In Slater’s, behind Broad Street, Jane had a deep-pan pizza and stayed cool – reminding herself periodically about Dean Wall, the slimeball, on the school bus in the fog, and what he’d said about Rowenna and Danny Gittoes.
Gittoes was Dean’s best friend, and slightly less offensive, but the thought of Rowenna’s small mouth around whatever abomination he kept in his greasy trousers was still pretty distasteful, especially when you knew it could be true.
‘Calm down, kitten.’ Rowenna had a burger with salad, mayonnaise all over it – oh, please.
‘I just lost it completely.’ Jane was sitting with her back to the door and the front windows, watching the cook at work behind a counter at the far end. The problem with Rowenna was that she was so incredibly charming; she gave you her full attention and you felt so grateful she wanted you as a friend.
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I slagged off the Church, rubbished everything that means anything to her. Said she was ambitious and arrogant – and that I’d rather sell my soul to the Devil than spend another night there. I guess this was not what Angela had in mind when she talked about leading Mum towards the light.’
Rowenna laughed. ‘And you didn’t mean a word of it, right?’
‘I meant it at the time.’ Jane cut another slice of pizza. ‘She also said we were spending too much time together. She suggested I should be going out with boys, can you believe that?’
‘That’s uncommon,’ Rowenna said. ‘They’re usually terrified you’re going to get pregnant.’
‘Like… there’s nothing wrong with me,’ Jane said experimentally. ‘I don’t have problems in that area. I’ve had relationships. It’s just there aren’t any guys around right now that I could fancy that much.’ It occurred to her they’d rarely talked about men.
‘The choice is severely limited.’
‘Almost nonexistent.’
‘Sure.’
‘Like, I travel on the bus every day with Wall and Gittoes.’
‘Don’t,’ Rowenna said. ‘I may vomit.’
She grinned, shreds of chargrilled burger on teeth that were translucent like a baby’s. Come on, Jane thought, it might not have been her at all by the car park. It might not.
‘Could we perhaps lighten up now?’
‘I keep thinking of those tarot cards,’ Jane said seriously. ‘You said it seemed like a pretty heavy layout, right?’
‘Kitten, it’s ages since I even looked at a tarot pack. You forget these things.’
‘You don’t forget. Those are like archetypal images. They’re imprinted on your consciousness.’
‘That guy in the denim jacket fancies you.’
‘He’s looking at you. He’s just wondering how to get me out of the way. Death – that was the first of them.’
‘Yeah, but the Death card can also just mean the end of something before a new beginning.’
‘The Tower?’
‘It’s been struck by lightning. There’s a big crack, with people falling off. That speaks for itself really: some really horrendous disaster, something wrenched apart.’
‘Shit.’
‘Or it could just mean a big clear-out in your life: throwing out the stuff that isn’t important.’
‘Like, if I don’t get away, I’ll go down with the Tower?’
‘Say the Tower, in this instance, represents your mother’s faith in this cruel Old Testament God, and you’ve got to help shatter it.’
‘It could have been a prediction of what began this morning, though, couldn’t it? Everything quiet, right? Me getting ready to go out. She’s had this decent night’s sleep for once – well rested, looking much better. And then like, out of nowhere, we’re into the worst row for like… ages. It just blew up out of nothing – like the Tower cracking up. And then I say that thing to her about the Devil. It just came out; I wasn’t thinking. And that… that was the third card.’
‘Don’t panic.’ Rowenna put down her knife and fork. ‘The Devil isn’t always negative either, you know. The Devil was invented by the Christians as a condemnation of anybody who thought that they, the Christians, were a bit suspect. But actually the Devil’s vital for balance in this world.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Living with a vicar, you’re bombarded with propaganda. But when you look at the situation, all the Devil represents is doing what you want, not what you’re told. Satan is just another word for personal freedom. So maybe Satanists are just people who don’t like rules.’
‘That’s a bit simplistic, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘OK, what about the low-lifes who killed that crow in the church?’
‘So?’
‘Well, that’s got to be evil.’
‘OK,’ Rowenna said. ‘ One, there’s nothing to say they killed the crow. Two, it was a church nobody uses – a redundant church, right? Three, what’s the difference between that and any normal protesters who disagree with what something stands for and go in and trash the place? Suppose these are just people who are seriously pissed off at how rich the Church of England is – and how totally useless, like the House of Lords… a complete con to keep people in order.’
‘Well… maybe.’
‘There’s no maybe. That was your subconscious talking. Your inner self crying out to be free by coming out with the most outrageous thing possible in a vicarage, right?’
‘Or I just wanted to get up her nose.’
‘You’re back-pedalling. You didn’t plan what you wanted to say before it came out, so it has to be an expression of your innermost desire to be free. Listen, do it.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘There you go again. Put up or shut up. So do it: give yourself to the Devil. You just stand up and open your arms, and you breathe, in your most seductive voice: Lord Satan, take me…’ Rowenna giggled. ‘It’s just words, so it can’t harm you… but it’s also an invitation to your inner self to throw off the shackles. I reckon if you actually said that in a church, you’d get this amazing buzz.’
