by Louise Welsh
‘I added some mushrooms I found in the woods. They’re good for the blood.’
Magnus accepted his portion with a nod, resolving not to touch the mushrooms. Belle looked at her bowl with distaste. The puppies had greeted her with wiggling rears and wagging tails and she had both of them curled on her lap. She slid the dogs to the floor, poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and lifted the bowl Father Wingate had given her. ‘I’ll take this up to Jeb.’
Jacob looked up, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth. ‘Eat first. I’ll take him something when I’ve finished. Jeb and I have things to talk about.’
The girl ignored him. She left the room, the puppies trotting after her, the clack of their claws loud against the flagstones. Jacob and Magnus exchanged glances, but it was Will who said, ‘Do you think she should be on her own with him?’
Magnus wondered what Will knew. He said, ‘Jeb’s still laid up, if it’s her honour you’re worried about.’
Father Wingate had stirred his lentils into his rice and was picking his way through the mess with the determination of a man doing his duty. ‘A broken leg wouldn’t have stopped me when I was a young sinner.’
They laughed, but Magnus noticed that each of them cast occasional glances at the door as they ate.
The dishes were washed and Jacob had lit the paraffin lamps he insisted on leaving on the kitchen and sitting-room window sills each night as a welcome to passing strangers, though no one had been drawn in by them yet. Raisha was still out somewhere in the darkening evening and Belle had not returned from Jeb’s room. Father Wingate was sorting through a biscuit tin of odds and ends he had found, looking for ‘anything that might be of use’. He had set a candle at his elbow and every so often he would lift an object from the tin and hold it near to the flame, examining it closely, as if it were an ancient artefact and he an archaeologist looking for the secret of what purpose it might have served.
Magnus’s back ached from two days on the combine. He wanted to be on his own, but felt too weary to rouse himself and go up to his room. He sat at the kitchen table with the three men, an ill-considered bottle of malt and four glasses between them. The puppies skated into the kitchen, their paws losing purchase against the stone floor, mouths grinning. Jacob aimed his boot at them and they yelped out into the hallway and beyond. Something moved above and all four men looked up at the ceiling.
Father Wingate said, ‘It’s only the dogs. They don’t know it’s wrong to be alive.’
Jacob had spread an old newspaper on the kitchen table and was cleaning his gun. An actress Magnus did not recognise was flaunting her cleavage next to the headline Royal Family Hit by Sweats. Magnus watched as the soldier-priest oiled the gun’s mechanism and then methodically wiped the grease from it with a cloth. He wondered if the actress had had something to do with the royal family, or if the photo had simply been intended to add some colour. The world before the sweats already seemed strange. He would struggle to explain it to someone who had not been there.
Jacob took a sip from his glass. ‘It isn’t wrong to be alive. God gave us the gift of life. We should cherish it.’ His voice was dark and bitter, thickened by the whisky.
Another noise sounded upstairs and again all four of them looked towards it.
‘I’m turning in.’ Will pulled himself to his feet.
Jacob said, ‘You should tell her how you feel.’
‘I don’t feel anything.’ Will’s voice was a monotone.
‘You stare at her.’ Jacob had finished wiping his gun clean. He inserted the magazine into its chamber. ‘There’s no shame in it. But if you want her, don’t stand there with your tongue hanging out, tell her.’
‘I had a girlfriend. She’s dead.’
Will started to leave the room, but turned back before he reached the door. The Dutchman had drunk less than Magnus and Jacob, but there was a whisky gleam in his eye.
‘Boys …’ Father Wingate’s voice was a tremor.
Will put both hands on the table and leaned in close to Jacob. ‘You are the one who wants her. Why don’t you tell her, instead of playing with your pistol?’ He straightened up and said in a louder voice, ‘That man up there is the same type as you. He might enjoy sharing. Isn’t that what soldiers like? Sharing the women they rape?’
Jacob’s tone was weary; a headmaster disappointed with a particularly stupid boy, but his eyes narrowed and his hand sat next to the loaded gun. ‘You had a girlfriend? Good for you. I had a wife and children …’
Magnus got to his feet and took hold of Will’s arm. ‘C’mon, man, it’s been a long day.’ Part of him was tempted to let them fight each other, but he tightened his grip and began to pull him away. ‘It’s up to Belle who she goes with. There are no rapists here.’
