Hiding From the Light (40 page)
Alex glanced at Paula and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. ‘Would you take them? If I collect them at lunchtime?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘OK, kids. Teeth. Make beds. ETD ten minutes!’
It was after he had dropped the children off and seen them scamper eagerly away towards the paddock behind their friend’s house, each clutching a windfall apple for the grossly fat pony, that he remembered Paula telling him that Emma had phoned the night before. Pulling the car up in the lane he thought for a minute, then he reversed into a gateway and turned the Volvo, heading back towards Liza’s.
The cottage was half-hidden in the mist which lay like a milky blanket across the fields and gardens. He pulled into the lay-by behind Emma’s car and climbed out. The doors and windows of the house were closed, the curtains still drawn. He rang the front door bell and waited. There was no reply. He rang again, glancing at his watch. It was still early but he could hear music coming from inside. Perhaps she was already out working in the gardens. He made his way round the side of the house to the terrace and knocked at the kitchen door. The sound of the radio was really loud here. There was still no reply, so he tried the handle. The door was locked. He frowned, knocking again, harder this time, and called out, ‘Emma? Are you there?’ Perhaps she couldn’t hear him because of the music.
A blackbird flew out of the old apple tree in the garden behind him, pinking a warning.
‘Emma?’
He moved from the door to the window, and shading his eyes against the reflections, he peered in. The kitchen appeared to be empty. Frowning, he leaned closer, squinting to focus his eyes over the pots of herbs along the window sill. The lights were on. The radio was on the table – he could see the two red lights on the top.
‘Emma!’ He tapped at the glass and suddenly he saw her. She was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head pressed into them tightly.
‘Emma? My God, Emma, what’s wrong?’ He banged the glass harder. ‘Emma. Can you hear me?’
She was moving. He saw her slowly raise her head and stare blankly around her as though she had just awoken from a deep sleep.
‘Emma!’ he yelled. He rapped on the glass again. ‘Open the door! Emma, the door is locked. Can you hear me? Over here? Open the door!’
Damn the music. She couldn’t hear him.
Then at last she was looking towards him. He saw her frown. Slowly she released the grip on her knees and straightened her legs. Then, agonisingly slowly, she began to struggle to her feet. For several seconds she stood leaning against the wall, then she took two steps towards the door, staggering, her hand to her head.
‘That’s it. Come on, Emma. Three more steps and you’re there.’ He peered through the glass anxiously.
She was leaning against the table now, taking deep breaths, then she was moving again.
Stepping back from the window he hurried back to the door. He could hear her trying the handle from the inside.
‘Emma, it’s bolted. Pull back the bolt.’ His mouth was against the wood.
At last he heard the rasp of iron and finally the door opened. She stood staring at him. ‘Alex?’ The word was drowned by the blast of music which had hit him.
‘It’s OK. I’m here now.’ He put his arm round her and gently pushed her back into the room. Two strides across the floor to the radio and he had switched it off. Blessed silence flowed around them.
‘Max? Min? Where are they?’ Emma’s eyes had filled with tears.
‘I don’t know.’ Alex pushed her into one of the chairs, then he turned to the Aga. ‘You need coffee. What is it? Did you drink too much?’ He had spotted the whisky bottle on the worktop.
She shrugged. ‘Sarah was here. She wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to ring you.’ Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘No one came, and the cats are missing.’
‘I’m sure the cats are fine.’ He reached into the fridge for the jar of coffee. ‘I expect they ran off because of the noise. They’ll be back soon.’
‘Noise?’ She was squinting at him.
‘The radio. You had it turned up full volume.’
‘Did I?’ She put her hand to her head again.
‘Listen, Em.’ Alex was watching her anxiously. ‘I wonder if I should call the doctor to look at you. How much did you drink last night?’
She stared at the bottle, her brow furrowed as though trying to focus. ‘Not much.’
