The Art of Standing Still (33 page)

‘Jemma, will you stop clicking that blasted ball-pen. You're driving me crazy!' He put his hand to his forehead in frustration. ‘Just go home now, will you? You can turn in your column tonight via email. Your mind is obviously miles away. I'll ring you if anything important comes up.'

‘If . . . if you're sure.'

‘I'm sure.' Then he added kindly. ‘Take care.'

Jemma nodded, taken slightly aback by the gentleness of his words. ‘Thanks, Mohan.'

She rang Josh and arranged to meet for coffee back at the
Hog
.

‘I need your help. There's something going on, and . . . well, just come round.'

‘ARE YOU MAD?' JOSH SAID. ‘HAVE YOU GOT SOME KIND OF DEATH WISH? WHAT
were you thinking, going round to Alistair's house – on your own – to confront him.'

‘It's called investigative journalism. I know what I'm doing, Josh.'

‘Do you? We have no idea what that man is capable of. He's had the police round asking questions. You think he's got something to do with the money in the river, and Richard is convinced he tried to kill him. Jemma, this is not some school fête, you know.'

‘Don't patronise me.'

‘So where do we go from here? Do you want to set up camp in Alistair's garden? Or would you rather just wait until one night when you're alone in bed when it will be whack, splash, goodbye Jemma?'

She looked around the berth. The
Hog
's walls suddenly seemed insubstantial, and she felt vulnerable. ‘You're being ridiculous.'

‘Am I? You're the one with all the bright ideas.'

‘We go back to the police.'

‘And tell them what? We don't know any more than we did before. They are not going to want to know. But meanwhile, you've tipped Alistair off. Now he knows we're on to him. Sorry, Jemma, I've got to get back to work.'

‘No, wait.' Jemma chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘I've been watching to see if anyone has been hanging around the river or looking as if they've lost something.'

‘And have you seen anything?'

She shook her head.

‘You haven't exactly had the area under twenty-four-hour surveillance?'

‘Of course not. I can't be here all day, and I can't watch all night. I have to sleep.'

‘So you've hardly been watching at all. Basically when you're at work or asleep, Hannibal and all his elephants could have marched down the riverbank, and you would have been none the wiser.'

It was true, all true. She had not been able to keep the area under observation, she had failed to collect any more information to help the police, she had annoyed Alistair, and even worse, let him know she suspected him, and put herself and Josh in danger in the process. She clutched her head and groaned. ‘What are we going to do?'

‘Of course, there's one thing we haven't considered,' Josh said, ‘and that is the reasons behind it.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, a respected solicitor, who is also a Town Councillor and a church member, would have to have a pretty good reason for bopping someone on the head and running away. And if the money we found in the river is connected to Alistair in some way, we need to know how.'

‘Isn't that a job for the police?'

‘Exactly,' said Josh. ‘So why don't we leave them to it.'

‘Because we have left it to them for the last seven months and nothing's happened.'

‘But they talked to Alistair yesterday.'

‘That was only because of what Richard told them. And if it hadn't been for us, going to the police and insisting, they'd have dismissed it all as the delusions of an amnesiac.'

‘But we know Alistair isn't connected with the money,' said Josh, ‘because the car was wrong. You said it was a green Land Rover that tried to hit you. I can't imagine Alistair being seen dead in a dirty old thing like that.'

‘You're right.'

‘So who would drive that kind of car?' He grinned. ‘I've driven past schools in the mornings and all the mums dropping off their children seem to be driving enormous four-wheel-drive monstrosities. But they are always showroom shiny.'

‘It looks more like the kind of thing a farmer might drive, especially with mud spattered all over it.'

‘That doesn't narrow it down much. There have to be four or five farms just within a ten-mile radius of Monksford. The Land Rover could have come from anywhere in Kent – or farther afield. It's a pity you didn't get the number.'

‘Well, I do apologise. He was trying to mow me down. Sorry, I didn't think to stop to get my notebook out. How remiss of me.'

‘I suppose we could ask Bram. He probably knows all the other farmers around here.'

She mimed holding a telephone. ‘Oh, yes, “Hello, Bram. Do you happen to know a farmer who drives a green Land Rover?” '

‘Well, have you got any better ideas?'

‘No. Ideas are the one commodity I'm really short of this week. It's just so frustrating. I know there's something going on. Something involving Richard and Alistair and the plays and the money and the driver of the green car. I just wish I knew what.'

‘And when you do find out, won't it make a great story?'

Jemma shifted on her chair and pulled her phone out of her jeans' pocket. ‘Excuse me.' She flipped open the cover.

The
voice on the phone was Mohan's. ‘Jemma, you might want to come in. There's something breaking. It's big – and it will affect you.'

Josh mouthed, ‘I'm going,' and pointed to the hatch.

‘What?' She waved to Josh.

Mohan sounded irritated. ‘Just get here.'

She scrambled to her feet and followed Josh off the boat. ‘Wait! Something's happening. Can you come with me?'

‘No, I've got to get back.'

‘But this sounds important.'

‘They'll sack me!'

‘Let them. You're leaving anyway.'

He paused, searching her face. ‘Get in the van.'

The van rocked like a ship at sea along the Monksford lanes into town. Josh drove through the industrial estate and left the van in a side street while they cut through an ally to reach the
Gazette
's offices.

