Hiding From the Light (30 page)

Alex dropped the children off at school early and then drove on to Emma’s. It was almost exactly nine o’clock when he knocked on her back door. It was several minutes before she answered. There was a fork in her hand. ‘Alex, hi! I’m just feeding the cats.’ She was wearing a turquoise silk kimono, her hair wrapped in a towel.

Alex blushed. ‘I’m sorry. Am I too early?’

‘Too early?’ She looked exhausted, he noticed. Her face was pinched and there was a transparency in the skin around her eyes.

‘You were still expecting me?’ He could not keep the crestfallen note out of his voice. ‘To discuss the business?’

Smiling, she stepped back and waved him towards the table. ‘Grab yourself some coffee. I’ve only just made it. I had forgotten, to be honest. I had rather a late night last night.’ She scooped some disgusting fishy stuff out of a tin onto two small china plates and put them on the floor. The cats, who had been weaving round her ankles, pounced in obvious delight. She washed the fork and then her hands, sniffing at them fastidiously. ‘Ugh, the smell of that stuff is awful, but Max and Min love it.’ Grabbing her own mug off the hotplate she came and sat opposite him at the table. ‘I was hobnobbing with Mike Sinclair at getting on for midnight. Some gossip is bound to tell you!’

Alex looked up. He raised an eyebrow. ‘I see.’

‘No, you don’t, but it doesn’t matter. Alex,’ she started, then took a sip of the strong black coffee. ‘I’ve had no chance to think about the herb nursery since I saw you. None at all, to be honest. I’ve had a lot on my mind, what with one thing and another.’

‘Ah, yes. Piers.’ He nodded. ‘Paula spoke to him yesterday.’

There was a second’s total silence. ‘She did what?’

‘She was a bit upset about the row and everything. Didn’t want him to think we were taking sides and getting involved, so she gave him a ring. Sort of asked if there was anything we could do to help you two get back together, you know …’ He suddenly noticed her expression. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. It didn’t occur to me – to her – that you would mind.’

‘Well, I do mind! I mind a lot!’ Emma stood up. ‘Would you please tell her to mind her own business.’

Alex bit his lip. ‘I suppose it was a bit presumptuous.’

‘I’ll say.’ Emma was furious. ‘Look, Alex, if you and I are going to have any hope at all of working together at some future date, there are going to have to be some ground rules. And your wife interfering between Piers and me is absolutely forbidden. Do I make myself clear?’

Alex stood up. He was hot with embarrassment. ‘Perfectly. I’m really sorry, Emma. She meant it for the best.’

‘No doubt.’ Emma was still angry. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but this morning is not a good time after all. Do you mind if we discuss the herbs another day?’

‘Sure.’ He tried to hide his disappointment. ‘No problem. Give me a ring, OK? Whenever you like.’

As he closed the kitchen door behind him she was still standing by the sink, clutching her coffee mug. She did not even appear to have heard him leave.

He drove back by way of Mistley, intending to drive on to the deli in Manningtree to pick up some of his favourite cheese; comfort food which he knew was forbidden. As he passed the swan fountain, he saw Emma’s car parked at the side of the road. Frowning, he slowed down, wondering what it was doing there, and as he did so he caught sight of Lyndsey, dressed in white jeans and a blue Sloppy Jo sweater, coming out of the post office. She was holding a carrier bag. Drawing up behind Emma’s car, he got out and called her name.

She stopped.

Alex smiled. ‘Are you still on to babysit this afternoon?’

He felt guilty about still using Lyndsey so much, in spite of his own doubts about her activities. It was not as though he really needed her. He adored the kids. He loved their company. And just at the moment he wasn’t doing much else. Reading, mooching about. Dreaming up plans for the herb garden.

There was a reason, though; one he would never admit to anyone. He hated being seen to collect the children all the time. He didn’t enjoy being the one to go round to other people’s houses or standing around with all the mothers waiting for them to come out of school. There were fathers there occasionally, and from time to time a couple of grandfathers, and he doubted if anyone actually noticed or cared why he was available to collect them so often anyway. But
he
knew why. He was a failure, without a job and however much he enjoyed the lifestyle, and kidded himself that it was his choice to be there, that treacherous thought still lurked deep down inside him and probably always would.

