Midwinter of the Spirit (42 page)

Lol was coming down the library steps, with a big brown book under his arm.

‘Merrily!’ Santa-light dancing across his gold-framed glasses.

Lol
, she wanted to shout,
I’m all right. I’m clear
.

And rush into his arms.

And I still can’t go to bed with you. We priests don’t do that kind of thing
.

‘We have to talk, Merrily.’

Suddenly everybody wanted to talk.

‘Me too,’ she told him, still on that strange, sensitive high. ‘Let’s go to church.’

The vicar of All Saints had a bigger, more regular congregation than the Cathedral’s.

This was because they’d cleared a big space at the rear of the medieval city-centre church and turned it into a restaurant. A good one too. It might not work in a village like Ledwardine, but it had worked here. This church was what it used to be in the Middle Ages, what it was built to be: the centre of everything. It was good to hear laughter in a church, see piles of shopping bags and children, who maybe had never been in a church before, gazing in halffearful fascination down the nave towards the secret, holy places.

They carried their cups of tea to a table. Lol still had the big brown book under his arm. ‘That’s the Holy Bible, isn’t it?’ Merrily said. ‘Go on, I can take it. Excite me.’

‘Not’ – Lol put down the book – ‘exactly.’

On the spine it said, black on gold:

ROSS: PAGAN CELTIC BRITAIN

‘Damn,’ Merrily said. ‘So close.’

‘The crow,’ Lol said.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t tell me about the bloody crow they spread all over the altar at that little church.’

‘Should I have?’

Lol opened the book. ‘Didn’t anyone give a thought to why they would sacrifice a crow?’

‘Lol, we just want to keep the bastards out. We’re not into understanding them. Maybe you should talk to the social services.’

‘Crows and ravens,’ Lol said. ‘Feared and venerated by the Iron Age Celts. Mostly feared, for their prophetic qualities. But not like the you’re-going-to-win-the-lottery kind of prophecy.’

‘ “Quoth the raven,
Nevermore
.” ’

‘Right.
That
kind of prophecy – harbingers of darkness.’

‘Being black. The persecution we still inflict on anything or anybody black, how bloody primitive we still are.’

‘In Celtic folk tales, it says here, crows and ravens figured as birds of ill-omen or… as a form taken by anti-Christian forces.’

Merrily sat up.

‘There’s a story in here,’ Lol said, ‘of how, as late as the seventeenth century, a congregation in a house in the north of Scotland that was used for Christian worship… how the congregation was virtually paralysed by the appearance of a big black bird sitting on a pillar, emanating evil. Nobody could leave that house for over two days. They became so screwed up that it was even suggested the householder’s son should be sacrificed to the bird. This
isn’t
a legend.’

‘Then why, if it inspires so much primitive awe, would anyone dare to sacrifice a crow?’

‘Possibly to take on its powers of prophecy, whatever. That’s been known to happen.’

‘This makes me suspicious,’ Merrily said. ‘You’re doing my job for me. Why are you doing my job?’

‘Because of something that happened with Moon.’

And he told her about the disturbed woman standing on the Iron Age ramparts at Dinedor, with her hand inside a dead crow.

Merrily, thinking, drank a whole cup of tea, then poured more. She stared down the nave into the old mystery.

Lol said, ‘The way she died – I don’t believe she would have killed herself like that. I can’t believe in the
reasons
. Like the psychological answer, that she was locked into this fatal obsession, so when she found out how her father died it all came to a head. Or the possible psychic theory that maybe Denny’s been turning over in his mind: some lingering dark force which periodically curses his family with madness, and the only way you can make sure of avoiding it is to stay the hell away from Dinedor Hill.’

‘That can happen, Lol. We believe that can happen. Psychology and parapsychology are so very close. But I don’t necessarily buy a connection between what happened to Moon and the crow sacrifice at St Cosmas.’

‘No,’ Lol said, ‘maybe you’re right. Maybe I just saw the headline in the
Hereford Times
at the wrong time. Crows were on my mind then.’ He closed the book. ‘You look better, Merrily. Tired, but better.’

‘Tired? I suppose I must be. I didn’t realize. I’ve been dashing about. Oh, I took back my letter of resignation.’

‘Figured you might.’

‘Something… gave.’

‘Like, you found out about this guy Huw and old Dobbs.’

