‘I know you aren’t feeling well. I’ll always be here for you. Be careful. Try to keep busy and ring me if you want some company.’
She made a sad smile and went to work.
Kim slumped in a chair and had a flashback of Smarty yelping and running in circles after catching a bee. Her hands crept up her cheeks. She pressed her temples hard and wept bitterly.
She trudged back home, rested in the hallway, then forced herself up the stairs. She crept into the bathroom, ears straining. No ghost or devil in the mirror, only sore, red eyes. She had to make the change, didn’t want people looking too closely at her, especially after what Sachs had said.
The old lenses were taken out, the new ones inserted. She descended the stairs two steps at a time. Her hand burned with the friction between her skin and the handrail. She searched around for the phenelzine tablets, dropped them into a shoulder bag. In the kitchen, she reached up to the cabinet, grabbed the jar of Leso health capsules and poured some into a plastic container. She went down on one knee, pulled open the cupboard doors, poked around until she found the envelope containing her emergency money.
She hit the streets again, this time with hope in her heart. Thankfully, heavy rainfall and a cool breeze freshened her up. She forced herself to keep going, too afraid to rest in case someone spoke to her. She went down the same street twice, backtracked and headed in a different direction. Panic bubbled inside her. She couldn’t remember the route Gill had taken to her flat. Relief came after five minutes of blind walking. The church spire showed the direction. She traipsed along a narrow street and through an open iron gate. The gravel path crunched beneath feet. She tilted her head, looked up at the black-faced clocks on the embattled tower, and the tall windows bragging their impressive tracery.
Inside the church she saw a man walking across the chancel. He sat at a four-tiered keyboard, fiddled with some switches and began to play. The organ’s vibrations penetrated every nook and cranny. She crept along the aisle, her feet sinking in the red velour carpet. She looked around in awe at the tall, stained glass windows, the octagonal piers and magnificent arcades.
The man at the organ sensed her approach. His hands shot in the air like a concert pianist ending a classical piece. He twisted his body and faced her. His bright eyes, set in a plump, round face, welcomed her. ‘Hello, my dear. I take it you haven’t come here to listen to my playing. What can I do for you?’
‘I need help. I want to speak to a priest. You’re not a priest, are you?’
‘Oh no, my dear. I’m the organist. My dream is to be as versatile as Steven Eaklor. I like to think I’m a good organ player. There are certain critics amongst the parishioners who would disagree. What sort of help are you looking for?’
‘I see ghosts and feel an evil presence sometimes. I am haunted. Can you help me?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘It is an unusual request. However, I’m sure the vicar will offer help and guidance.’
‘Does he live at the big house at the top of the road, the one with the funny roof?’
‘He does. Ask to speak to Reverend Edward Sloane.’
‘I will.’
‘I wish you success in your quest for peace, and wish myself success in mastering this difficult composition.’
Kim repeated the name on her way out, her voice drowning in the irritating sound of the organ. Another five minutes of strenuous walking took her to the top of Carville Road. She stood in the merciless downpour, looked up at the vicarage. It had a wooden door surrounded by a stone arch. The façade was made of sandstone bricks, blackened with age. The garden was home to a mass of pink and yellow shrubs, separated from the pavement by a grey wall covered with patches of ivy-leaved toadflax. She focused on the bay window where she had seen a woman in dark clothes. She walked the short, curved path and stood at the entrance. She lifted the heavy lion's head knocker and struck the metal plate three times. Fat raindrops dripping from the arch mesmerised her until the door opened.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ a woman asked.
‘I’m not sure I’ve come to the right place.’
‘You must be desperate, walking here in all this rain. Are you looking for a particular person?’
‘Yes … Reverend … Reverend …’
‘Edward Sloane. You want to see the vicar?’
‘I do. I need help, someone to talk to.’
‘Spiritual help?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You had better come inside.’
Kim wiped her feet, treaded lightly over a plush, green carpet. Magnolia walls supported prints of a world map and Christ walking on the Sea of Galilee.