Will let himself be towed from the table. They were almost in the hallway when Jacob said, ‘That’s right, go to bed. You wouldn’t have lasted a day on our squad. Where were you when the sweats took hold? Blubbing over your dead girlfriend? My men didn’t have that luxury. We were in the bloody thick of it.’
Will jerked free of Magnus’s grasp and bolted back into the room. ‘You bet you were in the thick of it. The military made that bloody virus. You’re the reason everyone’s dead. Fucking murderers.’ He made a lunge for Jacob, but the priest shoved the table forward, knocking Will off balance. He slammed into a kitchen cabinet and a plate smashed against the flagstones. The bottle of whisky toppled and the contents of Father Wingate’s tin of odds and ends clattered across the floor.
‘Jacob!’ The old man had almost toppled too. He braced himself against his chair, thin and spectral, but a survivor all the same. ‘We mustn’t fight among ourselves.’
Magnus made a grab for the whisky and set it upright, but a good quarter of the bottle had leaked across the table and on to the flagstones. It scented the room; the smell of Christmas Eve, the Snapper Bar, night fishing with his cousin Hugh.
He shoved the memories away and slipped into the soothing tone his father had used to comfort sheep in labour; soft and coaxing.
‘Father Wingate’s right. Let’s leave this till the morning. We’ve an early start tomorrow.’ By Christ, Magnus resolved, he would forget the deal he had made to harvest three fields. He would be gone, away from this mayhem, before dawn. Will righted himself and Magnus saw a kitchen knife in his hand. ‘For God’s sake, man.’ Magnus could hear the fear in his own voice. ‘What the fuck do you think that’s going to do? He’s got a bloody gun. Do you think you can out-stab a bullet?’
The soldier-priest was on his feet too, the revolver less than a hand’s breadth from him on the table. Magnus looked at Father Wingate, but the old man seemed mesmerised by the knife. Will clenched it in both hands, as if it were a much heavier weapon, an axe or a claymore meant for cutting a swathe through ranks of enemies. Magnus saw the way it trembled and took a step backward.
Will said, ‘You keep telling us this is a new beginning, but maybe Harry and Melody are the ones who got it right.’
‘You’re wrong.’ Jacob unlocked the magazine from the gun and slid it out of reach across the table. The soldier’s jaw was still clenched, but Will’s words had hit some mark. Jacob picked up a small metal screw from the table, a remnant of Father Wingate’s box of odds and ends, and rolled it between his hands. ‘Harry and Melody didn’t—’
A crash boomed from the floor above them. There was a moment of stillness and then Will ran for the door, the knife still in his hand. Magnus followed. The hallway was in darkness, the staircase a vague shape lit by moonlight. They sprinted up it, the sound of their work boots muffled by carpet. Magnus heard Jacob’s breath close behind him and wondered if he had retrieved his gun.
Upstairs was silent. Will went straight to Jeb’s room and turned the handle, but something was jammed behind the door and it only opened a crack. A faint glow of candlelight reached into the blackness of the landing, illuminating the door’s outline, like some sci-fi portal.
‘Fuc
k off.’ Belle’s voice sounded high and querulous from inside the room.
Magnus said, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Go away,’ Belle shouted. It was hard to tell if she was angry or panicked.
Jacob shoved him out of the way. ‘Stop fannying about.’
Magnus said, ‘She doesn’t want us in there.’
Jacob shouldered the door. It refused to move, but then Will added his weight, there was a sound of splintering wood and the two men tumbled into the room, staggering into the remnants of the wooden chair that had been used to wedge it shut.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Belle had the bed sheet pulled up over her chest.
Jeb was in bed beside her. He did not bother to cover himself and his bruised ribs showed dark against the pale sheets. The moonlight shone stronger in the small bedroom than it had downstairs. It stretched in through the open window, touching the edge of the bed, bringing the night closer. A candle glowed softly on the table where Jeb’s bowl of lentils and rice had been abandoned.