‘No, I… still don’t know about that. But I will, very soon.’

‘And Jane?’

‘Inquiries are in hand.’

Lol said, ‘I’ve had Viv in the shop looking into the Pod.’

‘Ah… that explains
her
.’

‘Apparently – you might find this interesting, not to say insulting – the women were told to look after Jane. That she was a special person with, er, a problem background.’

Merrily stiffened. ‘A special person? She said that?
A special person with a problem background?
Where did that come from? Who told these women all this?’

‘Don’t know.’

Merrily breathed out slowly.

That night, Lol dreamed he awoke and went into the living room and stood at the window gazing down into Capuchin Lane, which was murky with pre-dawn mist, no lights anywhere.

He knew she was there, even before he saw her: grey and sorrowful, the dress meeting the mist in furls and furrows, her eyes as black as the eyes of the crumbling skulls she held, one in each hand.

I’d like to sleep now, Lol
, she said. But the tone of it had changed; there was anguish.

He awoke, cold and numb, in Ethel’s chair. He didn’t remember going to sleep there.

39

One Sad Person

S
HE
S
LEPT THROUGH
, incredibly, until almost ten, without any circles of golden light. Without, come to think of it, any protective prayers, only mumbles of gratitude as she fell into bed.

‘Why didn’t you
wake
me?’

‘Because you were like mega-knackered,’ Jane said. ‘You obviously needed it.’

Merrily registered the toast crumbs. Jane had breakfasted alone. There was weak sunshine, through mist. It looked cold out there.

‘Nobody rang?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Not even Ted? Not Huw Owen?’ She’d called Huw four times last night, to keep herself in line for last-caller if he should try 1471.

‘Uh-huh.’ Jane shook her head. ‘You need a new dressinggown, by the way. You look like a bag-lady.’

‘Not Annie Howe either?’

‘The ice-maiden of West Mercia CID? You can’t be that desperate for friends.’

‘We commune occasionally.’

‘Jesus,’ said Jane, ‘it’ll be girls’ nights out at the police social club next. And guest spots on identity parades.’

‘Jane.’

‘What?’

Merrily pulled out a dining chair. ‘Sit down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we need to talk.’

‘I can’t. I’m meeting Rowenna in town.’

‘When?’

‘For lunch at Slater’s, then we’re going Christmas shopping. But I wanted to get into town a couple of hours early because I haven’t got
her
anything yet, OK?’

‘You’re spending a lot of time with Rowenna, aren’t you?’

‘Meaning like more than with you.’

‘Or even boys,’ Merrily said lightly.

Jane’s eyes hardened. ‘That’s because we’re lesbians.’

‘You going to sit down, flower?’

‘I have to
go
.’

‘Sit
down
.’

Jane slumped sullenly into the chair. ‘Why do you hate Rowenna?’

‘I don’t
know
Rowenna. I’ve only met her once.’

‘She’s a significant person,’ Jane said.

‘In what way?’

‘In a way that I’d expect you to actually understand. Like she has a spiritual identity. She seeks wisdom. Most of the people at school, teachers included, think self-development is about A-levels and biceps.’

‘Rowenna’s a religious person?’

‘I think we’ve had this discussion before,’ Jane said loftily. ‘Religion implies
organized
religion.’

‘Anything else, therefore, must be
dis
organized religion.’

‘Ah’ – a fleeting faraway-ness in the kid’s eyes – ‘how wrong can you get?’

‘So
tell
me.’

Jane looked at her, unblinking. ‘Tell you what?’

‘Tell me how wrong I can get. Tell me why I’m wrong.’

‘Again?’ Jane raised her eyes. ‘It has to be a personal thing, right? You have to work at it. Make a commitment to yourself. I mean, going to church, singing a couple of hymns, listening to some trite sermon, that’s just like, Oh, if I do this every week, endure the tedium for a couple of hours, God’ll take care of me. Well, that’s got to be crap, hasn’t it? That’s the sheep mentality, and when you end up in the slaughterhouse you’re thinking: Hey, why didn’t I just get under the fence that time?’

Merrily felt shadows deepening. ‘So you’re under the fence, are you, flower?’

Jane shrugged.

‘Only I had this anonymous letter,’ Merrily said.

