‘God.’
‘And then he died,’ Bell said. ‘He died like Marion. And everything shifted. The whole axis of the town shifted under me.’ She stared at Merrily, and her eyes looked as if they were melting in the firelight. ‘It’s the endgame now, Mary.’
The fireplace reared over them. Bell was in shadow, but her breathing was loud and uneven, and you could smell the wine.
‘This is the endgame,’ she said again. ‘It’s as if we’re all part of some great, tragic tapestry across time. And now I’m walking this house and this town like a ghost. Like the ghost…’
‘Like the ghost,’ Merrily said softly, ‘that you’ll become?’
37
Like in the Belfry
WHILE JANE WAS in the kitchen, scrambling a basic breakfast together, the phone rang in the scullery.
‘Put your mother on, please, Jane.’
‘She’s not here.’
‘Well, get her,’ Sophie Hill said.
It was about half-nine. Outside the scullery window, the first blossom was ghosting the apple trees, although the sky was dull. Ethel was sitting on the wall, watching for movements among the graves in the churchyard.
‘Not so easy,’ Jane said. ‘She went over to Ludlow last night, and she’s not back yet. And, of course, she forgot her mobile.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sophie said. It was Saturday, so she was probably calling from home. ‘She’s there now?’
‘What’s the matter?’
Sophie drew breath as if she was about to explain something.
‘Sophie? Is there something wrong? Something I can tell her if she—?’
‘Thank you, Jane,’ Sophie said and hung up.
And Jane was worried now because Sophie was worried – conspicuously.
A woman not known for displaying unwarranted emotion.
Lol had been up for a couple of hours when Gomer Parry arrived at the back door.
Gomer had a small boy with him – about ten, fair hair, combat trousers.
‘Tell him,’ Gomer said.
The small boy looked at Lol, then over the fence into the orchard. Then he tried to run past Gomer into the entry that led back into Church Street.
Gomer caught him. ‘Tell him.’
‘Get off me, you ole paedophile!’
‘We gonner do this the easy way, boy, or the hard way?’ Gomer said. ‘Either you tells this man what you did or we goes and talks to your dad.’ He looked across at Lol, who was standing in the doorway. ‘His dad’s on the Hereford council – Lib Dem, hangin’ on by his fingertips last time. Hate it to get out that his boy was in the poison-pen business. Now tell the man.’
The kid looked at the step Lol was standing on.
‘Posted you a letter.’
‘I see,’ Lol said. ‘And did you, er, write the letter?’
‘Tell him,’ Gomer growled.
‘Yeah,’ the kid said. ‘But I din’t make it up. He told me what to write.’
‘Who tole you?’ Gomer said.
‘Bloke.’
‘What bloke?’
‘I don’t know! I keep tellin’ you and you don’t believe me. He give me a quid both times.’
‘How much?’
‘Fiver.’ The kid looked up at Gomer. The light flared in Gomer’s glasses. ‘Tenner. To keep quiet.’
‘So let’s get this clear, boy. Bloke gives you the paper, tells you what to write on it, then he puts it in the envelope, tells you where to take it, right?’
‘Yeah. When it’s dark.’
‘What do he look like, this bloke?’
‘I dunno – tall.’
‘Local?’
‘Uh?’
‘You seen him before round yere?’
‘No.’
‘Was he in a car?’
‘Yeah.’
‘All right,’ Gomer said. ‘You see him again, you come and tell me. You know where I live – bungalow down the hill, with the big sheds.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You tell me quick enough, mabbe I’ll give you a tenner. Or mabbe I just won’t tell your dad. Now bugger off.’
When the kid had gone, Lol said, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Paedophile – you yere that? Bloody hell, it don’t take the little bastards long, do it?’
‘How did you find out about him?’
‘Maggie Tomlin – lives across the way. Sits in a wheelchair by the window, listenin’ to the radio. Knows everybody. Jasper Ashe, her says, straight off. Thought he was delivering flyers for a car boot or some’ing, but he only delivered the one. Gavin Ashe’s boy. Gavin had Rod Powell’s ole seat on the council, but the Tory woman run him close last time, see.’
‘I don’t get it, Gomer.’
‘Ar, it’s a puzzler,’ Gomer conceded. ‘Somebody got it in for you and the vicar, but they en’t local. But mabbe you’re supposed to think they are local.’
‘Making me paranoid. Unsettled.’
‘Sure to, ennit.’
‘Well… thanks, Gomer.’
‘Us incomers gotter stick together,’ Gomer said.
‘Er… yes.’ As Lol understood it, Gomer had been born approximately ten miles outside Ledwardine. ‘Right.’
‘Where’s the vicar?’
‘Over in Ludlow.’
‘Been out all night, looks like.’
‘Er…’ Lol heard his mobile from inside the house, playing the first few bars of the tune that Jane had keyed in – ‘Sunny Days’.
‘You better get that, boy, might be her.’
‘It might.’
‘You wanner keep an eye on that little woman,’ Gomer said. ‘Some funny folks in Ludlow now, what I yeard.’
The next caller had asked for Mrs Watkins. Jane hadn’t recognized the voice, but it was too precise to be, like, Emma from Everest Double-glazing or somebody in Delhi calling on behalf of British Telecom. This voice was also actually quite low and pleasant.
‘Would that be… Jane?’
‘It would, yes.’
‘Jane, this is Siân Callaghan-Clarke. Canon Callaghan-Clarke, from Hereford.’
‘Oh, hello.’
Big warning bells, up close and agonizingly loud, like in the belfry on a Sunday morning.
‘Jane, I’m awfully sorry to bother you, but it’s most important I get hold of your mother before… other people do.’
‘Other people?’
‘The media, for instance.’
‘She’s pretty good with the media, actually.’
‘Yes, so I understand. Do you know where she might be? Does she routinely tell you where she’s going?’
‘You mean, like, am I a latchkey kid who gets her own meals?’
Siân Callaghan-Clarke laughed lightly.
‘Actually, she normally tells me everything,’ Jane said, ‘but I’m afraid I got in rather late last night myself – the bus broke down – and I, um, overslept. She’s usually up very early, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the church floor, or visiting the sick, and I’m afraid I have to go out again in a minute, so…’
‘Hmm.’
‘I could leave a note for her.’
‘You’re sure she hasn’t gone to Ludlow, Jane?’
‘Ludlow.’ Jane paused. ‘That’s in Shropshire, isn’t it?’
‘Thank you,’ Siân Callaghan-Clarke said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
Mistake.
‘So something’s gone down,’ Jane said to Lol. ‘And I don’t know what it is. And Mum hasn’t rung and I can’t get hold of her because bloody Belladonna’s ex-directory. And Eirion’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Maybe you could come over to the vicarage and just like… stay here? Man the phone and stuff?’