Phil Rickman - Remains of an Altar

‘Syd Spicer. Is it true he’s ex-Regiment?’

‘I don’t know. The Bishop would be able to tell us for certain, but he’s taken his grandson to a county cricket match in Worcester. That’s rather interesting, Merrily, isn’t it? I’ll find out what I can about Mr Spicer’s history which, given the traditions of the SAS, is likely to be very little. What are you doing now?’

‘Trying to understand what’s happening here.’ Merrily looked up the hill towards the church, concealed by dark deciduous trees. ‘Spicer’s right about this place. You wouldn’t know you were in it.’

She’d left the twenty-year-old Volvo in the parking bay in front of the church. She walked up past it, seeing nobody, following the grey-brown churchyard wall into a short, steep cutting which accessed a lane running parallel to the main road but on a higher level, like a sloping gallery.

Time to seek help to remove the evil from our midst , Joyce Aird had apparently said to Syd Spicer.

Midst of what?

All the same, she brought her small pectoral cross out of her bag and slipped it on, letting it drop down under the T-shirt. You could never be too careful.

Hannah’s cottage was low and pebble-dashed and painted a buttermilk colour. Rustic porch and a clematis, and a mountain bike propped up under a front window.

It was just gone one p.m. and the sun was hot and high. Hannah was wearing shorts and a stripy sleeveless top revealing a butterfly tattoo on one shoulder.

She didn’t have sunken eyes or a deathly pallor.

‘I feel dead stupid now.’ She was maybe a year or two younger than Merrily: pale hair in a ponytail, no makeup, a diamond nose-stud. ‘I’m glad you’re not … you know…’ Pointing at her neck.

‘Too hot for all that.’ Merrily had shed the sweatshirt, was down to her green Gomer Parry Plant Hire T-shirt. ‘I used to have a black one with a dog collar on it in white but I couldn’t find it this morning.’

‘It’s OK, I know you’re the real thing. Joyce Aird rang.’

‘Mmm. Thought she might.’

‘Nothing wrong with Joyce,’ Hannah said. ‘Better than local radio, normally, so it’s killing her keeping quiet about this.’

Hannah wasn’t local either. Northern accent. East Lancashire, maybe.

‘This is nice.’ Merrily looked around. ‘You live here on your own?’

‘With my son. He’s nine. This is my parents’ holiday cottage, had it years and years. They said we could come down here, me and Robin, after my husband left us. Last year, that was, and I’m still feeling a bit, you know, impermanent. You coming in?’

The cottage was tiny, no more than three or four small rooms, Merrily guessed. The living room was furnished like a caravan – bed-settee with drawers underneath, a table that went flat to the wall, a Calor-gas stove in the fireplace. Hannah guided her to a compact easy chair with a yellow cushion and put herself on the edge of the bed-settee. The single window was wide open to a honeysuckle scent.

‘Luckily, you caught me on the right day. I’ve a part-time job at the tourist office in Ledbury. Three days a week. Keeps us going. Do you want tea or coffee or a cold drink?’

‘Could we maybe talk first?’

‘Yeh, ’course. I’m afraid I’ve not been to church since Robin was christened. Bad that, isn’t it? I might go if it was a bit smaller. But it’s horrible, our church. I mean, isn’t it? You don’t feel anything particularly holy in there, that’s for sure.’

‘It seems very … pleasant in here, though.’

‘Well, it’s very small . Had to put a lot of furniture in storage. But it … Oh, I see what you mean. No, there’s nothing wrong here . We used to come year after year and for weekends when I was a kid. I love it. It’s gorgeous round here, i’n’t it? No, there’s nothing like that here.’

‘Well, that’s good.’

‘I did feel really free again, biking to work down the hill to Ledbury. Bit hard going coming back, but it keeps you fit.’

‘Lot of long hills. Don’t think I could do it.’

‘Your leg muscles ache like anything at first, but it’s worth it. Listen, I’m sorry, I’ve never been in this sort of … I was going to look for your website on the computer at work, but there was always somebody there. I don’t want you to feel I’m wasting your time, that’s all. I don’t even know if there’s a charge.’

‘Er … no.’

‘Bit nervous now,’ Hannah said.

‘Actually,’ Merrily said, ‘I’ve never had a case of possession. Shameful thing for a so-called exorcist to say, but there we are. So … what’s it like?’

‘What’s it like ?’ Hannah grinned. ‘You having me on? I don’t know what to say. I’m not a person that gets scared. I’d love a dog, mind, but I’d have to leave him in when I went to work and that wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Got the same problem, Hannah. Sorry, I don’t even know your last name.’

‘Bradley. That’s my married name. It’s a bit better than what I was called before – Catterall – so I thought at least the bugger can leave me that. Look – this is just between us, right?’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘I think about it all the time, but it’s still hard finding the words,’ Hannah said.

‘It was next to me. That close. I’m not kidding.’

Spacing it out with her hands, looking at Merrily for signs of disbelief. Merrily just nodded. Hannah wet her lips with her tongue.

‘Mouth’s gone all dry now. Can I get a … ?’

Hannah brought a can of Diet Pepsi for each of them and sat herself down again, rolling the cold can between her hands.

‘It’s a long hill, and I’m not that brave yet that I can just let go. I’d be sod-all use in the Tour de France, I tell you.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m laughing, I was—’

‘Which side was it on?’

‘Towards the middle of the road. That side. I keep as close as I can to the verge ’cos some of these drivers are bloody maniacs.’

‘And it was … this was definitely another bike.’

‘What it’s like … it’s like when two of you are going along side by side and you turn your head to say something and … nothing! Soon as you turn your head … gone. First couple of times I was thinking it was me, how you do.’

‘This is the daytime?’

‘Morning … afternoon. I don’t take the bike out at night, I’m not stupid.’

‘What happens when you don’t turn your head?’

‘That’s what I was coming to. If you don’t look, you can see it. If you keep your eyes on the road ahead and you don’t—Sounds daft, I know. In fact, that’s wrong. You can’t see it, that’s not what I meant. You’re just fully aware of it. It absolutely completely exists. Two of you biking along side by side. And you can feel the wind coming at you along the hedge, but on the other side you’re shielded from it by … by this other cyclist. Really. Honest to God.’

‘And how do you feel when that’s happening?’

‘At first … just weird. Uncomfortable. So I’d keep turning and looking, just to get rid of it. And then … Oh God … I was so busy looking to the side I nearly went into the back of a tractor and trailer that’d just pulled in to the side. Another second I’d’ve been splat . Great big metal trailer. Go into that on a bike it’s broken bones at least, Mrs Watkins.’

‘Merrily.’

‘That’s nice. Merr-ily. Have you got to be psychic for your job?’

‘Not essential. Sometimes it can be counter-productive. What happened after the trailer incident?’

‘We’ve come to the bit I don’t like.’

‘I don’t think I’d like any of it.’