Alex Preston - The Revelations

Finally, Neil, who had been leaning back watching them, spoke. A kind of holy glow radiated from his bald head.

‘When my daughter Phoebe died, I tried so hard to understand what was behind it. Unravelling the infinitely complex threads of her life became an obsession for me. It was as if I thought that if I could understand why she stopped eating, I might be able somehow to go back and make it better. Or at least that it might be proof that it wasn’t my fault, that nothing I could have done would have changed it. I spent hours staring at photographs of her when she was younger, trying to read the future in her sunny little smile. But, in the end, mental illness is unknowable to everyone except the sufferer.

‘There is something wrong with Lee, just as there was something wrong with Phoebe. We can go mad trying to find the reasons behind what happened to them, or we can move on. All we can do is love them; the rest is in God’s hands.’

He collected himself, lowered his head, and put his hands in his lap.

‘Thanks Neil,’ said Marcus. ‘I entirely agree. Now let’s get back to the Course material. It’s some of the most important stuff we’ll deal with — how to handle the conflicts that are thrown at Christians in the modern world. We need to arm ourselves against the demons that brought Lee and Phoebe down.’

*

When the discussion group had left, Marcus sat in the room, his head in his hands. Finally, he rose and made his way upstairs, through the darkened church and out into the night. David was waiting for him in the shadows of the porch. The priest coughed.

‘How did the rest of your discussion go?’ David asked.

‘I was on autopilot. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Lee. Did you speak to Abby? Do you know about Mouse? Have you called the police?’

‘Slow down, Marcus. I know about the earrings. But this is not the time to be jumping to any conclusions. I need to talk to Mouse. He’s coming here on Friday. Let me get his side of the story and then, if we need to, we can go to the police together. In the mean time, try to take care of yourself. You look very tired.’

Marcus went home and phoned Abby. She didn’t answer. The cold that had been threatening arrived that night. Marcus woke with his throat raw and swollen, his nose blocked and his chest tight. He swallowed down a handful of painkillers and lay in the dark, feeling profoundly sorry for himself. The next day he struggled into work, determined to put thoughts of Lee and Mouse out of his mind until the weekend. He left the office as early as possible that evening and flung himself into bed.

He had forgotten that it was fireworks night. The curtains were open and he saw the bright explosions of light over Holland Park. Darwin crawled into bed beside him and he hugged the little dog against his wheezing chest. The shards of excited light coloured his bedroom walls as he drifted off to sleep. The last he remembered seeing were blue and green, and in his dozing mind they became Lee’s earrings, her face written into the sky behind them in the pattern of a million stars.

*

On Saturday morning, early enough that Marcus was still asleep, although not so early that he could ignore the call, David Nightingale telephoned.

‘Hello,’ said Marcus, searching for the light switch.

‘Marcus, it’s David. How are you feeling? I thought you looked very ill on Tuesday.’

Marcus had struggled into work on Thursday and Friday, but the cold had established itself in his chest, giving his voice a husky growl.

‘I’m fine. I need to get some rest and then I’ll be fine.’

‘You should come over here. I think it would be a good idea for us to talk to Mouse together. He’s with me now.’

‘OK. I’ll be over as soon as I can.’

Marcus drank a Lemsip as he dressed. His movements were slow and stumbling as he searched through his cupboard for a clean shirt. He realised that he hadn’t put a wash on since Abby had left. Clothes spewed out of the hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He rummaged through them looking for a pair of boxer shorts that were not too filthy to wear. Finally, he made his way out into the bright morning, started the car, and set out for St Botolph’s.

He felt a kind of nostalgia as he turned off the King’s Road and into the high gates in front of the church. So many times he had come here with Abby, both of them full of hope and quiet excitement at the prospect of an inspiring discussion group, or a service, or dinner at the rectory. Whatever happened next, Marcus realised that everything had already changed. Things were not recoverable from here. He imagined himself twenty-three again, tried to steal back the excitement he had felt after his first Retreat, when everything he believed was reshaped by David Nightingale, when the love he felt for Abby and his family was knitted into his love for the church, rather than being twenty-eight and ground down by a boring job, by guilt, by betrayal. He stopped the car and eased himself out onto the familiar crunch of the gravel.

The church clock chimed ten. A robin was singing somewhere. Marcus saw the bird perched on the railings that ran along the edge of the churchyard. The bird tilted his head back, threw out his chest and unleashed a long, liquid stream of notes. Marcus skipped up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

David answered the door. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and chinos. He fixed his pale eyes on Marcus. They were less bloodshot than they had been at the Course on Tuesday night. Marcus took the priest’s hand.

‘Thank you for coming. Gosh, you don’t look well. Do you want a coffee or something?’

‘Yes, that would be great,’ Marcus mumbled. He followed David into the kitchen while the priest made coffee, unwilling to face Mouse alone.

‘Is he here?’

‘He’s in the drawing room, yes. Along with a few others. Let’s go through.’

Marcus followed David across the hall. Mouse was sitting in an armchair directly opposite the entrance. He looked up at Marcus and nodded glumly, then stared back at his feet, which were propped on a velvet pouffe. The Earl was seated in the corner, his fierce eyes fixed on Marcus and David. Marcus stepped further into the room and turned towards the sofa. Abby was there, sitting very upright, a hopeful smile fixed on her wide face.

‘Abby!’

She rose and embraced him.

‘I got the last flight back last night. I wanted to be here for this.’ She took his chin in her hand and looked at his face. ‘You look dreadful, darling. You obviously need me here to look after you.’

Marcus sat down beside Abby. David remained standing, moving behind Mouse’s chair and looking across at Marcus. He carried some of the awful grandeur that had once made Marcus afraid to look at him.

‘I thought we should all sit down together. Mouse has told me everything. We should listen to his story, and then discuss what to do. Mouse has been very brave coming to me like this. Over to you, Mouse.’

Mouse shifted in his chair, leaned forward, and began to speak. He wrung his hands as he talked. He clearly hadn’t slept for a while.

‘Lee’s dead. She died just after five in the morning on the Sunday of the Retreat.’

Marcus felt a wave of melancholy sweep over him. He had imagined this moment so many times that it hardly shocked him. Mouse’s words confirmed something that he felt he had known all along. Abby held his hand very tightly. The priest nodded at Mouse, who was sitting quite still, his eyes full of tears.

‘Why don’t you tell it from the beginning, Mouse? Just like you told me.’

Mouse let out a sigh.

‘It was past four. Marcus and I had come up together from the dining hall around three. I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered over to the west wing. I wanted to find the mermaid frieze that I’d seen the day before. When I came to the top of the winding stairs, I heard the sound of someone crying. I walked down the corridor and the sound grew louder. I came to a further staircase which led to a tower. The one that we saw when we were coming up from the lake. There was a wee room at the top with a desk and a few books.’