The Chrysalid Conspiracy (25 page)

A few moments later George’s pick-up truck came down the hill. It slowed to make the turning into Millers Lane and Amelia could see he had a passenger. She could also see who it was.

Stunned with disbelief, she continued to watch for a while longer, and then made her way back to the clearing. The two sisters were sitting on the steps, each making a fuss of the two implacable creatures. Rayn was taking the opportunity to clean out their cage.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that this needed doing.” Rayn paused and looked at her friend. “Are you all right? Where did you go?”

“Actually I’m not sure.” Amelia replied.

“What happened? You look awful,” said a worried Rayn.

Amelia turned to make sure the other girls were busy before replying.

“We’re going to need your analytical expertise again, Rayn. Another piece of our FFCT just attacked us.”

“What!” exclaimed Rayn.

“Shh!” Amelia warned. “Later. You’re not going to believe it. I don’t, and I saw it.”

Rayn was surprisingly subdued. Eager for the information she managed to remain polite and interested in her guests, getting them a drink, showing them round the caravan, then digging out Horace’s horse brasses and ‘show’ harness.

“I can just imagine him all dressed up,” said Claire, sighing.

“Maybe I’ll dress him up for you one day,” replied Rayn.

“Sometimes we sit on the gate and dream about hitching him up and just driving off into nowhere,” said Carrieanne wistfully.

A confused mixture of emotions was tearing at Rayn’s mind. The world she had lived in, the world she knew, was full of people who would drink and fight then sacrifice all to help you through the tough times. They were cynical and had low expectations of life, but they were there for each other when it was needed.

Liars, thieves and rogues they were honest with each other and looked after their own. What sort of world was this she had fallen in to? Was secularism such a terrible crime it had to be punished by crushing the free spirit of children? What cruelty was this that choked the mind and drowned initiative in a sea of dogma? It would seem that the liars, thieves and rogues were in charge, running things with impunity.

What could she do to help? She cast her mind round for anything. “Look, I don’t think Horace or the caravan are going anywhere again,” Rayn said. “They’re both too old. But when we get some decent weather, come over and we’ll scrub him up and get him all dressed up in his finery. We can take some photos. How’s that?”

“Could we really?” said Claire. “Thanks, that’ll be great.”

Carrieanne explained that to get home they had to walk round the back of the sanctuary, across the field and in through the graveyard to avoid being seen on the road.

“Dad’s got his spies everywhere,” she complained.

“The only problem is getting across that muddy track over the field,” added Claire.

“What track’s that?” asked Rayn.

“Oh, there’s a track that runs from the sanctuary up to the woods. There’s a heavy five bar gate onto the estate”

“Is it used much?” Rayn asked, curiously.

“Never seen anyone, but it’s well churned up so I suppose so,” said Carrieanne.

The girls said their goodbyes and Carrieanne and Claire finally left for home.

“You were very reserved,” Amelia said to Rayn after the girls had left. “I thought you’d get rid of them quickly and hurt their feelings.”

“I was enjoying it.” Answered Rayn. “Anyway, I have learned a little about self-discipline, from Nigel.” Rayn suddenly took up a boxing stance. “But not a lot about anger management! Now Talk!”

“Come on, I’ll tell you on the way back,” said Amelia and they made their way back to the bridge.

“I saw George going back to the village.”

“And?” said Rayn, instinctively knowing there was more.

“He had a passenger.”

“And!?” Rayn repeated, almost an octave higher.

“It was Miss Collins.”

There was a thunderous silence as Rayn digested the news. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yes. She got out,” Amelia explained.

“What? Where?”

“George stopped at the sanctuary. She got out and went straight in like she owned the place.”

“Did they see you?” asked Rayn.

“No, I was hiding in the bushes. I followed one of those urges. It just seemed natural, you know, which way to go, where to stop,” answered Amelia. “So now we know where Miss Collins is and we have a connection between Tetherington Hall and that crazy zoo.”

“I got there before you on that one. At least about the zoo.”

“How? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” Amelia badgered.

“Hey, calm down. I only found out about five minutes ago,” and she told her about the muddy track the girls had seen. “You were busy with the dogs and I didn’t really take much notice, till now.”

