Phil Rickman - Remains of an Altar

‘This would be just over a year ago.’

‘So you and Tim…’

‘Began to work together. To get this out of the way, I need to tell you that there’s no physical relationship. Situation was, there was someone else in my life at the time.’

‘Preston Devereaux?’

‘Stop.’ Winnie’s expression didn’t alter.

‘Don’t go there?’

‘On no account.’

‘OK.’

‘Tim’s parents live in France, and he was closest to his grandmother. When she died, he inherited a substantial sum of money. By this time, I’d researched the situation here, pertaining to this gentleman.’ Winnie gently tapped the tomb. ‘I drew Tim’s attention to a house that’d come on the market in Wychehill.’

‘Caractacus.’

‘It seemed too perfect. It’s an ugly house, but it’s in the right place, and I … I should’ve explained that Tim’s primary problem was an inability to reach the heights as a composer. He’d always written music, his knowledge and his technique were never in doubt. He taught with flair and sympathy. His original work was … of a standard. There was a barrier between him and … what I call the sublime. The fact that he could never get beyond that caused him intense emotional pain.’

‘But he bought the house…’

‘He didn’t want to know about the house. He didn’t want to see me. I gave up on him. A week later, he swallowed a bottle of pills with most of a bottle of whisky, walked out in the street and collapsed. I didn’t know about this, I’d been down in London, tying up the ends of my divorce and seeing friends. I didn’t know how close he came to death. I didn’t know anything about it until he showed up at my door, couple of weeks later, and said he’d had a dream, while they were fighting to save him in the hospital. Like The Dream of Gerontius . You listened to all of that yet?’

‘Twice. In my uneducated way.’

‘Gerontius dies. He’s an old man, not a young man like Tim, but no matter. Gerontius either dies or he’s in a deep coma. Whatever, he sheds the body load and loses the weight of his pain. And he meets with his guardian angel.’

‘A woman, in my version.’

‘It’s always a woman. So Tim arrives at my door – a moment I relive quite frequently – and he tells me that he now understands that I am his guardian angel.’

‘And how does he know that?’

‘From his dream. He says he awoke in hospital knowing it. And now he goes along with me. He buys the house and we meet with the Rector and Tim starts to play the organ in church – there was an old guy who fumbled his way around the keys, he was happy to let it go. And then, quite quickly, the choir was formed. People love to sing. They love to have the music drawn through them, like silk. The choir comes out of the three counties, building its reputation, refining its membership. It’s a fine choir, growing toward the sublime.’

‘So Tim has died and come through to a new level? His old life has dropped away, he’s in a new place, with a new—’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘This was what you meant when you said you believed that purgatory could be dealt with in this life. Tim is physically purged, with a stomach pump, and then—’

‘Gradually, I became aware of a pattern. A grand design of cosmic proportions. And I can see from your eyes, Merrily, that you’re sorry we got here.’

‘No, I— He hasn’t exactly stopped drinking, has he?’

Winnie Sparke stood up. Her face and neck shone with sweat.

‘Go deal with your kid, huh? You’re Episcopalian, and this is Catholic theology. You have an inbuilt antipathy.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Women priests … that’s a political thing. I’m not being … I mean, there’s no spiritual basis to it, right?’

Like she was the very first person to say that.

‘Is it part of your image, to come over as mercurial, Winnie?’ The heat was getting to Merrily’s patience. ‘Or are we simply approaching another area that you feel it would not be advantageous to get into?’

‘You’re not ready. You need to go away and consider this. I don’t believe you’re ready, spiritually, emotionally or intellectually, to feel the heat of the sublime.’

‘Whereas … you are?’

‘You have to excuse me,’ Winnie said. ‘I have things to do.’

A tractor and trailer were rattling past, down the lane from the track which led into the hills. Merrily climbed into her boiling car in front of Starlight Cottage and slammed the door, the mobile clamped tight to her ear.

‘Sorry, couldn’t hear for the traffic.’

‘I just said, she’s here,’ Lol said.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, the direct sun making a pulsing orange light show on her eyelids.

‘Thank God for something.’

‘And the piece in the Guardian …’ Lol said. ‘I’ll read it out to you.’

When he’d finished, she asked him if he’d mind reading it again. He read it again, slowly, while Merrily was opening all the car windows.

‘It could be worse, couldn’t it? She lied about her age.’

‘To make her an adult,’ Lol said.

‘And obviously her terminology – Philistine morons , for heaven’s sake. But the worst thing—’

‘She should have told you.’

‘That’s the worst thing, yes.’

‘It all happened so quickly, and you weren’t around. But she should have told you, and she knows that.’

‘I’m a lousy mother.’ Merrily leaned out of the window for more air. ‘I’ll come home. I’ll be home in an hour.’

‘No,’ Lol said. ‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t— Ow! ’ Merrily pulled her bare forearm away from the Volvo’s scorching bodywork. ‘Sorry. Don’t come home?’

‘I mean not yet. There’s a TV crew around, and they’ll doorstep you, and you won’t know what to say.’

‘You’re right, I suppose.’ Merrily ran fingers through her hair; her head felt full of swirling fragments. ‘It’s just—’

‘Better to wait until late afternoon, when they’ve all filed their pieces – and without Jane they won’t be able to do much. Most of them might even drop it. It’s not a huge story, after all. And it’s Friday, and … How are things over there?’

‘Well, since you ask, it’s starting to seriously piss me off.’

It was good to unload it all on someone entirely non-judgemental. She told him everything, from Stella Cobham to Winnie Sparke who was all over the place.

‘First she’s doing the New Age paganism bit – springs and water goddesses – and then it’s High Catholic theology and getting lofty about women priests! It gets very hard to listen politely to this crap.’

‘I talked to an interesting guy.’

Lol told her about Prof Levin and a chorister called Dan who, working with Loste, thought he’d broken through to a higher place.

‘That must have been nice for him. What a dismal life of spiritual malnutrition we lead in the Anglican Church.’

‘But at least you never become bitter and cynical.’

‘Sparke…’ Merrily wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Winnie Sparke virtually accused me of not being equipped to grasp the profundity of it. Not equipped to feel the heat of the sublime !’

‘The bitch,’ Lol said.

‘Time to talk to Syd Spicer. And I mean talk . You’ll look after Jane?’

‘Merrily, you sound like—’

‘And I also need to ring Morrell.’

Morrell. What was it about Morrell? You tried to like these people – as a priest, you tried to like virtually everybody, but…

‘Before you say anything else, Mr Morrell, it’s my fault entirely. I kept her off school. I decided it wasn’t fair to inflict this situation on you, and as it was near the end of term…’