The Wounded Thorn

by Fay Sampson

  ‘Joan!’ Veronica cried. ‘You’re OK. I couldn’t get you on your phone.’

  ‘If you call this OK.’ As so often, the would-be journalist was close to tears. ‘This was my interview. Then everyone else muscled in. Not that it would have done me any good. I was right there in the High Street yesterday, for heaven’s sake. The first journalist on the scene by miles. And what do I get? A couple of lines in one of the dailies, as if I was just any other passer-by. They just binned the article I wrote myself. A terrorist bomb. Seven people blown up. What more do I have to do?’

  Veronica looked shocked. ‘Joan, dear, those people are dead. I hardly think who gets the credit for reporting it is the most important thing.’

  ‘Maybe not to you.’

  The street was quieting around them. George Marsden, still arguing, was being urged further down the road by the police, followed by his wife. The bishop, the grieving families, the mayor and mayoress, Rupert Honeydew, Sister Mary Magdalene and her schoolgirls had all long since gone.

  Hilary pulled Veronica’s arm. ‘Leave her. She’s not worth bothering with. Let’s restore a bit of sanity and go and find lunch.’

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘I tell you what,’ Hilary said. ‘You may be right about Wells. We don’t have to change hotels, but let’s leave this madhouse behind us and treat ourselves to an afternoon at the cathedral.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Veronica said. ‘That was a lovely service, but that Marsden bigot has left rather a sour taste in the mouth, and as for Joan …’

  ‘I take it your sympathy for our tyro journalist has diminished.’

  ‘If not completely evaporated. I know they have to be single-minded, but there really are limits.’

  They drove northwards away from the Levels through the gently rising hills. After the grief and devastation of Glastonbury, Wells received them with joyful arms.

  ‘I do think it’s such a jolly thing to have a moat round your bishop’s palace.’ Hilary laughed.

  The water sparkled under the grey walls. Visitors were feeding swans. There was even a rowing boat. They crossed over into the cathedral close.

  ‘It really is gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Veronica said happily.

  ‘I like the chapter house best.’

  They climbed the shallow stone steps to the octagonal chamber where the canons of the cathedral had gathered, each in his own seat around the walls, for cathedral business.

  Afterwards, they wandered through the cathedral’s forest of pillars, where masons had used their imaginations to carve foliage and surprising figures.

  ‘There he is!’ Hilary pointed with glee. ‘The man nursing a toothache. And those naughty boys over there are being belaboured by the farmer for scrumping fruit. The Gothic is so much more fun than the classical, don’t you think? Giving craftsmen and women the choice to show what they could do individually, not just repeating the same austere formula by the yard.’

  It was only when they stepped back out into the water-ringed sunshine that the smile faded.

  ‘So the police don’t think the Marsdens did it. Or if they do, they haven’t got enough proof to hold them.’

  ‘Hilary! This was supposed to be an afternoon off.’

  ‘It was meant to be a whole week off when we came to Glastonbury. But something happened to change that and we can’t pretend that it didn’t.’

  ‘It’s almost certain that the bombs were left by someone we’ve never even met and wouldn’t recognize if we saw them.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  There were new arrivals at the Bowes Hotel. A van in the car park bore a logo in a script that Hilary decided was probably Japanese.

  ‘A television crew. You mark my words.’

  The van’s Asian-looking occupants were chatting in the bar.

  ‘So we really are world news.’

  ‘It looks like it.’

  Back in their room, Hilary switched on the early-evening local news. There were shots of the memorial service: the bishop in his mitre, a young friend of one of the dead reading a poem. Nothing about the altercation with George Marsden outside.

  ‘The police have today confirmed earlier reports that they are mounting an armed guard on a young man in a local hospital who was critically injured by the blast. A spokeswoman said that officers are standing by to interview him, but it is not yet certain whether he will recover. Police sources would not reveal the name.’