The woman gestured her to go inside the living room. Kim could smell the newness of the brown, shag pile carpet. The fawn sofa had matching chairs separated by an onyx Regency coffee table. An open flame gas fire nestled inside a white marble hearth.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, and returned with a towel over her arm. ‘There you are. Dry yourself and take a seat.’
The woman remained standing, arms by her side, shoulders back like an army officer. She was in her mid-forties. Fulsome breasts. Skin smooth, unblemished. Eyes intense. Seaweed green. Her shiny auburn hair was drawn up in a loose, snazzy twist.
‘My name is Erica. And you are?’
‘Kim Robins.’
She stared at Kim with a prying intensity. ‘You look fragile, worn out. What is troubling you so much?’
‘I find it hard to explain, miss. Oh, I shouldn’t have come here. There are problems I can’t handle. I am beyond help.’
‘Let’s not be hasty. The church is here to offer support. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have done. You are entitled to help and guidance.’
‘The man in the church said the same words.’
‘The man playing the organ?’
‘Yes. He was the only one there. He was practising his music.’
‘Our Arnold. A lovely little man who is in tune with our way of life, so he is … Begin by telling me your problems.’
‘I have seen ghosts – people who are dead; and I feel a presence, an evil spirit that follows me. He is watching and waiting for me.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘The devil. He’s tormenting me. I’ve seen him. He will never leave me alone.’
‘Have you spoken to a doctor or mental health specialist?’
‘What can doctors do? They would send me somewhere for treatment. I’m not mad because I see things. I saw the devil as clearly as I see you. Evil has come to my home. It’s too dangerous to live there.’
‘Do you live and work in this town?’
‘I live here on my own. I don’t have a job.’
‘Do you have family or friends who you can talk to?’
‘I’ve no family. My friends don’t understand me, or they don’t want to. I can’t trust them.’
‘Where will you go, if not back to your home?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ll walk the streets if I have to. Coming here was a last resort.’
A police car raced by, siren screaming. Kim sat upright. Her heart fluttered. The woman failed to detect her adverse reaction to the call of the law.
‘I wouldn’t put you out on the streets. However, the vicar is not qualified to perform an exorcism, if that’s what you want.’
‘He is a man of God. Surely, he can do something.’
‘He would pray for you. Do you have faith in God?’
‘I don’t know what to believe. Do you believe in God?’
‘I used to. I’m more sceptical these days.’
‘And the vicar doesn’t mind?’
‘He says a person should make his or her own mind up. He’s pragmatic in such matters.’
‘Is he your husband?’
‘No, no. I’m his secretary, clerk, housekeeper. I run this place to the best of my ability. He wouldn’t be without me … and he arrives as we speak.’
She left the room and waited in
the hallway. He came in quietly, put his umbrella in the receptacle and wiped his feet. ‘A long day again, Erica,’ he said. ‘The hospital was exceedingly busy. I spent an hour at Dorothy Wynn’s bedside.’
‘I thought she would have passed away by now.’
‘She’s hanging on. Tough old soul. Some of her family were there, gossiping as usual. The vultures are waiting to descend. Sad. We’ve been friends for thirty years, Dorothy and I.’
‘Almost a lifetime … Before you go to your study I must tell you we have a visitor, a young lady. She’s looking for guidance. She says there is an evil presence in her home.’
‘What have you said to her?’
‘That you may offer prayer.’
‘You do realise, of course, how busy I am? She will have to come back when I can spare the time.’
‘She has nowhere to go.’
‘She has a home.’
‘A home she fears. We can’t allow her to suffer.’
‘I’m telling you to resist the temptation to offer shelter under my roof.’
‘Stop waving your finger at me, Edward. She is staying with us for a short duration whether you like it or not.’
‘We have been in this situation before, haven’t we? Please, my dear child, don’t bring shame upon yourself.’
Erica walked towards the kitchen, paused and turned around. ‘Steak pudding, chips and gravy for tea. Good enough?’