‘No thanks.’
‘See’ – Rowenna pointed her knife – ‘you’re just completely indoctrinated. You will never escape.’
Jane was uncomfortable. She’d felt cool and superior when she’d first come in, but now Rowenna had turned the tables. She was a wimp again, a frightened little girl.
‘Ro,’ she said. ‘Any chance of sleeping at your place tonight? I can’t go back, can I?’
‘Sure you can go back. Take Satan with you. By which I mean, go back with your head held high, with a new attitude.’
‘It would just be one night.’
‘Oh, kitten…’ Rowenna sighed. ‘That could really be a problem. We have this diplomat from the Middle East staying with us. I’m not supposed to even tell you this, because there are a lot of people want this guy dead. It’s a security job – and we’re the safe-house, you know what I mean? Armed guys in vans parked outside all night? It’s really, really tedious.’
‘Oh.’
‘It happens to us quite often. It means that anybody wants to stay with us, they have to be vetted weeks in advance in case something crops up.’
‘What am I going to do?’
Rowenna leaned over and squeezed Jane’s wrist. ‘You know your problem? You worry too much. You still have this deeply constricted inner-self. OK, the Pod will help sort that eventually – and I mean eventually.’
‘What’s wrong with the Pod?’
‘Nothing. It’s fine as far as it goes. It’s merely a reasonable outlet for bored housewives too timid to have an affair. You must have realized that by now.’
‘I thought it was quite heavy, actually.’
Rowenna smiled sympathetically. ‘Listen, I have to go now. Go on, ask me where. You’re gonna like this.’
‘Huh?’
‘The Cathedral.’
‘I thought we were going shopping!’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Rowenna said ruefully. ‘I just forgot what day it was. I have to meet my cousin, who-’ Rowenna looked up. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Where?’
‘Guy looking at you through the window.’
‘You tried that one earlier,’ Jane said.
‘He’s not bad actually, if you’re into older men. He’s wearing black. He’s all in black. I think he’s coming in.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Jane bit off a corner of pizza. ‘It’s fucking Satan, right?’
‘He is. He’s coming in for you.’
A draught hit the back of Jane’s ankles as the door to the street opened.
Just when Merrily was in no mood to talk to him, Huw rang.
‘How are you, lass?’
‘I’m OK.’
‘I’ve rung a few times,’ Huw said. ‘I’ve prayed, too.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s been the problem?’
As though they’d spoken only last night and parted amicably.
‘Rat-eyes,’ Merrily said, ‘probably.’
‘Oh aye?’ No change of tone whatsoever.
She told him calmly that she had been the subject of what seemed to be a psychic attack. She told him it had now been dealt with.
‘This was what came with you into St Cosmas?’ Huw said.
‘I believe so.’
‘And it’s dealt with?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re clean, then?’
‘I believe I am. How about you?’
Huw left a pause, then he said, ‘About the hospital – I went in last night and I got a bollocking from an Irish nurse with a very high opinion of you. I said I shared that, naturally.’
‘And explained to her why you and Dobbs were shafting me?’
‘I assured her I would explain the situation fully to you at the earliest possible opportunity. Which is why I’m ringing. Can I meet you tonight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Merrily said. ‘I have other problems.’
‘Happen I can help.’
‘Happen I don’t want you to.’
‘Merrily…’
‘What?’
‘We have a crisis.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘You, me, your Cathedral – the C of E.’
‘Do you want to come here?’
‘We’ll meet in your gatehouse at six. We’ll be alone then?’
‘All right,’ she said.
Lol held open the passenger door of the Astra for her. He slammed it shut and got in the other side.
Jane stared at him, coming down off her high. ‘Where are we going?’
He started the engine, put on the lights, and booted the ancient heap out into the traffic. ‘To a funeral, I’m afraid.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Yeah, I’m kidding. I always wear a black suit on Saturdays.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ Jane said. ‘It’s Moon, isn’t it?’
Lol turned right, towards Greyfriars Bridge. She was making a point of not asking him why he’d just swanned into the restaurant like that – looking quite smooth, for Lol. It had been cool, anyway, to play along. Cool, too, that the extreme warmth of her welcome appeared to have shocked him a little.
She grinned. ‘I frightened you, didn’t I?’
‘There’s effusive,’ Lol said, ‘and there’s effusive.’
‘Darling, as it happens I was glad to see you.’ There was no way Lol would let her spend the night in C amp; A’s doorway. ‘What was her face like?’
‘Whose?’
‘Rowenna’s. I couldn’t see, could I? I was busy expressing my delight at your arrival.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I can still taste the mozzarella.’
‘So how did she react?’
‘She looked surprised.’
‘Excellent,’ Jane said.
Lol crossed four lanes of traffic at the lights, foot down. He must be running late. She suspected there were aspects of Lol’s relationship with Moon she didn’t fully understand. Of course, the problem here was that if he’d taken time to come and find her, in his funeral suit, that suggested he was acting on specific instructions from the Reverend Watkins. In the end you couldn’t get away from her, could you?