  ‘Baz!’ Hilary’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘It has to be. So he’s not out of danger yet. I tried ringing the hospital again this morning, but it was as I expected. They wouldn’t release any information to someone who wasn’t family. I don’t even know his second name.

  ‘Even if it is him, we still don’t know why the police are guarding him. It doesn’t have to mean he’s a suspect. You said yourself, he could have vital information.’

  ‘But if it was him …’

  The scene in the immediate aftermath of the explosion came back to Hilary with shattering clarity. The pale young man with his almost-severed leg, herself willing him to cling on to life, the pumping blood, the tourniquet. All for what? She felt sick at the possibility.

  ‘Hilary, I don’t want to worry you, but thinking about that television crew downstairs. If the news has got as far as Japan, there’s a chance that David may have caught up with it in Gaza. You really should switch your phone on more often.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Hilary felt a sinking feeling of dread. She had not wanted to burden David with this. He was facing enough trauma. She had made the children promise not to tell him. Now she switched on her mobile with a feeling of guilt.

  The text message was terse. Ring me. David. And all the more urgent because of that.

  It was both a joy and a chastisement to hear the urgency in his voice. ‘Hilary! Why in heaven’s name didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  Veronica got up with an apologetic finger to her lips and left the room.

  ‘Worry me! For heaven’s sake, woman! What was I supposed to think when I hear there’s been a terrorist attack on Glastonbury, and there’s no message from you?’

  ‘I’m OK, really. Well, that is …’

  It all came tumbling out: their proximity to the explosion, the casualties on the pavement, desperately trying to save Baz’s life. ‘And now they say he’s under police guard in hospital. They must think it’s him. What if all the time I was trying to save his life, he was …?’

  ‘Love,’ David’s voice came gently. ‘What do you think it’s like in Gaza? I may find a militant on the operating table who’s fired a homemade rocket at civilians in a futile attempt to regain his former homeland. Or it may be a child here who was hit in the retaliation. A human life is a human life. You had Baz’s life in your hands, and you did what you had to. What any of us would have done in your place.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It would take some time to decide whether his words really made her feel better.

  ‘But all the more reason you should have rung me straight away. I was going mad here, trying to find out what I could from the kids. When are you going to get past the stage of believing that a mobile phone is just something you carry in your handbag in case the car breaks down and you need to ring the AA? It’s a means of communication, dammit. It’s meant to keep people in touch. Did it have to be the children who told me you’d found another bomb before this one? What have you got yourself into?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, more meekly than was usual for her. ‘I will try to remember to keep it switched on. Only then I have to be sure to charge the dratted thing. We seemed to manage perfectly well before they invented the things.’

  ‘Well, it’s not going to be un-invented. Use it.’

  ‘I will. Look, sorry.’ It was so good to hear his voice, to feel the love disguised as anger. She did not want to let him go. ‘I really should ring off. This call must be costing a week’s pension.’

  ‘Of course. You’re a lad
y of leisure now. I keep forgetting. You’re free to go where you like. Well, all I can say is, leave Glastonbury. If it turns out your Baz is not the bomber, then the real one is still at large. I’d be happier if you were a hundred miles away.’

  ‘Veronica and I have talked about that. I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Make sure you do this time.’

  Their expressions of love sounded trite over the phone. Hilary was not very good at this sort of thing. But she was more comforted than she thought she would be by the knowledge that there was someone who cared so much about her, even if he was halfway round the world.

  She went downstairs and found Veronica in the bar. The younger woman’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Yes and no. I got a fair bollocking from his lordship. I’ve promised I’ll keep my phone switched on in future. But it was good to hear his voice.’

  The words were out before she could stop them. Veronica would never hear Andrew’s voice again.

  ‘I wonder if we should phone her.’ Hilary put down her coffee cup and tapped her fingers on the arm of the leather chair.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Amina. To let her know George Marsden may have unleashed a lynch mob on her. I wish I’d thought of it before.’