He gave a defeated shrug. ‘You’re a sinful woman, Erica – beyond redemption.’
Chapter Twenty
Edward Sloane got out of bed after a poor night’s sleep. He washed, dressed and ran a comb through his lank hair. He adjusted his black rim glasses and inspected his smooth chin. It hadn’t seen a razor for over a week. That pleased him.
He walked along the landing, careful not to make a noise. Erica’s bedroom door was ajar. He peeked inside, saw turned-down bedsheets. He caught a whiff of the fresh flowers positioned close to the bay window. A good start to the day. As it should be. He crept over to the bedroom opposite. The door, usually left open, was shut. No sound from within. He sighed and said, ‘And so it begins.’
Erica was in the kitchen, a folded newspaper in one hand, a mug of strong coffee in the other. ‘You’re up early, Edward. It’s obvious you’ve haven’t slept so good.’
He dragged a chair from under the table, glanced at the letters waiting for his attention. He sipped tea, nibbled toast.
‘Is your toast suitably cold?’ Erica asked, looking over the top of her reading glasses.
‘It is … Is there anything urgent in my correspondence?’
‘You have another meeting to attend with the chair of governors.’
‘Is that all?’
‘The roof on the church hall is still leaking. Your parishioners are complaining. Community officers are considering the recent vandalism in the churchyard. I can deal with most of it. Perhaps you ought to read them first.’
‘Never ending, isn’t it?’ Well, I shall be busy until tea time. I have emails to reply to and the weekly circular to send to my congregation.’
‘Don’t forget the parish magazine article you wrote. The editor should have received it by now … Did you hear what I said, Edward?’
‘The magazine … Yes, I shan’t forget.’
He munched toast.
‘I wish you wouldn’t make that disgusting noise,’ Erica said, with a cigarette hanging from her mouth.
‘And I wish you would stop smoking. Why do you do it? You know it’s bad for your health.’
‘Drinking too much brandy is bad for your health. By the way, Reverend Ollerenshaw is retiring soon. Have you forgotten?’
He drummed his long fingers on the table. ‘Oh, of course.’ He threw his head back, laughed quietly and said, ‘The retirement celebration.’
‘I thought he would have hung up his cassock years ago.’
‘It’s such a tedious drive to his place. I could easily make an excuse.’
‘I’m sure he would be delighted to see you. He helped you when you were a young curate. Don’t let him and the others down.’
‘Oh, if I must … We will have to set off early. He doesn’t appreciate tardiness.’
‘We? Don’t think for one minute you are dragging me along with you. I’m looking after our guest.’
Edward struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘She is a stranger to us. Where is she from? What is her medical history? Am I supposed to sprinkle holy water over her and give her a crucifix to wear?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. All I’m asking –’
‘I will approach this situation when I have the time and in a manner that befits my vocation. The Church of England has guidelines in such matters. We have to work in close cooperation with medically trained professionals.’
‘Calm down Edward or you’ll blow a blood vessel. You are a man of God. Everybody listens to you.’
‘Why should anyone listen to you? You don’t even believe in God.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Erica, there’s a big overlap between the psychological and the spiritual. This young lady may require psychiatric evaluation.’
He shot up from his chair, his cheeks flushed with agitation.
‘See what a tizzy you’re in, so you are. The girl needs loving kindness and nothing else.’
‘Have it your way. I’ll go to Stanley’s retirement celebration – alone.’
He stormed out of the room. Erica smirked and blew smoke rings.
***
Kim awoke at nine o’ clock. She sat next to the window overlooking Carville Road. Everything was quiet below stairs. The notion of Erica being elsewhere instilled a feeling of unease. She struggled out of the chair, her face contorted from aching legs and arms. She sat again, took deep, steady breaths and imagined the worst scenario. Was she at the vicarage, or somewhere else? Had she been abducted?
