A Ghost in the Machine (35 page)

“Right!” Benny seized the package.

“Hang on,” said Doris. “Kate's not here at the minute. I just saw her go over the road.”

“To the Parnells'?” asked Benny.

She spoke quite coldly and Doris was surprised. It wasn't like Benny, who seemed to like practically everyone on sight, to be so chilly. Doris, a bit uncomfortable at asking a direct question, raised her eyebrows.

Benny ignored the hint. She would never tell anyone what had happened to turn her against the Parnells—well, only Judith really. Just days after she had given them the lovely present of the Scottie dog soap and sponge she had seen it put out with the rubbish on collection day. Judith had not even bothered to bury it under other things or put it in a bag. This absolute indifference to anyone else's feelings, for the bin was clearly visible from the gates of Appleby House, had made Benny very angry. She was glad they were going away.

“Tell you what,” Doris was saying now. “I couldn't half do with a cuppa.”

“Benny apologised, made some tea and produced almond biscuits. There was an awkward moment when she took the tray into the sitting room. Doris was sitting in Dennis's wing chair and Benny couldn't help making a little cry of distress, which she immediately smothered. But Doris heard and got up straightaway, protesting that the sun was in her eyes and she thought she'd settle better on the settee.

“You coming to the Near at Hand tomorrow, Ben?”

Benny's hand trembled so violently the lid of the teapot started to dance. “What for?”

“Well…I expect there'll be a memorial service. You know, for Ava. Just thought you might be interested.”

“Ava?”

“Ava Garret. The medium who died.”

“Oh, yes.” That Ava.

“I thought there'd've been an inquest by now.”

Doris no sooner spoke than regretted it. Benny's face clouded over and Doris guessed she was remembering the inquest on Dennis. What an awful day that had been, with Benny acting so strangely and making wild accusations.

At this point Benny picked up the pot again and finished pouring the tea. As she put the milk and sugar in, Doris cautiously started to skirt around the real reason for her visit.

“I've been thinking about what you said on Thursday, Ben.”

“To do with what?”

“When I told you Ava'd died you seemed really cross. Then you said, ‘What am I going to do
now
?'”

“I don't remember that.”

“You definitely did, and I thought—”

“Look at the time.” Benny got up, almost tipping over her cup, such was her haste. “I'm…er…supposed to be over there. Mallory will…um…the Celandine…meeting.” She snatched up the manuscript. “No need for you to hurry, Doris. Finish your tea, have some more biscuits. Pull the door to when you go.”

Doris finished her tea and all the biscuits too. She felt she deserved some sort of compensation. For hadn't she been the one who'd urged Benny to visit the Church of the Near at Hand in the first place? Without me, thought Doris, poor Mr. Brinkley would still be floating around the etheric grid desperate for a link-up. You don't expect gratitude for helping people or, these days, even thanks. But to be shut out when a new and mysterious angle on the whole business seemed to be in the offing was extremely frustrating.

Something was going on or Benny wouldn't have scarpered like that. Doris recalled the clattering cup and saucer, the grabbing of the envelope and Ben flying from the room, calling over her shoulder. She had run away, that's what she had done. Run like the wind. But from what? Doris, nibbling on the final almond thin, was determined to find out.

 

Kate was saying goodbye to Ashley and Judith. They had already said it once, all four of them, the previous evening at dinner. Remembering what it had been like the night before she and Mallory moved, Kate had thought asking them over for a meal would be helpful. Not that the Parnells were actually moving but they were going away for an unknown length of time.

It had all happened very quickly. Even before the Harley Street appointment Judith was surfing the Net looking for the best hospital and the best-known and reputable consultant. She showed her brief list to the specialist when they met and followed his advice. Ashley told Kate all about it when Judith was in Causton, booking their flights.

