The Under Ground (Strong Women Book 4)

by Sarah Till

  Then I heard it. A deep laugh, like treacle. Sort of warm and trickly. I turned quickly. The blind man was pointing his stick at me.

  “Virginia. Virginia Munro?” I looked at him as he laughed. He was huge and lumbering. His skin was a mid-brown type of colour and his hair was grey. “I heard some heels tippety-tapping on the pavement. I thought it might be you. Come and sit. Come on, nothing to be afraid of.”

  I did as I was bidden and sat at the table opposite Lynus. He smiled at me and it took a minute to remember that he couldn’t actually see me.

  “Lovely to meet you, Mr Joyce.”

  I held out my hand and quickly removed it when he didn’t offer his. Why would he? He couldn’t see my limp white hand hanging in the air in front of him.

  “Likewise, Virginia. Please, call my Lynus. Now. Down to business.” Lynus felt round on the bench in front of him and eventually located a leather bag that contained papers. “I have an outline of what we want here. Did Ted explain it to you?”

  “Yes. Well, a little. He told me that you wanted an advertising campaign that would get people to pray more. He told me that some research shows that people respond better if they know they are being prayed for. I did a little research of my own and I’ve already interviewed someone who had backed up that research. So, I was going to focus on a campaign that features illness and how prayer can help people recover.”

  I spoke these words quickly and without breathing. They came completely out of the air as I had no real idea as yet how I would form my campaign. Somehow, I just didn’t want Lynus to know that I hadn’t formulated a plan. He was looking at the papers, as if he was reading them.

  “Well, Virginia, I’m not sure that Ted had explained this properly at all. You see, we’re not really looking for an advertising campaign as such.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “No, I suppose I’m just looking for a way to get the humanist side of prayers over. Not even prayers, really. Wishes. Wants. Desires.” I thought about Martina’s take on praying. I had assumed that Lynus was from a religious organisation. Now I wasn’t so sure. He paused and continued. “You see, we simply want to convey the idea that it’s the intention of what you want that has the effect. What we don’t want is an illusion of always getting what you want, or that prayers and wishes are in some way linked with finance. We are completely self-funded. We don’t expect to make any money out of this at all.”

  If Lynus could have seen me, he would have noted that my mouth hung open and my eyes were wide.

  “Not make any money, Mr Joyce? Lynus. So, what’s the point then? Why are you doing this?”

  Lynus became serious. He leaned on his white stick which rested in a crack in the stone pavement between his legs.

  “To cut a very long story short, everything in this world is down to greed. The stock markets just took a tumble. Why? Because the people at the top, those with all the money, take risks. One way or another there is a loss, but not their own loss. This can’t go on forever, and the gap between rich and poor is getting bigger and bigger. Now those who don’t have are driven crazy by greed and lust. People praying for cars. People wishing for a lottery win. Children complaining because the tooth fairy didn’t bring them ten pounds. We’re re-investing in the re-education of these people. We need hard evidence. We need something convincing. It can’t involve money or material products. It can’t involve something magical, like curing the sick. Let’s face it, we all have to die someday, and no amount of wishing can change that.”

  My mind rushed immediately to my mother’s pale face in her coffin. The whole episode of the visit to the mortuary filled my senses as I remembered the mercenary atmosphere of my children and their father. Even John Baxter’s motives now seemed pecuniary as I remembered our conversation this morning. Lynus had certainly hit a chord. My body shivered momentarily and I frowned.

  “So, Lynus, who do you work for, if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, who is financing this? Surely they want some kind of return for their investment? How will you measure the tangible outcome?”

  Lynus smiled again.

  “Tangible outcome? I don’t know. I expect the world will still turn, people will still be born, live and die, and in between maybe someone will think more about what they wish for.”

  My mind spun around again. The scene was a day in October 1986, when the children had been small. My father had been lifting my mother out of her chair and she was mocking his manhood, alluding to the fact that he could never satisfy her sexually. I had almost hated her at that moment and as I sat glaring at her, my father had caught me mid-loathing.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Virginia.”