‘Was it sexy? Was it from one of those sad old guys who want to get into your cassock?’

‘I’ll show it to you.’ Merrily went over to the dresser, plucked the folded letter out of her bag, handed the letter to Jane. Glimpsing the words brazenly endangering her Soul, as the kid unfolded it.

‘ “Brazenly endangering her soul and yours,” ’ Jane said, ‘ “by mixing with the Spiritually Unclean.” Well, well. Unsigned, naturally. When exactly did this come?’

‘Few days ago.’

‘So you’ve been kind of sitting on it, right?’

‘I’ve had one or two other things to think about, as you well know.’

Jane held the letter between finger and thumb as though it might be infected. ‘Burn it, if you like,’ Merrily said.

‘Oh no.’ Jane carefully folded the paper. Her eyes glowed like a cat’s. ‘I don’t think so. I’m going to hunt down this scumbag, and when I find out—’

‘I think,’ Merrily said, more sharply than she intended, ‘that you’re missing the point. You went to this so-called psychic fair without even mentioning it.’

‘Why? Would you have wanted to come along?’

‘Maybe I would, actually.’

‘Yeah, like some kind of dawn raid by the soul police.’

‘I accept’ – Merrily kept her temper, which would have gone out of the window long ago if they’d been having this discussion last night – ‘that most of the self-styled New Age people at these events’ – selecting her words like picking apples from an iffy market stall and finding they were all rotten – ‘are perfectly nice, well-meaning…’

‘… deluded idiots!’

‘Jane—’

‘I can’t believe this!’ Jane leapt up. ‘Some shrivelled-up, pofaced old fart sends you a poison-pen letter and you secrete it away in your bag and save it up, probably sneaking the occasional peep to stoke up your holier-than-every-bastard-formiles-around righteous indignation—’

‘Sit down, flower.’

‘No! I
thought
you were behaving funny. You’re bloody terrified, aren’t you? It’s not, like: How dare this old fart point the finger at my daughter? Oh, no, you’re crapping yourself in case this gets back to
Michael
and you get, like, decommissioned from the soul police! Jesus, you are one sad person, Mother.’

‘Jane…’ Merrily steadied herself on the Aga rail. ‘Would you come back and sit down? Then we can talk about this like… adults?’

‘You mean like priest and sinner. I don’t think so, Merrily. I’m going upstairs to my apartment. I’m going to light some candles on my altar and probably offer a couple of meaningful prayers to my goddess. Then I’m going out. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

‘Light a couple of candles? I see.’

‘Maybe four. They say it’s always so much more effective,’ Jane said, ‘coming from a vicarage.’

‘Really?’

Jane turned away and opened the door to the hall.

‘That’s what they say at the Pod, is it?’ Merrily said.

* * *

The phone rang in the kitchen just then, and half a second later in the scullery-office. And it went on and on, and Merrily didn’t dare answer it because she knew Jane would be out of the room before she reached the receiver.

‘You’d better get that. It might be Annie Howe,’ Jane said, and Merrily could see she was trembling with rage. ‘She must… she must’ve already taught you everything she knows. About spying on people, undercover investigations… The soul police will never look back – you fucking nosy bitch.’

‘Right! That’s it!’ Merrily bounced off the stove and into the middle of the room. ‘You think you’re incredibly cool and clever and in control of your own destiny, and all this crap. The truth is you’re either a complete hypocrite or you’re unbelievably naive, and has it never entered your head that the only reason this little… sect is interested in you is because of me and what I—’

‘Me!
Me
, me,
me
!’ Jane screeched. ‘You are so arrogant. You are
soooo
disgustingly ambitious that you can’t see the truth, which is that nobody gives a
shit
for your Church or the pygmies strutting around the Cathedral Close, not realizing what a total joke they are. Your congregations are like
laughable
. In twenty years you’ll all be preaching to each other. You don’t
matter
any more. You haven’t mattered for years. I’m just like
embarrassed
to tell anybody what you do, you know that? You embarrass me to death, so just get off my back!’

The phone stopped. ‘Get out,’ Merrily said.

‘Fair enough.’ Jane smiled. ‘I may be away some time.’

‘Whatever you like. In fact, maybe you could go and stay at Rowenna’s for a few days. I’m sure there are lots of spare bedrooms in Colonel Napier’s mansion.’