The Clinique pour les Maladies Tropicales, La Fontaine, was in the
Alpes Maritimes
on the French-Italian borders. Judith would be staying in a hotel very near to the hospital. Apparently the air was wonderful. She was very excited but in a feverish, almost unbalanced way. Ashley was the calm one. When Mallory asked how he felt he just said: “Glad something's happening at last.”

The meal had not been a success. It soon became plain that Ashley was happy to be present but Judith was only there on sufferance. And she didn't look at all pleased when Ashley urged Kate and Mallory to eat as much as they could from Trevelyan's garden as it would only run to waste.

Kate got rather fed up with this surliness – they were, after all, keeping an eye on the Parnells' house and forwarding all their post – and by the time the caramelised pears had been dished up, was a touch on the surly side herself. She was sorry afterwards, wondering how pleasant and friendly she would be to people if Mallory was frighteningly ill and might never get better. So this morning she collected some of the loveliest and ripest fruit in the orchard and took it across just moments before their cab turned up.

Ashley gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Judith said of the apples, “What on earth are we supposed to do with those?” Then they got into the taxi and were driven away.

 

It was lunchtime, and Roy and Karen were dining on fresh brown rolls and soup from a carton; spicy parsnip made in Covent Garden. Karen had never heard of Covent Garden so Roy explained about it. How there were cobbled streets and lots of stalls and shops and jugglers and fire-eaters. And a man and a woman covered in silver paint who never moved, not even to blink.

“I'm thinking of doing my first stand-up in the Garden 'cause you can just start anywhere.”

“Can I come, Roy? I'd clap all the time. And laugh.”

“You don't laugh now.”

“I would then, though.”

“OK. You can take the hat round.”

Which brought them back to the subject of money. Money generally and, of course,
the
money. Roy had said that they had to be really careful but that didn't mean they couldn't treat themselves a little bit. For a start Karen had to have some clothes. The rubbish she wore you wouldn't put on a scarecrow. And shoes.

“They're not good for your feet, them big heavy things.”

“Everybody wears them.”

“It's OK sometimes. But we ought to get you some sneakers.”

“
Oohhh, Roy…sneakers…
”

“All right, don't go mad.”

Roy had spent a good hour sitting in the garden with a cup of tea before Karen woke that morning worrying about money. Just about able to add up single figures, anything else was beyond him. But he did know that after he'd given Ava his weekly rent he'd had about the same amount left. Would that be enough to keep two people? Then there was electricity and stuff. All right now, but what about when winter came?

There was no way he could draw Karen's child benefit. She couldn't draw it either, even though it was for her and belonged to her. Only Ava was authorised to sign the book and cash the counterfoil. She had always done this in Causton, believing this way no one in Forbes Abbot would know her business. But the one thing Roy had to do to get all the financial support available to someone in his position was the one thing he couldn't do. Because once the true facts about him and Karen and the house got fed into the DSS computers, all their security and happiness would vanish like smoke.

There was a tugging at his arm. “Roy, Roy.”

“Karen, Karen.”

“Can I get my new things at Covent Garden?”

“No. We're going to Byrite.”

“When? When, Roy?”

“Today, if you like.”

“Brilliant! Do they have fire-eaters? And silver people?”

“No.”

“Now we're rich, couldn't we go to Covent Garden just to look?”

“I'll take you one day. Don't jump about like that – you're making me giddy.”

“Roy?”

“Now what?”

“Can I have a bicycle?”

“No.”

“Can I paint my room pink then?”

 

Roy had already been to Byrite so knew what to expect, but Karen was devastated. Mouth open, she just stood and stared at the immense space, stretching up over their heads and miles into the distance. At the thousands of shelves crammed with everything you would ever want in the entire world your whole life long.

“I thought it was a shop, Roy.”

“It is a shop. Now you hold on to this trolly, right? And don't let go. Lose you in this place I'll never find you again.”

Karen gripped the plastic handles tight. She had never seen so many people. As many as you could see if you watched a football match on television. Except here they were moving about all the time, which was much more frightening.