  His voice echoed now around my confused world as Lynus looked at me but didn’t see me. He was sorting through the papers and I realised how strange it was that I could watch him so closely and he didn’t know I was reading the papers. Or maybe he did and it didn’t matter. Just like the fact that I hadn’t applied my Dior face powder and lipstick before leaving the office. My mask of confidence. Lynus would have no inkling of whether my face was made up or not. In fact, he had no idea what I looked like. He wasn’t interested in me sexually, how old I was, or what clothes I wore. He was interested in my work. Just an aspect of me. Suddenly I felt a little freer. I relaxed slightly.

  “So, Lynus, what’s the timescale?”

  The man with the cigarettes on the next table left and the craving ceased. The sun appeared from behind a cloud to warm my face. Lynus turned his face upwards to face the warmth.

  “No timescale really. I would like to have something solid before the Christmas rush. But apart from that, no real timescale. We can talk on the phone and meet from time to time, whenever you need to. Keep me up to date through email.”

  “But, can you...?”

  I felt obliged to ask how on earth Lynus would read his email. It was currently rating highly in my ‘questions to ask’ file, just below ‘Do you dream in pictures?’

  “I have a secretary. She reads the important ones out to me. And lets me know about any pictures.”

  I pressed him a little further.

  “What is it you do, Lynus? Who do you work for?”

  “I’m a piano tuner, Virginia. A piano tuner. By trade, of course. That’s how I became involved with the Joseph Emmanuel people. They had some pianos. I tuned them. I worked with them ever since.”

  My mouth turned upwards again. I felt guilty, the day before my mother’s funeral, talking to a blind man, laughing at his job.

  “I googled them. Joseph Emmanuel Organisation. Nothing really came up. Is it a church group? I mean a faith thing.”

  I recoiled at myself for uttering the word ‘thing’ with a client. Lynus laughed.

  “Church? Hell no. We're just a small sort of group of people who like doing things for others. People who normally wouldn't be able to find a job easily, not doing what they want to, anyway.” He spoke through his laugh and I became more relaxed. “Look, at me! I'm an official bona fide blue card holder who could park anywhere if I could see to drive! No one would give me a job because they think there's something wrong with me. I don't tick the boxes, not up to speed, unemployable.” I wondered momentarily if I would employ him in my office and shocked myself with my negative answer. Lynus anticipated my shock without seeing my expression. “There are Braille keyboards. I can type, send emails, read, as long as it's in Braille. The problem lies therein. It's the translation into Braille for me to understand that's the problem. It involves a cost, a cost no one is prepared to outlay. Money. Again. Besides, I wanted a choice like everyone else. I sussed the money thing early on and decided that listening cost nothing. So, I taught myself guitar and played in a blues band for a while. I could tune my guitar, hell, she was my best friend! Someone asked me to tune their piano and I had a go. And so forth. And here I am.”

  I looked at his beaming countenance.

  “Where does Joseph Emmanuel fit in?”

  “Ah, Joseph himself was someon
e who had a wasting disease but had a brilliant mind.”

  “Like Stephen Hawkins?”

  “Yeah, except he was into health, finding cures. A chemist. So, when he met people like me in the course of his work, he headhunted them. I never met him; he passed away twenty years ago. I came to work for them through the demand for grand piano tuning in London. Someone told me there was an ad in the Times for a piano tuner and I applied. I was the only applicant and got the job. Sort of fate, really.”

  Lynus looked proud. He leaned on his stick and nodded his head. I struggled to take in his story and was conscious of the time, but my curious brain wanted to know more.

  “So, how is this connected with prayer? Why does the Joseph Emmanuel Organisation need to know about it?”

  Lynus nodded harder.

