There was a gap at the tailgate where the lock had been prised. When Lol pushed it, it jammed halfway, but that was enough for him to read the message.
YOU WON’T BE NEEDING THIS ANY MORE.
TRUST ME
The lettering was black and ragged. It had been wire-burned into the lightly polished face of the Boswell guitar which lay in its rigid velvet-lined case, like a child’s body in an open coffin. The hinged top of the case had been bent back, snapped strings writhing in the air where the Boswell’s neck had been broken.
On the square, the shadow of the medieval market hall had lengthened over the grey Lexus. In other circumstances, you could almost start to worry about what might have happened to the driver.
It was nearly four p.m., and Merrily realized she hadn’t eaten today, at all – not good – but still wasn’t hungry. In her mind, the candle was burning between the horns of the hermaphrodite goat and would not go out.
‘This is the fourth time you been out yere, vicar.’
She spun round, and the candle flame seemed to waver.
‘Some’ing on your mind, I reckon,’ Gomer Parry said. ‘Not that I been spying – just doing a bit o’ tidying round the churchyard, collecting the ole windfalls, kind o’ thing.’
‘Sorry, Gomer, I’m …’
‘You en’t bin around these past two days, vicar.’
‘No. I meant to tell you … it was all done in a bit of a rush.’
She’d thought perhaps he was slowing down, pottering around the village more, leaving the big digger jobs to Danny, but he looked bright enough, his bottle glasses full of light, his white hair projecting like the bristles on a yard brush, ciggy tin poking out of the top pocket of his old tweed jacket.
‘No problem – I seen Janey and her explained. I’d come out a time or two, see if I could spot you. Thing is, vicar … you got a minute?’
Gomer took her arm and nodded towards the market hall, and they moved between two oak pillars. Whatever it was, she didn’t really have time for it, but this
was
Gomer Parry.
‘Thing is, vicar, last time we was talking I wasn’t exac’ly straight with you.’
That had to be a first; this man was embarrassingly straight.
‘I’m sorry, been a bit preoccupied. What are we talking about here, Gomer?’
‘You asked me about a partic’lar woman.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I was kinder talking all round the subject, if you recalls.’
‘Well, I didn’t really—’
‘Which was wrong. Things between us, that en’t how it’s ever been.’
‘No.’
‘What I
should’ve
said, see, was there’s stuff I could tell you – tell
you
– that shouldn’t ever be repeated to nobody. On account of there’s some things what, on the surface, is a bit … your job, you’d most likely have to say
sinful
.’
‘Not really one of my words, but never mind …’
‘But it en’t. Not really. Not in the … how can I put this …? Not in
the circumstances in which these things is being looked at, kind o’ thing.’
‘Not in the context of a particular situation?’
‘
Contex!
That’s the word, vicar. In this yere contex, sin is …’
‘Relative?’
‘Exac’ly.’
‘And the context
is
?’
‘Garway, vicar. Garway is its own contex. There’s Hereford and there’s Wales … and there’s Garway. And Garway’s its own contex.’
‘Gomer, I just want to say … you don’t
have
to tell me everything. I mean, I’m not—’
‘I knows that, vicar.’
‘However, as it happens, a situation has arisen where the more I know about the particular woman you were referring to, the more I might actually be able to help her.’
‘That a fact?’
‘So, frankly, any dirt you have on Mrs Morningwood, I’m up for it, basically.’
Gomer nodded, plucked the ciggy tin from his pocket.
‘This qualify as a public place, vicar, under the law?’
‘As there’s no actual market on at the moment, I don’t really know.’ Merrily pulled out the Silk Cut and the lighter, an old rage pulsing through her at the attempted management of people’s lives, the negation of God-given free will. ‘But who gives a shit? Go on …’
‘This person. I think I tole you this person helps farmers, kind o’ thing.’
‘With tax problems and DEFRA forms.’
‘DEFRA, that’s a war, them bastards, vicar, but that en’t really the issue in hand. And it en’t only farmers. And it en’t hexclusively Garway. Like, for instance, you met my ole friend Jumbo Humphries, Talgarth?’
Merrily recalled a man the size of a double pillar box who ran a garage and animal-feed operation up towards Brecon while doubling as a private inquiry agent.
