Breaking and Entering

by Wendy Perriam

  He was aware that Penny was watching him, looked up to meet her eyes.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you, Daniel? It’s written all over your face.’

  He plucked another handful of grass; contradictory arguments swarming in his mind. ‘I just don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Look, I felt that lump with my own hands. I can describe it to you in detail if you want. It was so horrible, I’d hardly have imagined it. And anyway, you’re forgetting Pat herself. She felt something really violent actually happening in her body – like an electric shock, she said, shooting through her leg. And before that, she was conscious of waves of … sort of energy, streaming from Stephen’s hands. And a sensation of quite stupendous love.’

  ‘Love?’ he echoed mockingly.

  ‘Yes. Andrew questioned that as well, and she said she knew it sounded vague and rather soppy, but it was the only word which seemed appropriate. In fact, she got a bit embarrassed when we asked her about it. She doesn’t strike me as a hype-merchant, or someone who embroiders the truth, but she said she felt as if the most powerful source of love she could imagine in a million years was shining like a beam of light directly into her cells. She tried to make a joke about it – said it was like a chicken being micro-waved. But we could all see she was shaken to the core.’

  Daniel snapped the head off a plantain. The cynical retort he was on the point of making was silenced as he recalled his own sensations when Happy had laid hands on him, just prior to Margot’s healing. He, too, had experienced love – a mother’s love, so extraordinarily intense it had overwhelmed him completely. Yet he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, and had even blocked it from his memory till now. Was that because it didn’t fit his scheme of things – what Penny would condemn as his narrow blinkered outlook? He caught her eye and immediately she challenged him again, her voice more determined than ever.

  ‘Okay, Daniel, forget all the stuff about love. I know that’s not your thing, but just answer me one question. A big hard solid lump which twelve people examined – thirteen, if you count Tim – has vanished without trace. So what’s your explanation?’

  He crushed the plantain stalk to pulp, wiped his green-stained hand on his jeans. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. It could be spontaneous remission, I suppose.’

  ‘But that’s a sort of miracle in itself. And it’s still connected with Stephen, because it happened while he was healing her, and – wow! – did he work hard! You should have seen his face!’

  ‘I wish to God I had.’ He was feeling increasingly frustrated at having missed this phenomenal session, and was even conscious of a certain irrational jealousy that it was Pat who had been singled out for healing, when she had only just arrived. Why not poor Dylan, who had stood the course for almost a whole month, and was HIV-positive (so Gerard had confided when they’d been chopping wood together). Or why not Pippa, come to that? His daughter might not have a terminal illness, but she was still in need of help. His earlier annoyance with the healer intensified as he recalled her despairing face: its air of desolation; the dark-circled eyes, which seemed to be looking always inward.

  He eased himself up from his stony seat, reluctant, as ever, to dwell too long on miracles. Like the stones, they were uncomfortable. ‘Listen, Penny, wonder-cures apart, we’ve got to do something about Pippa.’

  ‘We are doing something. Just being here is good for her. She’s learning a whole new set of values.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s learning anything – except how wet Welsh rain is.’

  Penny grinned and stood up too; gazing round admiringly at the range of purple-browed hills. ‘Give her time. She’s already shared in a few rituals, and they’re important in themselves. They break down the division between mind and body, and between different parts of our self, and they help to …’

  ‘For God’s sake, Penny, all that malarkey may be food and drink to you, but it’s hardly of any interest to an isolated thirteen-year-old who’s pining for her dog.’

  ‘But she’d not isolated here, Daniel. That’s the whole point of community living. We’re part of something bigger than ourselves.’

  ‘That’s all very well in theory, but in actual fact she’s sitting on her own in a dank and airless tent, staring into space and looking the picture of misery.’

  ‘That’s her choice, though, isn’t it? She could have come to the healing if she wanted.’

  ‘I don’t call that a choice! Other girls her age are busy playing tennis, or going to the cinema, or being taken to the zoo by doting aunts or grandmas.’

  ‘She can do all that the rest of the year. She’ll never learn spiritual values stuck in Wandsworth.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Wandsworth? You’ve never complained about it before.’

  She stretched out her arms to the sky in what he felt was an absurdly theatrical gesture, a parody of Happy. ‘It’s too far from our roots,’ she said, face upturned to the sun, expression maddeningly smug. ‘People need a sacred space where they’re more in touch with nature, and with the whole world of myth, which links them to the past. There’s no sense of continuity in cities. Everything’s too new and artificial.’

  He wheeled away in irritation. She had been brainwashed by Corinna, or JB, and was spouting their pet theories secondhand. He stumbled along the path, suddenly noticing a clump of flowers – tiny bell-shaped trumpets with striking glossy leaves; two peacock butterflies hovering above them. Higher up, a buzzard circled slowly in the sky, its movements as unhurried as the lazy clouds themselves – pearly wisps merging into blue. The countryside was beautiful – there was no denying that – and he would never get this sense of space in Wandsworth, this view across lush fields and dramatic dappled hills. As usual, he was torn; one part of him pining for London and the comforts of his home; another part exulting in the grandeur of the landscape. But it wasn’t simply a matter of fine views and pretty flowers – his daughter’s health and happiness were at stake. Should he keep her here in the hope that she’d be cured, or return her to the safety of Elveley Road?