  “Well, we work like this: all the folks who are members got the work shared out between them. Obviously, the division is proportional to the skillset.” Lynus sat bolt upright and resembled a sharp businessman. “Our chief executive sets the price for the work, we take a salary and we have a small team who co-ordinates innovation for the background problem. Take me for instance. I am blind, have been from birth. I experienced hardship through that. Joseph Emmanuel Org has a two-point aim: To help me directly to be equal and to help others like me who are suffering. In turn, my aims are similar: to use my chance at a normal life, facilitated by Joseph Emmanuel, to let people know that disadvantaged people can operate in life and to raise funds for others like me through my work. This prayer project is the product of someone who was a member of Joseph Emmanuel and did extremely well in business. The person left a huge chunk of money to the organisation with the condition that it was used for the specific purpose of getting people to realise their personal power.”

  “Who was this person?”

  Lynus smiled now.

  “If I told you that I'd have to kill you! Kidding, kidding. Someone anonymous. Part of the deal was that his or her name is never revealed. A total act of goodwill. Imagine that.”

  Lynus fell silent. Although I knew he expected more questions, I didn't know what to say. My cynicism kicked in and I scanned the horizon of altruism for flaws. I silently admitted to myself that I couldn't imagine that. It was beyond my experience of humankind. My mind lingered on an obviously successful charitable organisation employing an advertising consultant to find out how successful prayer was. The whole scheme soared beyond my idea of tangible and intangible outcomes. How the hell was I going to measure my success or failure? I decided to clarify.

  “So, what exactly do you want me to do? I can write up some ads, sure, but how will I measure the effect? And what sort of outcome are you looking for? What kind of interim measurements?”

  “I don't know, Virginia. You're the expert. If you want a piano tuning, I'm your man. But I'm not sure what will happen with the project. Maybe nothing. Maybe mass hysteria. But you have an unlimited budget to do this. Well, almost unlimited. If you are asking my personal opinion, I think the key to this is in something available completely for free: people. No fancy machines to analyse stuff, no counting – what would you count? Tell them what you want to know and ask them for their opinion. Just everyday people.”

  My mind returned to Martina, who had been more than happy to tell me her thoughts on the matter.

  “So, is it just prayer? You said wishes before.”

  Lynus laughed loudly now.

  “I'm not a church going man myself. I only pray when I really have to, but I sure wish things were different in the world. I wish I could see it, for a start!” I now more desperately wanted to ask him all the questions people wonder about blind people, like, can they imagine what a tree looks like, and are their other senses more developed? I had already monitored my speech for phrases like 'you see' and 'look'. He tapped his stick on the ground and called our meeting to order. “Anyway, Virginia, are you up to it? I understand you have had a bereavement. Your mother, I understand. May I offer my condolences?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Actually, the funeral is tomorrow and I will have to attend to her personal effects, so it may be next week before I get a chance to work on this.”

  Lynus' features softened and he reached over and took my hand.

  “That's fine, Virginia. Take your time. No need to hurry.” I lowered my head and tears finally threatened. The wetness spread over the inside of my eyelids and I swallowed. “So, are the police any nearer finding out what happened?” The tears quickly retreated again and I silently cursed.

  “No. Not that I know of. They seem to have drawn a blank. Actually, I haven't had as much contact with them as I thought I would. In the films they seem to be in constant touch with the family of the victim.”

  “Maybe they are.”

  Lynus offered this and I wondered if, and how he knew about my family situation.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wasn't your mother married? I think I read it in the paper. Perhaps they have made her husband the first point of contact.”

  “Of course. Of course they would. Actually, she lived in a small village and I didn't see her for years. We had a falling out. I expect the police would be more interested in the people who had seen her more recently.”

  Lynus nodded.

  “Yes. I expect they would. I also expect they will find the person who did this. Forensics and CCTV are very accurate these days. It might take a little while, but I expect they will find who did it.”

  “Even if it was an opportunist? Someone who wanted to kill her to take her things. She had some expensive jewellery.”

  “Did they take anything? I read that nothing was taken.”

  I revisited the facts, those facts aside from my catastrophic thoughts.

