“I ended up inside. That was where I met Laban. He belonged to a charity that visited prisoners. He told me about the Light, I gave up booze and until this day I’ve never touched a drop. I got parole for good behaviour, but when I got out, Keiran’s family vowed to get me. Laban brought me to Carbister where I would be safe. I prayed, I studied and bit by bit it all made sense. Everyone has a destiny. I am the Servant. I am a path to the Light. But drink clouded my judgement and I mistook Kieran. His death was not a mistake. Oh no. He is now one of the band of Angels. He is with the Light. His Light shines on me. He has reached his Perfection, and I was the means to that end. Rendall spoke those words to me. He said it was meant to be. But I mistook Keiran. I mistook him. I mistook him for you. I can see that now.”
“I’m not Keiran,” I said. “Fletch, listen, I’m just me. Joe. I’m not a Perfect.”
He ignored me and continued. “I came to Lower Fold and Laban gave me a job to do. My task is to obey orders, to be the Servant. I obeyed orders. I owed the White Ones my life, I owed Laban my life. I was glad to do what I was told. I was glad to be able to study. I learned the Light is the Sun, and the Sun is a Circle. We start where we began. I started with Keiran, and I end with you. My destiny is to serve you, Joe. You know everything now. May there never be a secret between us.”
He finished talking, slipped off the bed, and got to his knees and embraced my ankles. I saw his head below me, the dandruff in his hair, his scalp beneath it. I saw the throb of an artery by his ear. I was paralysed. I had to defuse the situation, normalise it.
“OK, OK,” I said. “Get up. Have some more water. Drink as much as you can. I don’t want you to have a hangover in the morning.”
Fletcher got up. He finished his water.
“I’m tired,” he said.
I told him to sleep and he got into my bed with his clothes on. Soon he was snoring.
When I sat down again I found I was trembling. My thoughts were a jumble. I knew I had to decide what to do next, but fear immobilised me. Everything I had seen and heard that evening jostled in my mind, clamouring for attention. Fletcher had killed a man. He wasn’t safe to be around. And in me he thought he had this Keiran all over again. Keiran McDermott. His name was on the memorial board. Along with others, all young men. And who were Anil and Simon?
Rendall. He was mad too. Or just a hypocrite, swilling whisky, creating fictions but pretending they were all true. The White Ones were dangerous and I’d been taken in. I’d brought this on myself.
Fletcher. He killed a man because he loved a woman, like I loved Bea. Then, for the first time, I thought how could I have been so stupid? I only had Fletcher’s word for the fact that Bea had left me. What if Bea hadn’t left me? What if Fletcher had been lying? As everyone else was lying: Rendall, Kate, Auriel – no, not Auriel. All she had told me was true.
Anil Khatri. Simon McConnell. What if they were the other Potentials? What if they hadn’t managed the SD? Like Nick. My skin pricked with fear.
So now what do I do? Run? I weighed up my chances. Assuming I could take some things and go, would they be watching me? Almost certainly, yes. If they had been willing to risk my death under SD, they’d be prepared to stop me running, by any methods. If I escaped, they’d know I’d blow the whistle on them. They’d be watching me for sure. I thought of Laban then. He said to meet him in the morning. I didn’t like Laban and yet now my instinct told me he was the only one who wasn’t entirely brainwashed. I knew he didn’t believe any of that pack of lies, the Book, the Commentaries – all that rubbish. Laban saw through it, I was sure. He might represent my only chance of getting out of this mess.
I looked at Fletcher again. I didn’t understand how I could have trusted him. I didn’t understand how I had taught myself to believe half the stuff I did believe. I realised how powerful the human mind was, how it could create reality. I prayed that one day I would have the time to unravel the whole mess and work out how this had happened to me. Now what I had to do was get away. I couldn’t afford to allow any weak thoughts in. If the White Ones had taught me anything, it was how to endure – a lesson that would come in useful now.
