Phil Rickman - The Fabric of Sin

‘At the end of the day, I’m afraid I really don’t see,’ Beverley said, ‘why this community has to be dragged into something which might be terribly sad but is also sordid, sordid, sordid. Bad enough that Teddy’s forced to conduct a service next Saturday for a bunch of … anoraks, I suppose. But nothing to do with the Knights Templar is terribly healthy, it seems to me. The activities they were accused of … well, no smoke without fire, that’s my view.’

Outside the window, rolling shadows chased the last of the sunlight out of a patch of woodland.

‘I can … understand how you feel,’ Merrily said carefully.

When she’d rung from the vicarage, thinking she’d go to Garway in the morning, Teddy Murray had invited Merrily over for supper. Jane, listening to her vacillating, had held up both palms, pushing: go .

And it was the only way, she realized that now. Time-consuming, but if you went in cold you learned no more than the police would, or the media. Interviews. Statements. On the record, therefore restricted.

Really, it was about listening. As she’d said at the Sunday meditation, not quite getting through to Shirley West. Merrily shivered, not the first time, Beverley noticing at once.

‘Cold, Merrily?’

‘Oh no. Not at all. Goose walked over my …’

After a light supper – Vegetarian? Not a problem, grow our own – the three of them were sitting around a glass-fronted wood stove in the lounge, which had rough panelling and a small cocktail bar, like a pulpit, in one corner.

‘More coffee, I think,’ Beverley said, reaching for the pot, and Teddy, having collected more of Bev’s sidelong glances, discreet as neatly folded notes, made another approach.

‘How much of a public affair does this have to be, Merrily?’

‘Well, I won’t be selling tickets.’

‘No … ha … I think what I’m asking …?’

‘Eight people, max. That’s what I was thinking. You, me, a representative of the Duchy, a couple of friends or relatives of Felix and Fuchsia and – tell me if you think this is going to be a problem – members of the two families who’ve owned the place. The Grays and the Gwilyms.’

‘Oh Lord.’

Teddy’s white-bearded chin sank into his chest, and Merrily pined for a lie-down and a cigarette. She sat up.

‘A bit ambitious, do you think?’

‘They don’t speak to one another, you know.’

‘I did hear that.’

‘Family feuds in this part of the world can be very bitter indeed and go on, literally, for centuries.’

‘It’s not a joke.’ Beverley was filling cups. ‘Personally, I think it might cause more trouble than any of this is worth. There’s still a lot of superstition in this area, and this is almost encouraging it. I mean, how can a house …? It seems more than a little absurd.’

‘Yes.’ Merrily nodded. ‘I suppose it does.’

Later, when Teddy had gone for his evening stroll, she joined Beverley in the kitchen. Stainless steel, halogen lights. Ultra-functional, no dust, no stains, no dark corners. Beverley wiped down a worktop with a damp cloth.

‘I didn’t want to be offensive, Merrily, and I’m still a churchgoer of sorts but do you really think the atmosphere of a place can affect the way someone behaves? Make them do something horrible?’

‘I suppose I have to say yes, sometimes, in a way, but—’

‘And that you can do something about it?’

How were you supposed to answer that? Tell her about the times you awoke in the night and wondered if you weren’t just patching up the fabric of a great big ancient but flimsy construction that was, in fact, completely hollow?

Merrily closed her eyes momentarily, finally admitting to herself that she wasn’t very well. Couldn’t be pre-mentrual, she wasn’t due for another … ten days?

‘You OK, Merrily?’

‘I’m fine. The thing is, I thought at first it was going to be nothing. I thought the Bishop was going over the top in asking for a full inquiry. Then two people die.’

‘Yes.’ Beverley threw the cloth into one of three sinks. ‘Something you said earlier worried me a little.’

‘Mmm?’

‘When you said there should be no more than eight people at this … ceremony. And that one of them should be Teddy. How necessary is that? I suppose what I’m saying – and please don’t tell him we’ve had this conversation, he’d be angry with me – is that I’d really rather you did it without him.’

‘I see.’

‘No, you don’t. What you see is a fit, healthy, athletic man who walks at least five miles every morning before breakfast. You don’t see what I saw when he was the rector of our village near Cheltenham.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Six years? That’s how long we’ve been married, anyway. I was recently divorced at the time – when I first met Teddy. And my son was abroad – gap year before uni.’

Beverley said she’d had room to breathe for the first time in years. She’d been awarded the house in the divorce settlement, and there was a recent bequest from an uncle. But she’d only been forty and on the lookout for a meaningful job.

‘I was thinking of going back to nursing, but that’s a thankless task nowadays. NHS hospitals are like meat-processing plants.’

Beverley switched on the dishwasher and then, mercifully, dimmed the lights. She stood looking out of a small square window towards the glowing of distant farms. Telling Merrily how she’d started going to church, helping out, spending time with the rector. Much as Merrily had when her own marriage had been coming unstitched. The difference being that it had led Merrily into a personal calling and Bev into a project called Teddy.

‘His workload was becoming ridiculous, poor man. Four large parishes in Gloucestershire, and the phone never seemed to stop ringing. And then the main church was broken into five times in two years. You get that, too, I imagine.’

‘Not so far.’

‘Then you’ve been very lucky. The final straw was a wave of absolutely awful vandalism. Well, not just vandalism – desecration. Gravestones pushed over, defaced, strange symbols chiselled into them. And one night someone broke in and actually defecated in the church, which was horrible, horrible, horrible …’

‘And a police matter, surely?’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? It’s only when it actually happens that you find out that, unless the damage is very serious or someone’s been hurt, the police really aren’t interested in the slightest. They might show up and take a statement, looking rather bored, but you never hear from them again.’

‘How long did this go on?’

‘Couple of months, intermittently. There was supposed to be a neighbourhood watch in the village, but they were only interested in protecting their own homes. Teddy would be out patrolling the churchyard himself at all hours of the night. One night, he almost caught someone and was knocked to the ground. What is happening in our society? Sometimes they’re killed . Priests killed outside their own churches!’

‘We’ve been lucky in this part of the world. So far.’

‘I suppose that’s one advantage of a place where everyone knows everyone else. But, to cut a long story short, he more or less had a breakdown. Constantly tired – you’d see his hands trembling, dropping the prayer book at service. When the graves were desecrated, some people in the parish were talking about – well, it was inevitable, I suppose …’

‘What – Satanism?’

‘That sort of thing. Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. It left a nasty taste. Teddy seemed to age about ten years. I … found myself looking after him. It’s what I’m good at, I suppose.’