They started to walk around. With two bus journeys to get back to Forbes Abbot, Roy had been very firm about how much they could carry. Strictly just Karen's clothes and some paint. So it was unfortunate that the first aisle they travelled was bedding, because there was the most beautiful duvet cover telling the story of Cinderella. The fairy godmother's wand waved real sparkle and the mice had satin tails. It had a matching lacy pillowcase and a little lamp with a silver shade scattered with more sparkle. Karen offered to carry the lamp.

They had to go through food to get to the children's clothes section, which meant more exceptional offers you couldn't refuse. Though Roy drew the line at twelve cans of soup for the price of eight he couldn't resist a gingerbread house or a big box of chocolates that looked like seashells.

When they did finally get to the children's clothes section Karen chose three T-shirts, a denim skirt, some jeans and the beloved sneakers, which had a red light that sparkled in the back. Also socks, underwear and a sunshine-yellow fleece. By then their trolly was loaded, yet everything altogether came to only thirty-eight pounds.

Paying the cashier, Roy turned to Karen, proud of their double act, wanting to see her smile. She wasn't there. She had been standing next to him, now she had gone. The shock stopped Roy's breath in his throat. He could not move or speak.

She had gone. Sick with fear and trembling all over, Roy abandoned his trolly and started running round the store. Terrible pictures took over his mind. Karen getting into a car with a man who'd been following them round. A desperate woman who couldn't have kids snatching her arm, dragging her through a doorway. A couple into devil worship, young people, looking so friendly and harmless. They'd got a little girl just like Karen. Would she like to come and play?

Roy stopped running. It was hopeless, the place was so big. He must tell someone and they would put out an announcement. And call the police. He would have to describe her. Thin, small for her age. Hair? No colour really.

Roy leaned against a plaster archway, panting from his run. His heart banged painfully against his ribs. He thought he was better off without all this, sodding hell he was. Caring for somebody, letting them get to you, was absolute shite. A mug's game. He'd coped all right till now without it. It hadn't been great, but he'd survived. You could stick this love crap right up your—

And then he saw her. Standing in front of a display of dolls. Relief crashed over him like a dam bursting, almost knocking him over. Then came anger. Putting him through this. Didn't she know he was trying to look after her? The little…He forced himself to wait till this violence subsided, watching her every second. Then he took a deep breath, sauntered casually up and said, “I was wondering where you'd got to. Coming to help me with all the stuff?”

“Oh, Roy.” She turned a radiant face towards him, seizing his hand. “Look, look! It's Barbie.”

So then they had to spend the next half-hour trying to decide which Barbie. Horse riding Barbie, film star Barbie, nurse or secretary Barbie, Barbie on holiday, concert pianist Barbie. Then there was all Barbie's gear. For a doll she certainly knew how to stack it up.

After Roy had paid again (for Barbie the Astronaut) they went into the cafeteria and had warm sausage rolls and chips and Coke. It was Saturday and very busy. Everywhere there were families and Roy proudly took his place among them. He listened to how the parents talked to the children. It mostly seemed to be nagging. Look at the mess you've made. Stop kicking that chair. Leave her crisps alone—you've had yours. Put that purse down. Now look what you've done.

“Karen, don't spill that drink.”

“I'm not.”

“And finish your chips before they get cold.”

“You finish
your
chips.”

“Don't be so cheeky.”

“Don't keep on at me then.”

“I'm in charge here,” said Roy. Then, “What's so funny?”

 

The interior of the Church of the Near at Hand was appropriately dark on the Sunday following Ava's death. The yews seemed denser than ever. Alive, like Rackham trees in a wild wood, they pressed together, holding back the sun's rays. Inside, the lights had been switched on but were powered only by opaque sixty-watt bulbs, giving a pale, sickly glow.

George was in a strange mood. Everyone commented on it. He wore a nicely brushed black suit and looked reliably sombre but was very much on the twitchy side. It was as if, one parishioner said, underneath the expression on his face there was a different expression struggling to get out.