  ‘Do you have her number?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then, there’s nothing we can do. Unless you want to tell the police that she may need protection. They know about her, anyway. She was detained in the gift shop at the Chalice Well when they were interviewing potential witnesses.’

  ‘Hmm. Everybody’s always telling me I ought to be more connected. Maybe I will.’

  She hoisted herself out of the chair and strode across to the bar. In the farther corner the Japanese TV crew were enjoying an after-dinner pot of tea.

  ‘Excuse me. I see you’ve got your laptop with you. Would you mind terribly if I borrowed it for a few minutes?’

  The young reporter looked startled, but flashed her a polite smile. ‘Yes. Go ahead.’

  He had to tell her the hotel’s Wi-Fi password and show her how to use it to access the internet. Hilary felt more than ever out of touch with the modern world. It was a relief to see the familiar Google logo come up on the screen.

  She entered ‘Amina Haddad’.

  ‘Bingo!’ As she had expected, there was a flush of results. Amina was an active member of the academic community. Her name came up in association with university projects and published papers.

  ‘Bristol University,’ Hilary said, half to herself.

  She made a note of other researchers working with Amina in the same field.

  ‘There! We should strike gold with at least one of these.’

  She handed the laptop back to its owner with a beaming smile. He bowed his acknowledgement.

  ‘Now it’s down to directory enquiries,’ she said as she returned to Veronica. ‘Keep your fingers crossed.’

  She struck lucky with the first attempt. Professor Robert Hadley, anthropology. She listened to his home number ring.

  ‘Hello. Hilary Masters here. I’m sorry to disturb you outside college hours, but I’m concerned about one of your students. Amina Haddad?’

  ‘Yes. Why? Has something happened to her?’

  ‘Not yet, as far as I know. But I need to warn her. Did you know she was in Glastonbury?’

  ‘No. Well, not exactly. I knew it was on her list for field research, but … My God, the bombing! Don’t say she was caught up in that?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. As far as I’m aware, she was nowhere near it. But, well, you know she’s adopted the burka, and that sort of thing doesn’t go down too well at a time like this. Religious stereotype. Islamic terrorists.’ She tried to suppress the thought that those suspicions might indeed be well founded. ‘Anyway, you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘I do indeed. She ought to get out of there.’

  ‘That’s what I want to tell her. There’s a rather unpleasant character going around stoking up hatred against her in particular. It seems he’s seen her around the town. And at the Chalice Well where the first bomb was found. Do you have her phone number?’

  At first she thought he wasn’t going to tell her.

  ‘I’ll ring her myself. I can see why you’re concerned.’

  ‘I’d like to tell her specifically what was said and by whom.’

  To her relief, Professor Hadley looked up his records and read out the number to her.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll warn her straight away. I just hope I haven’t left it too late.’

  ‘Hang on. I’ve got an address here. One of my other students used it before. I think I recommended it to Amina for when she got around to going to Glastonbury. It’s a guest house. Not too expensive for a research student budget.’

  With growing elation, Hilary copied it down. This was more than she had hoped for.

  ‘Well, thank you, Mrs Masters. It’s good that someone’s concerned about Amina at a time like this. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.’

  ‘Nor would I. Thank you too.’

  She turned to Veronica in triumph, waving her slip of paper.

  ‘There you are. Chick number one located. We’d better check up on her straight away. Fingers crossed. It worries me that George Marsden and his ilk have had most of the day to get ahead of us.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Hilary showed the address to the receptionist, who directed her which way to go. It lay on the other side of town. At the far end of the High Street, they picked up the now-familiar road that skirted the far side of the abbey grounds and led out to the Chalice Well and the Tor. But before long, they turned off it into a residential area of red-brick houses with flower-filled gardens.

  ‘It seems strange,’ Veronica said quietly, ‘after all that’s happened. This could be a suburban road in any English town. Glastonbury has always seemed remarkable in so many ways. So much astonishing Christian history, and now all the New Age stuff. And yet it’s also full of ordinary people, living ordinary lives, just like anywhere else.’

