The Quick and the Dead (A Sister Agnes Mystery) (17 page)

Agnes was just coming out of the shower when the phone rang.

‘It’s Sam,’ the voice said.

‘Hello. How’re you?’ 

‘Oh. OK.’

‘Great,’ Agnes said, checking her watch, wondering how long this call was going to be. Her shift at the hostel was due to start in less than half an hour. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘No. Just thought I’d ring. Maybe, if you’re passing, you could come and see me, um, us.’

‘Yes,’ Agnes said. ‘When would you like me to?’

‘Oh, you know, whenever. No rush. Better go,’ she added hurriedly, as Agnes heard movement in the background.

‘This evening,’ Agnes said, firmly. ‘I’ll call on you this evening. Seven thirty OK?’

‘Yeah, great, thanks, bye.’ She’d hung up.

Agnes dried herself, pulled on underwear, T-shirt and jeans, brushed out her hair. The feeling of unease wouldn’t go away. Lord, keep her safe, she thought. At least until I can get there this evening.

Before she left for the hostel she dialled Athena’s number and heard Athena’s giggly recorded message. ‘Hi, it’s Agnes,’ she said, after the tone. ‘I hope you’re OK. I really hope you’re OK. Look, I’m — I ought to have phoned you earlier. Please phone me. I really do —’ A series of beeps indicated some technical fault, or the end of the tape or something. ‘Damn,’ Agnes said, hanging up. Oh God, she thought, please make sure she knows I’ve phoned.

Later that day, in between getting lunch for the five current residents, booking in a fourteen-year-old girl from Leicester caught shoplifting in Oxford Street, and spending a couple of hours trying to get sense out of a boy called Mick who claimed he had friends in Wembley and they could put him up, and he promised not to go back on the rent again, honest, Agnes managed to phone Athena again. Again she heard the answering machine, the jolly voice on the tape so much at odds with her empty silence, her unreturned messages.

‘Hi, it’s Agnes. Again. Listen, um — I’m here if you need to talk. I’m at home or at the hostel. Any time, really. Um, right then … bye.’

When she returned home that evening having picked up the car again, there were no messages left on her machine. She felt Athena withdrawing from her, from the world, turning inwards towards this strange new life still growing inside her. She changed, downed a quick cup of coffee, and set off in the car for Harlow.

The door was opened by Mike. ‘Hi,’ he said, stepping back to allow her in. ‘Sam said you might drop by.’

‘Is she here?’ Agnes asked.

‘Sure, yeah, up in her room, I expect, as usual. You know what teenagers are like,’ he laughed, in exaggerated cheerfulness.

Agnes looked beyond Mike and saw Sam at the foot of the stairs, silent and pale. Sam came forward and smiled, briefly, at Agnes, then took her arm and made as if to lead her back up the stairs.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Mike asked, his good humour ringing false.

Sam shrugged, changed direction, and led Agnes into the front room. The three sat down awkwardly.

‘So, how’s life, Agnes?’ Mike asked. ‘It’s nice of you to drop by.’

‘Life’s fine, though I’d love a cup of tea,’ Agnes smiled in reply. Mike looked at Sam, who ignored him, flicking instead through the pages of the
Radio
Times
. After a long moment Mike got up and went to the kitchen, where they could hear him banging around, putting on the kettle, finding mugs.

‘It’s his bloody house,’ Sam said, keeping her voice down. ‘He can make the bleedin’ tea.’

Agnes seized the few seconds of privacy. ‘So, things aren’t what they seemed?’

Sam looked at her, shrugged, then shook her head. ‘I dunno what I expected. He’s so bloody possessive. Like I’m a child.’

‘In a way, he thinks you are. As your father …’

‘If he is —’

‘What makes you say that?’

Sam turned wide bewildered eyes to Agnes. ‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘I just keep thinking, if he was my dad, really really my dad, we’d be mates. You know. As it is …’

‘As it is what?’

‘Oh, I dunno.’ Sam shrugged and looked up as Mike entered the room again, clutching mugs of tea, two in one hand, one in the other. He put them down awkwardly, sloshing tea on to his glass coffee table, then grinned sheepishly and left the room again in search of a cloth.