‘Presumably Sarah drank with you?’ He was pouring hot water into the jug. ‘Who is she, anyway?’
Emma started to laugh. ‘Sarah doesn’t drink. No, not a drop.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘She wants me to kill someone.’ She looked up at Alex pleadingly. ‘She wouldn’t go away.’
‘Then maybe I should call the police.’ He turned and stared at her, trying to hide his shock.
‘No.’ Suddenly her laughter had become shrill. ‘Not the police. She’s in my head, Alex. In here!’ She thumped her temple with the palm of her hand. ‘She won’t leave me alone.’
‘OK.’ He pushed a cup of black coffee in her direction. ‘Just hang on a minute. I’m going to ring the surgery.’ Picking up the phone, he walked out of the room with it to be out of earshot. The receptionist passed him on to Dr Good, who was standing beside her.
‘As it happens I’ll be passing the door,’ he said after he had listened to Alex’s description of what had happened. ‘We don’t have a surgery on Saturday. Normally I would suggest you take her to A & E, but if you hang on with her I’ll be there in about half an hour. She came to see me only last week so I’d like to take another look at her.’
By the time he arrived, Emma had drunk two cups of coffee and was looking marginally better. There was still no sign of Max or Min.
James Good went with her into the sitting room while Alex waited in the kitchen. Ten minutes later the phone rang. Alex paused to give Emma the chance to pick it up in the next room. When she didn’t, he lifted the receiver. It was Piers.
‘Emma left a couple of messages. She sounded anxious.’ His tone of voice was slightly hostile.
‘The doctor is with her,’ Alex explained quietly. ‘She doesn’t seem to be very well.’
‘But you are there to look after her?’
‘Well, I am at the moment – ’
‘So, I needn’t have worried,’ Piers snapped.
‘I’m sure she’d like to speak to you,’ Alex replied cautiously. Shit! Paula’s meddling had antagonised Piers. ‘Look, I was only passing. She left a message for me sometime yesterday so I dropped in. It was lucky, because I found her – ’
‘And she’s OK?’ There was a moment’s silence the other end of the line and Alex heard a woman’s voice in the distance. ‘Hang on, I’m coming!’ Piers was talking to her. Then he was speaking back into the phone. ‘Look, tell Em I rang. I’ll be in touch.’
‘She’d like to speak to you, Piers. If you hold on – ’
‘I can’t. I’m busy. I’ll give her a ring tomorrow.’ Before Alex could reply he had hung up.
Alex scowled. Poor Emma. She must have rung everyone she knew last night and no one had come to help her. No one at all.
In the living room, James Good had listened carefully to Emma’s story.
‘I’m going mad, aren’t I?’ She looked at him desperately. ‘I’m paranoid or schizoid or something. You’re going to say I should be locked up!’
He smiled. ‘No, I was thinking how strange that someone else had come to see me with similar symptoms only yesterday. Nightmares seem to be endemic round here at the moment.’ He sat back in his chair and stared at her thoughtfully. ‘Is it possible you could go and stay with someone for a few days? Right away from here. A complete change of scene and some company is my preferred prescription.’
She bit her lip. ‘I suppose I could go back to London for a short stay. Piers, my ex, said I could go back any time.’ It was ages since he had said it. She wondered suddenly if he would still mean it.
‘Then now is the time.’ James Good smiled at her gently. ‘I’ll prescribe some mild tranquillisers for you, but on the whole I think a change of scene would do the trick.’
‘I’m not being possessed, then?’ She fixed her eyes on his.
He shook his head with a smile. ‘I don’t believe in possession. I do believe in obsession. Too much worry about your move. Too much worry about the history of your house. A lively imagination. A sensitive, highly intelligent woman who is suddenly on her own when she is used to living with someone else. That is a recipe for symptoms like yours if ever I heard them.’ He leaned forward and reached into his bag for a prescription pad. ‘I don’t want you to be alone in this house again for several nights. Can you arrange that?’