Rayn looked at Amelia, her face deadly serious. “It looks as though our FFCT is not quite so FF anymore.”

“Is that good, or bad?” enquired Amelia.

“You tell me,” said Rayn. “You’re the sceptic.”

“You said we’d do this for a laugh, remember?” Amelia reminded her. “See where it goes, have some fun. Well, it’s stopped being fun. I think we’d better forget the whole thing. don’t you?”

Rayn wasn’t having any of this, she needed some breathing space. “I tell you what Amelia; we’ve just gone from fun to downright scary in less time than it takes to stuff a ferret. Fun is one thing; I can take it or leave it, but scary I can’t write off just like that. I need to chase it down so it goes away, that’s what we have to do or we’ll always wonder, and maybe we’ll always be little bit scared.”

“Surely we should have some point where we can stop; somewhere we can draw a line.” asked Amelia.

“No way.” Rayn pushed an emphatic response. “A line is just something to hide behind; it’s the place where you bury the truth with the lie. At least let’s find out if we’re chasing this what-ever-it is, or if it’s chasing us.”

“I suppose you’re right, Rayn. As usual.” conceded Amelia.

Rayn collected her prize and breathed in again.

The following morning they headed off to school with new resolve, having decided to apply themselves to their studies; (with the exception of RE), continue to play down their abilities on the sports field and concentrate on their training sessions with Nigel – something that he was thrilled about.

The weeks slipped by and before long it was Christmas. They had no new revelations about their conspiracy theory, and its importance seemed to dissipate into the general rhythm of life.

Nigel finally plucked up the courage to tell G-Dad that he was moving in with Molly and her boys, but didn’t want to lose his job. George not only obliged but wished him well and gave him a hefty raise.

Sambo moved in a few days later. His looks and personality soon made him a fixture in the village. George didn’t stop praising his talent for woodcraft and Lucy let him sell some of his carvings through the shop, and as Sambo himself had put it, ‘Hot cakes don’t spring to mind, but the rolls are getting warmer’.

On the other hand, Bridie was struggling to keep up with the demand for her own craftwork. Without Rayn’s help, plus helping Lucy in the shop, her time was limited. Even so, she would not compromise on quality and was making it hard for herself.

Lucy was working flat out. It wasn’t so much passing trade – people tended to go the larger centres for their Christmas shopping – but she had an unusual amount of special orders. She trained up Molly, who became extremely good at creating floral bouquets to the standard Lucy required. She, too, received a substantial pay rise.

Amelia and Rayn spent as much time as they could in the gym. Rayn was improving at an alarming rate and was delighted to find that when she threw Nigel in unarmed combat lessons, he actually left the floor. Amelia became faster and stronger, but she longed for the spring. She preferred to train outside in ‘nature’s health farm’, as she called it.

The girls had agreed to ‘take over’ Christmas at the shop, a new experience for Rayn, who plied everyone with questions about the celebration. Bridie and Rayn had been invited to stay for a few days, and they needed seating for ten – Molly, Nigel and the twins, George and Sambo, and the four of them. George was ‘encouraged’ to acquire another table and some more chairs. He was also badgered into putting up some fancy lights in the shop windows. Sambo was conscripted into turning the shop front into a ‘Dickensian’ masterpiece and he really showed off his talents.

A real Christmas tree was set up, complete with lights, baubles and presents. They roped Sambo in to carve a pair of squirrels out of light weight Balsa wood to go on the top. Lucy said they were very nice but didn’t it show a conflict of interests? George had to explain to both her and Rayn, “Winter solstice, the shortest day, was a pagan celebration long before the Christians hijacked it, commercialised it and turned it into the parody it now is.”

“But what about the decorations and gifts?” Rayn had argued.

“Trees and decorations are Victorian inventions,” he said. “For the Druids, getting together, feasting, drinking and dancing were all part of celebrating the birth of the New Year. They could plan their crops and prepare for spring. We’re just taking it back, that’s all.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucy agreed. “But I’ll give the dancing a miss this year.”

The big argument arose between the two girls over which music to arrange. Their tastes were such a contrast there was no hope of a compromise. Lucy finally put her foot down, to avoid bloodshed she claimed, and insisted on Christmas music only; including carols!