Jeb grinned. ‘Nice of you to check, lads, but we’re all right. Whatever that noise was it came from the next room, so you’re welcome to bugger off.’
Will turned his back and left the room. Magnus hovered in the doorway. He saw the flush on the back of Jacob’s neck and wondered again if he had pocketed his gun.
Jacob looked at Belle. ‘Do you know what happened to the last woman he slept with?’ His words were whisky-slurred, schlept with?
The girl had been proud in her fury, like someone acting a part; now a look of confusion trembled across her face. Jeb put a protective arm around her, but she shrank from him. ‘What happened?’
Jeb pointed a finger at Jacob. ‘I heard about Henry. You’re in no position to start throwing accusations about.’
Belle said, ‘What happened to Henry?’ but Jeb’s attention had shifted to Magnus. ‘You let me down, big-time.’
Magnus saw what he thought was the stock of the revolver Belle had given Jeb, jutting from beneath a pile of papers on the bedside table. He forced his eyes away from it. ‘I didn’t tell Jacob anything about you. He used to read more newspapers than I did, that’s all. It took him a while, but eventually he remembered where he’d seen you.’
‘Where had he seen you?’ Belle was hemmed in between Jeb and the wall, caught between a sudden impulse to get away from him and the urge to hide her nakedness from the other men.
Jacob lifted her dress from the floor. He held it between the tips of his fingers, as if it might be contaminated, and tossed it to her. The dress fell short of its mark. It landed in the beam of moonlight and Belle was forced to stretch across the counterpane to reach it. Her fingers scrabbled to get hold of its hem without exposing herself, but then she managed to grasp it and pulled the dress on over her head. ‘Is no one going to tell me what’s going on?’
Magnus said, ‘Jeb will tell you.’ He turned to Jacob. ‘I think we should go downstairs and give these folks some privacy.’
‘He killed her.’ The soldier-priest stood his ground, solid as a pulpit, straight as the barrel of a gun. ‘Her and her child, tossed them over the balcony of a high-rise like sacks of rubbish.’
‘That’s a lie.’ Jeb put his good leg on the floor and steadied himself against the bedpost. ‘He’s the killer. He slit your friend Henry’s throat.’
Belle looked from one to the other, her eyes wide.
Jacob shook his head. ‘Your boyfriend’s a certified liar. He was an undercover policeman who went too far undercover. He forgot who he was, or maybe he discovered who he was. He was sent to jail for a long time. He’d still be there if it wasn’t for the sweats.’
Jeb was struggling to get to his feet. ‘You’re a murdering bastard.’
‘You’ve forgotten yourself, son. If it wasn’t for me you’d be lying in a ditch with your throat slit and your belly cut open.’ The priest and the soldier in Jacob had fused. He might have been in church preaching a sermon on vengeance, or in a dugout about to lead his men over the top. He turned to Magnus. ‘Tell Belle where you two met.’
‘Jeb can tell her.’
Magnus put his hand on Jacob’s arm and tried to steer him into the hallway, but the soldier-priest shrugged him off.
‘They met in prison. Magnus was in for rape, Jeb for double murder.’
Belle’s hand went to her mouth.
Magnus snapped, ‘It was a mistake. I was trying to save her …’
Father Wingate limped into the room, his breath creaking in his chest. ‘The devil has got into this house. I thought we could keep him at bay, but he is here among us.’
Jeb pulled himself upright. He was naked and the battering he had taken was written in black and purple across his body. Magnus glanced again at the papers splayed on the bedside table. He was sure that the gun was beneath them.
‘Jeb …’ Belle’s voice was soft and wavering. She reached out and touched his arm. ‘Were you in jail?’
Jeb’s hand was resting on the bedside table. ‘It’s not like he says.’
‘But you went to prison for murdering a woman and her child?’
Jeb turned to look at her. The pain on his face might have come from his bruised ribs and broken leg. ‘I went to prison for it, but I didn’t do it.’
Jacob said, ‘He did it.’
Belle looked at the soldier. ‘Did you kill Henry?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Belle gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘This entire fucking world is ridiculous. Why shouldn’t I be?’ She gathered her dress around her and crawled from the bed. ‘I need to go.’