She nodded.
‘Excellent. Then come and see me in about a week’s time and we’ll see how you’re getting on.’ He stood up. ‘I must go.’ Reaching out, he shook her hand. ‘This is a lovely cottage, Emma. You are going to be very happy here. Just give yourself time to adjust.’
‘You’ve got to help me, Tony!’ Mike drove up to the tiny cottage on the waterfront at Pin Mill shortly after eleven o’clock and Ruth had pointed down towards the foreshore where Tony was doing something to his boat. ‘I spent last night at Aldeburgh, thinking. Thinking was not enough.’
Tony was standing in the mud, dressed in shorts and sandshoes, a thick sweater keeping him warm against the wind. His white hair was blowing wildly as he turned to face Mike, who was gingerly standing on the edge of the hard. He grinned.
‘Hang on, I’ll come up. Can’t have you getting muddy. Come on. Straight into the pub,’ he added as he joined Mike. ‘Let’s have a beer.’ They sat at a table in the bar, looking out across the water. Nearby the open fire crackled in the hearth. The room was cheerfully full and noisy. A child appeared from the restaurant area next door, chose a game of dominoes from the pile of pub games on the table near them and disappeared again. At the feet of an old man standing near them a portly spaniel lay down with an audible sigh. It was obviously preparing for a long stay.
‘You’ve been thinking, you say?’ Tony said at last as they took their first sip from their glasses. He leaned back in the high-backed settle. ‘Not praying?’
Mike frowned. ‘Thinking,’ he repeated firmly.
‘OK. What about?’
‘Emma Dickson.’
Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘Not the answer I expected.’
‘Not the one I expected to give.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Look, Tony, I don’t know what is happening. I keep dreaming about her. But I’m not me. In the dreams I am another man. Hopkins, a man who is reviled; feared; universally disliked!’ He shook his head wearily. ‘He is lodged somewhere in my brain and he is having a battle of wits with this woman, Sarah. Only Sarah is Emma.’ He bit his lip, gazing into the distance. Out on the river the sun, finally breaking through the racing cloud, glittered for a moment on the water, then in a moment it was gone again. On one of the houseboats moored against the wooded shore, someone turned on a pump. A gush of white frothy water began to pour out into the river.
Tony took a sip from his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Tell me about Emma.’
‘She seems to be a decent woman. A widow – ’
‘Emma?’ Tony prompted.
Mike shook his head. He took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. No. Emma is not a widow. She’s in a relationship I think, but it’s breaking up. He lives in London. She hates London.’ He sighed again.
‘And what is she like as a person?’ Tony prompted gently.
‘Charming. A bit lost, I think, moving to the country on her own. She’s not even quite sure why she’s done it. She’s friendly. Intelligent. Very pleasant.’
‘Attractive?’
Mike smiled. ‘Yes, attractive.’
‘A churchgoer?’
He shook his head.
‘Does that upset you?’
‘It saddens me, obviously.’
‘Obviously?’
‘Well, it’s my job to hope for a bigger flock.’
‘Amongst your flock, do you find any of those ladies attractive?’
Mike gave a rueful grin. ‘I suppose not in the same way.’
‘Is it possible, do you think, that you might even resent the fact that Miss Dickson is not a churchgoer?’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘Are you sure, Mike? Be honest with yourself. You lost a fiancée didn’t you, when you entered the church. You could be forgiven for wondering if attractive women are somehow beyond your reach now that you are a priest.’
Mike drank some beer. ‘This is some deep psychological ploy to suggest that if Emma is not available I am going to equate her with a witch to justify the fact that I can’t have her.’
Tony put his head on one side. ‘Yes, I suppose it is in a way. It would be comforting, wouldn’t it, to equate her with an archetype. She obviously isn’t a hook-nosed old hag in a pointed hat, but, to take another equally valid archetype, she could be the beautiful evil seductress. And you are further distancing her by seeing her through the eyes of another man.’