But the pain deep inside, the one made by Bea’s going, that had stopped aching. I felt certain again she hadn’t abandoned me. For all I knew, she could have left to rescue me. I even smiled then. The idea of a girl rescuing a bloke, a real role-reversal. The smile went. I had to acknowledge I was in serious danger now, but a part of me couldn’t actually take that on board, couldn’t believe that I could die like the others. Maybe that was my sixth sense, or just naïvety. Maybe no one ever believes they’re going to die, else how could you go to war? But worst of all are the people who know they are going to die and want to, because they believe something better is waiting for them on the other side. They’re the most dangerous of all.
Funny how clear my head was then. I told myself I needed to rest. I lay on Fletcher’s bed, my hands folded under my head, trying not to inhale the stink of whisky. I watched the ceiling of the Portakabin change shade as the dawn came. A lurid procession of images peopled my mind, Nick, Auriel’s face, Manchester city centre, the Gathering Place, my home, my mum and dad. And Bea. I think I must have drifted off because I remember waking instantly when I heard Fletcher mutter in his sleep.
It was light now, and I was gripped by a feverish energy.
This was the day when I was going to get out of here.
22.
Bea’s Story
Joe’s parents picked me up from Beverley’s house at nine o’clock in the morning. Apart from a grim look on his dad’s face, you wouldn’t have guessed what we were going to do. His mum was quite chatty, saying how Gemma had kicked up a fuss and wanted to come with us, or at least have the day off school. They didn’t relent and dropped her off as usual.
I couldn’t have done what Joe’s mum did – just chat about this and that, comment on the weather and suchlike. It’s a thing older people do, pretend everything is all right when it isn’t. It’s quite brave, when you come to think of it. Joe’s dad said we were going to insist on seeing Joe, and if they refused us permission, then we’d get the police. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
As for me, I was terrified and excited all at once. I wanted to see Joe so badly but the prospect of facing Kate and Fletcher again made my stomach somersault. I don’t know if I could have gone there again if it wasn’t for having Joe’s parents with me.
We were all silent as we approached the rutted track that led to the farm.
“It’s a dump,” Joe’s dad said.
Seeing it through his eyes, I realised that it was. Now it made me think of concentration camps. When we arrived we all got out of the car and Joe’s dad knocked on the door. Will answered.
“Bea!” he said. He was clearly surprised and confused. He glanced at Joe’s parents and then back at me.
“I want to see Joe,” I said.
“That’s not going to be possible,” he replied, flushing.
“And why is that?” Joe’s dad demanded.
“Well, basically, he’s not here.”
I didn’t believe him for one minute. A fury possessed me and I pushed my way past him. I looked in the Reading Room, the kitchen, the Gathering Place, I ran out to the dormitory shouting his name. Soon a group of White Ones surrounded me. One was Kate. She grabbed me.
“Bea!” she cried. “You’ve come back to us. Thanks to the Light!” Then she saw Joe’s parents, and her hands, which had been holding mine, fell to her side.
“We’ve come to see Joe,” I said.
“He’s not here.”
“I want to see for myself.”
She stood to one side. I took Joe’s parents to the dormitory – Joe wasn’t there. I looked around the allotments, peered into the new chapel. We went back inside. I climbed the stairs to Fletcher’s room, knocked, entered and saw it was empty. The bed was stripped. The air was cold and the room smelt of emptiness. Kate was behind me.
> “Where’s Fletcher?” I asked.
“Gone. With Joe,” she said. “To achieve his Perfection.”
“Gone where?” asked Joe’s mum.
I supplied the answer. “To Orkney.” Briefly, I filled them in on Fletcher’s conviction that Joe was a Perfect, and that I was certain now that Kate and Will were telling the truth. Joe himself had told me about the projected trip to Orkney.
“Joe being Perfect? I’d laugh,” said Joe’s dad, “if it wasn’t so bloody serious.”
I begged Kate to tell me where in Orkney they were. Carbister, she replied. None of us had heard of it and Kate herself had never been there. Nor, apparently, had Will. There was no way of contacting them by telephone, they said, and swore the number was ex-directory. That struck me as the truth. They didn’t know how long Joe and Fletcher had gone for, nor when they were coming back. We had a drawn a blank.
