Phil Rickman - The Wine of Angels

‘Thing is,’ Dr Samedi was moaning, ‘I don’t know if my insurance covers this.’

Jane saw a tall figure strolling towards the churchyard.

‘Lloyd!’

Lloyd Powell turned and waited for her under the fake gaslight, Jane found herself clutching at his sleeve.

‘You’ve got to stop them.’

‘I think we’ll wait for the police, don’t you, Miss Watkins?’

‘No!’ You could never tell with people like Lloyd whether they called you Miss out of politeness or because they were laughing at you. ‘They’re going to the orchard. You can stop them. It’s your land. You can go in there and turn them out.’

‘On my own?’

He was laughing at her. Everybody knew the Powells didn’t really care about their orchard.

But they should. They should.

‘Please. It’s not safe. It’s not respectful. You’ve got to get them out. Please, Lloyd.’

‘Hey.’ He put his big, rugged hands on her shoulders, peered at her from under his Paul Weller fringe. ‘Don’t get into a state about this. They’re just daft kids.’

‘Please.’ She was crying now.

‘All right,’ Lloyd said. ‘I’ll go and see what I can do.’ He smiled wryly, hunching his shoulders. ‘You wanner come?’

‘Oh no,’ Jane said. ‘I couldn’t.’

She stood on the edge of the cobbles, hopelessly confused, awfully apprehensive for reasons she couldn’t explain.

‘BLEEDING FROM THE mouth,’ Merrily said.

Lol Robinson held Ethel on the kitchen table. ‘That means internal injuries?’

He looked shattered. They’d found the little black cat cowering into the side of the Aga.

‘Who did this?’

He didn’t reply, which meant he knew. In the hall Merrily found an old quilted body-warmer she’d kept for gardening.

‘You know what to do with this?’

‘I’ve never actually had a cat before.’

‘You wrap her up tight, so there’s just her head sticking out. So there’s plenty between you and the claws?’

‘Er ... right’

‘Never mind. Just grab her by the scruff and don’t let go. No ... You have to be firm, Lol.’

‘I’m not really a firm person,’ Lol said.

Merrily rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. She opened out the jacket, swept it swiftly around the cat. She tucked the ends around Ethel’s claws.

‘Anybody I might know? Anybody whose soiled soul I should be praying for?’

‘Any spare prayers,’ he said quietly, ‘I would hang on to them.’

‘No prayers are wasted.’ Handing him a bundle with a small black head sticking out. ‘Hold her very tightly. God, these lights are crap.’

He glanced up at her.

‘Yeah, I know, some people would call that taking the Lord’s name in vain.’ Trying to prise the jaws apart. ‘No, tight, Lol, you’ve got a leg coming out. The way I see it, it helps keep the holy names in circulation. Especially when used in times of stress.’

Ethel’s mouth snapped open; Merrily gritted her teeth, slipped a forefinger inside.

‘Not entirely sure whether I should’ve used it in the same sentence as crap, mind ... See there? Lost a tooth. Possibly a couple. Where the blood’s coming from.’

‘Not internal?’

‘Don’t think so.’ She touched the spot; Ethel writhed. ‘Good.’

‘God,’ said Lol. ‘Thank you.’

‘One of my uncles used to be a vet. In Cheltenham.’

‘I wanted to be a vet when I was a kid, then I found out you had to put things down a lot. She’ll be OK?’

‘If you’re still worried, you can pop her over to a real vet in the morning. You can let her go now.’

They watched the liberated Ethel make like a bullet for the door to the scullery. Merrily held up her finger with blood and a tiny, white splinter on the end.

‘That’s probably the last bit of it. So ...’ She sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘Talk to me, Mr Robinson. I’m a priest.’

It was fairly quiet on the square now, but she could hear music coming from somewhere else, fainter. It didn’t seem a problem but it didn’t make sense.

Ethel had reappeared in the doorway, looking miffed but not distressed. Merrily wished Jane would also show.

She smoked in silence while he told her about this guy, now occupying his cottage, who’d been in the band, Hazey Jane, with him years ago and had come back from the States with ambitions involving Lol and some new songs and an album. Which sounded reasonable.

‘Just I have problems with this guy,’ Lol said.

‘He knows that?’

‘He doesn’t seem to realize how deep it goes.’

‘Not a sensitive person, then.’

‘That would be about right,’ Lol said. ‘And he drinks. And when he drinks he gets over-emotional.’

‘Violent temper.’

‘As you saw.’

‘And he’s in your house. He’s broken in.’

‘Right.’

‘So – pardon me if this is incredibly naive – but why don’t you just call the police?’

Almost immediately she regretted asking that. He looked like he’d rather throw himself in the river.

The police arrived, just the two of them in a car. No hurry, no panic – except on the part of the Cassidys, who came out of the alley to meet them, with Barry the manager.

Jane crept back under the market hall to listen, blending into the mingled shadows of the oak pillars.

‘Certainly seems quiet enough now,’ one of the cops said.

‘That’ – Caroline Cassidy was in tears – ‘is because they’ve gone on some sort of drug-crazed rampage. Everything was perfectly under control, all decent, well-behaved young people from good families, no strong drink. And then it was gatecrashed by some ghastly local thugs. Barry ... Barry, you tell them.’

‘Exactly as Mrs Cassidy says,’ Barry said, the crawling sod. ‘It was all fine until these lads came in. Somebody must’ve let them in, because we had the doors bolted. Well, with the flashing lights and things I didn’t notice them for a while. But they brought the drugs in, no question.’

‘Kind of drugs, Mr Bloom?’

‘Oh, well, Ecstasy, I reckon. Probably some amphetamines. Crack, maybe, I wouldn’t rule it out. They target parties, don’t they?’

‘You know them?’

‘Seen ’em around. There’s a thin lad, about seventeen. Mark ... Putley? Dad’s got the garage on the Leominster Road. Then the fat one, Dean ... Dean ... I can find out.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!’ Mrs Cassidy was close to hysteria. ‘They’ve gone into the woods. They’ve taken my daughter! ’

Unbelievable. Jane longed to step out there and tell them it was the other way round, that if they pulled in Colette, it would all be sorted out. Tonight, Colette was overstepping even Jane’s mark. On the other hand, she didn’t want to get involved. She just wanted the police to get them out of the orchard.

‘And where were you while this was going on, Mrs Cassidy?’

‘My wife and I,’ said Terrence, ‘were having discussions with Mr Richard Coffey, the playwright, at his home. Earlier, we’d been to an event at the church.’

‘All right. And you think the kids’ve gone into some woods?’

‘The orchard. Down there, through the churchyard. The Powells’ land.’

‘I don’t think we’re going to get too excited about trespass at the moment, sir. You think they’ve got drugs with them, that’s going to be our main interest.’

‘And my daughter ...’

‘Quite.’

Lol was cleaning his glasses on the hem of his sweatshirt. Without them, he looked bewildered and innocent, an ageing teenager. She was supposed to turn him out now, with his injured cat in his arms?