‘You weren’t just passing, were you, Lol?’
‘Your mum told me where you were having lunch.’
‘Great,’ Jane said dully.
‘She said you’d had a row.’
‘It was a minor disagreement.’
‘Like between the Serbs and the Croats.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘She said a lot of things I’m inclined to let her explain to you personally.’
‘Look,’ Jane said, more harshly than she intended, ‘tell her to fax it or something. I’m not going back.’
‘You bloody are, Jane.’
‘You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to.’
Lol turned left into the crematorium drive. ‘You’re right.’ He sighed. ‘I probably can’t even trust you to stay in the car while I go inside.’
God, he looks so kind of desolate.
‘Yes, you can,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Lol.’
Denny had been wrong. The modern crematorium chapel was at least half-full. Distant relatives, he explained to Lol – nosey bastards whose faces he only half remembered. Also, a pair of archaeologist friends of Moon’s from Northumberland, where she’d lived for a couple of years. And Big Viv and her partner, Gary. And the Purefoys, Tim and Anna. And Dick and Ruth Lyden.
And Moon, of course. Moon was here.
Denny had booked a minister. ‘Though she’d probably have preferred a fucking druid,’ he said, seeming uncomfortable and aggressive. He wasn’t wearing his earring; without it he looked less amiable, embittered. He looked like he wanted to hit people. His wife Maggie was here, without the children. She was tall, short-haired and well dressed, and talked to the relatives but not much to Denny. He must be difficult to live with right now.
The minister said some careful things about Moon. He said she was highly intelligent and enthusiastic, and it was a tragic loss, both to her brother Dennis and his family and to the world of archaeology.
Denny muttered and looked down at his feet. Anna Purefoy wept silently into a handkerchief. They sang two hymns, during which Lol gazed at the costly oak coffin and pictured Moon inside it, with her strange, hard hands crossed over her breast. To intensify the experience in this bland place, to make it hurt, he made her say, I’d like to sleep now, Lol.
It hurt all the more because he knew that was wrong. She couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking of his dream of the mist-furled Moon in Capuchin Lane, holding the broken heads of the ancestors as she’d held the crow. A dream… like the dreams she’d had of her father. Moon had joined not the ancestors but the grey ranks of the sleepless. When the curtains closed over the coffin, there were tears in Lol’s eyes because he could not love her – had not even been able to help her. It was a disaster.
And it was not over.
Outside, in the foggy car park, Dick Lyden said to Lol, ‘Never seen you in a suit before, old chap,’ then he patted Denny sympathetically on the arm. Denny looked like he wanted to smash Dick’s face in. Lol found the slender, sweet-faced Anna Purefoy at his side.
‘I feel so guilty, Mr Robinson. We should have positively discouraged her. We should have seen the psychiatric problems.’
‘They aren’t always easy to spot,’ Lol said.
‘I taught at a further-education college for a year. I’ve seen it all in young women: manic depression, drug-induced psychosis. I should have seen her as she really was. But we were so delighted by her absorption in the farm that we couldn’t resist offering her the barn. We thought she was perfect for it.’
‘You couldn’t hope to understand an obsession on that scale,’ Lol said. He realized it was going to be worse for the Purefoys than for anyone else here, maybe even for Denny. They would have to live with that barn. ‘What will you do with it now?’
‘I suspect it will be impossible to find a permanent tenant. We’d have to tell people, wouldn’t we? Perhaps we could revert to our original plan of holiday accommodation. I don’t know, it’s too early.’
‘Well, good luck,’ Lol said. He wondered if Merrily might be persuaded to go up there and bless the barn or something. He watched the Purefoys walk away to their Land Rover Discovery. Denny’s wife, Maggie, was chatting to an elderly couple, while Denny stood by with his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. A lone crow, of all birds, flew over his head and landed on the roof of the crematorium, and stayed there as though it was waiting for Moon’s spirit to emerge in the smoke, to accompany it back to Dinedor Hill.
But nobody could see the smoke in this fog – and the way to Dinedor would be obscured. He imagined Moon alone in that car park, after everyone had gone. Moon cold in the tatters of her medieval dress – bewildered because there was nobody left. Nobody left to understand what had happened to her.
The Astra was parked about fifteen yards away. As he approached, Jane’s face appeared in the blotched windscreen, looking very young and starved. He tried to smile at her; she looked so vulnerable. It was cold in the car as he started the engine.
She said, ‘Lol, that woman you were talking to…’
‘Mrs Purefoy?’
‘The blonde woman.’
‘That was Moon’s neighbour and landlady, Anna Purefoy.’
He drove slowly out of the car park on dipped headlights.
Jane said, ‘You mean Angela.’
‘I thought it was Anna. I could be wrong.’
‘Moon’s neighbour?’
‘On Dinedor Hill. They own the farm where she died.’
After a while, as the car crept back into the hidden city, Jane said, ‘Help me, Lol. Things have got like horribly screwed up.’