“He doesn’t know it?”
“No. Which is why he’s got this crazy idea of finding a successor who’s a Perfect. It’s his way of cutting me out. By rights, I should be the next in line. This place would collapse if it wasn’t for me. The men look up to me here. They do what I tell them. I can make it work. I’ve put my life into this place.”
“Listen, Laban. You can have it all. The last thing I want is to stay here. I’m not a Perfect. I just want to go home.”
“The others weren’t like you,” he mused.
“What happened to them?”
“They’ve gone to join the Light,” he said. “They live at peace in the kingdom of eternal refulgence.”
“You mean they’re dead?”
“Couldn’t manage the full SD. One blacked out and his heart stopped beating. The other was sick with fear and choked on his own vomit.”
“But how can Rendall let that happen? What about their families?”
“Khatri’s family is in India. McConnell was more of a problem. We said he ran away and we showed them an empty boat. Even the police agreed his body could be anywhere.”
What chilled me was the matter-of-fact way Laban was talking. Life seemed cheap to him. By extension, my life would be cheap too.
“Is Rendall aware these boys died?” I asked.
“Died? Come on – you mean Elevated. They’re in a better place. Rendall actually believes all the rubbish he spews out. When he was younger he used to be quite impressive. I could see why so many people flocked to him. Even I, for a time… He’d look at you like you were his long-lost son. He could even read a shopping list and make it sound like gospel. But now, he’s a spent force, a wreck. His health’s not so good – prostate trouble, I believe. Unless he hands over the reins soon, the White Ones will collapse.”
I had heard enough. If all Laban had said was true, it would be in his interest to let me go. I decided to take a risk.
“Can you help me escape?” I asked. “As soon as possible?”
He thought for a while.
“Not so easy. Rendall’s interest in you means they’ll all be watching you constantly.” He took a deep breath. “Not to mention lover boy – sorry – Fletcher. But what about this? Say you agree to take on the SD, play along with them. I’ll stay with you. Fletcher might not like that, but if I was to mention his little escapade last night, that will put paid to him as far as Rendall’s concerned. Then, when the time is right, I’ll untie you and get you away. I’ll let Jacob in on this – I know he can be trusted. Simple bloke, not much between the ears, I’m afraid. Your best bet is to take a boat from the jetty. We have our own landing place beyond the Portakabins. Can you row?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then row for dear life. If you go down the coast you can get to the village. I’ll give you some money and arrange for someone to pick up the boat. Then you can get the early morning bus on the main road. What do you think?”
“Are there any other ways I can get out?”
“No.”
It was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I honestly didn’t know if I could trust Laban or not. I could see what he had to gain from getting rid of me – leadership of the White Ones. I could also see that my death might not profit anyone – my family didn’t live in India, and one more death in Carbister would be extremely suspicious. Laban’s best hope was in assisting me to escape. And yet. And yet. Why was he so keen to help me? Why did it all seem so easy?
I couldn’t answer those questions. My other doubt was whether I could bear to even commence full SD. The prospect was terrifying.
“What if I can’t even manage ten minutes of SD?”
“You will. It’ll be me fitting your shroud. There’ll be space for you to breathe.”
“Are you sure you’ll be in attendance?”
“I give you my word. So will you do it?”
It didn’t seem as if I had any other choice. Suddenly I was overcome with tiredness and a kind of despair. The whole thing was impossible. I was weak anyway. I had to undergo the SD whatever happened, and then row in the middle of the night on the open sea, when the last time I had rowed was on a boating lake in Heaton Park! Just then I felt as if it was all beyond me. But still I said, “I’ll try.”
“You’ll need some rest,” Laban said. “We’ll clear Fletcher out of your quarters and get you some shuteye.”
I was truly grateful for that.
24.
