by McNeir, Leo
He had walked this land all his life and knew every path, every spinney, all the fields by their names and all the hedgerows. From where he sat, on a fallen tree-trunk, in the shade of a blackthorn, he could look out across the shallow valley and see the outline of the villages that had been his neighbours for over seven decades. The only movement now in his view was the slow progress of a narrowboat on the canal. There were no roads to be seen, no railway, only the reflection off the water in the distance and the displacement of shadow as the boat moved slowly under the trees about a mile away. On the horizon he could make out the contours of his own fields, once his grandfather’s fields and now technically his son’s fields. His eyesight was still good enough to detect the sheep grazing in Long Meadow.
Albert Fletcher should have been glad to know that his little grandson would ensure the continuity of ownership well into the next century. But in his stomach he felt a nagging anxiety about any form of tradition. More than anything, as time went by, he clung to what had gone before and saw it as the only lasting reality and value in life. Owning land and belonging to the land was the only thing that made sense to him. It was almost all he had ever known. Anything that contributed to the stability around him and his family he held dear; anything that threatened this sense of order, he opposed. The modern world could go its own way, just so long as it left him in peace. It had intruded only twice into his life and both times it had caused him pain and loss.
How could I have done such a thing? How could I have committed a mortal sin? It was a mortal sin.
Soon after the outbreak of war, he had joined up on his eighteenth birthday. He had cycled into Towcester without waiting for his call-up papers and volunteered at the recruitment centre. In the days waiting to receive his orders, he had walked these paths and fields, wondering if it would be the last time he would see his homeland. It was then that he had come to realise what mattered to him in life. He had fought for five years to protect his country, his home and family. He was prepared for ever afterwards to fight to protect what was his.
*
“Excuse me.” The Australian nurse bent forward to speak to them quietly. “There’s another visitor outside, says he’s a friend of Marnie.”
“That’ll be Ralph,” said Anne getting up from her chair.
“That’s right,” said the nurse. “The thing is, we don’t normally allow more than three visitors unless the patient is …”
“Feeling better,” said Anne quickly. She turned to Beth and Paul. “Shall I go and have a quick word with him? He can have my place.”
The nurse walked part of the way down the corridor with Anne. They could see Ralph standing outside the glazed door, looking grey and tired. Anne attempted a smile and waved slightly to re-assure him.
“I’m sorry about the rules,” said the nurse. “This is someone special?”
“Very,” said Anne. “I’ll just talk to him for a moment, let him know what to expect.”
“Good idea. When you want to come back in, press 3-4-6-2 on the keypad to open the door.”
Anne saw at once that, for all he was weary and drawn with anxiety, Ralph had about him an aura of strength and determination. He listened carefully to her description of Marnie and her outline of what the consultant had told them. When she reached the end of her narrative, he blinked a few times and took a deep breath.
“Let’s go in,” he said softly. “You lead the way.” Anne pressed the buttons on the pad and pushed the door. They walked in silence up the corridor together, neither noticing the warm sunny day in the world outside the big picture windows. Telling Ralph the details of Marnie’s condition had brought it all back to Anne and she felt the energy draining from her. Ralph’s return gave them his extra support, but ultimately it did not change anything. Suddenly Anne realised that Ralph must be feeling the same fears, the same desolation, especially after travelling halfway round the world. She reached across and took his hand in hers. He squeezed gently and did not let go. They walked together.
*
Randall walked over the farm bridge from the towpath, crossing the Grand Union Canal and climbed down from the parapet into the field beside the water. He picked his way through the trees and undergrowth that lined the uneven edge of the waterway and squatted on a horizontal bough.
By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, yea we wept when we remembered Zion.
He understood the feeling, though he was too drained of most of his senses to be able to weep. And what good would it do now? It was all far too late for anything other than guilt, shame and regret. He sat forward and put his head in his hands, shifting to move the buckle of his trouser belt to prevent it digging into his stomach.