Lyndsey had nodded. ‘I’ll be there. Don’t worry.’

‘How come Emma’s car is here?’ He slapped its bonnet.

Lyndsey shrugged. ‘Perhaps she’s come down to the post office.’

‘Obviously not or you would have seen her in there.’ Alex studied her face for a moment. ‘She’s at home, actually.’

‘Oh.’ Lyndsey was looking innocent.

‘But she came to see you yesterday, right?’

‘She might have.’ Lyndsey slung the white plastic bag over her shoulder. ‘I didn’t magic her away or turn her into a toad, Alex, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She glanced at him archly.

‘Why did she leave her car behind?’

‘Perhaps it wouldn’t start.’ She gave him an enigmatic grin.

‘The rector drove her home in the end,’ Alex said.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’

He nodded.

‘Stupid cow! I warned her.’ She sighed. ‘What did she tell him?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘She must have gone straight round to see him when she left me! How could she be such an idiot!’

‘So she did come and see you.’

‘Yes, she came!’ She was impatient.

‘And you said something to upset her.’

Lyndsey did not deny it. She tossed her head angrily. ‘No point in standing discussing my business in front of everyone.’ Two women had walked past them into the post office. ‘You’d better come down to mine!’

She led the way across the road, not bothering to see if he was following her, past the craft workshops where somebody was putting out the sign advertising coffee and homemade cakes, and down the road towards her cottage.

Her door was unlocked; pushing it open she threw her bag down on the sofa. ‘OK. What did she say?’

‘Very little. Only that she’d been talking to the rector until late.’

Lyndsey sighed again. She stood with her back to the empty fireplace, her hands on her hips. ‘I thought she was going to be a friend. I thought she was going to help. Did you know she was a Bennett from Overly?’ She glared at him as though it might be his fault. ‘She’s been sent here for a reason. To help me.’

‘Oh, come on, Lyn.’ He sat down on the edge of the sofa. In daylight the room was shabby rather than exotic, the candles standing in greasy patches of cold wax, dust clearly visible on some of the surfaces.

‘The trouble is, she doesn’t understand. She won’t trust me. She’s afraid and she thinks going to the Christian priest is the thing to do.’

‘Perhaps it is, Lyn,’ Alex said tentatively. ‘For her,’ he added hastily.

‘Well, it’s not.’ She drummed her fingers on the wooden mantel shelf.

‘Don’t involve her, Lyn. If she doesn’t understand and she doesn’t want to do whatever it is you’re planning, leave it, OK?’ He waited for some sign that she had taken in what he had said. There was none. ‘She’s a sophisticated, educated woman, with her own views on life.’

‘And I’m not?’

‘That’s not what I said. But a little chat with you is not going to turn her into a witch overnight.’ He was frowning with anxiety. ‘Just leave her alone to get on with her own thing. She’s not going to harm anyone. Or interfere. She doesn’t want to get involved. So forget it!’ He had become quite red in the face.

‘But that’s the point. She is involved.’ Lyndsey’s hands had gone back into her pockets.

‘Why?’ He stood up, walked to the door, turned and walked back again. It was only four paces each way.

‘Because she’s been having nightmares, Alex. About Liza.’

‘Oh well, if that’s all it is. Anyone moving into Liza’s could do that, especially if they find out there is black magic going on in the churchyard about ten feet away on the other side of the hedge!’

‘It is not black magic, Alex!’ For once she didn’t rise to his teasing. ‘And it’s more than nightmares. Liza is calling to Emma for help. She needs to be avenged. And Sarah is with her.’

‘Oh Lord!’ Alex ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. ‘Who is Sarah, for God’s sake?’

Lyndsey hesitated. She had read the account of the trials, studied the period and now, through Emma, she had heard Sarah’s actual words.

‘She was the woman who vowed revenge.’

‘No.’ He sat down, shaking his head. ‘No, Lyn.’ He stood up again. ‘No, this won’t do. Leave it.’ He used the voice he normally reserved for Sophie and James.

