Phil Rickman - The Lamp of the Wicked

‘So when did you get out?’

‘When I knew where it was coming from, of course. I mean… shit.’

‘Cromwell Street.’

‘I read about it. I went and got the books.’

‘From Piers?’

‘You’re joking.’ She was hunched up in the seat as though she was very cold. ‘See, he did a lot of stuff nobody could explain. He’d travelled a bit, been to sea, mixed with all kinds of weirdos. Picked up stuff he maybe didn’t understand.’

‘West?’ Lol put the heater on; sometimes it worked.

Yeah. He had all these weird ideas that were maybe just an excuse for kinky sex. There was all this stuff where he was trying to like mix his sperm with the sperm of these other guys who were giving it to Rose. I won’t go into details, but it was like he was planning to create some kind of super-race situation. Genetic experiments. Well, you don’t have to be a bloody biologist to know what kind of bollocks that is. I mean, it’s a joke, right? In the scientific sense. Where did he get it from? Where did he get those ideas?’

Lol said, ‘You mean it only makes sense at all from an occult viewpoint.’

‘Something like that.’

‘And Lynsey?’

‘Yeah,’ Cola said, ‘I think you could say something made a sick kind of sense to Lynsey.’

MERRILY WAS SURE she heard this: ‘You were warned.’

From one of the men in the porch. Just like that. You were warned . Some urban lout with a degree in computer science introducing pseudo-gangland into rural village life. She didn’t recognize his face, couldn’t even see it properly, but she thought she recognized the voice from the phone, muffled under a handkerchief.

‘If one of you was the threatening caller,’ she said tiredly, ‘I took your advice. You said if we held the funeral on Friday I’d regret it. This is Wednesday.’

‘At night?’ Piers Connor-Crewe said. ‘You’re actually holding a clandestine funeral… at night?’

‘Hold on – threats ?’ Fergus Young’s sharpened voice raised a silence. He turned to his companions. ‘What does she mean?’ He turned to Merrily. ‘We’d just concluded a meeting at the Village Hall with the MP – to discuss aspects of possible Government funding, when we saw lights in the church. Are you saying you’ve been physically threatened?’

As well as Connor-Crewe and Chris Cody, Merrily recognized the fat man from the Post Office and Stores, who had said, We ain’t rolling over for this one, no way . She didn’t know any of the others.

‘It was just the one call,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not making a thing about it.’

It does matter.’ Fergus’s long face hardened. He wore a dark suit and a tie tonight. ‘We don’t descend to that level. We’re not thugs . Does anybody here know who was responsible for that? Richard?’

‘Not me, Fergus,’ the Post Office man said. ‘But I know a lot of people were upset when Lodge got tied in with Fred West.’

Fergus, already taller than the rest of them, seemed to rise up further, his chin jutting. ‘Well, I would like very much to know who was prepared to risk tarnishing this community’s reputation. We are civilized people, we are educated people. We do not issue anonymous threats to members of the clergy or anyone else.’

Bizarre. It was the first time Merrily had seen him behaving like an old-fashioned headmaster. He treated the kids at school as equals, but seemed about to threaten these adults with mass detention unless the culprit confessed.

She was worried. If it emerged now that Melanie Pullman’s body had been found, the entire village would be up here within ten minutes. Melanie left to rot in the soil while her murderer lay here in state, the subject of a requiem eucharist, no less. How did that look?

Huw Owen met her gaze and looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he smiled, stepped to the doors and, just when she thought he was going to slam them in Fergus’s face, flung both of them open like the church was a bingo hall.

‘Gents. Huw Owen, my name. The Church, in its old-fashioned way, didn’t feel it were appropriate for a lady minister to conduct the funeral service for a murderer. Not on her own, in such a hostile community. I’m back-up.’

‘Look, I apologize,’ Fergus said tightly. ‘However, this remains a betrayal of our—’

‘Please!’ Huw lifted his hands. ‘Let me explain. All we’ve got here is a simple memorial service. Something the Diocese feels is essential to clear the atmosphere surrounding a chain of events going back… oh, quite a long way.’

He stepped back into the nave. Richard, from the shop, saw the coffin. ‘Bloody hell, he is here.’

Huw went to stand by the coffin and put a hand on it, almost affectionately. ‘First, I should tell you that, without wanting to appear to bow to any kind of pressure – particularly the kind of drunken behaviour we observed the other night – Mr Lodge here has now said he’d be quite happy for this lad to be consigned to the flames.’

Cherry Lodge looked up at her husband, as if afraid he was going either to deny it or change his mind. But Tony Lodge said nothing.

Fergus looked at both the Lodges and smiled stiffly. ‘We all know Underhowle’s emerging from half a century of hardship. All we want is for it to be known as a decent and progressive place. Not some sinister haunt of darkness and perversity, famous for its murderer. I’m sorry if that sounds blunt.’

‘Blunt’s my language, lad,’ Huw assured him. ‘Let’s all be blunt. Now, we’re here as Christians, and all we want is to send this lad to his maker – not, as you seem to be insinuating, in a furtive way, but along a path lit by truth and honesty. He’s avoided earthly justice, but that’s not the end of it as far as we’re concerned, as you can imagine.’

Merrily thought, God, he’s good .

Huw stepped away from the coffin, rubbing his nose.

‘We didn’t want a circus, and we didn’t want the press lads here. And we honestly didn’t think it were likely that any of you would want to join us. However, seeing as you are here…’

There was some shuffling. Richard mumbled something about having to get home for a phone call at ten, and he started backing towards the door. Some of the others hadn’t even bothered to come in.

Ingrid Sollars said, ‘Personally, I think it would be very appropriate if the members of the Development Committee – as representatives of the future of Underhowle – were to assist Mr Owen and Mrs Watkins and the Lodge family to draw a line under this whole miserable episode.’

There was silence. Huw waited, smiling his placid, benign- priest smile.

‘Very well,’ Fergus said. ‘Why not? Thank you. Let’s end this discord.’

‘Wonderful!’ Huw went over to the doors. ‘We have any more committee members?’

Chris Cody came in, looking uncomfortable. He wore a dark brown overcoat that almost reached the stone flags, a leather cap that he pulled off. Connor-Crewe, still in his cream suit, shambled in after him, scowling. Merrily noticed Gomer slipping out.

Huw pulled the doors to and rubbed his hands.

‘Bit parky in here, but that’ll sharpen our senses, won’t it? Take a pew. Where were we up to, Merrily?’

‘Well, we…’ Merrily stood under the pulpit as Cody and Connor-Crewe went to sit in the pew behind Ingrid Sollars and Sam Hall, and Fergus sat alone behind the Lodges. ‘As you can see, this is rather an unusual service. With so few of us, we decided to dispense with the hymns, but we’ll be taking communion later. Perhaps Huw could…’