Mike drained his glass. ‘So Hopkins isn’t an external spirit of some sort? You are saying I have invented him as a psychological device? But what about the ghosts? What about Barker’s shop? Or is this over and above all that?’
‘It’s possible.’ Tony stood up and picked up Mike’s glass. ‘Let me buy you another half while you think about it.’
Mike contemplated what Tony had said, but his mind was a blank. Where was the voice now? The intrusive, opinionated, pious, judgemental voice? It wasn’t there. He sighed, strangely content. Was that because Tony was right? It was all in his imagination, his way of protecting himself against the knowledge that he found Emma very attractive, and that she was not for him?
Tony reappeared. He put the two glasses down and produced two packets of dry roasted peanuts from his pocket before he took his seat. ‘Now, for the other scenario. Supposing you are being possessed by the spirit of Matthew Hopkins.’
Mike frowned.
‘He has wormed his way into your psyche, perhaps at your unwitting invitation, and he is using you for his own vengeful purposes. His battle is with someone called Sarah. Perhaps it has nothing to do with Emma. Perhaps your mind is giving Sarah Emma’s face. Perhaps –’ he paused thoughtfully – ‘Emma is actually involved in some way. She is, I think you told me, living in the house of one of Hopkins’s victims. She is a relative of a modern-day witch. She was drawn to the area in some mysterious way she does not even understand herself.’ He tore open his packet of peanuts and tossed a couple into his mouth.
‘So, what do you think is the truth?’ Mike’s unease had returned.
Tony turned towards him. His face was very serious. ‘You tell me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. Search your heart. And pray. Mike, you are a man of God. You have every weapon in the arsenal on your side.’ The kind, understanding friend had gone. Tony’s face was stern. ‘If this possession is real, Mike, you can only defeat it if you are strong. I can’t exorcise you. I can’t do it for you. The bishop, the archdeacon, the whole company of the apostles can’t do it for you. And remember, Hopkins thinks he is on the side of the angels as well. He will be praying. He is wondering why he is in hell. And, if he is here on earth now, he may not technically be in hell but he is not resting in peace. He is blaming someone. He is blaming someone called Sarah.’
Mike hadn’t touched his own beer. With a sigh he stood and picking it up, he walked outside where he stood watching the river. A fishing boat was motoring down the centre of the channel. He could just hear the faint purr of the engine above the sound of the gulls wheeling behind it. On the far shore Orwell Park School sprawled elegantly amongst its green playing fields.
Tony sat, quietly drinking, watching him through the window. It was a full ten minutes before Mike returned to the table.
‘I think the possession is real,’ he said quietly. ‘Too much has been happening. To others as well as myself. To Emma. To Lyndsey. To Barker’s shop. To the town. Bill Standing, my groundsman at the church, who calls himself a cunning man, a man of the old faith, Tony, told me to pray round the town. He had to tell me how to do my job. He is convinced the dark is rising, as he put it – old, ancient evil – and he thinks I am not trained to fight it.’
Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘And do you feel you are not trained to fight it?’
Mike shrugged. Then for the first time he smiled. ‘I feel as though I’m doing a crash course. Maybe you could come and meet Bill, see what you think …’
Tony shook his head. ‘God believes you can do it, Mike, or he would not have sent you there. It’s that simple.’ He drained his glass. ‘Come on, drink up. Ruth was cooking a huge casserole when I left. There will be mountains of food and I want you to eat well, then rest, then this evening I am going to take you somewhere special. It’s a place I go to when I need spiritual refreshment. I want us to spend the night there in prayer and meditation and then tomorrow you can go back to your parish ready to do battle with the saints beside you.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you realise that it is Halloween today, Mike?’
Mike nodded.
‘Never forget something like that. Your Bill Standing is right to worry. On days like today the dark is very close. You must pray for your parish tonight, Mike. And pray for Emma and for Lyndsey and even for Hopkins himself.’