by Lis Howell
Suzy fell forward on her daughter, hearing her own screams. Inside her head she was dead calm but the shrieking went on. She unbuckled the seat belt. Her fingers worked well. She watched them as if they belonged to someone else. Somewhere she could hear Robert yelling at her to hurry up. Daisy was pushing at her with her right hand, poking at her eyes and steering with her left towards the edge. Suzy tugged at Molly who shot out of the seat, and they tumbled backwards.
Robert was pulling her and holding the door open. She heard him scream with pain as the rear wheel went over his foot; then they both fell back into the gorse.
Daisy’s car went on, bounding over the rocks. It tilted forward; then, in silent slow motion, it tipped over the edge. They heard nothing for an age but the whistling of the wind. Then there was a crash. Robert stood up. He felt no pain, but his legs could hardly carry him. He stumbled to the lip of the Scar.
‘It’s burning,’ he said, but Suzy couldn’t hear him. ‘The car’s burning!’ he yelled. She was lying in the soaking gorse, holding Molly. He staggered back, put his arms round both of them and leant on Suzy, who stumbled, guiding them back through the freak storm towards Rachel’s dented, empty car.
They stood looking at it, drained and in shock. They couldn’t leave. The hail had become rain. Through it, headlights loomed and a car pulled up alongside. A girl in the passenger seat opened the back door.
‘Gerrin’!’ ordered Sharon Strickland. ‘Is Molly OK?’ Suzy saw that the driver was Matthew Bell.
But wasn’t he the enemy?
No, she said to herself slowly. Daisy was the enemy. The woman she thought was her friend and neighbour. What was going on here? She shut her eyes and fell onto the car’s back seat, still clutching her daughter whose breathing went on, steady and shallow. There were saliva trails down her chin. Her fists were balled like a baby’s.
‘Molly’s drugged,’ she whispered. Her voice sounded cracked, a hundred years old.
Sharon was still talking. ‘We saw the kids in the garden by themselves this afternoon. We drove past a few times. We knew their dad was supposed to have come for them, like you said when you asked me to babysit. The front door was open when we drove past just now. Then we saw you in this car and followed it. We went past at first in case you’d just come up here for . . . you know, but then Matt said it was more likely summat was up.’
Suzy couldn’t take it in. Robert was beside her, making strange high-pitched gasping noises and holding his foot. Then he said, ‘The Lord will cause His majestic voice to be heard and the descending blow of His arm to be seen in furious anger and a flame of devouring fire, with a cloudburst and tempest and hailstones. Hailstones, Suzy. It’s Isaiah 30.30.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means it’s over.’
‘Sharon, ring the police on your mobile,’ Suzy said, her voice coming back. ‘There’s a car over the edge of the Scar. It’s on fire. Then let’s get Jake. And take us to the hospital.’ She heard herself crying like the track of a very blurred and dreamlike film. In her arms, Molly wriggled and murmured, and then carried on sleeping.
* * *
A week later, Frank and Monica Bell went out for a meal at the Plough. It was a rare event, but Frank felt that he wanted to talk to his wife in more formal surroundings. He ordered prawn cocktail and steak and kidney pie, and Monica chose the melon and Dover sole.
After a few glasses of wine and some chat about Daisy’s death and the conclusions drawn by everyone in the village, Frank said, ‘Can I ask you something? Did you really think I might have killed Yvonne Wait?’
‘I could ask you the same question!’
‘Well, it did occur to me, but not until just a few weeks ago. You’re a bit of a tigress, Monica, where your family’s concerned.’
She took it as a compliment. ‘And what about you, Frank? You can get very angry. I know you went out very early that Saturday. What really happened?’
Frank squirmed. ‘I left the ladder and Yvonne came in. We were both in the church. I told her to keep her mouth shut about the parquet, but she told me to get lost. When it came down to it, I lost my bottle. I meant to go back that night to have another go at her.’
‘But she was dead. So who did you suspect? Not counting me!’
‘Not Daisy, that’s for sure! I thought it was Jeff. Or Jane. They’re both tougher than I am when it comes down to it.’
Monica was glad. She had admired the new, strong Frank who’d offered to rip up Yvonne’s floorboards, but it was the old softie she really loved. Her son seemed back on track, too. There’d been a time when she had worried about what he was hiding.
‘I wondered what was making Matthew so twitchy, too,’ she said, ‘but now he’s calmed down, thanks to Sharon. Who’d have thought he would meet her in a pub in Carlisle. Oh well, the Stricklands aren’t all bad.’
‘No. Russell’s pulled his socks up, hasn’t he!’ Like most people in Tarnfield, Frank had guessed who Russell’s real father was years ago.