Bea’s Story
We had to change planes at Edinburgh. That was when the first piece of bad luck hit us. The connection to Kirkwall was delayed. It triggered the feeling in me that fate was against us and that Joe must be in some kind of trouble. Joe’s mum tried to calm me down, but I reasoned the two of us had been so close, I could tune into him and I was certain something was wrong. Meanwhile Joe’s dad was pacing up and down, up and down, looking out of the windows of the departure lounge as if he could make the plane materialise by force of will alone. We didn’t get to Kirkwall until six-thirty in the evening.
Joe’s dad had booked us a hotel so we went there first, but none of us wanted to lose any time in finding Joe. I knew that the White Ones’ headquarters were at Carbister so we began by asking the receptionist where that was. Not far, she said, smiling. She directed us out of Kirkwall, to a farmhouse on the coast about seven miles away. We didn’t even stop to have dinner but drove straight there in the hired car Joe’s dad had arranged yesterday.
The receptionist gave us the name of the village the farm was close to and we found that easily enough. Now my earlier fear changed into excitement, a feverish excitement. The farmhouse was exactly where the receptionist said it would be, standing back from the road, painted pale blue with a collection of windmills in the front.
When I saw it I began to wonder, why the windmills? They didn’t go with White One philosophy. The farmhouse looked well-maintained and inviting. I think I hoped this was Carbister because, if it was, then Joe was quite obviously safe. No harm could come to you in a place like that. We all three left the car and Joe’s mum knocked on the front door.
It was opened by a small, neat elderly woman. I knew then we were in the wrong place. But Joe’s dad asked anyway, explaining he was looking for his son, Joe Woods. The lady looked baffled, and called for her husband. We lost valuable time in apologising for being in the wrong place and disturbing them. They were slow people – slow in the way they talked, I mean. They chewed over everything we said. The old man stroked his chin.
“Carbister is quite a common name in these parts. There’s been the odd time we’ve had letters misdirected. Let me see if I can remember. About six months ago. Yes, a letter came and the handwriting wasn’t clear. The postman brought it here thinking it might be for me, but I could see immediately it wasn’t. The name on the envelope began with Ren-something – I’m Graeme McDonald – and it read Carbister, near Finstown. Other end of the island, that is. To tell you the truth, I was surprised the postman—”
“How do you get there?” Joe’s dad interrupted.
“Aye, well, you’d be better going back into Kirkwall and follow the coast round – what’s the name of the road, Bessie? Take the road that goes to Tingwall. That should get you there. Aye, that’s the one. The postman took the letter back to the post office – young man, new to the job. I hope it arrived safely. You might like to…”
We explained were in a big hurry and thanked him for his help. Once back in the car we pored over the map we had of the island. We found Tingwall and Joe’s dad revved up the car engine.
But all the time the sense I had that Joe was in danger grew and grew.
25.
When we got back to the Portakabin Fletcher was dressed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, which he had made with blankets tucked in tightly, army style. His face was white. His eyes locked with Laban’s.
Laban broke into the silence. “We need to speak, Fletcher, about a multitude of things.”
Fletcher jumped to his feet. I noticed that he must have cleared away the whisky bottle although there was still the aroma of alcohol in the air.
“Joe needs to rest,” Laban continued.
Now Fletcher looked at me pleadingly. I found it hard to meet his eyes – I was scared of him, sickened by him, and yet had to acknowledge his devotion to me. It was with massive relief that I watched him leave the Portakabin with Laban. I locked the door from the inside and got on to a bed.
There was no way sleep would come. I kept replaying everything Laban had told me, and decided that it all made sense. Rendall was a con artist. Or, he had persuaded himself of the absolute veracity of his near-death experience to absolve his guilt for the accident. If his friends were still alive somewhere, then he was innocent. If his friends were in a better place, then he wasn’t just free of blame, but had done something good, something praiseworthy. His self-conviction was clearly so strong others had come under its spell. Even me, I was part of that chain.