‘Now Jumbo, when his wife walked out – and this is confidential, vicar …’
‘Goes without saying.’
‘Jumbo was lonely, you know what I’m sayin’? Not that he di’n’t have no offers. But the kinder women
making
the offers, they had an eye to the business, which is worth a quid or two. What I mean is, not Jumbo. They wasn’t looking at Jumbo, not even in the dark, and he knowed it.’
‘It’s sad, Gomer.’ Merrily lit his roll-up, stepping back as a bus pulled in with a hiss of brakes. ‘But it happens.’
‘So this person … over at Garway … this person we been discussing … It was this person got Jumbo through a bad patch. Fixed him up. With his Michelle.’
‘Oh. I see.’ She looked at Gomer, his glasses opaque. She was thinking, Not a Thai-bride situation. ‘
Do
I see?’
‘No,’ Gomer said. ‘Likely not.’
First Siân, then Robbie Williams.
Getting home half an hour earlier than usual, Jane was as unhappy and confused as when she’d left this morning. Life in flux, nobody you could count on.
Siân – it had been encouraging, in a way. All that about holding Mum in high esteem, treating Shirley’s crap with the level of respect it deserved. It had
seemed
encouraging. But it could be a screen, couldn’t it? You couldn’t trust people in the Church because the Church was in flux, too, a time of rapid change, everybody grabbing what they could.
That was the trouble with the present. It was always in motion and, if you let yourself get dragged in, you could be pulled to pieces.
The past was different. You could get a feel for the past.
Jane looked around at the black and white village settling in for the dusk, the first lights kindling way back inside the Black Swan. The sense of an ancient heart. You could stand here, on these cobbles, at dawn and dusk particularly, and feel part of something at the deepest level.
This was most apparent when she was in Coleman’s Meadow, on the prehistoric trackway to the top of Cole Hill. In the meadow where Gomer’s JCB had – as if this was meant – uncovered the first stone. Eight to ten feet long. Awesome.
Finding the stones, fighting for the stones, had grounded her in a way
she hadn’t thought possible. But now she was expected to break it. The System said she must go away next year to college, develop around herself a new kind of life. With all the bureaucracy involved, it was even likely she wouldn’t be here when –
if
– the old stones were raised again.
Ancient signposts to a mystical communion with the planet.
As above, so below
.
She’d wanted to talk about this with Robbie Williams again. Discuss what she’d gathered from the internet as a result of his suggestion about the real identity of the Garway Green Man:
If that is Baphomet, is he guarding the altar? Or is he drawing attention away from it?
History had been the last period before lunch, and she’d hung round as Robbie packed his notes into his briefcase, but he’d looked up with a faintly worried expression in his eyes.
‘Ah … Jane. In a bit of a hurry today, unfortunately …’
‘This is just a quick question, Mr Williams. It’s basically about what happened to the Templar tradition after the Order was dissolved. I’ve been reading about Eliphas Levi and Baphomet, and he was French. What I was really interested in was what happened
here
.’
‘Jane …’ Robbie had come to his feet, buttoning his jacket over his beer gut. ‘I need to make something clear. While one can only applaud your interest in the fringe issues of history, this is
not
part of the syllabus.’
‘I never thought it was,’ Jane said. ‘It’s
far
too interesting.’
‘However, I get paid – and not as well as I’d like to be – to improve this school’s reputation as an A-level factory. It’s not about knowledge any more, Jane, it’s about results and statistics.’
‘That’s a pretty cynical attitude, Mr Williams, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Jane, if you were as close to blessed retirement as I am, having seen all that I’ve seen …’
‘But, like, I thought you were
interested
. In Garway Church and everything. You seemed interested the other day.’
‘Well, all I’m interested in at the moment,’ Robbie said, ‘is my lunch. And if you want to make the best use of your time here, I would suggest
you pay more attention to the syllabus, because your essay on Charlemagne was skimpy, to say the least.’ He swung his briefcase from the desk. ‘Thank you, Jane.’
It made no sense. It was like he’d become a different person. She’d never ask him anything again. It was like there was suddenly nobody she could count on. Mum was working away, and Lol was out there making a career which, if it continued to build, would take him out of the village for months at a time. Lol and Mum, maybe their relationship had only worked when one of them was a loser.