Jeb said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I was going to ask you to marry me.’
Belle shot him a look that was half hurt, half hate. ‘And it’s not like I would have given you shit from the soles of my shoes, before the sweats.’
She pushed past the men and went barefoot into the darkness. Will had returned and was standing in the doorway. He watched Belle go, but made no effort to follow her. ‘It was the dogs that made the noise,’ he said. ‘They knocked over a table in the next room.’
Father Wingate stretched out his arms as if to gather the four men to him. ‘Let us all get down on our knees and ask what God wants of us.’
Jacob pointed at Jeb. ‘I should have sent you packing as soon as I realised who you were …’
Magnus said, ‘All he did was to go to bed with Belle …’
‘He deceived that girl the way he deceived the woman he killed.’ Jacob’s words were full of spit and fury. ‘He’s a predator, and that makes him a risk to our community.’
Jeb said, ‘You’re just trying to draw attention away from yourself. You’re a stone-cold killer.’
Magnus grasped Jacob’s arm again and tried to lead him from the room, but the priest shrugged him off with such force that Magnus guessed a third attempt would result in a punch. Instinct told him to shut his mouth, but he said, ‘You don’t have a community.’ His family were in his mind again and Magnus struggled to speak. ‘There’s no kinship here. You’re just a bunch of people huddled together because you’re scared of being alone.’
Will said, ‘That is how communities begin. People must co-operate in order to survive.’
Magnus laughed. ‘You just pulled a knife on your spiritual leader.’
‘I wouldn’t have touched him.’ Will looked at his hands as if he could not believe they had ever grasped a knife. ‘I never used to get so angry but now …’
Father Wingate pressed his way into the centre of the room. ‘We must all listen to God. His will is paramount.’
Jeb had pulled on a sweatshirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed struggling to ease a pair of jogging trousers over his plastered leg.
Magnus said, ‘Want to hitch a lift out of here?’
Jeb’s mouth was set, the skin around his eyes tight, and Magnus saw what Jacob had meant when he had described him as looking like a battering ram. Jeb gave an unhappy smile. ‘I thought yo
u’d never ask.’
Jacob put a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. ‘You still owe us two and a half fields.’
‘Tonight breaks any deal we had.’ Magnus nodded to Jeb. ‘Can you get yourself downstairs?’
‘Reckon so.’ Jeb knotted the string of his tracksuit trousers. ‘On my arse if needs be.’
‘I’ll grab a van and pick you up at the front.’
‘Sure thing.’
Jacob’s grip tightened on Magnus’s shoulder. ‘One of us will drive him somewhere in the morning.’
Magnus tried to shrug off the soldier, but the hand was clamped tight on the cords of muscle in his neck, the fingers a painful threat against his vertebrae.
Father Wingate fluttered, ‘This is a time for prayer …’
Jacob said, ‘Go to bed, James. You’re right, everything will be better in the morning.’
Father Wingate’s voice was high and urgent. ‘God did not save us to fight among ourselves.’
Jacob reached into his pocket and took out a bunch of keys. ‘Nor did he save us to starve.’
‘You’re not locking me in here.’ Jeb steadied himself against the bedstead.
Magnus saw Jeb reaching beneath the papers on the bedside table where the gun was hidden and shouted, ‘Don’t!’
Jeb faltered and some instinct made Jacob jab a hand towards him. Jeb toppled against the bed with a shout of pain.
‘Jacob!’ Father Wingate tried to push his way towards Jeb, but Will put an arm around his narrow shoulders and half carried him to the hallway.
‘This is not the best place for you tonight, Father.’
Jeb was pulling himself towards the table and the hidden gun, but he was too slow for threats or action. Jacob had Magnus’s arms pinned behind his back in an arm lock that made his muscles sing. The soldier applied a knee to his kidneys and huckled him out into the hallway, slamming the door behind them. Will turned the key in the lock.
Magnus shouted, ‘Sit tight for one more night or this mad fucker will shoot you. I’ll get you out in the morning.’
He hoped that Jeb had heard him and was not on the other side of the door, cocking the hammer of the ancient gun, ready to blow himself, or them, to eternity.