Mohan thrust a photograph into Jemma's hands. It showed three men, all in green wax jackets. One was wearing a white hat.

‘What's this?'

‘Don't you recognise him?'

Jemma squinted. ‘That's Bram Griffin.'

‘Who are the other two guys with him?' asked Josh.

‘Fred Bartlett, the vet, and an inspector from DEFRA,' said Mohan.

‘What's DEFRA?' Josh pulled a face. ‘Sounds like something James Bond would tangle with.'

‘Only if James Bond had foot-and-mouth disease,' Jemma said. ‘DEFRA is the Department for the Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs.'

‘Foot-and-mouth,' said Josh. ‘Isn't that serious?'

‘Very, but we haven't had it confirmed. A veterinary nurse in Bartlett's practice tipped us off, so I sent Saffy down there with a camera, and these are what she came back with.'

Jemma took the photographs from Mohan and flipped through them – the one of Bartlett and the inspector, rinsing their boots in disinfectant, the one of them tying a notice to the gate.

‘But the play,' said Jemma. ‘Does Ruth know?'

‘I'll ring her. Outside.' Josh hurried out to the corridor.

‘I can't believe it,' Jemma said.

‘It's true, you've seen the evidence,' said Mohan.

‘What are we going to do?' Jemma felt dazed. These plays united a community. Six-hundred-year-old plays had brought two-thousand-year-old stories to life. They had done more than that. They had allowed her to catch a glimpse of God. And now it was all over.

‘We'll go with the front page,' Mohan said. ‘Can you give it a theatrical twist? Something like, “Curtain Down” or “The Show Can't Go On”?'

‘Can't it? Why?'

‘Jemma, have you been listening to a word I've been saying?'

‘Yes!'

‘Well, if they've got an outbreak of foot-and-mouth at Hope Farm, they can't have hundreds of people trouping around. DEFRA will slap a ban on people entering or leaving the farm, and they'll have to slaughter the infected livestock.'

‘But you said the outbreak hadn't been confirmed.'

‘Not yet. But they aren't taking any chances. So, will you write the article?'

‘Yes. Yes, I'll do it.' She gathered up Josh on her way out. ‘What did Ruth say?'

‘No answer.'

Jemma climbed into the van. ‘We'll have to find her before she finds Bram.'

JEMMA BATTERED THE VICARAGE DOOR WITH HER FISTS. THERE WAS NO REPLY.

‘The church?' Josh suggested, but Ruth wasn't there either.

‘What shall we do? We can't just chase around the countryside all day.'

‘I'll drop you back at the
Hog
, and we'll keep trying to ring.'

St Sebastian's clock struck twelve. Jemma stood on the deck and gazed at the river. ‘I bet you could tell some stories.' But the river kept its secret hidden in its silent depths. She needed to walk. She could think more clearly on the move. The late-spring sunshine warmed her back, and a lark's disembodied song accompanied the droning bees.

The abbey ruins cast cool shadows, and Jemma, too idle to walk to the gate, slipped through the wire fence surrounding the abbey. She stopped. She could hear a woman sobbing.

Scene Nine

RUTH WAS SITTING ON A PATCH OF GRASS. HER WORLD WAS ENDING. SHE
hugged the notice to her chest, rocking gently back and forth. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned instinctively. Jemma sat next to her on the soft green turf.

Ruth lifted her head and met Jemma's eyes. ‘It's all over, finished,' she said, and the tears splashed down on the ancient stones.

‘I'm sorry,' Jemma said. ‘How did you find out?'

Ruth held up the notice. ‘It was on the gate.'

Jemma embraced her in an awkward hug.

‘I feel as if I've let you all down. All that hard work, and for nothing.'

‘You're not giving up?' Jemma's eyes were wide and incredulous. She fumbled in her bag for a tissue. ‘I can't believe that after all this, you're just throwing in the towel!'

‘I'm not even sure it's . . . right.'

‘What do you mean, right?'

‘That it might not be God's will that we revive the mystery plays. After all, so much has gone wrong lately . . .'

She thought Jemma might explode. ‘Not God's will!' She stood up. ‘I don't believe you, Ruth. After all we've done. Did you think to send up an application to the heavenly planning committee or whatever it is you do?'

Ruth was taken aback. ‘Of course. We prayed for a whole year before we decided to go ahead, not to mention all the practical work and the time spent in modernising the plays.'

‘So any time in the past twenty months, God could have told one of us – any of us – if he didn't want the plays to go ahead.'

‘Well, yes. I suppose so. But God doesn't always work like that.'

‘Then I'm finished!' Jemma threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘If that's what God is like . . . the kind of God who lets you do all that work then stops you in your tracks, then I don't want to know.'

‘What do you mean?' Ruth felt the panic rising.

‘I was starting to think there was something in it. When I heard Josh saying those words, it made it all real somehow. I knew Jesus was a person – a man who laughed with his friends, ate and drank, got tired and frustrated . . . and . . . and I could relate to that. Then, when I saw the flogging scene, all I could think was that he did all that for me.'

‘He did.' Ruth spoke softly. ‘The plays have changed me too.' They had made her rely on God in ways she never had before.

‘Well, come
on, then! Are you going to deny everyone in Monksford the opportunity of seeing it for themselves, the opportunity to be a part of it?'