‘I can’t leave it, Alex.’ Lyndsey was staring down at the floor. ‘Emma’s in danger.’ She looked up and held his gaze. ‘You fancy her, don’t you?’ She gave a bleak smile as he vehemently shook his head. ‘Well, whatever, but you want to do what’s best for her, obviously. This is serious stuff, Alex. Life and death. Sarah and Hopkins were – are – locked in a duel which is escalating. I’ve tried to contain it. I did contain it. But now …’ She shook her head. ‘It’s getting out of hand. Bad things are happening. There seems to be evil in the air everywhere and their feud is somehow feeding off it. I need Emma’s help and she needs mine. She’s in danger, Alex. Deadly danger.’

Alex said nothing for a moment, then he shrugged. ‘Then for what it’s worth, I think she was right to go to the rector. If you’re right, and I hope to goodness you’re not because it sounds like something out of a third-rate melodrama, this is his sort of thing.’

Lyndsey shook her head. ‘It’s not his sort of thing at all,’ she said in despair. ‘He wouldn’t know where to start.’

Tuesday was Mike’s day off. His head still throbbing from a sleepless night, too afraid to close his eyes in case the dreams returned, he dealt with all the phone calls on the machine, recorded his ‘I’m not here today, but if you need me urgently I can be contacted on my mobile’ message, the mobile having its own message as a second backstop asking for specifics. He had long ago discovered that people’s ideas of urgent were random to say the least and that very few of his parishioners appreciated the fact that as his busiest working days were at the weekend, he therefore needed one day a week to himself. He could not however ignore the urgent knock on the door.

It was Ruth and Tony. ‘We got your message last night, old boy,’ Tony said as they followed him through to the kitchen. ‘I am so sorry not to have got back to you sooner.’ He shrugged ruefully. ‘I was taken ill while we were at my son’s and Ruthie here and the children made me stay there being pampered and waited on until I was better. They have now certified me fighting fit, so I thought the best thing was to come straight over.’ He had noted at once the dark circles under Mike’s eyes, the strain on the younger man’s face.

Mike’s relief at seeing them was palpable. Tony Gilchrist was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early seventies. He had a wild shock of white hair, a weather-beaten face, witness to his newfound retirement passion for sailing, intelligent hazel eyes and a firm chin. His recent illness showed in the strain around his eyes and a certain pallor beneath the tan, but his cheerfulness was all encompassing. He was not at first sight at all the epitome of a sympathetic country parson, nor was Ruth the typical parson’s wife. Outspoken, tactless at times, always a tower of strength, she was a pretty woman with short wavy grey hair, green-grey eyes and a slim, supple figure, almost as tall as her husband. Her complexion matched his, as did her new-found love of boats. Like him she brushed off Mike’s concern about Tony’s illness and like him she settled down to listen intently to what Mike had to say.

Mike made coffee and toast as he filled them in with the details of the problem as he saw it. ‘I can sense things building up. The atmosphere in the shop was bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I blessed the churchyard and held a communion service there and I felt it had worked. I don’t think the girl, Lyndsey, is particularly evil or indeed skilled at what she is doing.’

‘Have you met her?’ It was Ruth who asked the question. She was watching his face intently.

He shook his head. ‘I only went to her house the once. She wasn’t there. Judith Sadler, my lay reader, doesn’t seem very keen on my trying to meet her. She says it is sufficient that she and her prayer group deal with Lyndsey.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘She has practically forbidden me to go and see her. I don’t think she rates my skills at dealing with the occult very highly.’

Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘You are joking. Your lay reader has tried to tell you what you can or can’t do?’

‘Tried to.’ Mike put a loaded toastrack on the table and turned to the fridge for butter and marmalade. He kept most of his supplies in the huge, aged Electrolux. ‘I don’t take orders from Judith.’

‘Do I detect a certain animosity there?’ Tony reached for the sugar bowl.

Mike exhaled. ‘She feels she could do my job better than me! I have to confess I don’t warm to her. I’m working on that.’ He pushed the milk jug across the table. ‘She wouldn’t approve of you, you’re not her kind of person.’

Tony laughed. ‘I can imagine.’

Ruth gently moved the sugar bowl out of her husband’s reach. ‘What is her kind of person?’

‘Very low church. Puritan. Unforgiving. Rather grim.’

Ruth raised an eyebrow. ‘Poor you.’

‘She suits a lot of people round here.’

‘Right.’ Tony did not appear to have heard the exchange. He eyed Mike thoughtfully. ‘Tell me about the nightmares. The voices.’