For nine months I had believed in the Light. Now my belief had been savagely ripped from me there was a gaping chasm. I was facing the fact that my religion – that all religions – might be wish fulfilment and self-delusion. I didn’t want to think that. Then it struck me that what mattered wasn’t what someone believed or didn’t believe, but how they lived. How you treat other people is more important than how you treat yourself, or even puzzling out the meaning of life. You make your own meaning. By what you choose to do.
I could feel my thoughts going round in circles and knew that was a precursor to sleep. I wanted the oblivion of sleep. I knew it would make me feel better. I turned on to my side, foetal position, and tried to visualise my bedroom back home. It wouldn’t come into view.
I woke after a dreamless sleep and couldn’t move for a while. I lay there, recalling all I had learned and what was ahead for me. I knew that the one thing I couldn’t afford to do now was have any doubt. I told myself it was in Laban’s interests to let me escape, which meant he would make sure I survived the SD. Also he wouldn’t have suggested me rowing to safety if he didn’t know it was possible. He wanted me off the island. My freedom would profit him more than my death.
There was a rap at the door and I heard Laban’s voice calling me softly
“I’m up,” I said, getting off the bed to let him in.
His eyes roved round the Portakabin, and then settled on me.
“Rendall’s decided to start your full SD tonight,” he said.
A surge of nausea almost overwhelmed me.
“There’ll be a feast first. Take my advice, eat little and drink water sparingly. That was where McConnell went wrong. I’ll stay with you and when it’s safe, I’ll let you go. One thing you must promise me. When you get out, say nothing about Carbister except we’re a bunch of deluded freaks. Nothing else. Say nothing of what you’ve seen here. If you do, I’ll know. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I said.
“Good.” His tone changed from menacing to affable.
“And now I’ll take you for a walk to freshen up. You might like to see the landing place where the boat will be, as you’ll have to find it yourself in the dark.”
I agreed, and in a few moments we were out of the Portakabin and into the grounds of Carbister. I could tell by the light in the sky it was late afternoon. Not many people were about.
“How’s Fletcher?” I asked Laban.
“I took him to Rendall. He’s doing double ASD as a penance for his drunkenness. Rendall wasn’t best pleased. Men hate worst of all to see their own sins in others. You needn’t worry about Fletcher.”
Laban took me beyond the Portakabins towards some rough scrubby land that sloped downwards. There was a track that led down towards the shoreline. We walked about 200 yards or so until we had a clear view of the coast. There was the landing place – a fairly large, well maintained jetty with several boats tied to it. I wondered what they were used for. Did the White Ones at Carbister row for exercise? Or pleasure? Or even fish? But I guessed it wouldn’t be wise to ask too many questions.
“Take the smallest boat,” Laban instructed me. “The one at the end on the right.”
“OK.”
I was beginning to feel more hopeful. The fact Laban had brought me out here testified to the fact he really intended to help me escape. I looked out to the open sea and saw the way the coast curved round.
“Stay within the bay,” Laban warned me, “and head south. There’s a jetty in the village. I’ll leave a torch in the boat. You’ll need it. There’ll be a rucksack with some provisions and cash.”
“Thanks.”
“We’d better head back.” Laban turned and I followed him.
We were greeted when we arrived back by Jacob and a couple of others. I was told I had to prepare myself for the SD by cleansing myself and changing into the clothes Rendall had provided, which were now laid out for me in the bungalow. Once changed, I was to attend the Evening Service, and then be taken to the feast. Laban assented to this.
Rendall greeted me at the door of the bungalow. He pressed me to him. I felt the jut of his stomach and smelt again the aroma of fragrant tobacco. He let me go.
“You are, to me, this night, as a son. The good father, Joseph, nurtures his son, but at the same time prepares to let him go. Letting go is that hardest part. Yet the loving son returns to the father, and I look forward to your return, trailing clouds of glory. Both the Father and the Son will be exalted.”
I would not let myself get drawn into his rhetoric.
Jacob then took me to a large bathroom with a freestanding bath. Someone had filled it. Over a chair were laid some white clothes. I was instructed to change into them once I had cleansed myself. To my relief Jacob left me, and I was alone.