  ‘A little ordinariness wouldn’t come amiss. It’s got too remarkable for comfort just now.’

  ‘This is number forty-seven.’

  Veronica let Hilary go ahead up the narrow path past the blue hydrangea bush to the front door. A sharp-faced woman in spectacles opened it.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for a young woman called Amina Haddad. Is she lodging here?’

  ‘That one! Of course, I knew from the name on the booking she had to be a foreigner. I’m not prejudiced. But when she turned up in that tent-thing they wear, you could have knocked me down with a feather. I was all for shutting the door in her face. But she said I’d agreed to rent her a room, and it was against the law to turn her away because of her religion. Little madam!’

  The whiskered face of her husband appeared behind her, tugging his pullover down over his ample chest.

  ‘It’s all this human rights nonsense. A man’s not boss in his own home. I wouldn’t have given her house room.’

  ‘Not that she wasn’t a quiet enough tenant. No bother. Only thing, she wouldn’t eat downstairs with the others. She used to take her meals up to her room on a tray.’

  ‘Beats me how they can eat at all with that ruddy great blanket over them.’

  ‘I expect she takes it off in private,’ Hilary said. ‘But you talk about her in the past. Isn’t she staying here now?’

  ‘She is and she isn’t, as you might say. Her stuff’s still here, but she’s scarpered. Went out yesterday and didn’t come back. And it looks as if she won’t be in tonight, either. The least she might have done is told me. Here’s me not knowing whether to cook her supper or not.’

  ‘No pork,’ her husband said over her shoulder. ‘Not even bacon for breakfast. What a life.’

  ‘Thank you, anyway. You’ve been very helpful.’

  Her heart was falling. It seemed as if Veronica’s worst f
ears were coming true. She started to turn away, but the landlady’s voice stopped her.

  ‘She’s not in trouble, is she? All those bombs. It scared the life out of me. And then this morning … I thought they’d have the door down.’

  ‘Who?’ Hilary’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘Has someone else been here asking for her?’

  ‘More than asking for her. A whole mob of them, there was, shouting their heads off. “Murderer! Terrorist!” And the language! If I’d seen her again, I’d have told her. This is a respectable house. I can’t have things like that going on here. I’ve my other guests to think about. She’ll have to leave.’

  ‘But she never came back,’ came Veronica’s quiet voice.

  ‘Maybe she got the hint that she wasn’t welcome and took the next bus back to Bristol,’ said her husband.

  ‘Leaving all her possessions behind?’

  ‘Yes, well. Likely she’ll come back for them when all the fuss has died down.’

  ‘Tell you something, though,’ his wife added. ‘She did give me a pot of flowers before she went. Sort of thank-you present, like.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hilary repeated, and turned to go.

  Her face felt frozen. She had laughed indulgently over Veronica’s maternal concern for the young women caught up in this case: Amina, Mel from the gift shop, and the unfortunate Joan. Now, in one case, those fears were taking concrete and disturbing form.

  They walked back down the road in a shocked silence.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Veronica asked as they turned the corner. ‘Report it to the police? Do you think she had a reason of her own to leave in a hurry? But I don’t like the sound of that gang of thugs. They sound just the sort of people George Marsden was trying to whip up against her. I only hope she got away before they found her.’

  ‘Yesterday it was Rupert Honeydew you were afraid of. You thought she was asking for trouble, following them up the Tor to make notes of their ceremonies.’

  ‘I really don’t know what to think.’

  ‘But you’re right. We really do have to report this to the police. I’m terribly afraid something nasty may have happened to her. Yet I’ve no idea whether it’s connected to the bombing or something else. If it isn’t, they probably won’t thank us for loading a different problem on their plates. And I can just imagine their faces if we tell them what Rupert Honeydew’s lot were up to and suggest that a young woman in a burka may have been a Druid sacrifice.’