Mystical Circles (39 page)

Craig looked drawn. His face was unusually pale and his jawbone set. There was no sign of any physical injuries. “Juliet. Father,” he said, unsmiling.

Don had raised his head, his customary jaundiced expression back in place. Juliet felt a sense of despair – although she now understood why Don put up these barriers. And why he found it so difficult to come clean with Craig. Even now, he remained silent.

She turned her attention to Craig instead, and drank him in. She felt emotionally raw, unsure what to do, or what to say. The sun reasserted itself above a shredded cloudbank in the western sky. Shafts of light slanted through the windows of the hexagon, picking out Craig’s dark hair in gold, giving the effect of an aura. For a brief moment, he looked exactly like the spiritual figure he’d long presented himself as.

Was he about to change appearance again? Or had it been a delusion of hers, or a psychological trick? Then the base cloud rose again. The light dimmed once more, and the impression vanished. Craig was Craig again. But who was that? She trusted neither her own judgement, nor her feelings, especially since Don’s revelation. But in her imagination she saw Don beating his wife, and she heard her screaming... Then Juliet took a firm grip on her unruly thoughts. Gaza. So that’s where Craig’s mother went. Perhaps it was Theo’s story of nearly being gunned down in the Garden of Gethsemane that had unexpectedly sent an electronic signal to the forefront of her mind.

And then she thought of that emotional letter to Craig. And the piece of charred timber. And the Arabic headdress. Could it be..?

Don, however, was now focusing on another issue. “Craig. Are you fit?”

“Fit as I’ll ever be.” Craig’s eyes travelled to Juliet.

“Fit to talk about something else?” said Don.

Juliet sensed increased tension in the atmosphere.

“This house perhaps?” suggested Craig. He clenched his fists as his arms hung down by his sides.

“You guessed. We’ve both said enough. We know what the position is.” Don halted. Craig and Juliet waited. “We’ve been through it all,” said Don, “over and over. It’s out of your control. If you insist on holding on to the house the Official Receiver will have your assets.”

Craig’s knuckles whitened. A steel-edged silence knifed between them. Don pressed relentlessly on. “There’s only one way to dodge bankruptcy. Raise the cash to pay your creditors. In three days. Reckon you could do it?”

Don, Don… said Juliet to herself. She was determined not to interfere. And yet, after what she’d heard, she felt Don was more in Craig’s debt emotionally than Craig could ever be in his.

Craig folded his arms tightly across his chest. Juliet thought he should have a plan in mind ready to counter his father’s warnings. But no, it seemed he didn’t. She slipped across to him and laid one hand on his arm. But he didn’t react.

“You’ll have to sell the property,” said Don.

“No,” insisted Craig. “This house will not be sold up and then used by...” He paused, evidently casting around in his mind for a particularly telling example of the kind of unsavoury types who might be lying in wait to snap up a Cotswold farmhouse.

“A disgraced former MP earning his income from celebrity appearances?” suggested Juliet helpfully.

“Internet gambler? Hedge fund manager?” supplied Don.

“Yes, anyone like that,” snapped Craig.

Don eyed him keenly. Even now, he didn’t yield. “You won’t have the luxury of a choice.” Craig said nothing. “You can’t afford to object to anyone,” said Don. “Time’s at a premium. You have to sell it to the first buyer. I’d take anyone’s offer that was backed by high net worth.”

“I’ll bet you would,” Craig shot back at him. “But aren’t you forgetting something? The disgrace of a hasty sale wouldn’t be mine alone.”

“Don’t think I haven’t agonised enough about that already, damn you,” yelled Don at him, losing patience as he jumped to his feet. Juliet thrust both hands into her pocket, willing herself not to intervene.

Craig appeared momentarily sobered by the power of his father’s anger. Moving forward, he threw himself onto a seat. Juliet and Don also sat down again.

“Juliet, what do you think?” asked Craig.

“I’m not going to offer any advice at all,” said Juliet. “You decide, Craig.” Silence fell.

Don studied the floor for several moments, then looked up once more. Craig met his glance warily. The two men appeared to be on the brink of something new, something that might move them forward, until Craig abruptly pulled back again. “I’m surprised at your words about the house,” he said. “I should have thought
you
’d first seek Juliet’s advice...”