‘Let’s hope Matt does the same. Maybe this girl will be the making of him. I realize now I’ve always indulged him, maybe because I had such a hard time carrying him!’ Monica smiled, reminiscing. ‘All that morning sickness and nausea. You know, Frank,’ she said, looking at him levelly, ‘even now I’ve got a really keen nose for odours. I can always tell when someone’s been smoking. I can smell cigarettes a mile away.’
Frank said nothing, but put his head down and studied the menu with complete concentration. Then he said, ‘I just wanted to say thank you, Monica. You’re the only woman in the world for me.’
Monica said nothing but she blushed, and smiled quietly into her lemon cheesecake.
44
Trinity into Advent
Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness and put upon us the armour of light.
From the Collect for the First Sunday in Advent
Three months later, the Reverend Linda Finch said, ‘Come in, please,’ and motioned Suzy Spencer towards the sofa. Suzy sat down and reviewed the front room of the vicarage under its new occupancy. There was a log fire in the grate and there were new bright-coloured curtains and a throw over the settee. Joan Pattinson’s lamps were back and the furniture gleamed. There was the smell of hot coffee.
‘You had a terrible time in the summer,’ Linda went on. ‘Now the inquest is finally over, I wanted you to make the choice to come to me, rather than have me just turn up on your doorstep. That’s why I wrote to you. You must have very mixed feelings about the church.’
‘No, not at all! It’s straight cynicism, actually.’
The priest laughed. ‘I don’t blame you. Now the Bishop has moved on, I think I can safely say that we mishandled things. We were very lucky that Daisy’s death was treated as a straightforward suicide, or we could have been dragged through the press. Poor Nick was totally inexperienced. You sometimes get priests with no ability to empathize. And he completely took in the Bishop.’
‘Nick was very credible. I do see that.’
‘Yes. He’s coping now in a more urban parish with extra support. We should have got counselling for him. And for George too, after his breakdown. He’s helping me out now with the team ministry. He speaks very highly of you.’
There was a silence. I’m not going to make it easy for her, Suzy thought. She hadn’t been back to any church since Daisy’s death. But she had stayed in Tarnfield because she needed to come to terms with things, and because it was home for all three of them.
On one of the golden days of autumn when the inquest into Daisy’s death was over, she and Jake had walked over Tarnfield Scar. Jake had suddenly grown up as boys do. Suzy had found that she liked his easy company. He had done his best to cope and to sort things out in his head, she thought, and he had worked out what had happened for himself. The police had gone out to the Scar and retrieved the car wreck and Daisy’s body, and the following day she and the children had been questioned. But J
ake could remember little about it, and Molly had been dead to the world. Later, there was no forensic evidence that Daisy had drugged them, and it had been arguable that she’d taken Molly for a drive and lost control of the car. Suzy was more than happy to play down the drama.
Nigel had delayed the holiday in Spain for a few days, but then the police let the children go away. It was the best thing. By the time they came back, the official procedure was under way. But with no real proof, it was just a matter of conjecture about what Daisy had done. The police closed the inquiry into Yvonne’s death. And life went on.
Who would have guessed that Daisy would turn out to be dangerous? Suzy often thought. She had been to see a counsellor who had talked to her — and to Jake — about Daisy’s psychosis as an individual. There were people who were obsessed with religion, just as others were obsessed with drugs, she learnt. And Rachel had talked to her about it a lot. She knew several Jewish friends who had converted to Christianity — and occasionally vice versa — without such terrible traumas. But on the whole it had left Suzy feeling that religion caused little but trouble. Like Nancy Arthur, who had come out of this with great sorrow and dignity, Suzy thought proselytizing religion had nothing to commend it.
‘And how are your children?’ Linda Finch asked.
‘Fine. Amazingly fine.’ Robert had said it was because they were the product of a happy, stable home. Suzy had raised her eyebrows, but loved him for saying it.
‘We failed Daisy too,’ Linda said. ‘I realize that. She needed our help.’
‘And my daughter nearly died. Daisy thought she’d be better dead than with a mother who denied Nick Melling’s mission.’
‘That’s not Christianity at all.’
‘But what could you have said? Isn’t it in your New Testament, that if you’re not for me, you’re against me? Isn’t that the Christianity Nick Melling preached? Didn’t he relate it to himself?’
Linda Finch leant forward. ‘That’s Matthew chapter 12. But in Mark chapter 9 Jesus says, “He that is not against us is for us.” I like that much better.’
Fair point, Suzy thought. She nodded. But she was still unconvinced.
‘And how’s Mr Clark?’ Linda asked.
‘I haven’t seen him since August,’ Suzy said. ‘He had his foot strapped up; then he went to his sister’s to recuperate. We met for one weekend.’ She remembered that strange meeting at Robert’s sister’s house as if it were a dream. ‘He’s missed the autumn term. But he’s coming back for Christmas. We’ve been emailing.’ She felt her face reddening. It was the fire, she thought.