Mike shrugged. ‘Getting worse.’

Tony nodded. ‘Right. Let’s make a plan. Churchyard first, I think. To get an idea of what it’s like and check out your disinfecting technique.’ He grinned. ‘Then you can take us to this shop. From what you’ve told me, Mike, you and this little witch are actually on the same side. She’s trying to deal with this manifestation in her own way. She’s a Wiccan, not a Satanist, right?’

Mike shrugged and nodded. ‘I assume so.’

‘We shouldn’t assume anything in this job. OK. Maybe there will be time to pay her a visit. Is there anything in your diary for this morning you can’t shift?’

Mike smiled ruefully. ‘Only a day of rest.’

‘Well, maybe once we’ve sorted this, you’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, my friend.’ Outmanoeuvring his wife, he managed to spoon two brimming loads of sugar into his cup. A few slight twinges in the heart department were not about to make him change his lifestyle. There were more important things to worry about.

The churchyard was peaceful in the mellow autumn sunlight. Leading the way to the rectangle of greener grass, Mike stood back beside Ruth and waited, head bowed, as Tony prayed over the grave. Nearby a robin watched, bobbing anxiously amongst the crisped leaves on a hawthorn bush.

‘In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.’ Tony stood in silence for several seconds, then he turned to the others. ‘All at peace at the moment, anyway. I doubt if this is the epicentre.’ He glanced over his shoulder as if listening intently, then he made the sign of the cross over the grave. ‘You know, I doubt if it’s even our chap buried here. I sense puzzlement. Righteous indignation. But not evil.’ He swung round to face the lane. ‘And that, I take it, is Liza’s behind the hedge? Idyllic country cottage, with attendant black cat ditto.’ He had spotted Min sitting on the wall watching them.

Mike shivered in spite of himself. Ruth noticed. ‘You have a problem with the cat, Mike?’

He laughed. ‘I shouldn’t have. I like cats. But Emma’s cats are a bit different. They look just that bit too intelligent. And they don’t seem to like me.’

‘Burmese, Mike, that’s all.’ Ruth punched him playfully on the arm. ‘At least that one is. Sharp as a razor. Would have no trouble running rings round an old softy like you.’

‘Do you want to go in and see Emma?’ Mike led the way across the rough tussocky ground back towards the lane.

‘Not today, I think.’ Tony followed him, reaching over to take his wife’s hand. ‘Let’s visit the shop next.’ Helping Ruth across the wall, he did not notice the expression on Mike’s face. Had he done so he might have been as puzzled as Mike by the curious mixture of anguish and relief which flooded through him as they turned away from Liza’s.

The same woman was behind the counter in Barker’s shop. She was still eating and greeted Mike’s request for access to the upstairs with the same shrug of indifference. The only change was that today there were two customers in the shop picking their way over the baskets of cheap plastic wares. They ignored the newcomers as Mike led the way to the staircase. At the bottom he stopped. ‘Do you want to go up first?’

Tony glanced at him and nodded.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Tony?’ Ruth’s whisper brought her husband up short.

‘I wouldn’t do anything I thought was dangerous.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Or too much for the old ticker, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’ He squeezed her arm.

Ruth nodded and smiled. She watched as Tony set off up the stairs, followed by Mike, then, slowly, she brought up the rear.

Mike held his breath as they climbed, intensely aware of how relieved he was that Tony was in front of him. A breastplate indeed!

At the top of the stairs they stood together and surveyed the room. ‘Here?’ Tony raised an eyebrow.

Mike nodded. ‘The face in the video shot was on the stairs we have just climbed.’

‘Right.’ Tony put down his bag and drew out his white alb. Pulling it on over his head he knotted the girdle firmly, then he walked slowly across the room and perched himself on the edge of a packing case, facing the window. While Mike and Ruth hovered near the stairs, he closed his eyes. The room was very silent.

Mike tried to pray. There was an overwhelming smell of soap powder today. He could see the huge carton of cheap boxes of the stuff by the wall. A dusting of white had spilled onto the oak floorboards where someone had taken a Stanley knife to the polythene a little too enthusiastically. Underlying that smell was the room’s usual atmosphere of old wood and dust, warmed by hundreds of years of sunlight shining in through the small leaded window. It was a pleasant, quiet room, innocuous. Slowly he relaxed. Leaning against the wall, watching Tony’s bowed head, he felt himself breathing slowly and deeply, lulled out of his fear.

