The Smile of a Ghost (46 page)

‘I’ve never read them,’ Merrily said. ‘I just know the music. I just… wore the clothes.’

‘When I was fifteen,’ Bell said, a tired incantation, ‘I tried to kill myself. I took an overdose. I spent quality time on a stomach pump. I was fifteen and I was overweight, bad skin, repressed and horribly shy, and I had a heart defect and I was not allowed to do games and my parents drove me everywhere – even if I went out at night with friends they drove me there and collected me – and I also had a disgusting brace on my twisted teeth, so I tried to kill myself. It’s in the books.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know about that.’

Bell craned her neck forward. ‘Darling, it’s part of the legend. The next part is when I was seventeen and someone said I could sing and someone else pointed out that if you took the middle out of my dreary name, Isabella Donachie, you had the magic word Belladonna – poisonous, the most resonant name for a singer in those days – and that seemed like some glorious epiphany, and I snatched the brace off my teeth and slept with about a hundred men in six months.’

‘Legend?’

Bell sniffed. ‘You see, I’d grown up to whispers behind my back: doctors to parents, parents to relatives. Peering through the banisters, ears flapping – children have such sharp ears and an acute understanding of the basics. By the time I was ten, I knew I was going to die before my time.’

‘You’re still here…’

‘And I still have a heart defect, apparently – it wasn’t a mistake or anything: they picked up on it again when I was having the baby. I mean, I could still die any time. I just haven’t died yet. But death and me…’ Bell enclosed one hand with another. ‘Close, Mary. Very close, always. And it’s been a remarkable relationship.’

‘It’s certainly produced some remarkable music.’

‘All about sailing close to the precipice. When I swallowed the pills, I was convinced just a handful would finish me off – someone already hanging delicately over the great abyss? Didn’t happen. When I was twenty-one, I recorded the Hungarian Suicide Song and had all the scratches put into the mix, just like the original. Singing close to the precipice.’

Merrily said hesitantly, ‘They say that knowledge and acceptance of death can show you how to live… intensively.’

Bell leaned back in her box. ‘That’s not quite true. It induces, more than anything, a sense of the temporary. I couldn’t settle. Couldn’t settle in a place – travelled all over the world or, at least, back and forth across the Atlantic. Couldn’t stay with a man, either. Pepper was the best, he was a nice guy – why I kept his name – but I was turning him into a nervous wreck, so he appealed to my better instincts and I let him go. But there was only one constant, and that was my son.’

‘Because he was dead?’

‘And then I fetched up in Ludlow, visiting Saul’s daughter, Susannah, who was now my legal and financial adviser – business manager, I guess – and it was… another epiphany.’

‘The town you’d dreamed of when the baby was…’

‘Yes. Knew it soon as I got out of the car. Didn’t quite believe it at first, so I went away. Had the dream again. Came back, and the pull was even stronger. A town that, like me, was outside of its time. And the child… well, the child wanted to come back.’

‘Are we talking about… Robbie?’

‘You’re getting there.’ Bell sighed. ‘I must be insane – you could be a reporter.’

Merrily smiled.

‘But when you’ve been courted and worshipped and shafted by thousands of people the world over, you pride yourself on being able to recognize the ones who’re going to be of some importance. When I saw you with Jonathan at Marion’s yew, I thought, yeah… No, don’t say anything, Mary, don’t feel flattered, I’ll be a burden to you, I always am.’

‘Robbie?’

‘Is my son.
Is
my son. I wasn’t looking for a child, for God’s sake. I was probably looking for a man. And then one day you’re face to face with your twin soul, and it’s a… a bloody little boy.’ Bell drank some wine, tears like lenses over her eyes.

‘Someone I spoke to,’ Merrily said, ‘actually said you were like mother and son.’

‘We
were
mother and son. Birth parents are merely that – seldom of any consequence, an impedance more often than not. We were part of the same spiritual seed… essence. And we were both connected with this town and realized it. We’d both come home. We saw the town burning with the same golden light. I remember, in my first dream, walking from the castle to the church, stopping and gazing up at the steeple, and it was like a bar of gold, and the sky was red with sunset, and I felt… well, you can imagine how I felt.’

‘Euphoric.’

‘Oh, well beyond euphoric.’

‘Like a near-death experience? Bell, are we talking reincarnation here?’

Bell shook her head. ‘I don’t believe in that shit.’

‘Someone… that is, I wondered if you felt you were connected with Marion de la Bruyère.’

‘No, not at all. Marion’s an entry point. She’s important because most of the ghosts here are nebulous presences, and she’s fully formed. We know where she died, and how and why. And she’s very much here – like Robbie. So I went to see his grandmother.’

‘Mrs Mumford?’

‘When he’d gone back to school, last January, I went to see the old woman. Realized, soon as I started talking to her, that there was no way I could explain the half of it. I said I was impressed with his knowledge and his enthusiasm and wondered if there was some way I could help with his education. It was pretty clear that she wouldn’t understand.’

‘Would you have expected her to?’

‘Probably not. So, in the end, I went to see the mother. I went to this crummy estate in Hereford. And I met the mother. And it became very obvious, very quickly, that this woman and I would be able to find a common… currency.’

‘Currency?’

‘I’m not speaking metaphorically. Look at this place… it’s a shell. I walk through this house like another ghost. I wanted…’

Merrily sat up, hard. ‘You wanted to adopt him?’

‘My stepdaughter could deal with the formalities. But the essence of it, as far as the mother was concerned, was a large – not to say life-changing – one-off payment.’

‘Christ,’ Merrily said.

‘He didn’t know. I wanted to be sure, before I discussed it with him, that nobody would get in the way. It was obvious Phyllis Mumford wouldn’t be in any state to look after him for much longer. As for Angela… Angela’s eyes positively lit up at the implications.’

‘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

W
HILE
J
ANE 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.