Closing his eyes was a mistake. It immediately filled his mind with images of blood, the same images that had haunted his every attempt to find sleep in the past week. He saw the blood on the walls of the tower, felt the shock of the blade striking the victim, heard the stifled choking at the last intake of breath and heard the thud that followed the headlong pitch down the hard narrow steps, the crumpled body sprawling out, the arms spreading as if crucified. His soul howled like a dog in the wilderness. How would he ever atone?
*
The police car cruised the main road south from Towcester, PCs Dodds and Bathurst becoming increasingly frustrated with every tour. This time they were heading for Yore and Great Hanford, under orders to check every pub car-park, every side road and any place that could not be seen from the helicopter.
“We’re on a hiding to nothing,” said Dodds. “Find the bloody thing and all we’ll get is About time, too. Don’t find it and we’re incompetent.”
“Yeah,” said Bathurst, signalling for the turn. “There are no Brownie points in this one, unless we find it straight away.”
“Some hopes,” said Dodds.
As they pulled off at the ‘Village Only’ sign into Great Hanford, they were unimpressed by the fourteenth century church with its pinnacled tower and Early English stained glass windows. There was nowhere nearby that could conceal the dark blue VW. They pulled round to the King’s Head and drew up in the empty car-park. PC Derek Bathurst turned the car and set off on a slow run through all the streets in the village. He stopped the car when it eventually reached a field gate beside the canal. Across the field stood a lonely barn, its corrugated roof pitted with holes.
“Yore?”
“I suppose so,” said Dodds. “This is a bloody waste of time. He’s miles away by now.”
“What about that barn?” said Bathurst.
“What about it? The gate hasn’t been opened for ages. Look at that spider’s web.”
“Right.” Bathurst turned the car and drove off.
*
“Have you eaten today?” said Beth softly.
“What day is today?” said Ralph, not intending a joke.
“That’s what I meant. I know how you feel, but you and Anne should both try and eat something.” She looked at Marnie, death-white face on the fresh white pillow. “Nothing’s going to happen here. They’ve got her stabilised for the moment. I’ll come and fetch you if the doctor wants to talk to us.” Ralph tried to remember food and drink, hunger and thirst. He glanced at Anne, who was sitting with her head resting on the side of the bed near Marnie’s pillow, her lips moving.
“Where’s your husband?” said Ralph.
“Paul’s in the lobby.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll take Anne to get something and I’ll ask him to come through.” Without speaking, he put his hand on Anne’s shoulder. Anne spoke quietly into Marnie’s ear and stood up. They went downstairs where Anne rang her parents to tell them the latest situation and assure them she was fine. They were relieved to know she could stay at the hospital and she asked them not to come until she had more news. In the canteen they drank coffee, Anne holding her cup in both hands, elbows on the table, like an orphaned refugee. They each had a sandwich untouched on a paper plate.
“Do you feel able to tell me about thing
s?” said Ralph. Anne’s eyes seemed bigger in her thin face. In her mind she saw Marriner, his face close to hers … You must not say a word to anyone about what you know … do you understand? … not a single word to anyone at all … anyone at all …
“Yes of course. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Only if it causes you no pain.” He reached over the table and touched her hand lightly. She took hold of his fingers.
“It will always cause me pain, Ralph … whatever happens.”
*
“I believe I should call you Doctor Lombard. Is that right?”
Ralph shrugged. “I don’t mind. Outside academic circles it doesn’t really matter. What about you?”
“I’m an anaesthetist not a surgeon.”
“Very well, Dr Morton. It’s good of you to see me. My friends have told me the situation, so I don’t need to ask you to repeat everything. Could you give me an idea of what’s likely to happen in the near future?”
“The short answer is that I don’t know exactly. I can’t give you any re-assurances, I’m afraid. Marnie is stable at present and we’re monitoring progress. Unless there’s a sudden deterioration, we can keep her like this for some time.”
