Phil Rickman - The Remains of an Altar

‘Linked to this Raji Khan, you think?’

‘We don’t know. Less than half an hour from the Oak. If you were to twist my arm… Aaah.’ Bliss made a frustrated hissing noise. ‘Lot of us coming round to thinking it should all be decriminalized, everything you can smoke, swallow or inject. We’re pouring billions down the pan, in man-hours and paperwork, and we’re losing the battle. And we’re bored with it and all the ancillary villainy by brain-dead street-trash supporting a thousand-a-week habit. Some point, we’re gonna back away, wash our hands, say fuck it.’

Bliss put up both hands, pushing it all away.

‘And I have told you nothing, Merrily. In fact, we haven’t even had this little meeting in the lovely old cloisters that your lot pinched off my lot in fifteen-whenever-it-was.’

‘Like that, huh?’

‘You’re a mate.’ Bliss beamed bleakly. ‘And I like to be there for me mates. And I hope you feel the same way.’

‘So what you’re saying… if I happen to come across anything in Wychehill that might be pertinent to the inquiries you’re not allowed to make…’

‘ Not actively encouraged to make. Yes, that would be helpful. You priests, so intuitive. Even the Prods.’ Bliss tucked the remains of his doughnut into his mouth. ‘Just one thing – if you do happen to learn anything-’

‘Call you at home.’

‘Exactly. Or on the mobile, if urgent.’ He fingered up a bead of jam left on his plate and licked it off. ‘So… the good people of Wychehill are claiming that all the extra traffic and the nasty music has disturbed something a bit…’

Bliss waggled his fingers and made spooky woo, woo noises.

‘Sometimes, Merrily, I don’t know how you keep this up.’

It was very warm now, and the Cathedral green was smudged with people in T-shirts and summer frocks, some of them camped around the recently installed life-size bronze sculpture of a pensive Sir Edward Elgar gazing up at the tower.

A teenage girl sitting by the plinth was wearing cans and had an iPod in her lap. Walking back towards the gatehouse, Merrily thought it unlikely that the kid was listening to The Enigma Variations. If it had been Jane, not in a million years; to Jane, unless attitudes had changed, Elgar was just some pompous, imperialist old fart.

I’m not keeping up any more, that’s the trouble.

Merrily stopped in dismay, looking back at the Cathedral tower, under major repair again – scaffolding around it like a thousand interlinked Zimmer frames. And she was not yet forty, but she’d reached the age when ‘keeping up’ required consistent effort. Jane never bothered about staying ahead of the game, because Jane knew she was the game.

Scary. Everything was scary. Like the thought of a centralized police service directed by nervous politics. Merrily went across to the Hereford tourist information centre and picked up what she could on the Malverns before climbing the stone steps to the Deliverance office, where Sophie was putting the phone down.

‘Just came in to say that if there’s nobody I need to see, I think it might be best to go back to Wychehill. Get this over. Is that all right?’

‘Did Mr Bliss clarify things?’

‘Mr Bliss muddled things further, as Mr Bliss so loves to do.’

‘Merrily, three things… I resorted to the telephone, from which I learned that the Royal Oak used to be a favoured meeting place for rambling clubs because of its capacious car park and access to several footpaths. The Ramblers’ Association, needless to say, has lodged a complaint with the tourist authorities.’

‘It’s what they do. I don’t think I’m going to worry too much about the Royal Oak.’

‘I also checked with Worcester Deliverance. It appears that mysterious balls of light are not unknown in the Malverns. Usually connected with UFOs rather than anything psychic. Unexplained cyclists with lamps, however… that’s a new one.’

‘Oh, well. Thanks, Soph-’

‘And, thirdly, the Reverend Spicer rang. The public meeting in Wychehill planned for Wednesday… I’m sorry about this, Merrily.’

‘Called off? No, you wouldn’t be sorry about that, would you?’

‘Brought forward. To tomorrow evening.’

‘ What? ’

‘For reasons of discretion, according to Mr Spicer. They want to be sure there are no press people there. Or, indeed, employees of the local authorities or the tourist associations, who’ve been known to attend such meetings. He says it’s something that should be settled by local people… and you, of course.’

‘But I’ve got a christening in the afternoon!’

‘The part of the meeting relevant to you won’t start until eight-thirty.’

‘No, I mean, I still have people in Wychehill to see.’

Sophie sighed. ‘Sometimes I think you try too hard.’

‘You either do the job or you don’t. I’ll just have to go back tonight.’

‘Merrily…’ Sophie rocked back. ‘That’s ridiculous. You’ve been there twice already, you’ve been up since dawn… Have you even eaten?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Right,’ Sophie stood up. ‘ I ’ll take you.’

‘No, it’s-’

‘If you fall asleep at the wheel on the way back…’

‘I’ll ask Lol, OK? Give me a chance to see Jane before we go – I’m starting to feel like a part-time parent.’

Maybe it was what Bliss had suggested, about Jane and drugs. She rang Lol, and there was no answer.

Idyll Chipped

When Lol called back, Merrily was already in the car in the Bishop’s Palace courtyard. She switched off the engine. Lol was asking if she knew about Jane’s project.

Merrily sank back in her seat, twisting the rear-view mirror, smoothing out what could be a new line under her left eye.

Jane and project. Curious how sinister those words sounded together.

‘She said she was going to explain it all to you this morning,’ Lol said, ‘if you hadn’t had to dash off so early.’

‘If I hadn’t had to dash off so early, she’d have been at school, and she knows it.’ Merrily closed her eyes. ‘She’s never done that before. I don’t think.’

‘The exams are over…’

‘I don’t care, it’s a school day.’

‘Do you want to call in, if you get home earlyish?’

‘Thing is, I’m only coming home to change. I’ve got a job out near Malvern. For which I think I need to look like a minister of God.’

‘Oh. Well, she knows I’ll tell you. She just uses me as a filter. It’ll wait.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Merrily said. ‘I can tell it won’t.’ Bloody Jane. ‘Lol, I was wondering if you could come with me. Sophie wanted to drive… thinks I might fall asleep at the wheel. Actually, it’s a situation that might benefit from a second opinion, and I’m not sure Sophie’s would be the right one.’

‘I’m just a humble songwriter. Sure. Whatever.’

‘You undersell yourself. A humble songwriter who once did half a psychotherapy course. If you come over to the vicarage in, say, fifty-five minutes, I should be changed and ready to leave.’

Small silence. Through one of the Bishpal windows, she could see Gary, the Bishop’s West Highland terrier, standing on the back of a sofa waiting for the boss to come back from the cricket.

‘If I come round in, say, forty -five minutes,’ Lol said, ‘will you still be undressed?’

No time, of course, for that. Jane was home, anyway – quiet, obliging, and therefore suspicious. Sure, she’d get her own meal. No problem, you two get off to… wherever. Exhibiting no particular curiosity about what might be going down. Which meant that something was printed on her own agenda, in heavy type.

But worrying about Jane could eat up your life. And now, for the first time in many years, she was a problem shared… kind of. At least, Lol… well, at least they were officially an item at last, nothing clandestine any more.