The Moon Spun Round (47 page)

It’s not such a cold day, which may have encouraged a few more parishioners than usual to attend morning worship. A streak of sunlight has chanced its way through the stained glass, brightening the flagstones with a mosaic of blue and red. Vases of early daffodils bring the yellow of the sun; the air is filled with their musky pollen. Disjointed sounds, which could generously be interpreted as music, come from the organ. People gather in little clusters outside, chatting animatedly before entering. Sally, seated near the back, is watching the regular members of the congregation take their places. Several villagers pause to say hello to her before organizing themselves for the service. The placing of handbags, a lining up of prayer- and hymnbooks, a moment of silent prayer, eyes closed, bowed head supported on hand, before they settle down. Then a lot of looking around—Who else is here? Who’s missing?

Abbie and George arrive and invite her to join them in the front row. With
the boys away the rest of the long seat is empty, but this is the Hunter-Gordon pew and no one would dream of encroaching uninvited. George greets Sally with a peck on the cheek and helps her to locate the page for the first hymn. Abbie both welcomes and silences her with one meaningful look and the slightest flick of an eyebrow. Then she focuses her attention on the vestry door. The two women draw close together, while the organist, determined and relentless, wrestles with ‘Nimrod’.

The vestry door opens and Fran enters, scanning the congregation. No sign yet of Ayden, as Abbie and Sally are also aware, having taken frequent glances behind them. Fran slips into the pew next to Sally and grasps her hand, but only her mouth smiles. Her eyes look tired and watery, and her grip is a little too tight for comfort. The other hand twists in and out of the leather strap of her handbag. That’s odd. Fran doesn’t usually carry a proper handbag. And she’s wearing a rather smart coat. Sally’s never seen her looking this dressed-up for church, even at Christmas. Is she going somewhere?

No time to ask questions. Abbie jabs her sharply in the ribs and Sally follows her gaze to the door at the back where Ayden has just entered. Obviously he’s made some effort to tidy himself up, although recent loss of weight has left him looking gaunt, almost wolf-like. In the unfamiliar surroundings he hovers momentarily, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, before sliding into the pew nearest the door. The three women look away quickly before he sees them.

Almost immediately, Edward enters. In a swirl of starched white surplice he kneels to pray at the altar rail, perhaps a moment longer than required. Naomi would have said that that was for full dramatic effect, and there’s a lot of throat-clearing and shifting of feet as the congregation awaits its spiritual guide and mentor. If nothing else, his entrance has silenced the organist. With a quick glance at the assembly, Edward bows his head. ‘Let us pray.’

A couple of hymns and several prayers, a lot of standing up and sitting down, then the Reverend Cunningham mounts the steps of the pulpit and opens wide his hands.

‘Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians, chapter six, verse twelve. “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”’ He pauses, allowing the words to register with the congregation. His gaze is drawn to the man at the back.

‘When Paul came to Ephesus he found a city in the grip of superstition, fear and darkness. It was a city devoted to debauchery, not unlike like many in our world today, London for instance, or even Cambridge. However, the root cause of the licentiousness of the Ephesians was—and this may surprise you—their
devotion to their religion. And why should that be?’ He pauses, slowly sweeping the faces with his gaze, holding the eyes of each in turn. ‘Because Ephesus was the place where the great temple of Artemis was located. A temple that was as familiar to the people of that day as King’s College Chapel is to us. One of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Tourists travelled from all over the Roman Empire to see it, just as they come today to walk the banks of the Cam and view the colleges. However, unlike our modern-day tourists, who mostly come to admire the architecture, those ancient travellers came to worship Artemis. Yes, Artemis, the Moon Goddess, one of the many idols of a female religious cult that encouraged dancing and drunkenness and…and every other debauchery known to mankind. Alas, upon reaching Ephesus with the intention of bringing the Good News to its people, to his dismay, Paul found it to be a centre for the practice of witchcraft and the black arts.’

He pauses again for the full weight of his words to strike home. ‘Fortune telling, astrology,’ now he looks directly at Fran, ‘every type of occult abomination was practised openly. Satan held the people of that city in his thrall.’ Edward’s voice, which has grown louder and louder, now drops to barely a whisper. ‘And, as is the inevitable consequence of witchcraft, the people lived in slavery and squalor, fear and darkness, indulging their lusts in painful, degrading acts and drunken depravity.’

‘Oh, shit, he’s really lost it this time.’ Abbie whispers close to Sally’s shoulder.

A wave of restlessness moves through the congregation, sharp intakes of breath and a few loud coughs echoing round the high walls. This isn’t what parishioners want to hear on a chilly Sunday morning in February.

Undaunted, Edward continues. ‘Do I see you sitting there, smugly thinking: There but for the grace of God go I? Well, people of Hallowfield: think again. Cast your minds back a few weeks to New Year’s Eve. Revellers on the streets. Loud music and lewd dancing. Discarded liquor bottles and cans tossed in the gutter. Harmless fun, you might argue? Ah, but it doesn’t stop there, does it? Have you never visited the little teashop in the heart of our village? Oh yes, don’t think I’m not aware of what went on there. God has a way of punishing those who consort with evil.’

This time there are audible gasps of protest. Sally can feel Fran’s body tense; her hand is held in a grip of steel.

‘How many of you turn to the horoscope page in your newspaper? Another form of harmless fun? No. The whole ragbag of astrology and horoscopes, Ouija boards and crystal meditation, of yoga and other heathen practices, these are all means by which satanic forces ensnare the weak and unwary.

‘And witchcraft? As we all know, Hallowfield has a history of witchcraft. And history has a way of reasserting itself. Who are these modern-day witches? Yes, I say witches, for these women do not work their evil alone. Covens gather in the darkness of night to cast their spells and spread venomous lies against the so-called patriarchy. In other words, against men. That’s who their victims are, that’s where their evil is directed, against their fathers and brothers. Against their husbands.’