‘Look,’ Linda poured more coffee, ‘I know you’ve got your doubts. You’re an intelligent woman. I respect that. But we need people like you. In Mark’s gospel someone says, “Lord I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” We’re all struggling fellow travellers.’
Suzy grimaced. The last time she had heard that phrase it had been used by Daisy, with exactly the opposite meaning.
Linda was saying, ‘But you enjoyed being part of All Saints before. Why not think about joining us again? I need someone to do the Christmas flowers—’
‘You must be joking!’
‘No, I’m not. Please think about it.’
Suzy put her cup down. ‘You get full marks for trying,’ she said. ‘What about Monica?’
‘She’s got her hands full now Sharon and Matthew are getting married and going off backpacking.’
‘Jane?’
‘The Simpsons are moving to Norbridge over Christmas.’
‘Or Janice Jones?’
‘You probably know that Kevin’s got a job with computers in Dubai now. He told me he wanted more financial independence from his mother-in-law, especially as Janice is pregnant again. So they won’t be around.’
‘Who else is there?’
‘Steve Nesbit. He says he’d be your assistant. He’s very good. But he doesn’t want the responsibility of being in charge. I just thought you might consider it.’
‘No way,’ said Suzy.
‘Please think about it. We’re a broad church. We want everyone who wants us! Jesus had twelve dedicated disciples but innumerable followers. There’s room for everyone. It’s up to you, and to God, how long the journey of faith takes you. Not every priest is a spiritual dictator like Nick Melling, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Suzy said, ‘But I don’t think it’s for me.’ Unbelievable! Where did these people get their persistence?
‘Please . . .’ said Linda Finch.
* * *
A few weeks later, Suzy parked the car at Carlisle station. Robert looked fatter and walked with a stick, but it was great to see him. They had kept in touch, sometimes quite intensely, but there was a queasy uncertainty about their meeting. She helped him into the car and told him the latest village news as they drove down to Tarnfield.
‘I’ll try not to knock down the fence,’ she laughed as they pulled up. He had sent her the keys in advance and she had put on the heating and the lamps. Although it was only four o’clock, the dusk was coming in and little flurries of snow blew on and off outside.
‘How about a bottle of wine?’ Robert said. ‘Makes a change from all that coffee and biscuits we got through.’
‘Great! It’s good to see you back home.’
‘It’s good to see you too. But I don’t know about “back home”.’
‘Oh, come on, Robert. You love The Briars. It was the centre of the world for you and Mary.’
‘But it was a small, confined world. And Mary’s dead.’
‘But you loved her so much!’
‘That was another time. I was another person. Down at my sister’s I realized that the real me was very different from the man who became Mary’s protector. And it’s owing to you. I’ve written and told you I love you, Suzy. It’s completely different this time.’
‘And better?’ It was a difficult question, but she had to ask it. She hadn’t worked in daytime TV for nothing.
He looked at her evenly. ‘And better. Yes. Much better.’
He took a sip of his drink and looked out of the big bay window. ‘What about you? You seem to have reservations?’
‘You’ve answered them. Of course I love you. I did even before you helped me get Molly back, but that clinched it. You’re not my type but I think you’re wonderful.’ She walked over to him and put her arms round him. ‘I like old farts a lot more these days, but not with tweed hats. They have to go!’
‘It’s a deal!’
She smiled and stared out at the grey and white garden. The snow was sticking now, and the slow change and silence were mesmerizing. It looked like a monochrome photograph, absolutely still but for the tiny gentle flakes, no wind now to stop them slowly coating the foliage like icing sugar. The roof of Phyllis’s bungalow was completely white.
Robert held her and whispered, ‘Suzy, I’m like Ruth the Moabitess.’
‘What, you’re a transvestite?’
‘No, you idiot! I mean, I don’t have to stay in Tarnfield. I’ll go where you go and your people will be my people. That’s what Ruth said to her mother-in-law in the Old Testament. I’ll go wherever you want. We can leave The Briars behind.’
‘Maybe. But not yet. And I don’t want it to be up to me. Make up your mind for yourself. You adapted to Mary. I don’t want you to adapt to me.’
He stroked her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘if I do the Christmas flower arrangements at All Saints I need to get my hands on your variegated holly bush!’
Robert didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss her. So he did both. Then Suzy pushed him away, and looked at him seriously.
‘Pick up your glass,’ she said. ‘To the future.’
‘To our future,’ he answered.
* * *
That Christmas, as well as all the usual decorations, there was one simple arrangement of cream-tinged holly with lilies at the back of All Saints Church.
A tiny card on it read: In Memory of Phyllis Drysdale. Much missed flower arranger. From Suzy Spencer.
THE END
ALSO BY LIS HOWELL
THE SUZY SPENCER MYSTERIES
Book 1: THE FLOWER ARRANGER AT ALL SAINTS
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