  He drifted back to Penny, who was absorbed in watching the buzzard; the majestic bird soaring almost out of sight towards gold-tinged swathes of cloud. It seemed unkind to drag her back to petty arguments, or to break the all-embracing silence, which was now so profound he felt it should be put in a glass case and labelled ‘utter peace’. But this was their only chance of talking. ‘Look,’ he said, taking both her hands in his as a gesture of appeasement, ‘apart from anything else, I’m worried about Rick. Pippa seems to absolutely loathe him.’

  Penny slipped her hands free, as if unwilling to be fettered. ‘Maybe she does, but he’s the means to her healing. Stephen told me yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, that’s idiotic, Penny! How on earth can she be healed by a whippersnapper schoolboy?’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune, I must say! Rick was supposed to be so wonderful, I thought.’

  ‘Not wonderful, just ordinary. And hardly likely to be working miracles in conjunction with your Stephen.’

  ‘He’s not “mine”.’

  ‘Oh, really? You could have fooled me. Anyway, this is beginning to sound more and more ridiculous. First she’s meant to find salvation through some wounded dribbly dog, and now thorough a boy she shuns like the plague and who has problems enough himself.’

  ‘Daniel, what’s got into you? There’s no need to be so scathing.’

  ‘What’s got into you? You’re not thinking about how Pippa feels at all. Why the hell should you foist her on someone she obviously detests?’

  ‘I’m not foisting her on anyone. I’m just giving her the chance to see things from a different point of view. Anyway, if she does go home, what then? D’you think she’ll magically recover there?’

  ‘At least she’ll have more to do.’

  ‘She’s got masses to do here. And it’s good for her to be with other people.’

  ‘But she’s not with other people, is she? What you really mean is it’s
good for you.’ He broke off in annoyance. Half a dozen sheep were edging curiously towards them, as if attracted by this marital altercation. He shooed them away, resumed his argument. ‘Just because you’re the centre of attention, with Stephen and Corinna fighting for your favours, you assume that Pippa and I should be equally keen on living like a band of gypsies.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Daniel. You sound inanely jealous. And anyway, you were enjoying it yourself last week. What’s happened to make you so stroppy all of a sudden? Okay, I know the weather changed and we had a few bad days, but the rain’s blown over now, and with any luck it’ll stay that way.’

  He stumbled towards her, embraced her almost violently, burying his face in the soft bolster of her breasts. ‘It isn’t just the weather,’ he admitted, smelling the chaplain’s evil pipe again, feeling that obscene moustache prickling on his bottom.

  ‘Well, what then?’

  He muttered something inaudible, wounded by her rebuff. Her tone had been impatient, and she had all but pushed him off. He had evidently made a faux pas. Only Corinna was allowed unrestricted access to her body.

  He pulled away and started striding up the hill; the chaplain in pursuit. He was unable to rid himself of Sayers, especially now he had come so close to mentioning his name, blurting out the whole grotesque experience.

  ‘Daniel, for heaven’s sake, where are you off to now? I thought we were trying to talk about Pippa.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about Pippa,’ he retorted, shouting over his shoulder as he continued his furious climb. ‘You get back to your darling Corinna. Perhaps you’ll have another miracle – she’ll turn into a man, so you can get married and live happily every after.’

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Daniel buttoned his shirt with cold and clumsy hands. He was still shivering from his swim, but relaxed at last, at peace. Every time he came here he experienced the same calming effect, as if the lake were a source of healing in itself. Its very seclusion acted as a palliative, and its water appeared to have the power to wash away not just sweat and grime, but anger, fear, regret. The rocks beside the shore were some of the oldest in the world, and the thought of such a time-scale put things in proportion. Or maybe it was the almost religious process of immersion. He grinned to himself. Some of Penny’s hokum must be getting to him, despite his strong resistance. As for Pat’s ‘miracle’, he had decided to reserve judgement. Not having witnessed it in person, he didn’t feel he was qualified to make an objective comment. And anyway, it was much too soon to declare her permanently cured. She would need to return to the hospital, have her case reviewed. But he wasn’t going to let it upset his peace of mind, as Margot’s cure had done. For three or four nights after that, images of blindness had crept into his dreams, so that he was the one who couldn’t see; groping through the interminable dark until, suddenly and shatteringly, the full light of dawn restored his eyesight, as JB rose resplendent in the sky.

  He shook his head to dispel the dazzling image; concentrated instead on the mundane task of putting on his socks and shoes. His fingers were still numb, bluish round the nails. It was probably idiotic to swim in sub-zero temperatures when he already had a cold, but he felt far better for it. Certainly when diving deep, deep down, he had experienced a sense of total release, and had successfully drowned Sayers, whose body had sunk lumpenly to the bottom.

