Phil Rickman - Midwinter of the Spirit

Dobbs’s last stand. Where was the squatter now? Should James Lyden be exorcized, or merely counselled by his father? Where would they go from here? Who would work from the office with on the door? Not a woman, that was for sure.

A hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t turn round. She knew his smell: light sweat, sex.

‘A busy day, Merrily.’

‘Indeed, Bishop.’

‘Were you looking for me?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

He came round to face her. He’d changed into his jogging gear. His thick brown hair looked damp with sweat.

‘I have to run sometimes, to clear it all away. It’s very calming. I run through the streets and nobody knows who I am.’

‘Oh, I think they do, Bishop. They’ve all seen your picture, running. But you can only run so far, can’t you?’

Mick didn’t smile. ‘Let’s go for a walk, shall we?’

‘All right.’

She followed him out of the south door, towards the cloisters, along a narrow, flagged floor, dim and intimate. She’d left her cloak in the Cathedral and felt cold in her jumper and skirt, but was determined not to show it.

‘This farce will be in the papers,’ he said.

‘ Something will be in the papers.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I imagine you’re excellent at news management.’

‘Said in a somewhat derogatory way.’

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘No, you aren’t. You think I’m just an ambitious administrator, with few spiritual qualities.’

‘If any,’ Merrily agreed. What the hell . Jane was going to be all right, Huw was there in the Cathedral. What the hell!

The Bishop leaned against a door to his left, and the cold bit hard. They were almost outside.

This was the tourist part of the Cathedral – in summer, anyway. A stone-walled courtyard, a snackbar, steps and benches and tables. The Bishop held open the door for her and followed her out, pulling the door shut behind them. They were on a raised stone path bordered by flowerbeds and evergreen shrubs. There was a circular lawn with a dead fountain in the middle, a picturesquely ruined wall behind it, overhung by decorative trees and vines. Idyllic in summer: you could be miles from the city.

Deserted now under the icy moon.

‘You,’ Mick Hunter said mildly, ‘are an unbelievable little bitch – an incredible cock-teaser.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Merrily shook her head, moving back to the door. ‘This is not what I wanted to talk about.’

The Bishop placed himself in front of the door, shaking his head slowly. ‘All right, what do you want to talk about?’

‘Dobbs?’

‘You want me to express regret? Very well, I regret it.’

Merrily folded her arms against the cold. There was no delicate way to put this. ‘When Canon Dobbs was dying, he put out his arm and he pointed, and he managed to say, “Devil… unclean spirit.” And everyone thought he was pointing at James Lyden. But I saw he was pointing at someone standing just to the left of James – in the shadows for once.’

Hunter didn’t deny it. ‘Does it surprise you that he hated me?’

‘Under the circumstances, hardly. When you arrived, he was an old man in bad health. He was due to retire at any time, but you pushed him out. When he wouldn’t resign voluntarily, you chose to humiliate him. Thus antagonizing the Dean and the Chapter and countless other people – people who really counted.’

‘One can’t be sentimental about these things.’

‘This wasn’t pragmatism, Bishop. This was lunacy. When you told me last night that you’d been advised against appointing a female Deliverance consultant, it didn’t strike me at the time, but later I thought, that’s not the kind of thing he does. He’s a politician. He might appoint me later, when he’s proved himself, but not… I mean, I bet the people who advised you against it were those people whose support you really needed.’

He said nothing.

‘It had never really made obvious sense, but I thought – and Sophie often said – that you were young and radical and a bit reckless. But you’re also clever and cautious. You never put a foot wrong. How would some hot-headed revolutionary ever make bishop under the age of forty-five? How could he ever make bishop at all?’

‘Merrily,’ he said. ‘Did it ever occur to you that I simply fancied the hell out of you?’

‘God forgive me, it did. It occurred to me you were looking for a nice, safe legover, and what safer option than a female cleric with ambition and no husband? Sure, I thought that for quite a while. I even came to the conclusion I could handle it if we weren’t alone too often.’

‘How plucky of you.’ He moved out of the doorway. His face was two-dimensionally gaunt – light and shadow – in the moonlight.

‘But I still wondered why it was so important for Dobbs – the hardest, possibly the most uncompromising exorcist in the business – to be out of the way now ? And quickly . Who could it possibly help to have a barely qualified novice floundering about? Someone who really didn’t know the score on certain aspects of the situation. Someone whose appointment was politically sensitive. Someone who could be pushed around, blamed, bullied…’

‘You’re talking nonsense, Merrily. It’s been an emotional few days for you, and you’re—’

‘Acting like a silly woman.’

He said, ‘You know, frankly, I couldn’t believe it when you wouldn’t let me take you home and fuck you that night. It was such an amazing night… with the new snow and the ambulance and that wonderful charge in the air. We were all so high .’

‘High?’ She stared at him. ‘High on an old man having a stroke? Wow! Even better tonight, then, Mick. This time he really died. I bet you nearly came in your episcopal briefs.’

The Bishop slapped her face.

She said, ‘ What? ’

He’d hardly moved his body, simply reached out and done it. Almost lazily, as if to show that if she really annoyed him he could knock her head from her shoulders without breaking more sweat than it took to circuit High Town.

‘There are policemen in the Cathedral,’ Merrily said.

‘It’s a cathedral, Merrily. It has very thick walls and windows which don’t open. You aren’t supposed to hear what goes on outside.’

‘I can’t believe you did that.’

‘You can believe anything you want to believe. You can believe or disbelieve at will.’

‘I think we should go, Bishop, before you do or say something else that won’t help your glittering career.’

She was now realizing how stupid she’d been. She could have told Annie Howe. She could have called Huw over. Earlier, Sophie had offered to come with her. But, as usual, she hadn’t been able to quite believe she wouldn’t be making a complete fool of herself in front of others. And she had thought she’d be quite safe virtually anywhere in the shadow of the Cathedral.

He seemed quite relaxed, but he wasn’t going to let her through the door. She found she was backing away on to the circular lawn.

‘Do you know young James Lyden?’ The Bishop put a foot on to the grass, already brittle with frost.

‘Not really.’

‘Not a popular boy. Even I don’t like him awfully. He behaved rather badly today. What do you think’s going to happen to him?’

‘I don’t know. His father’s a psychotherapist. Perhaps he’ll be able to handle it.’

‘I don’t think so – neither does James. Where do you think he is now?’

‘I believe his parents took him home,’ she said cautiously. What was this about?