The Moon Spun Round (41 page)

She begins by apologizing for her lack of proficiency and begs for tolerance. After all, this is an emergency. Then she asks for help and guidance. Concentrating very hard, she visualizes the ring of light. Chanting the spell Naomi gave her,
she pushes it outwards to surround the house and garden, seeing it thicken and sprout sharp barbs. Inside the circle, she creates a dense cloud of fog that obscures the cottage and anyone inside it.

Sally repeats the spell over and over, turning on the spot as, using her hand in place of a knife, she traces the circle she sees in her mind. Her arm is cold but her hand feels alive, as if a current of electricity is flowing through it to her fingertips.

Then it’s over and she’s extinguishing the candle and turning up the lights. Well, Jonathan, she thinks, what would you and your fellow psychologists think of that little demonstration?

Ayden’s car is where he left it, unscratched as far as he can see in this light. He wouldn’t put it past her, sort of thing a woman would do. He can never resist checking it over every time he returns to it. Vandals everywhere these days. But it’s also the pleasure of admiring it yet one more time. It’s something he’s always promised himself: a BMW. Black, of course. Not quite new when he bought it, but near enough. He gets a kick every time he looks at it, and, as always, he feels that certain shiver as he slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.

He steers the car away from the kerb and moves slowly along the road. Could use another drink. Nothing left at home, no point in going there, the stock of booze they’d got in for Christmas is all gone. Must admit he’s been knocking it back a bit lately. Not surprising really. He sees the village’s other pub ahead. They probably all know about him there, too. And beyond that is Naomi’s house. Her and Claire. No, he’d had enough of that the other night. And now there’s that other bitch, Sally Lavender. Women. Not worth wasting his time on.

‘So what does a man do at ten o’clock on a Sunday night in a dump of a village like this? Bugger all, that’s what. Right, I’m getting out of here.’ Ayden swings the car out towards the main road. ‘Cambridge, that’s it, drive into Cambridge, bit of life there. Go find some young people, have a couple more drinks—you never know, perhaps I’ll pick up a bird. Not too old to score.’ It’s starting to rain. He flicks the wipers on and clears the windscreen.

Just as Sally is going upstairs, Abbie rings to see if she’s OK and makes her promise to keep her mobile by her bedside. She tries to settle down to sleep, the Goddess knows she needs it, but in the darkness her mind is racing. After a while she hears the familiar
click-clack
of the cat flap. Cat went out only a short while ago, but it seems that night patrol is over early. A few moments later she jumps up on the bed as usual and begins what feels like an urgent washing session. Sally reaches for the light switch and sits up.

‘Ugh, you’re all wet. Raining, is it? Well, that’ll clear the last of the snow away.’ She rubs Cat over with a bunch of tissues, then strokes down the damp fur. She can feel, rather than hear, the deep-throated purr.

And something else.

It’s like a tingle of energy running through Cat’s body, similar to the fuzzy sensation around an electromagnetic field. She can follow its path with the palm of her hand. Sally had acupuncture at one time to ease a back strain. The therapist talked about the body flowing with energy lines that cross and create centres. Meridians, he called them. Is that the same thing Naomi was talking about? And didn’t Naomi say that if she links this energy with her own and directs it she can make things happen? Like she did with Jonathan?

Sally’s hand follows the length of Cat’s back, moulding her palm to the contours of Cat’s spine. Cat’s eyes, huge, black marbles in the dim bedroom light, narrow to slits of green. She feels the weight of the creature on her lap, the sound deep in its throat vibrating through her own body. She sees Jonathan’s hands grip the steering wheel, his face looming close to hers. Or is it Ayden? The same full mouth, the same arrogant sneer.

A sudden surge of energy leaps between her and the animal. She can see her own face reflected in Jonathan’s eyes…

For the life that was lost and sorrow heavy borne, let Truth be known and Justice be done
.

It’s raining more heavily now. Ayden flips the wipers onto a faster sweep. He’s on the Newmarket bypass, three lanes each side of a wide central reservation. But the road is clear, not like mid-week rush hour when it’s nose to tail all the way. Sunday evening, and they’re all at home watching telly. Is that what Claire’s doing? All snuggled up cosy in front of the box? He’ll fix them, all right. Like he fixed that bloody Ruth Clifton.

It was her fault anyway, interfering old bag. Who’d have thought she’d turn up at his place at that time in the morning? Telling him how he ought to treat
his wife. Yelling at him about her daughter. What’s her bloody daughter got to do with him anyway? Her own fault if he hit out, the way she was going on at him. He’d already had enough of his own wife that night. And God knows where she’d got to when he needed her. If she’d stayed put instead of running off it would never have happened. He only meant to shut the bloody woman up. Not his fault if she fell and hit her head, and then wouldn’t get up. He’d needed a drink then to steady his nerves. Then he found she’d stopped breathing. After that he was sober. Too bloody, stone-cold sober.

Cambridge isn’t that far now. He needs that drink.

The road is clear and he pushes his foot down. Faster, harder, nothing around to get in his way. All look the same, these motorways, embankment flashing by, overpasses one after the other. Like giant insects on concrete legs, striding over the motorways. He’d read that somewhere.

It’s over a week since the funeral. The police haven’t come near him, not after that first interview. Thank God Claire had the sense to keep her mouth shut. They’d been hiding her somewhere, those women. Bet that Lavender woman knew where she’d been. But now she’s with Naomi and they won’t let him near her. She doesn’t know what it’s been like for him all this time, living on a knife-edge, dreading any moment they’d come for him, start asking questions, then more questions. It’s taken all his strength just thinking what to do each day. He’s exhausted with it all. If only he could sleep.

The cat purrs and the rain rattles the window. Sally is conscious of the energy flowing through their bodies. A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over them, as if the tension of the evening has drained her. Tired, must get some sleep. Sleep. Then she hears a voice singing:

The wheels are spinning the car through the night. Ayden leans back, pressing his body into the seat as the road flashes by faster and faster. The wipers rock from side to side. So tired, drained, eyes heavy, heavy…

Suddenly the car is turning itself, swinging across the lanes towards the embankment. He grasps the wheel, yanks on it, forces the car away from the
edge towards the central reservation. A concrete pylon is rushing towards him…

Everything happens so slowly. Ayden watches as the world around him explodes and a billowing cloud of white plastic smothers his face. He is thrown forward against the strain of the seat belt, then back against the headrest, his body jolting with the impact. All movement ceases, and through the crazed windscreen all he can see is cracked concrete with a bent piece of metal jutting out of it. For a long while all he knows is silence.

Cat leaps off the bed and onto the floor where she begins frantically licking her ruffled fur. Sally leans back against the pillows, breathless and trembling. She doesn’t know what frightens her most. The thought that it might have happened again, that if she had gone on she could have caused harm to the man, even killed him?