‘Sam — do you need help?’ Agnes said in the few seconds left to them.

Sam looked at her. ‘I’m not in danger, if that’s what you mean. Just bored, really. I feel like a prisoner here. Col was right, you know.’

‘Col? What did he say?’

Sam noticed a broken nail on one finger and started to fiddle with it. ‘He said people like us don’t ever find a home.’

‘What did he mean?’

‘He said he’d broken up his home, he reckoned his dad had done all he could after his mum went. Like it was his fault, you know? He said he’d worked out that there was no point him spending his life trying to find a replacement, right? He said it would be just the same wherever he went.’

Agnes looked at her, at her newly washed hair, her short skirt and ribbed jumper, her brand-new clumpy sandals, her eyes shining in the cosy warm light of Mike’s front room. ‘And is it the same for you?’ she asked, as Mike came back into the room. He put down a plate of biscuits and then mopped up the spilt tea with a fistful of kitchen roll.

‘You two catching up?’ he asked, holding the dripping wet paper, his eyes searching the room for somewhere to put it.

‘Sam was just telling me about — um —’

‘About how it’s boring round here,’ Sam finished.

Mike looked at her hard, then turned to Agnes. ‘Kids, eh?’ He strode to the wastepaper basket, threw the wet kitchen roll into it, and then sat down heavily in an armchair.

Agnes smiled back. ‘And how are you, Mike?’

‘Me, oh fine.’

‘And how’s business?’

‘Not bad. Not bad at all, for the time of year. Got a big order in for next week.’

He didn’t look like someone who was rejoicing in the company of his long-lost daughter, Agnes thought. But then, what did she expect that to look like? Just different, she thought, from this edgy nervousness. 

‘How’re they all at the camp?’ Sam asked.

‘Oh, you know. The same. Jeff’s still swinging from tree to tree,’ Agnes laughed. ‘Jenn’s talking about going back to college in the autumn. And Rona and the others are gearing up for the eviction.’

‘Is it really happening, then?’ Sam leaned forward on her seat.

‘Apparently. End of next week.’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘You won’t,’ Mike said sharply.

Sam looked at him. ‘I will,’ she said.

‘If you think I’m going to let you risk your life like that …’ he began.

Sam’s face was set in defiance. ‘Them bastards are goin’ to kill our trees. We’ve bloody fought for them trees, we’re not gonna give up without a fight. An’ it’s not just that, it’s the world, right. I ain’t goin’ ter sit ’round watching them bastards ruin the planet —’

‘You forget, Samantha —’

‘I’m not bleedin’ Samantha —’

‘I’m responsible for you. And I won’t have you endangering yourself climbing on to bulldozers and being hauled off by the police who, let’s face it, are only doing their job.’

‘You ain’t responsible for me,’ Sam said quietly. They sat, facing each other, outstaring each other with a peculiar intimacy, like strangers on a long train journey. The phone rang and Mike went through to the hall to answer it.

‘Sam,’ Agnes said, her voice low, ‘this isn’t right.’

‘You’re telling me. Someone’s got to get him to see that even if he is my bleedin’ dad, he’s still got to —’ 

‘That’s my order confirmed,’ Mike said, breezing back into the room. ‘Worth over twenty grand,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘And all thanks to old contacts,’ he smiled, turning to Sam. ‘Remember I mentioned Bob Wheeler? Well, he’s pulled out all the stops and come up trumps. Just like the old days. Good old Bob.’

Sam barely looked up at Mike, working away at her broken nail with studied indifference. Bob Wheeler, thought Agnes, wondering why the name was familiar. Then she remembered the old man at the Stepney flats listing the names, the Bevan boys, Mike and Julie Reynolds, Bob Wheeler …

‘He’s an old friend?’ she asked Mike.

‘We go back years,’ Mike grinned. ‘Schooldays, you know. Always thought he’d go far. He’s been doing nightclubs, branched out into catering, wants a whole range of paper products and marketing stuff. We stick together, the lads.’

‘Is he near you?’ Agnes asked casually.

‘Over in Chingford, but his sandwich bars go right across to Enfield. Anyway, we were saying …’

‘The eviction,’ Sam said. ‘And I’m going.’