I asked Joe’s parents if we could go back to the car. I hated being back on the farm. It made me feel as if I couldn’t breathe. They agreed and we sat there, trying to formulate a plan.
Joe’s mum thought of ringing the police in Orkney, or maybe a local church. I knew what I thought we should do, and when Joe’s dad suggested that very thing, I was relieved.
“We’ll go to Orkney ourselves,” he said.
It was decided. But nothing is ever that simple. Joe’s mum pointed out that there was Gemma – she couldn’t come with us, and we would have to wait until we saw her after school. Then there was the awkwardness about me. I offered to stay with Gemma as I could hardly expect the Woods to pay for me to go. Joe’s mum asked me if I wanted to go, I said I didn’t, but I think I must have been unconvincing. Joe’s dad said they would take me, and that was the end of it.
The next twenty-four hours crawled by. Joe’s parents were busy getting the tickets, making arrangements for Gemma to stay with her friend Vicky and sorting things out at their workplaces. I was with Beverley, talking to her about my hopes and fears. I couldn’t imagine that Joe had gone there willingly, not after what he said to me that night in Manchester. Beverley said she wasn’t so sure. That made me scared he’d changed his mind about leaving the White Ones. Only that was better than thinking he was in danger. I couldn’t find anything to think that made me feel better. Waiting was sheer torment.
Joe’s parents came to collect me early Wednesday morning. I wanted to pray that we would find Joe safe, but I discovered I didn’t know who to pray to any more. Beverley was a churchgoer and she said Jesus was probably as good as anyone. It made me smile, the way she was so casual about him. And then I thought, maybe that was how you had to be about religion, not take it too seriously.
It was such a relief as the plane gathered speed on the runway and lifted with a rush into the waiting blue sky.
23.
I got out of bed as quietly as I could, hoping not to disturb Fletcher. In a few moments I was out of the Portakabin and in the stinging cold air of the Orkney morning. I was glad of it as it woke me fully. It was a clear day with just fingers of cloud streaking the sky. I looked around me and saw the main bungalow with its white roof, some other Portakabins, a building that looked like a garage, and the Croft – the chapel where Laban said he would be waiting for me. I could see now that all around the grounds of Carbister was a high wall topped with barbed wire. It was lucky I didn’t try to escape last night. However, beyond the Portakabin where I slept, there was no wall, but what seemed to be a drop, and in the distance was the sea, curving to the horizon.
Then I was aware of movement. People were making their way to the Croft for the Morning Service. It seemed wise to join them. Within a few moments I was out of the cold and in the slightly less cold chapel. Men gave me curious glances, and some nodded. Laban was among them. In fact it was him who went out to the front and started conducting the familiar Service in his faint Scottish accent. I knew the routine and the responses by heart.
I counted five other men there apart from me. Rendall was not among them. Presumably the Morning Service was too early for him – it was something else he no longer had any need for. Jacob was absent too. The Croft felt damp and smelt of mould. Laban intoned the Service perfectly, never missed a beat. I looked at him from time to time but he was not giving anything away. I wondered how much I ought to trust him. I certainly wasn’t going to beg him for help – one thing I’d learnt was to be far more sparing of my faith. But I wanted to hear what he had to say to me and find out whether I could use it to my advantage.
We greeted each other as we left the Service. I noticed Laban had stayed behind to collect the service books. I offered my help, which he accepted. When we were alone, Laban went to sit at the foot of the dais where the lectern was placed. I joined him.
“How’s your friend this morning?” he asked me, with dry amusement.
“He’s not up yet,” I said.
“Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”
“If you knew that,” I countered, “why did you give him a bottle of whisky?”
“You’ve got me there,” Laban said.
In other words, he wasn’t going to tell me.
There was silence. Laban was a powerfully built man, all muscle. His hair was thinning and cut close to his head. His skin was rough, pitted with craters from acne. He was an ugly bloke, not the sort I’d normally have anything to do with. He didn’t look like a typical White One, either.
