Phil Rickman - Remains of an Altar

Everything the sculpture had to say to her was written on its plinth. A quote which someone – maybe even a committee – had thought essential to an understanding of the man and his work.

But it was interesting.

‘THIS IS WHAT I GET EVERY DAY. THE TREES ARE SINGING MY MUSIC – OR AM I SINGING THEIRS?’

Merrily walked around Elgar, looking over his shoulder, following his gaze.

‘You’re asking me ?’

In the scullery, the answering machine was bleeping petulantly when Merrily got in. Bride’s mother requesting a second rehearsal for one of next week’s weddings – how much time did these people think you had? Then a reminder that she was expected to chair the Ledwardine Summer Fair planning meeting next Monday, and finally a hollow pause, a throat-clearing and this mild but slightly pompous southern Scottish accent.

‘ Mrs Watkins, my name is Leonard Holliday, and this concerns your visit to Wychehill. Pointless calling me back, I shall be all over the place. I simply wanted to say, as the chairman of the Wychehill Residents’ Action Group, that I’ve inspected your Hereford Deliverance website, and frankly I think your presence at the parish meeting would not be helpful .’

Sounded as if he was reading a prepared statement.

‘ I’m afraid there’s been quite an hysterical reaction to some regrettable incidents. Some people are seeking to sensationalize a serious issue, in a way which would only make our campaign look fatuous. Therefore, on behalf of my committee – and we’ve made our feelings clear, also, to the Rector – I’d like to request that you do not attend this meeting. I’m sure you can see the sense of this. Thank you .’

Merrily sat down at the desk, watching the machine reset itself. Some insect rammed the window and bounced away.

Right .

She called Syd Spicer. If there’d been some change of heart in Wychehill, he ought to have told her about it before now.

No answer. Not even an answering machine. What kind of rectory didn’t have an answering machine? With less than an hour to spare before she’d need to leave for the christening, she rang Directory Enquiries and obtained numbers for Preston Devereaux and Joyce Aird.

Devereaux first.

‘No, this is Louis.’ A deep drawl, but a young man’s drawl. ‘He’s out, I’m afraid. Who’s that with the rather sexy voice?’

‘Thank you. My name’s Merrily Watkins, I’m calling about—’

‘The exorcist . Cool.’

‘You’re Mr Devereaux’s son, I take it.’

‘I’m going to be fascinated to see what you do .’

‘You may be disappointed.’

‘I really don’t think so, Mrs Watkins. My little brother found your picture on the Net. I think he’s taken it to his bedroom.’

Merrily sighed. ‘When will your dad be in?’

‘Not for hours. He has meetings all day. But he’ll be back for yours, you can count on that.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Good to know there was still respect for the Church. She hung up and dialled Joyce Aird’s number.

Engaged.

Merrily was close to being late for the christening when Frannie Bliss phoned. ‘As I hadn’t heard from you, Merrily, I assumed you’d stumbled upon something in Wychehill which your conscience was telling you it was inadvisable to share with the Filth.’

‘For once, I don’t actually think I know anything useful – not to you, anyway.’

‘Witnesses never know what they know until it’s squeezed out of them by a master interrogator.’

‘How long would it take to fetch one? I’m a bit pushed right now.’

‘I hope God finds you less offensive, Merrily. All right, I’ll tell you something. Our experts, examining the remains of the Mazda car belonging to the late Mr Lincoln Cookman, killed in Wychehill in the early hours of Saturday, had occasion to remove the spare tyre. And found a neat little package containing forty assorted rocks. And, no, he wasn’t a geologist.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Quite.’

‘You’re assuming he’d just picked up the package at the Royal Oak.’

‘If you only knew how hard I’d tried to come up with a better explanation.’

‘And are the police planning to do anything about this? Raid the Oak?’

‘I think that would be an embarrassingly fruitless exercise, don’t you? Something like this, you only get one chance, and I’m waiting for firm intelligence. I gather there’s a meeting on in Wychehill, at which the problem of the Royal Oak is likely to be raised.’

‘Yes, it’s – tomorrow. Isn’t it?’

‘It’s tonight, Merrily.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I’m a detective. We were planning to look in, on an unofficial basis, but I’m told that would now be rather obvious.’

‘Look, I’ve got to leave for a christening in a couple of minutes and then I was hoping to have a serious discussion with my only child when she gets in from school. What are you looking for?’

‘Well, certainly something more than general rowdyism and weeing over walls. Like if illegal drugs were coming into Wychehill itself? Must be a few likely teenagers there. If we were to receive a serious complaint from a parent or two … Something I can dangle in front of Howe. I’m looking for a lever, Merrily.’

‘I’m a vicar, Frannie.’

‘And a mate,’ Bliss said. ‘I hope.’

After the christening of Laurel Catherine Mathilda and a brief appearance at the christening tea in the village hall, Merrily walked up to the market square under an overcast, purpling sky, and decided to wait for the school bus.

She looked up towards Cole Hill, but you couldn’t see it from here, although you could from the church. Wished she had time to investigate this ley line for herself. Leys … well, they were something she still wasn’t sure about. They could never be proved actually to exist, but they had … a kind of poetic truth. They lit up the countryside.

And if Jane had found a way of lighting up the countryside without drugs…

Best not to get too heavy about her taking a day off school. As long as she didn’t make a habit of it.

Merrily looked down into Church Street, at Lol’s house. Wished she could light up the countryside for him. Under the shadow of middle age, he was understandably uncertain about his future. Set for stardom at eighteen and then robbed by bitter circumstance of what should have been the glory years. Too old, now, to be the new Nick Drake. His comeback album was selling reasonably well, he’d done gigs supporting Moira Cairns and the two old Hazey Jane albums had been remastered. But it still wasn’t quite a career.

Now he was writing material for the second solo album. It wasn’t going well. Although he didn’t say much, she could feel his fear sometimes.

She turned, as the school bus drew up on the edge of the square and some kids got off.

And Jane didn’t.

Merrily’s heart froze. Stupid. This didn’t automatically mean she’d skipped school again. Sometimes Eirion picked her up. However…

She went straight home and called Jane’s phone from her own mobile. Jane’s was switched off. She left a message: call now . Put the mobile on the sermon pad and then sat down and rang Joyce Aird in Wychehill.

‘I’ve caused a lot of trouble, haven’t I?’

Merrily was cautious. ‘In what way, Mrs Aird?’

‘I had a visit…’ Her voice sounded unsteady. ‘I was told this could bring us the wrong sort of attention and I’ve done the community a great disservice. I’ve lived here more than twenty years , Mrs Watkins…’