The Moon Spun Round (27 page)

‘She says she’s feeling out of sorts. The other day she was talking about going on holiday. Do them both good to get away, what with the shop and that tribe of grandchildren.’

‘He’s a dear man, isn’t he, her Jack?’

‘Sweet as they come.’

‘Look out, here comes your Edward.’ Abbie switches on a smile as she turns to greet him, ‘Evening, Vicar. Happy New Year.’

‘And to you, Mrs Hunter-Gordon. Ah, Mr Hunter-Gordon. I was hoping to have a word with you. It’s about the parish committee. The elections are coming up and—’

‘Oh, give it a rest, Edward!’ Fran shouts above the music. ‘This is supposed to be a party. Let the poor man dance with his wife and get drunk if he wants to.’

‘I must confess, I have had a few,’ says George. ‘Not got my best thinking head on. Perhaps I could call round next week—’

‘Good evening, Reverend Cunningham.’ Naomi scrambles to her feet. ‘Would you like to dance?’

‘Er, no thank you, Miss Walker.’

‘Yes, I expect it’s a bit too physical for you—sins of the flesh and all that.’

Edward’s shoulders stiffen; his face is a study in concrete. ‘I’m here as part of my parish duties. I wasn’t intending to participate.’

‘Ah, so that’s why we’re here,’ says Fran. ‘To patrol the joint, make sure no one’s enjoying themselves? Well, everyone deserves an evening off once in a while, even me. So why don’t you give us all a break and go home?’

‘Oh, come on Edward, loosen up a bit. Have a beer.’ Naomi offers him her bottle.

‘I think one of us has had quite enough to drink already, don’t you, Frances? Perhaps it’s time I took you home.’

‘I’ve no intention of going anywhere, Edward, but if you can’t stand the thought of anyone having a good time why don’t you just sod off. This is what people are all about, you know. If you really despise human nature that much,
you should have got a job as a lighthouse keeper.’

Naomi explodes with laughter, spraying the air with a mouthful of drink.

‘Perhaps it’s time I went.’ Edward desperately clings to the remains of his dignity. ‘Mrs Hunter-Gordon, would you be kind enough to phone me if Frances has difficulty getting home?’

‘Certainly, of course I will.’ Abbie manages to control herself until he reaches the door, then all three of them collapse in fits of laughter. Abbie takes Naomi’s bottle from her as she is led away to dance by someone tall, dark and hopeful who thinks he’s struck it lucky.

Suddenly Ayden is beside their table, Claire behind him. ‘Evening, George. And it’s Mrs Hunter-Gordon, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, we’ve met before.’ Abbie gives him a cold stare.

‘How’s the computer business?’ asks George. ‘Christmas sales booming?’

‘Oh, you know, can’t complain.’

The men stand with their backs to the table, talking male stuff and watching the dancers. Remembering how she recently enlightened George about the more unpleasant aspects of Ayden’s character, Abbie observes that, although George sounds friendly enough, he manoeuvres himself to stand between Ayden and the table where she and Fran are seated; the elder stag guarding his females from a young buck. As if she needs protecting. Still, it gives her a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling towards her husband. With Ayden’s back turned, Claire is able to move close to Abbie and Fran, touching a hand on each of their shoulders.

‘Enjoying the party? Haven’t seen you dance yet,’ says Abbie.

‘Ayden’s not really into that. I think he only came to nurture a few contacts. He’s fishing for an invitation to join Rotary, so he needs to show himself at social gatherings.’

‘Tell me about it,’ mutters Fran.

‘It won’t take much to persuade George to dance. You’re welcome to borrow him for five minutes.’

‘No. Thanks, but best not to.’

Abbie reaches up and lays a hand on Claire’s shoulder, starts to say something, then thinks better of it and shakes her head.

The song winds down and another begins.

Naomi, having caught sight of Claire standing at their table, abandons her bewildered partner and struggles through the crowd. ‘Happy New Year! I didn’t know you were coming. It’s so good to see you here.’ She brushes a kiss on Claire’s cheek.

‘Bit of a last-minute decision.’

‘Well, I’m glad you made it. Come and dance with me.’ Naomi catches hold
of her hand. Claire pulls away, but too late. Just then Ayden turns around and sees them.

‘Hey, you. Get your hands off my wife.’

‘We were only going to dance.’ Naomi looks astonished.

‘Well, I’m telling you to keep away from her.’

‘It’s all right, Ayden, I wasn’t going to—’

‘And you can shut it as well. Turn my back for two seconds and there’s some fucking dyke with her paws all over you.’

‘Now steady on, old chap.’ George pushes himself between them. ‘No need for that sort of language.’

‘Please, Ayden, it was nothing.’ Claire’s voice is shaking. She moves to his side, tries to take hold of his arm. ‘Come away, we’re embarrassing these people.’ Instead he grabs her wrist.

‘I’ll come away all right. The further away from that bitch the better.’

‘That’s quite enough of that.’ George is bristling now.

‘Yeah, and you want to watch her with your wife, and all. Who knows what they get up to, with her and her witchcraft. We all know what that’s about, don’t we?’

‘Now look here, Drayton, I think you’d better leave.’

‘We’re leaving all right, don’t you worry.’ He turns to Naomi, jabbing a finger at her face. ‘They used to burn people like you.’ Then he drags Claire towards the door.

Abbie stands up and starts to follow them. Naomi, eyes blazing, is struggling to free herself from Fran’s grip.

‘No, please don’t. It’s all right.’ Claire turns back and tries to smile, but there’s fear in her voice.

‘Claire—’

‘Please. It’ll be OK.’