Amelia and Rayn threatened to leave home and live on the streets, but when both mothers offered to pack for them, they relented and set about producing a full length CD.

Another argument broke out when Rayn wanted to put ‘The Blackheads’ rap song ‘Christmas is for losers’ between Handel and Bing Crosby. Lucy vetoed it after hearing the profane lyrics. They were so bad that even Bridie agreed with her. “What on earth next?” Lucy had asked, ‘Snotty and the Staphylococci’?” Rayn’s defence collapsed when she tried to explain to their mothers that if they haven’t heard those words before they won’t understand them and if they have it won’t matter. Lucy ended the discussion by threatening to stuff their ears with poison ivy.

Somehow things got sorted and the big day arrived. Nigel dropped off a collapsible army cot for Rayn so that she could sleep in Amelia’s bedroom, while Bridie was to use the living room sofa.

Everyone was up early. Amelia gave her mother an extra-long but gentle physio session while Rayn and Bridie hit the kitchen, and after a light breakfast with heavy coffee the work started in earnest.

The traditional Christmas turkey had cooked overnight and Lucy and Bridie started preparing a huge amount of vegetables, having spent the previous day baking. The two girls set up the extra table and chairs which George had somehow acquired at short notice.

Sambo arrived carrying an ornate carver chair to see if it was suitable for Lucy. She was ecstatic and insisted that somebody lift her into it. A few cushions and minor adjustments later, she was sitting comfortably in the chair.

“This is absolutely wonderful Sambo,” she said. “Did you make this?”

“Of course,” he answered with a grin.

“It’s amazing,” said Bridie. “How on earth did you manage it?”

“It was easy,” he said. “I just got an old chair and polished it up.” Everyone laughed.

“I wouldn’t mind betting that you told George what you wanted and it just happened to turn up,” said Amelia.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Just a guess,” she said, with a sideways glance at Rayn.

Lucy went back to her wheelchair when he had gone. She was quite impressed by the way her daughter had picked her up as if she weighed nothing. When she put her arm around her for support, she became aware of the broad shoulders and clearly defined and firm muscles of her back. She was so proud she didn’t want to let go.

When Amelia went into the kitchen to ask her mother where she wanted to sit, she noticed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.

“Hello, what’s this? Isn’t it a bit early?” she asked.

“Not really,” replied Lucy.

“We were feeling a little delicate and decided we needed an internal alcohol rub,” added Bridie.

“Well, don’t overdo it,” said Rayn, who had followed Amelia into the kitchen. “We don’t want severed fingers in the salad.”

“I’d better get the first aid box from the shop, just in case,” Amelia responded.

“Good idea,” said Rayn. “I don’t know – grown-ups, you can’t take your eyes off them for a second!”

***

The dinner was virtually perfect. Turkey with chestnut stuffing, sausages wrapped in bacon, sliced boiled ham. Golden roast potatoes with honey roast parsnips. Everyone commented on the vegetables, slightly under-cooked to enhance the taste. Amelia noticed Rayn give her mother a dark look, but Bridie just shrugged and smiled. Rayn had insisted that all ingredients should be shop bought, explaining to Lucy that if she had given her mother a free hand their guests would be coping with a mixed fungi and nettle root salad.

Lucy was in her element. She was the perfect host, drawing everyone into stimulating conversation with plenty of light-hearted banter and laughter. It dawned on Amelia that her mother was the only one present who had experienced a ‘family’ Christmas, having been brought up in a ‘normal’ household. It had been a long time ago, and as Christmas was the anniversary of the accident and her father’s death, the ones she remembered had usually been quiet, personal affairs.

She knew that Nigel, Molly and Sambo had spent many years in care homes, with many well-meaning people doing the best they could, but it wasn’t the same.

Rayn and her mum had always celebrated in the gypsy fashion, but Rayn did confess to her later that she had had no idea that this was what it was all about. She looked at George.
Perhaps he invented Christmas,
she thought to herself.
You never know with him.

Amelia was both surprised and pleased at the way Nigel had matured since he had met Molly. He was larking around with the twins, much to Molly’s consternation.