‘Died in the County, same night as Minnie.’
‘But her was no more’n a kiddie!’
‘Thirty-nine. A stroke.’
‘Bugger me.’ Gomer stared down at the soil. ‘Big Weal must be gutted.’
‘Could say that.’
Gomer put his ciggy back, shook his head. ‘Ole Hindwell, eh? You know what they says about that place, don’t you, vicar?’
‘Tell me.’ Merrily managed to get her cigarette going before the breeze doused the Zippo.
‘ “Place as God give up on”,’ explained Gomer.
‘Lot of places like that.’
‘With the church, see. Lets their church fall into ruin and never had another.’
‘Until now.’
‘Ar?’
‘There’s a kind of missionary minister who’s holding services in the parish hall. Father Ellis?’
‘Oh hell, aye.’ Gomer puffed on his ciggy. ‘Nutter.’
‘That’s what they say about him, is it? Nutter?’
‘Had two or three proper, solid ole churches under his wing, and they says he favoured Ole Hindwell village hall above the lot of ’em. An’ all this clappin’ and huggin’ and chantin’ and stuff. Mind, in Ole Hindwell they wouldn’t notice another bloody nutter if he was stark naked in the snow.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Inbreedin’.’ Gomer chuckled. ‘We always says that. Some places gets that kind o’ reputation for no reason at all other’n being a bit off the beaten track. And havin’ its church falled into ruins.’
‘Why did it fall into ruins? Apart from God giving up.’
‘Now, there’s a can of ole worms, ennit?’
‘Is it?’
‘Last but one vicar, they reckoned he went mad.’
‘Like Ellis?’
‘No, mad mad. All kinds o’ rumours, there. Never come out, proper. You got a problem out there, vicar?’
‘Well, erm... Mr Weal seems to be set on putting Mrs Weal into some kind of tomb in his garden.’
‘Well, well,’ Gomer said non-committally.
‘And Barbara doesn’t think that’s a good idea. She doesn’t think Weal’s quite grasped the need to let go of the dead. And she wants me to go to the funeral with her, to hold her hand... or maybe to restrain her. And I think there’s something odd about that whole situation. Would, er, would you happen to know anybody who might know the score there?’
Gomer nodded slowly. ‘I reckon.’
‘And maybe a bit about Barbara and why she hates that area so much.’
‘Likely. Anythin’ else?’
‘Father Ellis? Seems to me that for everybody who thinks he’s a nutter, there must be another five can’t get enough, if you see what I mean.’
‘No accountin’ for the way folks is gonner go, them parts. Seen it before, oh hell, aye. Gimme a day or two.’
This time, Gomer declined the offer of tea and breakfast, said he’d got himself a nice, crusty cob needed using up. She could tell he was pleased to have something to occupy his time.
And digging was what Gomer did best.
Merrily went into church and prayed for Barbara and Menna and asked the Boss about another matter – kind of hoping she’d get a strong negative response.
Back at the vicarage just before seven, she punched out Tania Beauman’s Livenight number. Waited for the answering machine to kick in.
‘Oh... this is Merrily Watkins at the Hereford Diocese. Sorry for not getting back to you last night. I’ll be in the office from about half nine, if you want to talk about... what I might be able to contribute to your programme. Thanks.’
No backing out now.
Be something different, anyway: bright lights, hi-tech hardware, the fast chat, the tat, the trivia, the complete, glossy inconsequentiality of it.
Jane came down for breakfast, all fresh and school-uniformed.
‘Been up long, Mum?’
‘Couple of hours. Couldn’t sleep.’
‘So, you rang Livenight, then?’
‘Not much gets past you, does it, flower?’
‘It’ll be fun.’
‘Be fun for you, watching at home.’
‘Er... yeah,’ Jane said airily.
That night, after a wedding rehearsal at the church for a couple whose chief bridesmaid would be their own granddaughter, Merrily phoned Eileen Cullen from the scullery.
‘I just got the feeling you might have heard from Barbara Buckingham again.’
‘And why would you be thinking that, Reverend?’ Cullen sounded more than usually impatient, as if she was carrying an overflowing bedpan in her other hand.
‘She’s keen to find out why Menna died.’
‘High blood pressure.’
‘Well, yes, sure. But why did she have high blood pressure at her age?’
‘I told you why, and I haven’t changed my mind. I reckon she’d been on the Pill for longer than she ought to’ve been. Years longer, that’s my guess. Prolonged ingestion of synthetic oestrogen. Bad news – but then you’d know all that.’
‘Eileen, I live the life of a nun. I’ve forgotten all that.’
‘Well, it’s not your problem, and it’s not mine either and it’s not poor Menna’s any longer.’ A pause, then she came back a little softer. ‘Listen, if you’ve got the Buckingham woman on your back in a big way, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I sent her over, so I am.’
‘You must have felt at the time that she had a valid problem.’
‘Just wanted her out of me hair. You know what I’m like.’
‘Mmm, that’s why I don’t think you’re being entirely upfront.’
‘Jesus Christ, I’m always upfront. Nobody in this fockin’ job’s got time to go round the side any more.’
‘Did you by any chance tell her about Weal and that business with the water?’
‘You mean so they could have a big row and disturb all my patients? Are you kidding? Did you tell her?’
‘No.’
‘Well, good.’
‘Confidentially—’
‘Merrily, when the hell do we ever talk any other way?’
‘Barbara’s getting troubled dreams.’
‘Troubled, how?’
‘Says she sees Menna.’
A pause. ‘Does she?’
‘Night after night.’
‘Stress,’ Cullen said. ‘Look, I’ve got to—’
‘Well, you would say that. No ghosts, no God. You think my whole life’s a sorry sham.’
‘Aye, but you’re a well-meaning wee creature. Listen, I really do have to go.’
‘So you haven’t seen her then?’
‘Of course I haven’t fockin’ seen her!’ Cullen snapped. ‘What the hell d’you think I am?’
Merrily’s head spun. She stared at the circle of light thrown on the Holy Bible. The rosebush chattered at the dark window.
‘I meant Barbara,’ Merrily said.
‘I have to go.’ Cullen hung up.
Part Two
Witchcraft may be underestimated by Christians on the grounds that it is phoney and synthetic and that its covens are completely eclectic and belong to no national organization. There are, however, dangers...
12
Bear Pit
SHE FIRST BECAME aware of him in the green room.
Her initial thought was that he must be a priest, because he was wearing a suit, though not a dog collar – well, how many did these days, outside working hours? And then, because he was so smooth and assured, and – perhaps, she thought afterwards, because his shirt was wine-coloured – she even wondered if he might be a bishop.