“What’s your position here?” I asked him. I knew very little about him.
“There are no positions as such at Carbister. There’s Rendall, and there’s the rest of us. I manage things, if you like. See to the running of the place, the provisions, the finance, all those mundane, worldly affairs that take care of themselves if you believe in the Light.”
“But you believe in the Light?”
“Of course! Every bit as much as you do.” His voice dripped with cynicism. “But I forget myself. You’re a Perfect, Joe. An Immortal.”
“I’m not,” I said.
He gave me a sharp glance, then turned away and spoke the rest of his words into the distance.
“Silly boy. Tell them you’re a Perfect. Then you can stay here and flatter Rendall like the rest of them do. And in time he’ll pass everything on to you. You’ve got it made. The idiots here will do your every bidding.”
“If you feel like that,” I asked him, “why haven’t you left?”
“How much do you know about Carbister?” he asked. I told him, very little. “Let me fill you in,” Laban said. “But I’ll have to start at the beginning.”
“It was the late 1960s. Three students came to Stromness for their Easter vac, typical upper-class Oxbridge sorts. Colin Rendall, Matthew Chalmers and Trevor Norrington-Smith. They told their families they hired the cottage up here to start revising for their exams. Well, if you believe that, you’ll believe anything. They’d stashed away enough dope and LSD to take them to eternity and back. Which was, come to think of it, what happened. One night all three of them get high as kites on acid and take the boat out for a midnight row. It’s not hard to guess what happens next. The boat capsizes. Chalmers and Norrington-Smith drown, Rendall splashes about, and is just going down for the final time when my grandad picks him up.”
“Your grandad?”
“Angus Middleton. It was one of his boats they nicked. He was after them. He got Rendall back to the shore and resuscitated him, called the ambulance etcetera, but lost the boat. The other bodies were recovered later. The official story was that no one was to blame – it turns out Rendall’s father was a local magistrate. But I know who my money is on.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Rendall’s always been able to twist the truth to serve himself, and he can talk the hind legs off a donkey. I was only a kid when the accident happened, but I can still remember the day he came to our cottage with his parents to thank us – I thought he was a member of the royal family, he was so bloody gracious. One slight omission – he forgot to recompe
nse us for the loss of the boat. My granddad was loath to mention it as it seemed mean under the circumstances.
“Then, about eight years later, Rendall turns up again. We found him walking along the shore with some more mates, more impressionable young men, saying, this is where it happened, this is where I had the revelation.”
“Where he had his near-death experience and saw the angels.”
“That very one. So they all fall to their knees and start praying. They couldn’t see me and my mates. Lucky, as we were killing ourselves laughing. Then Viking ran over barking and broke up the prayer meeting. I went over and apologised about the dog, and Rendall said it didn’t matter, there was meaning in everything. Rendall told me they were looking for some property to buy or rent, and could I help him. I said I couldn’t – I knew nothing about property then. I’d only just left school, earning what I could through casual labour, waiting for the day when I could leave the bloody island.
“He didn’t settle in Stromness. He found a house in Kirkwall and his friends came and stayed with him. I got curious about them. The rumour was they were starting a new religion – we’re used to nutters like that up here. But I noticed how more and more people turned up, and I began to think, this is interesting, maybe there’s something in this for me.
“Then Rendall came into some money when his parents died. That decided me. I was out of work again and asked if I could join them. Rendall was keen on me coming on board, very keen. I even wondered if he was a queer, but when I saw the women leave his quarters early in the morning, I changed my mind about that.
“I played along. I flattered Rendall and managed his affairs. Despite all his learning he’s wet round the ears when it comes to finance. He needs me. Carbister grew and grew. I was astonished at how simple some people are, how easily they believe utter rubbish, as long as it sounds good. I’ve worked here since then, either travelling and recruiting, or looking after things on the estate. You might say I’m Rendall’s right-hand man, except he doesn’t know it.”
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