“At what point might she regain consciousness?” Morton paused for some seconds before replying in his usual measured tones. He had many years’ experience of not raising hopes and not provoking despair where either was unnecessary. He had seen many patients die suddenly, but his watchfulness and thoroughness had undoubtedly saved the lives of patients who had only the faintest of chances.
“That will depend on a number of factors that are not yet clear. I know this isn’t helping very much, but she has sustained severe injuries that not everyone would have survived. She’s basically fit and strong and something helped diminish the impact of the blow.”
“The papers,” said a quiet voice beside the two men. They looked at Anne. “The file of papers about the church. They were all over the steps.”
“Something certainly cushioned the blow,” said Morton. “Without that …” He spread his fingers and shook his head. “As it is, I think there is a chance that might be better than evens, perhaps. It all depends on whether there’s substantial haemorrhaging. If you need to make plans or arrangements, I suggest you do that today, this afternoon. After that, we shall see …”
*
The old man looked down at his hands. They were big with strong fingers, the skin hardened with years of physical labour.
How could I have done it? How could I have done what I did?
*
Anne seemed to take note of her surroundings only as they were driving out of the hospital car-park. She had spent minutes talking to Marnie before she could come away and had made Beth and Paul promise to ring her on the mobile if there were any developments. Ralph had led her down to the entrance and installed her in the car but in her thoughts she had remained upstairs in the ITU
“Is this your car?” she said suddenly.
“No. I hired it while you were sitting with Marnie. I can return it here or at the firm’s branch in Oxford.”
“I’ll be glad to have a shower and change clothes,” said Anne wearily. “I seem to have been wearing these for ever.”
“Me too,” said Ralph.
“Of course. You’ve come from the other side of America. You must be exhausted. I bet you didn’t sleep on the plane.”
“Or anywhere else,” said Ralph. “By the way, on a practical note, have you got keys for Glebe Farm?”
“No. I think I rushed out without thinking of keys. We’ll be able to get in, though. The boat’ll be unlocked.”
They found the doors to Sally Ann still open and Dolly sitting on the hatch. Anne fed her, made Ralph a cup of coffee to revive him and checked everything on board. She decided to have a shower while Ralph inspected the buildings. It was after five and the builders had left the site for the day. The office barn was closed but not locked and Ralph made a mental note to ask Anne where to find a key to make it secure. He returned to the boat to find her standing on the aft deck in a white dressing gown, towelling her hair.
She smiled as he approached. “At least I feel more civilised after that.”
“Good.” Ralph seized the initiative while he could. “Food. You’ve got to eat. I’ll make something. No arguing.”
In reply, she gave him a pale smile. “For both of us,” she said. He made an omelette that he sprinkled with herbs from the tub on Sally’s roof and they made the surprising discovery that they were hungry. They spoke little while eating.
“What are your plans, Ralph?”
“Good question. My brain’s rather befuddled at the moment. The main priority is to get back to the hospital. On the other hand, I’ve got no clean clothes with me. Perhaps I ought to fetch some things from Oxford. It’s not very far, half an hour or so.”
“I’d like to get back as soon as possible,” said Anne, aware that Ralph was her only means of transport.
“Well, I could buy some clothes in Northampton. I wouldn’t need much, a shirt or two, some socks, things like that.”
“And they have showers beside the guests’ rooms in the ITU,” said Anne.
“Right. That’s settled. You finish drying your hair and I’ll clear away.” Anne went round to sit on the bed with the towel while Ralph washed up in the galley. It took two minutes. “Anne, do you want to go back to the barn to get some clothes?” There was no reply. “Anne?” Ralph looked round the partition. She was lying on her side, fast asleep. He touched her hair, which was nearly dry and removed the damp towel from beside her. Her breathing was slow and even. Somehow the sight of her sleeping increased his feeling of despair and loneliness, as if she had left him to cope in isolation. For a second his eyes misted over, but he knew this was not a feeling he could permit himself. He reached down to the hem of the dressing gown and covered her legs. She did not stir as he drew the opposite half of the duvet over the bed and gently wrapped her in it where she lay. After a few seconds of thought, he returned to the galley, scribbled a note that he left prominently on the table and went out, checking that she was still sound asleep. He locked the doors and poked the key back into the cabin through the narrow gap at the top.
