Louise Welsh - Death is a Welcome Guest

Father Wingate nodded his ugly head. ‘Not since the time of Noah…’

Magnus remembered the words underlined in the Bible by Jeb’s bed. The old man had been reading about the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Jacob touched Father Wingate’s wrist lightly and the old man stopped mid-sentence, smiling to show he understood. The soldier said, ‘We both think you need some time for reflection, to strengthen you for the undoubted trials ahead.’

Magnus was about to say that he had no time for reflection, no need of rest. Jacob anticipated his objections and held up a hand. ‘And we also need your help. We hope that more people will join us. If they do we will need the means to sustain them. This estate is surrounded by agricultural land. There’s a harvest waiting in the fields and livestock about to calve. There aren’t enough of us to do it properly and even if there were, we wouldn’t know how to. Jeb said you were brought up on a farm.’

Magnus had mentioned the croft one night, sad with memories. He silently cursed Jeb.

‘It was only a smallholding. We sold it after my father died. I left home soon after and my mother couldn’t cope with it by herself.’ The selling of the croft had shamed him. He had thought his mother capable of carrying on, had not fathomed the depth of her debt until it was all but lost to the bank. ‘I haven’t worked on a farm since.’

‘But you know about farming.’ Jacob’s voice was earnest. ‘It’s in your blood. You were brought up with it.’

Magnus shook his head. ‘There are supermarkets stuffed with food for the taking. You don’t need these crops.’

‘We have stores of tins and other non-perishables, but the supermarkets are also stuffed with disease. There’s something else.’ Jacob glanced at the old priest. ‘I didn’t share this before because I didn’t see any point in worrying you. The last time Belle and I went to gather supplies we came across the body of a man hanging on a lamppost outside a supermarket. Someone had strung a sign around his neck. It said, Looter .’

Father Wingate crossed himself. ‘They will come for our stores.’

The soldier’s voice was firm. ‘We will grow in numbers and be ready for them. But the only way we can survive long term is to become self-sustaining.’

The old priest leaned forward and took Magnus’s hands in his. ‘This is a chance for you to do something good; surely your family won’t object to your taking a little longer to reach them once they know you helped us to survive.’

The old man’s hands were dry and horribly alive. Magnus pulled away. He thought of Pete dying on the bunk beneath him in Pentonville and of the inmate he had hit with the fire extinguisher. He was fairly sure he had killed the man. He had done little to make his mother proud in the fifteen years since he left the island. She would want him to do this.

‘I’m sorry I can’t…’ He recalled the motorbike’s shredded tyre and said, ‘I’ll be taking the Audi.’

Jacob’s eyes were fixed on Magnus, too bright a blue for his tired face. ‘Help us bring the harvest in, show us how it’s done and then we’ll let you go on your way.’

‘You make it sound like the boy’s a prisoner.’ Father Wingate turned an anxious smile on Magnus. ‘You’re not a prisoner, but we would like your help.’

Jacob repeated, ‘We need your help.’

‘I can’t.’ Magnus rubbed a hand across his face. The crops were beginning to rot in the south, but they ripened later in the north. He could help and still be in time for the Orkney harvest.

Jacob said, ‘We’ve already lost two people. I haven’t shared this with the others, but I suspect that Henry may have chosen the same path as Melody.’ Father Wingate crossed himself. Jacob gave him an impatient glance and continued, ‘Belle is demoralised, Will depressed. Raisha keeps her own counsel, but it is obvious that she’s suffering. Who knows how many people are hiding in the woods and villages around here, tormented by grief? The sweats could be followed by an epidemic of suicide. We need to come together if we are to have any chance. A harvest is necessary for our survival, but it will also draw people to us and give them hope.’

Hugh was on the edge of his vision, just out of sight, but Magnus knew that no matter how quickly he turned his head, his cousin would be gone. He sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, defeated.

‘I’ll help you harvest three fields. That will be more than enough for your needs. Then I have to go.’

Jacob gave him a grim smile. ‘It’s a deal.’

‘God requires a harvest.’ Father Wingate smiled beatifically. ‘And we are all His children.’

The three of them shook hands. Magnus remembered his slashed tyre again and wondered if it mattered that the soldier had not repeated the old priest’s assurance that he was not a prisoner.

Raisha was standing in the hallway. There were fields waiting to be surveyed, equipment to find, jobs to be assigned, a harvest to plan. Raisha held out her hand, Magnus took it in his and she led him upstairs to his bedroom.

It was late by the time Magnus visited Jeb. He was surprised to find him propped up at a small table in his sickroom, a few pages of paper splayed in front of him, his injured leg set stiffly on a low chair. A single candle glimmered waxily from a saucer. Jeb looked up. His face seemed old and hollow by its dim light. He turned the pages face down.

‘Want to sign my cast?’

Jeb tapped his leg lightly with a pen and Magnus saw that it had been plastered.

‘I guess it’s important to keep the old traditions alive.’ Magnus took the pen from him and tried to scrawl his name on the plaster cast, but it was not quite set and the nib sank into it, leaving a shallow dent. He perched on the end of the bed. ‘Maybe later, when it’s dried.’

Jeb rested a hand on top of his papers. ‘You going to be around that long?’

The candle wavered in response to a faint breeze reaching in through the open window. Magnus stared into the blackness beyond. He could see nothing, except the reflection of the candlelight in the glass pane.

‘It seems so, since you told them I might be useful.’

‘What did I say you’d be useful at? Fucking their women?’

Magnus felt his face flush. ‘Helping them get the harvest in.’

‘Shit, I let slip about your croft, didn’t I?’ Magnus nodded and Jeb said, ‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got to hand it to the religious. Not even a day off for the end of the world.’

‘I guess that’s the point. They don’t want it to be the end.’

‘Strange, when they believe they’re in for pie in the sky.’ Jeb scored a finger across his plastered leg and looked at the white powder caught beneath his nail. ‘Do you ever think what a stroke of luck it was for you and me? A shame millions died, but the sweats did us a good turn.’

‘I had a warm-up gig at O2 lined up.’ Magnus wished he had not been reminded of his big break. It belonged to another life.

Jeb glanced at the door and then said in a low voice, ‘You had a smashed-up face and an imminent rape trial. Entertainers have a bad rep. You could have been looking at a long sentence.’

This must be how long-married couples felt, Magnus thought. They had been over it before and there was no point in discussing it further. He said, ‘If you were a policeman, how come you ended up in prison?’

‘It’s old news.’

‘All the same…’ Magnus let the threat hang in the air.

Jeb stared at him. ‘You would, wouldn’t you?’

‘They have a right to know.’

Jeb sighed. He lifted the pages from the table and turned them over so Magnus could see the scrawled handwriting, the crossed-out lines and scribbled deletions. ‘I was trying to write it all down. I don’t know why. Scared I’ll forget who I am, or maybe just too much time on my hands. I wasn’t doing very well.’