‘Well, what do you make of that?’ George is nonplussed. ‘Damn fellow must be drunk. Still, no excuse. No excuse at all.’

‘Are you all right, love?’ Fran puts an arm around Naomi, who is trembling with rage and shock.

‘I think we should go after her,’ says Abbie.

‘She said not to.’

‘But you saw what he was like.’ Naomi is almost in tears. ‘Anything could happen.’

‘It’s you he’s got it in for, not Claire. You’d only make things worse. Come on, have a seat—we all need to calm down a bit.’

Sally, heading back to join her friends and bringing Brian with her, is just in
time to catch sight of Claire and Ayden heading out the door. Questioning looks and a whispered explanation are exchanged with Fran, while Brian says hello to Abbie and is introduced to George. The very situation Abbie was hoping to avoid.

‘Ah yes, my wife has spoken very highly of you. Seems you really impressed her with the way you dealt with young Jim’s pony.’

‘And I was really impressed by your wife. She’s very knowledgeable.’

‘Always has had a special touch with the horses, haven’t you, my love?’

‘Brian doesn’t have a drink, George. Sorry we can’t offer you a glass, but if you don’t mind a bottle…’ It’s like being in a speeding train and knowing that the brakes have failed.

‘Bottle’s fine, thanks. Yes, she certainly has an understanding of animals. But I’m even more impressed with her knowledge of traditional medicine and complementary treatments.’

‘Humph, well. Don’t know much about that myself. I’d have thought that being medically qualified you wouldn’t have time for that sort of stuff.’

‘On the contrary, it’s something that many members of the veterinarian profession are looking at seriously. Same with human medicine, of course. That’s why I was hoping you might have some influence with this documentary film. I’ve been trying to persuade her to take part.’

‘What film? She’s not said anything to me about any documentary. Abbie?’ He turns around, but his wife is nowhere to be seen.

Undaunted, Brian launches into an explanation of the planned television programme and appeals to George—as Abbie’s husband and closest influence—for support. But before he gets too far, the music stops and Jeff announces the approach of midnight. He switches over to the BBC broadcast and, as the first chimes of Big Ben ring out, a brief scramble erupts as the crowd re-sorts itself into couples.

‘Thank God! Saved by the bell.’ Abbie is hiding behind Ruth and Jack.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Well, next year actually.’

A ragged circle forms around the room and, as the first stroke booms out, arms are crossed and hands taken. The countdown begins.

‘Eleven—ten—nine—eight—’

‘Oh there you are, Abbie!’ George calls. ‘Wondered what had happened to you.’

‘Where’s Sally?’

‘—seven—six—’

‘Right here. Oh good, there’s Naomi and Fran.’

‘—five—four—three—’

‘Come on, squeeze in here.’

‘—two—one!’

And it’s ‘Auld Lang Syne’, for old times’ sake and the days of long ago. Yes, they will be brought to mind. But for now the circle closes and opens, then breaks up and everyone is kissing and hugging. And it’s a wish for a Happy New Year, with a deep and passionate kiss between Abbie and George, a warm and tender embrace for Ruth and Jack. Fran and Sally and Naomi hug everyone and anyone in sight.

They all walk home together, first taking Naomi to her front door, then leaving Fran at the rectory gate. Naomi is still a little light-headed, but the encounter with Ayden has gone a long way towards sobering her up. The others tell her there is nothing she can do that won’t make it worse and they will talk to Claire first thing in the morning.

There are no lights on at the vicarage; although it will be a cold welcome home for Fran, at least the silence is an old friend.

Jack and Ruth kiss goodnight all round and disappear through the side gate beside the village shop.

It’s just starting to spit with rain as George and Abbie walk Sally past their corner and along her lane. Cat is waiting for her in the shelter of the front porch. They say their farewells at the gate, hurrying home out of the wet. As Sally slips her key in the lock, she can hear their voices carried on the night air.

Sally gets ready for bed, physically exhausted, but her mind still racing. She was hoping to see the moon tonight, but the sky is banked with dark clouds that promise a steady drizzle until morning.

Ruth can’t settle either. ‘You go up to bed, love. I’ll just sit a while. I think I’ll make myself a cup of tea.’ Yes, perhaps she does need a holiday, who knows.

Abbie and George go straight to bed. George has had more than a bit to drink and, despite his intentions, falls asleep immediately. Abbie lies awake. Perhaps this thing with the TV company will just go away. And Claire. I’ll ring her first thing in the morning. Oh, hell no, can’t do that. It’s New Year’s Day, so Ayden won’t be at work. What to
do?

Fran lies awake also, thinking about Naomi and Claire and where it’s all going
to end. More than once she reaches for the telephone, then thinks better of it. Let Naomi sleep it off. But still she lies awake.

Naomi, meanwhile, doesn’t even think of going to bed. She feels ill at ease, as if her nerve endings are raw. From her wooden chest she takes out the wrapping of silk that covers her scrying mirror, a circle of concave glass backed with black enamel. To help her focus, she lights a white candle and a cone of incense, offering a prayer to the Goddess. But her mind is all over the place. All she sees when she looks into the pool of dark light is a long-stemmed silver goblet, her own magical Cup with its swathes of vine leaves and grapes. It’s filled with water, with the full moon reflected on the surface. Over the image of the moon, another face comes into focus. Is it a cat? Yes, it’s the grey cat that lives with Sally, the one that guards the pool. And that’s all she sees.

Above them all, in the night sky and beyond the clouds and the rain, the real moon is still two days away from being full. The year is only a few hours old and, for the women of Hallowfield, the night is far from over.