A loud murmur from the congregation.

‘They worship in the nude, did you know that? Dancing and chanting without shame. Laying hands on one another, touching each other’s naked bodies. Psychic healing, they call it, but I can think of other words to describe it. Drugs. Perversion. Sexual depravity of the worst kind. Yes, even here, in Hallowfield. Innocent women seduced away from their husbands by sweet words persuading them that what they do is normal and natural.’

Sally can’t resist looking around at Ayden. He’s slouched back in his seat, the trace of a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

‘Like Paul, we must assault the strongholds of evil with the weapons of spiritual warfare.’ Edward is at full volume now, his voice ranting on above the protests of the crowd. ‘How, we ask, are we to fight these handmaidens of Satan?’ His face is flushed red and dark; there are flecks of spittle on his chin. ‘Here lies our answer.’ He brandishes the Bible that has been lying open in front of him. ‘Exodus, chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen: “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live—” ’

‘Shut up!’ Suddenly Fran is on her feet. ‘Shut up, you silly, stupid man, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.’

Edward stares at his wife.

‘
He
put you up to this, didn’t he?’ She flings an outstretched hand at the back of the church. All eyes turn towards Ayden. ‘Came running to you with some sob story about his wife having left him, did he? And, as usual, you had your head so far up your arse that you actually believed him.’

Edward’s jaw continues to work, but the only sound he can produce is a meaningless grunt.

‘You haven’t got a clue, have you? You’ve no idea what goes on in this village, what people’s lives are really like. Do you seriously think they’d bring their problems to
you?
Do you think they’d tell
you
if they’d spent the rent money at bingo or if their kids were on drugs? Never. Because they know you’re above and beyond all those nasty, sordid little tragedies. Everything has to be censored before it reaches
your
ears. You’re the vicar, too close to God to be confronted with humanity in all its pitiful honesty.’

He manages to raise a whisper. ‘Sit down, Frances.’

‘No, Edward, I will
not
sit down. Do you want to know why his wife left him? I’ll tell you the real reason. It was because on New Year’s Eve she tried to talk to a friend so he hit her. Oh, that was nothing new. He’d done it before, often—only this time he beat her senseless, nearly killed her. I bet he didn’t mention
that
when he came sneaking round to our back door, did he?’

‘He said…I thought…’ Edward’s hands are shaking, his whole body trembling. Beads of sweat have broken out on his brow.

‘He can’t get near her, now that her friends are protecting her, so he thought he’d get
you
to do his dirty work for him. He’s nothing more than a bully and a thug, and you’re no better. You go on about the God of Love, the God of Compassion. What happened to
your
love, Edward? Where’s
your
compassion? That’s what you were supposed to teach these people, wasn’t it? The wonder and joy of knowing their Creator. Well, your tight-arsed, holier-than-thou, self-righteous contempt soon put the lid on that one, didn’t it?’

‘Frances, I think you’d better leave.’

‘Oh, I’m leaving all right, Edward, don’t you worry. Should have done it years ago. He’s betrayed me, too, you know,’ looking round at the congregation. ‘Just like he betrayed all of you. Remember the third commandment? Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain? Well, that’s exactly what he’s done. He uses his authority as God’s representative on Earth to infect this community with his own, personal brand of misery.’

Sally can hear one or two sniggers among the horrified gasps. Surprisingly, Fran’s emotional outburst seems to be easing the tension generated by Edward’s fire and brimstone.

Again Fran turns to face her husband. ‘But you know the worst thing you’ve done to these people? You have taken their Father in Heaven, the maker of the universe, the spirit that holds all existence in His hands, and you’ve recreated Him in your own image and likeness. You, Edward Cunningham, have turned your own God into a boring old fart!’

Sally has to bite her lip so as not to laugh. She looks at Abbie, who has a hand over her mouth.

‘Right, that’s it,’ says Fran. ‘I’m out of here. And if any of you have any sense left, you’ll do the same.’ She snatches up her bag and strides down the aisle towards the door.

It takes a moment for Sally to realize what’s happening and to run after her. Abbie stands up.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ George rasps, snatching at her coat in an attempt to pull her back into her seat.

She hesitates, one heartbeat, then two. ‘I’m sorry, George,’ she murmurs and races down the aisle after Sally.

Next moment the three women are gone. They have left in such a rush that there was no time to even glance at the congregation. If they had done so they might have seen the expression on Ayden’s face. They would also have recognized the young man who was sitting in one of the side pews—Mick Farrow, the young constable who visited them on the morning of Ruth’s disappearance.

Outside the church, Sally is surprised to see Fran’s old banger already parked by the kerb. There’s a quick reshuffle as Abbie climbs into the passenger seat while Fran instructs Sally to follow them to the shop in her own vehicle. Minutes later, Sally pulls up behind them as Fran slams the driver’s door, then leans back against it, head bowed and shoulders shaking. Abbie gets out the other side and quickly runs around to put her arms around Fran. Sally can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying, and isn’t surprised to find it’s a bit of both.

‘I’ve done it.’ Fran drags a huge crumpled hankie from her pocket and wipes her eyes. ‘Christ, would you believe it? I’ve actually bloody done it.’ She blows her nose loudly.

The side gate opens and Claire comes running out. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, sweetie. Everything’s fine.’

‘Claire?’ Sally spins around. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at the nursery this morning?’

‘No, took the morning off. I wanted to be here when Fran arrived.’

‘You mean you knew about this? How could—’ Then Sally looks at Fran’s car. Why was it parked outside the church? And what’s all that stuff piled in the back? Suitcases?