘Quite frankly, I don’t think anybody in the Cathedral was prepared to go anywhere near the girl. What happened, I believe, was that the Army arranged for her father to be based somewhere else. Hereford, obviously, though no one here knew where they’d gone – nor wanted to. It cast quite a shadow for a while. Perhaps it still does: I know a number of previously stable marriages have gone down the tubes since then. Poor Hilary’s suggestion of something evil had gathered quite a few supporters before the year was out.’
‘Barry, I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re going to tell your daughter, Merrily,’ Barry said, ‘but if she hangs around with Rowenna Napier she might start growing up a little too quickly, if you see what I mean.’
‘I owe you one,’ Merrily said.
Now she was frightened.