Mike turned to Agnes. ‘Agnes, tell her. Tell her it’s no place for a girl like her …’

Agnes stood up. ‘I’m afraid it’s time I left.’ Mike stood up too and she said to him, ‘Sam’s over sixteen. She has some rights. Also,’ she added, ‘with people like Sam, it’s not a question of taming them. As I tried to explain at the time.’ At the doorway she looked back to Sam and said, ‘Don’t forget, you made your choice. You can’t rely on other people to settle your differences now.’

Mike got up and followed her into the hall. He hesitated, then said, ‘I’m just frightened she’ll run away again.’

‘Well,’ Agnes said, ‘she’s been running away for some time.’

‘But she mustn’t, she just mustn’t,’ Mike said, with an urgency that surprised her.

Agnes looked at him. ‘In that case, you must let her feel she can be herself with you. Trust her.’

Mike nodded, and Agnes studied him for a moment. She touched his arm and said, ‘You can always phone me.’ Then she opened the front door and went out to her car.

Driving back to London, she thought about Mike. Something was not quite right. He seemed unable to cope with the responsibility of caring for Sam, but at the same time it was clear he couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving him. And yet in his situation, Agnes felt, she’d be prepared to cut her losses if it didn’t work out. He’d done what he could. As Sam’s father, he’d tried. If he was Sam’s father, she thought, wondering why that doubt was always there. And even Sam felt it now, although perhaps that was more teenage rebellion than any real assessment of the relationship. None of it made sense, Agnes thought. Why did he appear to need her to stay so desperately?

And now Sam wants to go back to the Ark for the eviction. Agnes remembered Sam’s earlier fears at the camp, and wondered why they’d evaporated with Col’s death. She wished Mike hadn’t insisted on sitting there with them. At least she might have had the chance to ask Sam about her feelings about Col, about why she’d been so frightened; about Emily Quislan. 

She turned off the motorway, resolving to phone Sam the next day. If Mike didn’t intercept the call, she thought. She wound the window down to let some air into the car against the heat of the night. But then, she thought, perhaps that’s what it is, to be a good father. Perhaps real fathers do prevent their daughters getting hauled off bulldozers by riot police. Perhaps it’s only my history of parental neglect that prevents me recognising good fathering when I see it.

She drove through the deserted City and saw across the river the spire of St Simeon’s piercing the dark sky. A few minutes later she was parking the car in the church driveway. The light was still shining in the window of Julius’s office.

‘I had this feeling I might see you tonight,’ Julius said, looking up as she came into the room. ‘And it’s just as well, because there’s a phone message. Two actually, but one was a heavy breather, or something. Hung up as soon as he heard my voice. The other was Sister Christiane, your Provincial.’ Agnes flopped into a chair. ‘What did she want?’

‘You were supposed to ring her. Last week.’

‘Was I?’

Julius looked at her. ‘You know you were. About Yorkshire. About the school. She needs your answer.’

‘I’ve had lots to think about.’

‘Agnes, you’re not doing yourself any favours. This whole issue about Yorkshire is to do with you ignoring your spiritual needs. They’re concerned for your own wellbeing, that’s all.’

‘Great. So Christiane and you had a grand old chinwag about me.’

‘Of course not. But Agnes, there’s no need to be so resistant. Just give her a ring, tell her what you think.’ 

‘She knows what I think. I’m staying in London.’

‘Fine.’ Julius turned to the papers on his desk and began to fold them away.

‘I’m not a child, after all.’

‘No,’ Julius said, ‘of course you’re not.’

‘I mean, just because I made a vow of obedience, it doesn’t mean they can dictate my life to me.’ Julius put the last file back in his in-tray. ‘Does it, Julius?’

Julius looked up. ‘Do you want my honest answer?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know what I’m going to say. It’s about faith. Becoming a religious isn’t just a lifestyle decision. It’s about finding a place in which your faith can grow. That’s why you took a vow of obedience. Because as an individual, you don’t always know what’s best. You’re in their hands, the way we’re all in God’s hands. Heavens, you know all this, Agnes. You aren’t helping yourself by resisting it.’