The scream was sudden and horrible, ringing in his ears. He jumped, staring round the room in terror. Ruth hadn’t moved.

Tony turned and looked at him. ‘Ah, you heard that?’

Mike nodded. His face was white.

‘Heard what?’ Ruth looked puzzled.

‘Pray for us, my darling.’ Tony stood up. ‘Hold the room in the light. We have a visitor amongst us.’

Mike stared at Ruth in amazement. To his surprise she merely closed her eyes. He saw her lips move as she began to pray. Tony beckoned him to come and stand beside him.

‘Did you hear her scream?’ Mike tried to steady his voice.

‘I felt rather than heard something.’ Tony frowned. ‘Mike, I want you to pray. Be strong.’

The temperature was dropping as it had before when Mike was there, and the room seemed to be growing darker.

Mike clenched his fists. ‘Christ be with me, Christ within me.’

A wisp of mist curled through the room, licking at the boxes, drifting towards him. Nearby Ruth stood quite still, her eyes still closed, her lips moving almost imperceptibly as she prayed.

‘Dear Lord, Jesus Christ, protect us by the power of your name.’ Tony’s voice rang out, unwavering. ‘Send your holy angels to defend us. Strengthen us and keep us safe.’

The mist was fine as gossamer. It hung in the air, hardly moving now, veiling the light from the small leaded panes. Mike could feel the touch of it on the skin of his cheek, the back of his hand, and he shrank back, his eyes widening with horror. It had reached Tony now, and was curling round him, caressing him.

‘Our Father –’ Tony’s voice was still strong. ‘Which art in heaven – ’

Suddenly he stopped. Mike heard him clear his throat. His hand had gone to his mouth and he seemed to be having trouble drawing breath.

‘Tony!’ Ruth’s eyes flew open and she lunged towards him. ‘Tony, be strong! In the name of Christ, be strong!’

The mist was drifting past them, turning, spiralling slowly a foot or two above the ground.

Mike tried to move. ‘Christ be with us …’ He couldn’t breathe. The mist was encircling him, settling over his face, filling his nose, his mouth, forming a cold film across his eyes. The room seemed to be full of drifting shapes, but he couldn’t see clearly. Desperately he tried to take a breath, feeling as if clammy cotton were filling his lungs. His head was beginning to roar and he could feel himself losing consciousness.

And then suddenly it was over. As quickly as it had come, the mist dispersed.

Fighting to catch his breath, Mike sat down on a crate, panting, clawing at his streaming eyes.

‘Mike? Are you OK?’

Ruth put her hand on his shoulder. Behind her he could see Tony, his face white. In his hand was a small crucifix.

Mike exhaled loudly. He managed to nod. ‘What happened?’

‘It attacked you.’ Tony moved towards him. ‘Whatever it was, an energy, some sort of force, it made a bee-line for you. Mike, I want you to leave us, please. Now. Quickly. Focus your mind on prayer and walk away. Go home. We’ll follow you.’

‘But what about you?’

‘We’ll be all right. Please, just do as I ask. Quickly. This shop is a centre of something – that is why it is so haunted. The ghosts too use the energy. For some reason you are a focus. I want to see what happens when you are not here.’

Mike looked questioningly at him for a moment, then at Ruth, who had put her hand on her husband’s arm, then he gave a reluctant nod. Turning away he almost ran towards the stairs.
Christ
be with me, Christ within me!
Somehow he managed to smile at the woman behind the counter as he headed swiftly across the floor. ‘The others will be down shortly.’

She nodded and turned to ring up a sum on the till. It was normal down here, as though nothing at all had happened. Mike heard her flat, bored request for seventy-five pence as he walked out into the street and closed the door behind him.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, he paused to stare up at the windows. There was no sign of life. From the road he could see how dirty the panes of glass were, with a rime of dust and old bleached moss clinging to the corners where in winter the damp would reach further and further into the timber.

Go home, Tony had said. And pray.

Something was going on up there behind those windows. Something which he could not be allowed to witness. Tense with fear and anxiety, he began to walk away.