  He smoothed his dripping hair, broke into a run. The best way to warm up was to jog around the shore, get his circulation going. The air itself was warm; the day still close and humid. It was only that unfathomable black water which never seemed to lose its jolting chill. He pounded across the sand, glancing up at the encircling hills, barred with sun and shadow; a lone sheep standing on a spur of rock, looking like a large white stone itself.

  His mind was surprisingly clear and, even as he ran, he was working out a solution to the problem of the holiday, or what remained of it. He could hardly understand his earlier indecision. It all seemed perfectly simple now that he had rid himself of resentment and self-pity. He would keep his promise to Pippa and take her home for a week or two, thus giving Penny the freedom she craved, and removing the pressure from all three of them. It would also allow him to check on things in the office, and deal with any urgent post or phone-calls. And when he and Pippa returned here for a final week with Penny, he could bring a good stock of warm dry clothes and, he hoped, more tolerance. He had heard from Megan that while they’d been battling with rain and storms in Wales these last few days, London had been basking in a sunny spell. So, with any luck, he and Pippa would enjoy a fortnight’s calm – in every sense. He would take her out, let her choose the excursions for a change, do his best to heal the breach between them.

  He veered towards the water’s edge, slowing his pace to a walk. He wanted one last look at the lake before he left for London, so that he could take something of it with him – its tranquillity and composure. He had never seen the slightest sign of life in the water, yet it seemed to give him life, like some baptismal rite. He remembered what Penny had said about people needing a sacred space where they could be more in touch with nature. It had annoyed him at the time, but this particular spot did indeed feel sacred; stirred in him some deep response to what he could only call the numinous. He watched his reflection trembling on the surface of the water, bent towards it like a modern-day Narcissus, finally thrusting his fingers through the shadow of his face and dispersing himself into fragments.

  Reluctantly, he turned away, walked across the sand towards the path, and began the long trek back. It must be early afternoon by now, and he had eaten nothing since last night except a few ripe blackberries he’d gathered on the way. He must grab some leftovers from lunch, then have a word with Penny; try to make her see that, despite her earlier arguments, it was not in Pippa’s interests to stay here any longer. Actually, he didn’t anticipate any major opposition on her part. It was pretty clear to him that she was so caught up in this tribal way of life, she was merely using Pippa as a convenient excuse. She might well be secretly relieved to have her daughter off her hands, but probably couldn’t bring herself to admit it, especially as the whole purpose of their coming here had been to help Pippa over her problems.

  He strode on down the path, making a mental list of what he had to do: pack his things, check the car, make sure the tent was sound, ask Gerard to give Penny a hand if anything went wrong, and explain to Claire and Rick why he was leaving. He hoped to be on the road within an hour, though he had no real idea of the time. He stopped a moment to cram in a few more blackberries – small mean things with no taste to them and pips which stuck in his teeth. He also picked a flower or two for Pippa, and kept a look-out for bones to add to Rick’s collection. Flowers were rare up here, so he pounced on any tiny bloom as a treasure, especially pleased to find a spire of toadflax: each pouting pair of yellow lips complete with protruding orange tongue. As he stooped to pluck it, he was suddenly aware that this stretch of lonely moorland would probably have looked the same five thousand years ago. The remains of the lead mine were a long way further down, and all he could see around him was hill blurring into sky, green merging with grey-blue, chameleon clouds forming and re-forming, and shadows like mauve bruises on the crags.

  He lengthened his stride, actually relishing the prospect of tepid chick-pea fritters or congealing fungi fricassee, or whatever they had left him. He was too hungry to be fussy, and anyway, he could compensate tonight with steak and strawberries in the French bistro round the corner. He’d treat Pippa to a slap-up meal, with not a slug or wasp in sight.

  At last he reached the final lap, the steep and muddy sheep-track which led down to the camp. Far below, he could see three figures crouching on the ground, unrecognizable at this distance. The details gradually sharpened as he approached, until he could make out Penny’s beacon-head – the only splash of colour in the surrounding hazy-green. Corinna was on one side of her (of course), Claire the other, and all three women appeared totally absorbe
d. He shouted to them, and waved, but they didn’t seem to hear. Well, however engrossed they were, he would have to beg a minute of Penny’s precious time, to tell her he was leaving. He jogged over to the group, lurching abruptly to a panicked halt. It looked as if they were peeing, all three of them, together. But surely community living didn’t go as far as that, and why should they choose so exposed a spot, instead of seeking cover? Unless it was connected with Anita’s urinotherapy. She must have talked them into it, and this was some communal collection rite. He was about to take to his heels and run, when Penny called him over.

  ‘It’s … okay,’ he mumbled. ‘I can see you’re busy.’

  ‘No, don’t go away. It’s lucky you’re here. Come and join us, will you?’

  He edged towards them warily, his face flaming with embarrassment as he saw that they were naked from the waist down, and although not apparently urinating, seemed on the point of doing so. He averted his eyes and stared fixedly at his feet, studiously counting the eyelet holes in his shoes.

  ‘We were just saying that we ought to have a man present,’ Corinna informed him in an accusing tone of voice. ‘After all, it’s men who are to blame for making a natural function a taboo.’