Blind to the Bones (36 page)

‘What on earth,' said Fry, ‘made you move to Withens?'

Sarah laughed. ‘Well, first of all, you have to realize that it was over twenty years ago, when Emma was very small. We were different people then.'

‘We were twenty years younger ourselves,' said Howard. ‘I think that had a lot to do with it.'

‘Yes, you're right.'

Howard perched on the arm of Sarah's chair. Fry expected her to touch his arm or even hold his hand. Previously, it would have been the sort of gesture she would have noticed between them. But Sarah didn't do that. Instead, she rearranged her skirt and held her hands in her lap.

‘The thing about Withens,' she said, ‘is that it's a kind of separate world on its own. When we saw it, we realized it was nothing like all those nice commuter villages we'd known before. It was much more
real
. Do you know what I mean?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘There was something rather spiritual about it. To us, then, it seemed like the sort of place we wanted to bring up a child.'

Fry sneaked a glance at Cooper. His expression told her what she wanted to know. Maybe he was thinking of the Oxleys and having difficulty locating the spirituality.

‘We fell in love with Withens almost as soon as we saw it,' said Howard.

‘Did you?'

‘It was summer when we first came,' said Sarah.

‘Yes?'

‘It
can
be a little difficult in the winter.'

Sarah laughed at her husband. ‘We were so innocent, weren't we? One of the first things we did was take down a big stone wall at the back of the house. It must have been ten feet high, and we couldn't understand why anybody had built it there. It didn't seem to have any purpose at all – not something of that height.'

‘We made jokes about how high those nineteenth-century sheep must have been able to jump.'

‘Well,
you
made jokes,' said Sarah.

‘As far as we were concerned, a wall that height was just blocking the view up the valley from the house. So we took it down.'

‘We had a much better view,' said Sarah. ‘For a while.'

‘What happened?'

‘Winter came. And it snowed.'

‘We realized why they had built a wall ten feet high,' said Howard. ‘It was because that was the height of the snow drifts. The snow came down the valley on the north winds, and we were the first place to get snowed in that winter. And since we'd taken the wall down, it drifted against the side of the house instead of being stopped by the wall.'

‘The first morning, we had to dig our way out of the door.'

‘That
was
a particularly bad winter,' said Howard. ‘But that's one of the things about Withens – you get the feeling that something like that could happen at any time. It's as if nature is waiting to give you a sharp little nudge whenever you seem likely to forget about her.'

‘And that's what makes Withens seem real?' asked Fry.

‘It's
one
of the things,' said Howard. ‘It seemed to us that a child should grow up knowing about nature and the seasons. And I think we were right. Emma is the sort of girl who belongs in the countryside. She has a special relationship with nature.'

‘You said one of the things. What else?'

‘There are the people, of course. They're wonderful.'

Fry stared at him. ‘Sorry. Are we still talking about Withens?'

‘Don't you think they're wonderful?'

‘Detective Constable Cooper knows the people here better than I do.'

‘They're interesting,' said Cooper. ‘No doubt about it. And some of them I can't imagine living anywhere else.'

Both the Renshaws looked at him as if he had said something very profound.

‘I've been trying to persuade Sergeant Fry to come to our Emma Day,' Howard told him. ‘You're going to come, aren't you, Sergeant?'

Fry wanted to bolt for it, but she couldn't. Sarah seized on her hesitation eagerly.

‘Yes, you must both come. We need all the support you can give us, so we know you'll come.'

‘That would be wonderful,' said her husband. ‘We're so grateful. So grateful for everything you're doing for us.'

Fry began to shake her head, but Sarah Renshaw had fastened her intense gaze on her.

‘Bring Constable Cooper with you,' she said. ‘He'll appreciate Emma's work.'

‘There'll be a little display in the garden, if the weather's fine,' said Howard. ‘Down in Emma's Corner.'

‘What's that?'

‘Well, we decided to plant a tree on Emma's eighteenth birthday, and we wanted something significant. She always loved the buddleia, because of its scent and the way its flowers attract the butterflies in summer. They call it the Butterfly Bush, don't they?'

‘I wouldn't know,' said Fry, her gardening experience having been limited to dandelions growing in a window box.

‘We planted another one on the anniversary of the day she disappeared, as well as on her birthday. And the same again the following year. Now there's a little grove of bushes at the bottom of the garden that holds another bit of Emma.'

‘Marking the days is important. The day she was due felt a bit like Easter.'

‘Easter? Not – resurrection?'

‘In a way. If we think about Emma hard enough on that day, it seems as though she will actually walk in through the door and say she's sorry for taking so long to come home. It hasn't happened yet, of course. But perhaps that's because we haven't wished hard enough. What do you think?'

‘I really don't know.'

Then the Renshaws looked at each other, and flushed a bit pink. Both of them now had the beginnings of tears in their eyes.

‘Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' said Sarah to her husband.

‘It would be the ideal time to make contact,' he said.

Fry thought they were still talking about support. It was a strange way of putting it, but lots of things were strange about the Renshaws.

‘Yes, that would help you a lot, wouldn't it?' said Sarah.

‘Sorry, what would?'

‘Making contact.'

‘I don't really follow you. Contact with who?'

‘With the Other Side, of course.'

‘We thought that while you're here,' said Howard, ‘it would be the ideal opportunity to have a séance.'