  “No. Nothing was taken. And she was poisoned. Then stabbed. So probably it wasn’t an opportunist. I expect poisoning would have taken some time.”

  I didn't want to think about the actual circumstances of my mother's death. I had turned my mind away from any suffering and the scene of the crime. Now I had to picture her in the cottage, being poisoned. Lynus saved me with his compassion.

  “Well, Virginia, you can be sure that everyone is doing everything they possibly can to play their part. The person who committed this crime is busy covering it up in some way. The police are conducting their investigations. And you are preparing to say goodbye to your mother. Sad though it is, we all have to pass away some day. It's strange, one of the only things we are sure of, yet we just can't admit it to ourselves. We seem to have a built-in denial system. But for sure, one day your children will be in your situation.”

  I huffed and looked at the trees in the distance of the park. I automatically defaulted to my 'they don't care' thoughts and sighed heavily. I looked at my mobile phone to distract myself. Two thirty. I needed to go.

  “Thanks, Lynus. That was interesting. I have to go and I'm still not much wiser about exactly what you want, but we can speak again.”

  Lynus stood up. His wrinkly brown hand was resting over mine and he felt warm.

  “Of course, Virginia. I’ll call you. Shall we have lunch next Wednesday? We'll meet here and go to the cafe across the road.”

  It occurred to me that Lynus might have expected lunch today and I felt embarrassed. I tensed and he felt it in my grip.

  “What's the matter, Virginia?”

  I suddenly felt like my father was beside me, his concerned voice and expression soothing me.

  “Oh, I just thought perhaps we should have had lunch.”

  Lynus giggled a little.

  “No, I already ate. I just wanted you to know what we needed you to do.”

  “But as I said, I'm not really any the wiser.”

  Lynus tightened his grip.

  “You will be, Virginia. You will be.”

  He let go of my hand and walked down the wide path into the autumn sunshine, his stick moved like a metronome, from side to side, tapping out a rhythm on the sides of the path. I watched as he we
nt a fair distance, then he raised his hand in a wave. I waved back but realised that even if he turned around, he wouldn't see me.

  The realisation I was happy and relaxed made me feel guilty. All the information that Lynus had given me was whirring around in my head. I instinctively liked him but I knew that I had a huge problem with his explanation of the Joseph Emmanuel Organisation. In my youth, I had energetically helped at volunteer organisations such as Oxfam. This was partly to try to balance my karma after having knowingly married a criminal and partly because I genuinely cared. My faith in true altruistic charity came to an end one day in a mini-skip.

  A lady, whose mother had died, had tearfully brought seven bags of clothes to the charity shop I worked in voluntarily every other Saturday, until this point. I had simply arrived at ten, hung up my coat and sold clothes until four. On this particular day, the supervisor had ordered all hands to the sorting room. The woman unloaded her car as I sauntered angelically through to the back room. She had cried as she dumped the bags on the table.

  “I thought you would be able to use these. Most of them are nearly new, especially the shoes. I like the thought of Mum’s things going to Africa to those poor women who are starving and cold at night.”

  My supervisor nodded and donned a sympathetic expression.

  “You can be sure, Mrs McDonald, that every item will be put to good use. We'll sell some here and the rest will go to those poor women.”

  Everyone nodded and Mrs McDonald left.

  We ripped open the black bin liners unceremoniously, and the guts of someone’s life spilled onto the sorting table. Shoes, underwear, clothes, even a pair of slippers and a hairnet. Someone's everyday wear. I had cast a fashionista eye over the evidence and immediately detected the immaculate quality of the labels. Two Dior dresses and a Chanel suit. The anonymous deceased had good taste. The two ladies who rummaged through the remains sorted out the designer labels into one pile and the rest of the clothes into another. Hangers were produced and I shrank away a little as the expensive items were immediately placed in the shop without being laundered. I waited patiently for instructions on how to pack the bundle of less expensive yet still highly wearable clothes.