Juliet bit her lip. Why on earth should he? And what was Craig about to say now?

“…having after all these years,” Craig flung at Don, “fallen for her. The very woman, twenty-five years your junior, the very woman who…”

“Enough,” snarled Don, interrupting.

“No,” shouted Craig, “the very woman who you had previously chosen for me.”

“How dare you?” retorted Don, leaping up once more.

Juliet likewise sprang to her feet. “What gives you two the right to discuss me like this?” she demanded.

The two men remained speechless, breathing heavily, and shooting poisoned glances at each other. Don was first to break into it. “Juliet and me,” he said heavily. “We understand each other. There’s no future in it. We’ve agreed to let it be.” He turned to her, an expression of gritty acceptance on his face. He spread his hands. “Juliet,” he began. “You know what I first hoped for.”

She nodded speechlessly.

“But now we both need space.” He stopped. Time passed. He looked from Juliet, to Craig, then back again. She seemed to recognise something in their faces.

“I’m off to think,” he said. “And to leave you two together. Time. That’s what we all need.”

He walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned. “And Craig. The house. Think hard. Before dinner.” He walked out.

Juliet watched him as he passed the north west window, shoulders hunched and head down, and moved out of sight behind the hydrangeas. She felt a strong wave of sadness. Despite his terse manner, she knew of the warmth, the concern, the sensitivity beneath. But now it seemed he was choosing to keep it hidden.

She swallowed. Tears were not far away. The sense of loss was overwhelming. Only on fleeting occasions had he broken out, when he’d offered himself to her as confidante and ally. Should she hurry and join him? He’d been the one person here with his feet rooted in the real world. Or so she’d thought until she’d begun to glimpse something of his and Craig’s story, and how they’d both reacted against each other. No. She stayed where she was, and he walked away.

She turned back to Craig. He hadn’t moved from his seat. Was it up to her to say something? She saw the desperation in his eyes vanish. New resolve replaced it. What idea had he caught now?

“I can’t stand by, Craig,” she burst out, “and watch you and Don mess up your lives like this. If you won’t face what’s happening between you both, where can we go from here?”

Craig spread his hands wide. She felt despondency settle upon her. But she made one more effort. “Neither of you have any other option. You need to get real with each other.”

He reached out and clasped her fingers. She withdrew her hand, already tingling even from such slight contact. Then she took the seat opposite him. But when she looked at him again she saw the hardness and pride in his features begin to evaporate. Immediately she remembered the mystery of his changing face. How did he do it? She still didn’t know. Until she did, how could she feel at ease with him?

And yet, with this, she recognised a new defencelessness. It unbalanced her more than any transformation to a carved figure on the gate of an ancient city might have done. But she still struggled to believe this could be so. Go on. Test him.

“Craig, why did you ever put on any shows for me? I don’t need that. I only need to know your story.”

Moments passed as they both sat there in perfect silence, looking at each other.

“Perhaps I hardly know my own story, Juliet,” he said.

She held her hands out, palms upwards, in a gesture of invitation. “Just start by telling it to me. And first – how do you change your face?”

Several moments passed. Then Craig spoke. “Do you know about shamanism?” he asked, “and about shapeshifting?”

She hesitated. “A little,” she said cautiously. “Are you saying that this special skill of yours – comes from being a shaman?”

He nodded. “Shapeshifting is part of the Celtic shamanic experience. Shamans are found in all parts of the world. One may be a sage, or a master, or a healer. Another may be a seer of the future, or a prophet, or a spiritual teacher. Yet another may be a shape changer.” He paused as she took this in. “Shapeshifting is the ability to alter one’s physical appearance, it is the transfer of inner personalities to the outside.”

She said nothing. Her mouth felt dry. What was she to make of this?

Craig went on. “When you first noticed my appearance shift, Juliet, you were in a state of heightened perception. And so you saw one of my inner personalities as if transferred to the outside.”

Juliet inspected Craig’s face, but said nothing.

Then Craig said, “The Welsh bard Taliesin, said to be the father of Celtic shamanism, often alluded to shapeshifting when he claimed:
I have been in many shapes... there is nothing in which I have not been
.”