‘We've been consulting a psychic, and using a pendulum to try to locate Emma,' said Sarah. ‘It seemed very appropriate, because they're things that Emma is interested in herself, anything mystical or supernatural. If we held a séance, you could ask all the things you want to.'

An uncomfortable silence followed. Fry wished that Cooper would say something. Why had she bothered going to the trouble of arranging for him to come with her, if he was just going to sit there and take it all in, saying nothing?

But then he did decide to speak. And Fry blessed him for changing the subject.

‘Mr and Mrs Renshaw, I wonder if you have any more photos of Emma? From around the time she went to university, I mean.'

‘Once she'd gone to university, we didn't manage to take as many,' said Sarah. ‘But there are a few.'

Howard fetched an album. ‘If we let you have this,' he said, ‘we need it back for Monday.'

‘That's all right.'

Cooper opened the album and turned over the pages rapidly. Towards the back, he seemed to find something that interested him. Fry leaned over his shoulder.

‘What on earth is that?' she said. ‘Was your daughter going to a fancy-dress party or something?'

Fry began to laugh, but she met Cooper's eye, and the laughter died in her throat.

‘Oh, that,' said Sarah. ‘It was something Neil Granger got Emma into. I really don't know what she saw in it.'

‘In what?'

‘It's a group they have here in Withens. I don't really understand it, but it seems to be a local tradition.'

Emma was dressed all in black, which wasn't unusual for a girl of her age. In fact, Fry had a fondness for black, too. But the outfit Emma was wearing consisted of a black tail coat, black leggings, a black top hat, and Doc Martens boots. She looked tall and very slim – just not the right shape for the outfit. She was also wearing reflective sunglasses, and carrying a recorder.

‘This was something to do with Neil Granger?'

‘He's one of the group. Or he was,' said Sarah. ‘As you can see, Emma's a musician. She's a very talented girl in a lot of ways.'

‘I'm sure.' Cooper held the page open, and Fry turned it slightly towards herself, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the photo.

‘But what I'm wondering, Mrs Renshaw,' she said, ‘is why Emma has her face blacked up.'

D
erek Alton laughed to himself, and sat down in one of the front pews of his church. There was a strange smell in the aisle this morning. It was a musty odour, as if the windows and doors hadn't been opened for months. He wondered if there was damp rising through the stone flags and rotting the oak of the pews, or soaking into the fabric of the kneelers.

Perhaps he would come back into the church tomorrow and find green shoots bursting through the floor, as they had broken through the paths in the churchyard. He knew he would be powerless to fight back the invasion, and would have to watch helplessly as nature pulled apart his aisle, ripped up the pews, clambered into the pulpit and clawed at the altar rail.

Three of the Oxleys had come to see Derek Alton at his bungalow the previous evening. There had been Lucas, smiling and in his suit. There had been the old man, Eric, nodding and winking knowingly. And young Scott, too. Scott Oxley had sat behind the two older men. Yet his stare was the one that Derek Alton had felt the most.

‘Vicar, you know that we lost Neil …'

‘Yes, I'm so sorry.'

‘We wanted to ask you a bit of a favour.'

‘Oh, of course. You want me to conduct the funeral? That's no problem.'

The two older men looked at each other, but said nothing.

‘When do you want to have it? Do you have a date in mind?'

‘No, no,' said Lucas. ‘Neil's going to be cremated. The service will be at the crematorium in Edendale.'

‘I see. But you'll need someone to lead the service.'

To his surprise, the three men began to shift uneasily in their chairs.

‘We've got someone from the Humanist Society,' said Eric. ‘We reckon it's what he would have wanted.'

‘Oh.'

‘You're welcome to come along, of course.'

‘Thank you.'

‘It was something different we wanted to ask you.'

‘What then?'

‘Vicar, we want you to take his place.'

‘What?'

‘We want you to join the Rats for May Day. Well, you know all the stuff we do. There's no time for anyone else to learn it in time, you see.'

‘Well, I don't know what to say.'

‘You'll do it, though, won't you?'

‘Well, I'm not sure it would be appropriate, Eric.'

Despite his words, Alton found a surge of excitement building up inside him. It was a warm churning, which started in his abdomen, almost like a sexual excitement. He tried to be calm, and hoped the Oxleys wouldn't see his reaction. But then he glanced at Scott, and saw the smirk on the young man's face.

‘I'm a Church of England clergyman,' said Alton.

‘And we're your parishioners,' said Eric. ‘You're not going to reject us, are you? This is important to the community. You're always talking about the importance of community.'

‘Yes.'

With a smile, Lucas produced a thick blackthorn stick that he had been holding inside his coat, and held it out towards the vicar.

The old man had spoken then. ‘The darkness and the light,' he said. ‘Will you be the darkness or the light?'

‘Y
ou're not going to do it, are you?' said Ben Cooper. ‘I mean, you won't go with them to see a psychic, Diane?'

‘You're kidding. I'd rather read all Emma Renshaw's sickly poems ten times over. Besides, I don't think it was me the Renshaws really wanted. They think you're the sensitive one.'

‘Oh.'

‘What do you think, Ben? Fancy playing the part of Gypsy Rose? Knock once for yes and twice for no? I can just picture it. You'd have the Renshaws in the palm of your hand. They'll believe anything, those two.'

‘Like the psychic.'

‘Yes, like the bloody psychic. You know, I think they've finally gone completely nuts.'