Stopping only to ring the ITU from the phone box in the high street, Ralph set off for Oxford while he still had the energy. It would simplify everything if he could sort matters out while Anne rested. No need to have to go traipsing round Northampton. He would be able to give Marnie his complete attention with nothing to distract him. With any luck, he would be back before Anne woke.
*
Detective Chief Inspector Bartlett left the interview room at Towcester police station and rang the County’s Police HQ at Wootton Hall. He was put through to Superintendent Bragg, head of CID.
“Still the same story in every detail,” he said.
“What do you make of it?” said Bragg.
“At first I thought he was lying, but we’ve got no evidence to contradict him. The only other thing that I can see is, well, I think he fancies Marnie Walker.”
“Lovers’ quarrel, you mean?”
“No. Not really. I don’t think she’s involved with him.”
“Talking of which,” said Bragg.
“Still alive, sir. I’ve got a message from Marriner. He’s been checking the hunt for Hughes and now he’s back at the hospital.”
“Drawn a blank there as well,” said the Superintendent. “Not doing very well, are we?”
Bartlett got the message. “I think I’m going to have to release Frank Day, sir.”
“Not yet. We can hold him a while longer. Keep him in overnight. It’ll get the press off our backs for the time being. No statement. Pursuing inquiries. Usual line.”
*
Randall had no idea how long he had sat in the shade by the water’s edge. The sun was still bright, reflected on the underside of the boughs and branches, but it was lower in the sky and moving towards
evening. All afternoon his head had been filled with images, visions of blood and broken limbs, Jesus on the cross, the smell of death and corruption. It had been a waking nightmare.
A spasm of pain pierced his skull and arrows of light flashed through his brain. There was a roaring in his ears and as he sat, feeling the rough, unaccustomed stubble rubbing against his palms, a message came to him, clear and unequivocal. A voice crying in the wilderness. There was a way and it demanded a sacrifice, another victim.
Quite suddenly, the pain had stopped. His breathing had settled down to a normal rate. A calmness came over him, a feeling of acceptance and peace. There would be no more days and nights of torment. For the first time that day he found his hands were no longer shaking. His head was clear. No more throbbing; no more blood.
It was all quite simple. He almost smiled to himself at the knowledge of what he had to do. With a firm step he crossed the bridge over the canal and turned to walk down the tow-path in the direction of Glebe Farm. There was no other way.
*
In the cabin, Anne slept a deep dreamless sleep. She lay motionless, breathing steadily, her short blond hair dry on the pillow. There were no ghosts now. Her brain was exhausted. She did not stir when Dolly jumped up onto the bed, turned twice, three times round and curled into a ball near her feet.
*
It had been all right until the new vicar had come. New ways, new services, new language, everything new. Change, change, change. Then it was the other one. A woman priest! It made no sense. It could not be right. It was like a heresy, or so he had thought. Was he right? Was he wrong? Did it matter? Did any of it matter? Nothing could excuse what he had done. May she rest in peace. Yes.
He knew what he had to do. He stood up, stiff in his joints from sitting so long on the fallen tree-trunk. His guilt hung on his shoulders like a cloak, but he shrugged it off and began walking over the fields, his eyes focused on a point that was yet out of sight. He had to confess everything. He would tell the newcomer. There was no other way.
*
Ralph left the car on double yellow lines outside the college entrance and dashed through to the inner quadrangle. The head porter in his lodge had never seen him move so fast. In fact, he had never seen anyone in college move so fast. Ralph ran through the cloister, up the corner staircase and left his door open as he dashed into the bedroom. He almost threw the clothes into his overnight bag, transferred the sponge bag from his suitcase and set off back to the entrance. The head porter shook his head as Ralph flashed past the window and jumped back into the car. He had never known Dr Lombard forget his post.
