Phil Rickman - The Remains of an Altar

‘Winnie?’

‘Spooky.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Just is. She gets the ideas. There was one where we were divided into groups of twelve, and Tim fixed up for us to use three different churches – Wychehill, Little Malvern Priory and St Bart’s at Redmarley D’Abitot. We had to go to these separate churches and sing a set programme at the same time. I copped for Little Malvern – the parish church now, it is – and we had mobile phones connected with Tim and Winnie at Wychehill. And he’d give the word, and we’d all start singing simultaneously.’

‘Singing what?’

‘Gregorian chant, to start off, the warm-up. Then Elgar’s Kyrie Eleison. These solid C of E establishments reverting to their Catholic roots. Strange at first but quite… moving. The other thing I remember is how weird it felt, but I don’t dwell on these things.’

‘Weird how?’

‘I dunno… unexpectedly exciting, really. We did it by candlelight – that was Winnie’s idea, too. Dunno whether you know the Priory church, but it’s quite small and narrow. And it was, you know, quite a thrilling experience. I was a bit cynical about the whole idea at first, taking the piss, as you do, but… I’d do it again tomorrow, I mean it, I’d travel a long way to do it.’

Dan sounded like he’d surprised himself, saying that. Lol waited. He was fascinated. He sometimes thought about playing in a church, not in some dumb happy-clappy band, but… he didn’t know; he just wanted, sometimes, to put himself into a situation where his music might find a different level.

‘It was the things that were happening in my head,’ Dan said. ‘And my whole body, really. A vibration going through you, like wiring, and it’s like different parts of you are lighting up in sequence. Can’t explain it. I mean, all right, the chant usually gives you a bit of a lift. But this time the interconnectedness thing… it wasn’t just three churches coming together, it was like being inside a big… orb of sound. Like we’d broken through to another place. I mean it. More than that, really, I… bugger me, I sound like I’d taken something, don’t I?’

‘Why those particular churches?’

‘Well, Tim never explained, he never does. He’s an inarticulate bugger at the best of times; you think if he could talk in notes and chords, instead of words, he would, you know? They say he was a useless teacher. But we worked it out, kind of. Comes down to the three churches being in the Three Counties – Wychehill in Herefordshire, Little Malvern Priory in Worcestershire and Redmarley D’Abitot in Gloucestershire. So what he’d done, he’d assembled his own Three Counties choir… the Three Counties united in sacred chant. Weird.’

‘And he never tells you what’s behind all this?’

‘Not talked about, Lol. We’re all a bit funny about that kind of thing, en’t we? One woman – this is just one woman, mind, and I don’t know her very well, but she was white as a sheet when we come out. Said that when we were doing the Mass, she seen like a figure, up at the altar. Tall hat. Well, a bishop’s mitre. And he’s standing there with his arms raised. Like… like a bishop, I suppose. She was pretty shocked, but it might’ve been just the state we were all in.’

‘This happened when you were singing music from the Mass – Elgar’s music?’

‘Well, yeah, but I later found out there was a famous photo taken in there where you’re supposed to be able to see the ghostly shape of a bishop with his crozier. So she may’ve come back down with that in her head. You’re a bit high with the singing and you find you’re focused on the same spot that you’ve seen in the picture, and it’s all candlelit. When she told us, she wasn’t frightened exactly, it was more white with awe. And I remember thinking, Yeah, we woke him up, and he’s celebrating the Mass. And suddenly the idea of celebrating the Mass made sense to me for the first time.’

‘Well,’ Lol said. ‘Thanks.’

‘You should write a song about him,’ Dan said.

The Dream

Stashing away the notebook and the phone and shouldering her bag, Merrily walked directly over. But Winnie was already blocking the porch, her hands out, long nails, and her eyes almost black in the full sunlight.

‘No way.’

‘They let him go?’

‘I’m asking you, Merrily, with civility, to back off.’

‘That was him, wasn’t it?’ Merrily said.

‘ Whaddaya think, it’s Elgar’s freaking ghost?’

Tim Loste had vanished into the church and the oak doors were shut. At the porch entrance, Winnie Sparke didn’t move. Her arms were slim but unexpectedly muscular, tanned and taut.

‘And this is just as close as you get today, lady. He’s in a delicate state. You need to show some respect.’

‘You were laughing.’

‘I’m laughing, he isn’t. I’m happy he’s out.’

‘I need to talk to him.’

‘Some other time. Jeez, he was accused of killing a guy… with a knife? They had him in some interrogation cell, threw the whole damn package at him, hour after hour, different cops, good cop/bad cop, all that shit. How they make you confess to what you didn’t do. Come at you and come at you till you don’t know whether it’s night or freaking day.’

‘Bad experience, Winnie, but I didn’t get him arrested. My business here’s road accidents. And that’s as good as over. I’m just drawing lines under things.’

‘Well, you go draw your lines someplace else.’

‘Why don’t you want me to talk to him?’

‘That’s how you choose to see it, you go right ahead. You put it all on me.’

Unbelievable. Was this really the same woman who, a couple of nights ago, in this very spot, had been all let’s-get-together and explaining how the rocks were in pain, telling Merrily how cute she was?

… And her kittenish fawning and her, Oh, don’t you look so cool today, Paul.

‘All right,’ Merrily said. ‘How about I just talk to you?’

‘Later.’ Winnie Sparke’s eyes were like smoked glass. ‘I have to take care of Tim.’

In the church, the organ started up, low and growling chords. Winnie smiled.

‘Giving himself a fix.’

‘He’ll be OK on his own for a while, then.’

‘Look, I’ll call you sometime. OK?’

‘It’s a public place, the church. I often go into other churches to pray. I think I feel the need-’

‘No…’

Winnie’s hands were out, clawed again.

‘You really going to scratch my eyes out? Winnie, I’ve been messed about for days, and my daughter’s got some problems and I need to go home. I’m asking for a few minutes of your time. Or if you’re determined to have an unseemly cat fight to prevent me entering a church…’ Merrily unslung her bag, dropped it at her feet. ‘Then let’s do it.’

The sun burned down and the church shimmered.

‘OK.’ Winnie Sparke’s hands fell, her shoulders slumping. ‘But give me three minutes to go talk to him.’

‘I expect there’s a back door, right?’

‘You have my word,’ Winnie said.

Merrily sighed.

‘Save me some time, Frannie,’ Merrily said into the phone. ‘Just tell me why he’s out.’

Bliss left the line open while he went downstairs to the car park.

‘Yeh, it’s true.’

‘I know it’s true. I’ve just seen him. When did they let him go?’

‘Your friend Sparke collected him from Worcester about an hour ago. The DNA evidence was, to say the least, inconclusive. But, mainly, other developments have altered the focus of the case in a way more meaningful for me, as an observer.’

‘Can you tell me?’

‘With the usual proviso. The murder I told you about in Pershore – the drug dealer tortured and shot in his car, Christopher Smith? We may have his killer.’