Without any prompting, ‘Faces in a Mirror’ played inside her head, but it wasn’t Linda Miles’ distinctive voice. His voice was loud, clear. She shuddered. He had inhabited her body, snatched her soul. During a lucid moment she fought the temptation to acknowledge merciless retribution and its ultimate outcome. She sighed and narrowed her attention on Gill’s flat. Did Gill know she was staying at the vicarage? She kept her position at the window. Eventually, the door of the flat opened. Kim tensed. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead. Fear. Hot and sticky. A man and woman, wearing dark clothes, stepped onto the pavement. Their jackets were identical and embroidered with official-looking logos. She let out an involuntary shriek and retreated from the window.
Erica came into the room and embraced her. ‘What’s frightened you?’
‘I saw them leaving the house on the corner. They are spying on me.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘My neighbours – Lauren and Stuart.’
***
The black BMW circled the roundabout twice. The driver checked his mirror, clocked the car following them. Jay’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. Tension raced along his spine, fuelling his determination to end the pursuit. An overwhelming quest for answers superseded his stupidity.
The driver took him on a tour of the town’s side roads, riding kerbs and narrowly missing parked vehicles. Jay had been down the same road three times and kept on his tail, trying to push him into panic mode. Maybe he was hoping the Polo would run out of fuel or crash into another vehicle. Jay kept a safe distance and had the advantage of having a smaller car capable of swift manoeuvres. He burned rubber for twenty minutes until the BMW slowed down to a safe speed and headed away from the built-up area. Fields and trees were visible in the half-light of a dying sun. The car decelerated again. Jay drove closer, clocked at least two people inside. The driver took a sharp left. The long road sliced through a sprawling industrial estate. Grey warehouses stood side by side. Transport lorries were huddled together for the night. Jay spotted Eckart’s Steel Fabrications and had an idea of his location.
Wherever they were going, he would soon find out. Bushes and waste ground strangled the road, now a mere dirt track. The brake lights came on. The BMW stopped. Dead end.
Jay jumped out of the Polo, pulled his shoulders back to look tough, even though he was shitting himself. The BMW engine stopped purring. An ominous silence surrounded them. The bald-headed driver emerged, all six feet six inches of him. Flat nose. Square chin. A short-sleeved, white T-shirt resembling a second skin stretched over ferocious muscles. He was joined by two men, smaller replicas of Square Chin. Menacing, nonetheless. One of them yanked a chain attached to a one-eyed Staffy that looked like it had been mauled by a tiger. Square Chin confronted Jay. ‘Show me your hands,’ he said. Jay obeyed, hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremble. ‘You carrying a gun?’
‘No. I’m only –’
‘Shut up.’
Jay was frisked. Staffy Man poked his head inside the Polo. ‘No wires or anything. Nothing to bother us, boss.’
‘You’re not a copper, then? Training to be the next James Bond, are you?’ Square Chin said. ‘You have a death wish, following us out here.’
‘I have nothing to do with the law. The reason why –’
‘Listen up, mister. This little doggy is our pal. He means a lot to us. He protects us when idiots like you step out of line or come clever. His name is Butcher. He won’t harm you at all. I wouldn’t be needing his assistance anyway, if you get my drift … He’s hungry, hasn’t been fed for days. One of his favourite snacks is human bollocks … I only need say the word and we can stand here and watch him rip you to pieces. Got it?’
‘I understand.’
‘You seem to be a reasonable sort of bloke so we’ll go easy on you for the time being. Why the chase? Why risk your life?’
Butcher sniffed around Jay’s ankles. He froze. ‘Please, move the dog away from me.’
Square Chin nodded at Staffy Man who dragged the beast back to the car. Jay blew a long, thankful breath of relief. ‘Let me explain. I’m trying to find out if my daughter has been visiting someone who lives in Albion Street.’
‘You’ve been chasing us all over the place because of your daughter? You’re lying. You won’t be driving home tonight. Not with broken legs, and minus your bollocks.’
All Your Fears Page 14