I was quite glad of the bath. It warmed and relaxed me. Lying there, I saw how thin I had become. My legs were pale and sinewy and my stomach almost cavernous. I hoped there was enough strength in my body to carry me through. The bruises on my chest hadn’t yet healed. But men had survived worse than I was about to endure. I wasn’t going to think negatively. Instead, I tried to imagine what would happen once I was out of here. I’d get that bus to the nearest village and the first thing I’d do, I’d phone Mum and Dad. Somehow I’d get off the island, take the ferry back, get a train maybe. Mum and Dad would meet me at the station. I smiled at the thought. And then I would track down Bea. I realised that despite all the terrible things that had happened, and my wish never to have anything to do with the White Ones again, I still wanted Bea. I no longer believed she had turned from me. And yet, when I tried to see her face in my mind, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring her into view. Funny, that.
When the bath had cooled I got out, dried myself and put on the clothes they had left me. White pants and vest, baggy white linen trousers, a white kaftan and a white robe. I thought, how the hell am I going to row in that lot? I hoped Laban had thought to provide me with something warm to wear.
Jacob was waiting for me outside the bathroom. Laban was right – I wasn’t going to be left unattended for one moment. Jacob led me to the Croft for the Service. It was almost a repeat of the previous night, except for two things. It was longer because of the addition of prayers relating to me, and Fletcher wasn’t there. At the end, Jacob and Laban escorted me to the feast.
We entered a large dining room with a long table running down the middle. Everyone was already assembled. Someone lit the candelabras that were positioned at intervals on the table, and then the lights were turned off. Shadows danced on the walls. I was shown a place to the right of Rendall, who was seated at the end of the table.
There were more prayers, and then food was brought in. Not the kind of rank stuff we had at Lower Fold, but a rich beef stew, and there was red wine on the table.
“You must eat and drink,” Rendall said. “It symbolises Contrast. Just as the Light and Dark are separate, Feasting is distinct from Fasting, from full SD. First you must feas
t, then you must fast.”
I nodded. However, I recalled Laban’s advice and asked Rendall for water. He raised his eyebrows and insisted I had at least a sip of wine. I thought it best to do so. Its richness reminded me of earlier times, before the White Ones. The memory heartened me. I played around with my dinner, protesting loss of appetite. Rendall noticed but did not make a fuss. He was happy to orate to me and Laban, but the way he was talking while his mouth was full was gross.
Time passed slowly. I tried to block out thoughts of the forthcoming SD, or rather, think of it as a means to an end – my passport out of here. I guess I was a little hysterical – I was chattier than usual, in the way I remember being before my A2s. Always when I faced some test, I seemed to get high – maybe it was the adrenaline. All well and good, I thought. I needed all the adrenaline I could muster.
I gave up trying to work out what time it was. And then, out of the blue, Rendall rose for the Grace After Meals. Now I felt sick. My earlier bravado drained away. I wondered what would happen if I just ran for it. I glanced at Laban and saw him give me a tight smile. That made me feel a little better.
At the end of Grace everyone present left their seats, came over to me, and muttered a prayer. Fingers were kissed and pressed to my forehead. I told myself, it was like an operation, really. Like going under with anaesthetic. When I was a kid I broke my arm in a game of footie in the park. Dad took me to casualty and I had anaesthetic then. I had to count to twenty but I never got there, and the next second woke up groggily in a hospital bed with Mum by my side.
Rendall, Laban and Jacob led me out of the dining hall, along a corridor and down some steps.
“You must prepare for your immersion,” Rendall said.
We arrived in the basement. It was cold down there. The brick walls had been painted white. In one corner was what looked like a large vat and in another was a bed, and on it was the paraphernalia for my SD, a blindfold, ropes, a shroud. Pure terror took hold of me. I felt sobs rising that I couldn’t suppress. No, I couldn’t go through with it. I was retching, I was going to throw up.
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