And then there was Eirion … she’d chosen to end that before he did, because the writing was on the wall, anyway. One way or another, all the foundations were cracking, and Jane had spent the whole afternoon in a state of increasing isolation until, with the last period free, she couldn’t stand it any more; she’d walked out of the school and caught a bus into Leominster, strolled around the town in a futile kind of way, shrouded in gloom, before grabbing the chance of a bus to Ledwardine.
She shouldered her airline bag and tramped wearily across the cobbles, and … oh.
The Volvo was parked in the vicarage drive.
The way her heart leapt – well, you despised yourself, really.
I missed you, Mummy
. God. Jane folded up her smile, buried it deep as she walked into the drive.
Inside the vicarage a dog barked when she fitted her key into the front door. Inside the hall, she recoiled at the sight of the woman in the kitchen doorway with her hand on the head of the wolfhound, like Britannia or something from an antique coin, only made more sinister by the dark glasses, the dark green fleece zipped all the way up, the crust of foundation cream and the ruin of a smile which, when you looked hard, wasn’t a smile at all.
‘You don’t tell her where you got this, mind,’ Gomer said. ‘Her’s gonner have a bit of an idea where it come from.’
Nodding at her sweatshirt, where it said:
GOMER PARRY
PLANT HIRE
‘I think,’ Merrily said, ‘that I need to persuade
her
to tell me. May have to use you as a threat but … no way have we spoken. Gomer, this … I don’t know what to say … this fills out so many gaps in my meagre knowledge. Just need to have a walk around for a while to think it all out, work out how to approach it.’
‘Good luck, vicar.’
Gomer squeezed out the end of his roll-up, fanned the air. He hadn’t asked about her own involvement with Mrs Morningwood; he’d know she’d have told him if she could.
They came out of the market hall from separate sides. In this village you could never be too careful. Merrily leaned against one of the pillars for a few moments, gazing out towards Ledwardine Fine Arts and the Eight Till Late.
Information overload. She didn’t know where to start.
But, once again, circumstance decided, when Siân came out of the Eight till Late in her black belted coat with the collar up, an evening paper under her arm.
Merrily walked out.
‘Siân,’ she said. ‘Something you forgot?’
I
N THE LOUNGE
bar at the Black Swan, they ended up at the corner table where Merrily had sat with Lol the night she’d met Adam Eastgate. Seemed like weeks ago. Merrily made a point of buying the drinks. Coffees. And a cheese sandwich. Still not hungry, but this was no time to be light-headed.
‘Unfinished business,’ Siân said. ‘Hate to leave loose ends. Luckily, she was out.’
‘Who?’
‘Shirley West. I expect Jane’s told you.’
‘I haven’t spoken to Jane. She’s at school. You’ve been to see … Shirley West?’
‘We’ll get to that. Have your sandwich, Merrily. You look as if you need it.’
‘That’s taken you all day?’
‘Not
only
that. Although it did swallow several hours. Tell me, Merrily, are you on a fixed-term contract here?’
‘Five years. Why?’
‘What about deliverance?’
‘No contract at all. I just do it.’
‘I think you’ve been rather remiss there.’
‘Well, I …’ Merrily put down the sandwich, barely nibbled. ‘You don’t think about these things, do you?’
‘
I
do. But then, I was a lawyer for over twenty years.’
Siân had unbuttoned her coat. Underneath, she was in civvies – navy skirt, pale blue sweater – looking almost uncomfortable in them, and Merrily realized how similar, apart from the wig, clerical clothing was to what a barrister wore in court.
‘Someone wants to get me out?’
She looked steadily at Siân, who shrugged.
‘Wherever you are, there’s always
someone
who wants to get you out. But, since you ask, when your contract comes up for renewal, it’s quite likely the terms will have altered.’
‘Extra parishes?’
‘That’s the
most
likely. And if you don’t play ball …’
‘The contract doesn’t get renewed.’
‘Doesn’t happen often, but it happens. How much have you had to do with Mervyn Neale?’
‘The Archdeacon? Not much at all. It’s been mainly the Bishop. As you know.’