“If I’d read that before I met you I would have thought it was metaphorical,” said Juliet. “But after having seen your face change on more than one occasion... well, let’s say for now that I’ll reserve judgement until I find out more about it.”

Craig smiled but did not comment.

“Good thing Llewellyn didn’t quote Taliesin to me,” she added.

They both laughed.

“You know,” said Juliet, “I can’t help wondering what Theo would make of all this. Was Jesus a shaman, do you think? I must ask Theo when I get the chance.”

“Do,” said Craig. “You’ll have an interesting conversation.”

“And yet,” she went on. “I still don’t know you, do I? Who are you? Answer as a human being, Craig, not as a shaman, not as a guru, not as an inspirational teacher.  Answer me just as yourself.”

“Very well.” He rose, crossed to where she sat and drew her to her feet. Taking hold of her hands in both his, he stood gazing at her for what seemed a long time. “Shall I begin by telling you about my mother? Because I believe you’ve been wondering about her. And instinct tells me my father has already spoken to you about her. So let me tell you now, in my own words. You’re only the second person I’ve spoken to about this.”

“OK. Go ahead. Tell me.”

“My father and I both know where she is,” said Craig. “But we never refer to it. She’s in one of the most dangerous places in the world. I’ve visited her there several times since I found her.”

Juliet stared at him. “Gaza,” she said.

“He told you.”

“Yes.”

“My mother is involved in humanitarian work,” said Craig. “She risks her life every day.”

“I don’t understand,” Juliet said, “why you and Don never discuss it.”

He sighed. “We’re afraid, Juliet. Like most people, we fear pain.”

She tried again. “You should be proud of her.”

Craig’s answer came, clear and full of intense feeling. “I
am
proud of her. You wouldn’t believe how much.”

“And yet…” she felt compelled to play devil’s advocate too, “what about her betrayal of you? It’s true your father drove her out when you were seven. But why didn’t she ever come back to you?”

“She couldn’t. And
betrayal
isn’t a word I use any more.”

“That’s because you’ve forgiven her, haven’t you?” she said.

“Yes.”

There was a long silence between them.

“What does she do?” asked Juliet.

“She’s an activist,” Craig replied. “Women’s empowerment work. She empowers women and girls for life, not for death.”

He looked straight at her. With these words, she saw him totally honest, disarmed, and wide open to love. Hers. She knew she’d willingly give it. Joy rushed in on her unexpectedly. She wanted him to kiss her. But an inner voice spoke. No, first he has to ... first he has to do or say what? Have a really open conversation with his father? Agree to turn his back on this shamanism business?  Promise to stop running spiritual communities? She didn’t know.

He squeezed her hands. Then he let them go. Instead, he moved his fingers to her chin. Then he lifted her face up to his, and their lips met. She surrendered.

Holding him tight, she neither knew nor cared about anything else at all. Not the time that might be passing, nor the decisions that still had to be reached, and not even the questions which remained unanswered. All she knew was the absolute bliss that cocooned her.

Several moments later he withdrew, and said, “Juliet, you quoted the last lines of
The Great Gatsby
to me. Like Gatsby, I’ve dispensed starlight to casual moths, in pursuit of an empty dream. And you were right. We can never escape our past. We can only come to terms with it.” And then he took her hands again.

“Craig…” she began. Everything in his face made an almost irresistible appeal to her. Words were failing her. She no longer knew who was most in debt to the other, Craig or Don.

Though she now felt she was beginning to understand what had made Craig become a guru, an inspirational teacher of personal transformation, and self-appointed healer. Even so, she couldn’t escape the fact that no matter how nobly intentioned he might seem to be, skirting the shallow materialism he found so contemptible in others, he’d still allowed his relationship with his father to atrophy to the point where neither felt able to even discuss Craig’s mother and what she’d chosen to do.

And as for herself... she would, she realised, have to decide what to tell Toby. After all, she’d gathered more than enough material for one documentary. There was even enough for a novel...

Yet all she had first wanted was to get Zoe out of here.

“And,” he went on as if he’d read her thoughts, “your sister…yes, she’s seen the light. She’s happy with Theo. And he with her.”