Hiding From the Light

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘That’s all I want.’ Mark stood up and turned to the door. ‘I only called in on my way home, actually. I’ve been up to Ipswich. We’re thinking of doing another programme for the series up there. There’s a lovely old house in the dock area, very sinister and run down, very photogenic.’ He grinned, hesitating. ‘Mike, I’ve got a strange feeling about Barker’s shop. It’s going to make a fantastic film, but I do want to keep the church involved if I can. Insurance.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘None of the other ghosts we’ve followed up have scared me like this.’

  ‘Then give it up, Mark, please.’ Mike had followed him into the hall.

  ‘Sorry. There’s too much money invested in this programme already, and it’s too good a story. You mention a present day witch – it would be great if we could film her. I’m going to do a lot more research. I’ll let you know what I dig up. And if you find out any more about Hopkins I’d be very interested. You are quite knowledgeable about him, aren’t you?’

  Mike gave a wry grin. ‘Oh yes, I’m learning all the time.’ He watched Mark stride off across the gravel. ‘Only too knowledgeable,’ he added grimly under his breath. He closed the door and went back into the study to stand gazing thoughtfully down into the fire.

  While he was talking to Mark, his dream had come back to him in astonishing detail. The feelings, the smells, the sounds of the village and the details of the gown of the woman who had come to see him. The pink petticoat, the blue woollen dress, the silk cloak and the woman’s face, contorted with anger, the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. Sarah Paxman. But it wasn’t Sarah Paxman. It was Emma Dickson.

  42

  Monday October 26th

  ‘Bugger!’

  The whisper in the dark woke Alex from a deep sleep with a start. He groaned. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half past five and I’ve just holed my tights.’ He heard Paula fumbling and the bedside light came on.

  He screwed up his eyes crossly. ‘Bloody hell! Isn’t it a bit early?’

  ‘I’ve got an early meeting! It seemed a good idea, with the extra hour.’

  Alex groaned again. ‘Why don’t you get dressed in the bathroom, then? So you can turn on the light and see what you’re doing!’

  ‘I do, normally.’ She threw the balled tights into the corner. ‘Sod it! Where are the new ones?’ She was rummaging in a drawer.

  ‘Calm down. There’s plenty of time for you to catch the train.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say!’ She ripped open the new packaging. ‘Don’t forget James needs to take his new house shoes and Sophie must find her coloured pencils.’ She hauled up the tights and adjusted her narrow black skirt.

  ‘When do I ever forget what the kids need for school?’

  ‘Perhaps when your mind is totally taken up with the beautiful new lady at Liza’s,’ she said tartly.

  He sighed audibly. ‘Paula.’ They had been quarrelling all the previous day, sniping at each other every time they were out of earshot of the children, mostly about Emma.

  Alex had inadvertently started the ball rolling. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ he had said as they sat over their coffee with the Sunday papers spread out on the kitchen table between them. The children were playing quietly for once although it hadn’t lasted. ‘I’m going to offer to help her get that nursery off the ground. It’s the perfect small business opportunity.’

  ‘You haven’t got time. You’re taking care of the children.’

  ‘The children go to school.’ He reached for the review section of the Sunday Times. ‘And this house does not exactly challenge.’

  For some reason she had taken that as an insult. From then on they had batted petty irritations back and forth at each other all day and the atmosphere had not improved when Paula tried to reach Lyndsey on the phone. ‘Why doesn’t the girl have an answering machine! For God’s sake, where is she?’

  ‘I can’t help wondering if we don’t use Lyn too much,’ Alex had put in mildly. ‘Why don’t we try one of the babysitting circles as back-up?’

  ‘Because I have no intention of sitting other people’s kids,’ she had retorted, ‘and they won’t have you because you’re a man.’

  ‘OK.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Well, she is obviously out so we’re not going to get her this evening.’ They had wanted to go up to the Stour Bay Café for a meal but now they would have to eat at home. Alex offered to go and fetch an Indian, but she curtly refused. In the end they had eaten scampi and chips out of the freezer with the children. Alex watched Paula go upstairs when they had finished and he frowned. When she came back, he was conciliatory. ‘Paula, sweetheart. Are you sure you aren’t finding all this commuting too much of a strain? We could swap. I could work. I could have a go at getting back into the City …’

  They both knew it would never happen. And Paula loved her job far too much to give it up.

  ‘Better idea: we could move back to London and I wouldn’t have to commute.’ She spoke sharply and unguardedly in front of Sophie, who stared at her in horror. ‘I don’t want to move to London.’ The child’s eyes filled with tears. ‘My best friends are here.’

  ‘And here we’ll stay.’ Alex reached out to pull her close. ‘Don’t cry, sweetie. Mummy didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Lyn says we’ll stay here forever and ever!’ Sophie announced defiantly. From the safety of her father’s knees, she glared at her mother. ‘Lyn says we don’t have to do what you say. She says she can make sure we stay here with her. By magic. She promised!’

  The shock of her words rendered both parents silent for a moment. Then Paula’s tirade had started.

  ‘That girl is obviously turning into a menace! You’re right. We are using her too much. We shouldn’t have trusted her! How dare she interfere with family decisions. She has no business having a view at all. It is nothing to do with her.’

  Sophie’s tears had turned to full-blown howls which Alex’s hug id nothing to stem, and were then reinforced by James, who on hearing his sister’s shrieks ran into the room, headed for his father’s knees and started to cry in sympathy. The effect on Paula, faced with the three other members of her family seemingly solidly against her was devastating. Her face crumpled and she had fled the room.

  Alex, trying to comfort the children, barely had time to acknowledge the deep warning bell ringing somewhere inside his head.

  ‘I’ll try and find someone else to babysit from time to time,’ he said later when, with the children comfortably ensconced at the kitchen table painting, he discovered Paula in front of the TV.

  ‘And speak to Lyndsey. Tell her to watch what she says in front of the children. They believe anything at their age.’ She did not take her eyes off the screen.

  His anxiety was still there. ‘I shall certainly do that,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They’re getting too attached to her. It’s my fault. I use her too much to look after them.’

  Paula finally tore her eyes away from the programme she was watching. ‘I can’t blame you for wanting to get out of the house. After all, I do.’ She paused. ‘But don’t go and get involved with Emma Dickson.’

  ‘Oh, Paula, not that again!’ He raised his fists heavenward. Couldn’t she see that Emma was not a problem? ‘What on earth did she say to upset you so much?’

  ‘She did not upset me!’

  ‘It’s because she’s turned her back on all you hold dear, isn’t it? You can’t bear to think she’s rejected the City.’

  ‘She has also rejected that nice man of hers, if you were paying any attention at all. And she will be looking for a replacement.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Alex laughed. ‘You can’t be serious. Oh, Paula, my love, I’m flattered you should think she’d even look at me, but no – ’

  ‘Why?’ she interrupted coldly. ‘I looked at you! You think she’s too attractive? Too sophisticated? Too young? I doubt if she’s even five years younger than me! And I know you. You wouldn’t hesitate to look at her!’

>   ‘No! No! No!’ Whatever he said would be wrong now. He couldn’t win. The trouble was, she had identified the wrong target. Attractive as she was, Emma would be no threat to their family. He valued his marriage far too much. The threat, if there was one, was from Lyndsey, and the fact that he would never dare tell his wife that the babysitter he had trusted with their children was a self-professed witch. Oh, she knew about the Wicca, but like him she had thought it totally harmless. Now he was not so sure. Not so sure at all.

  Lying back in bed after the sound of Paula’s car, on her way to the station to catch the train to London, had died away, Alex relished the silence. In at most half an hour the kids would be waking up and the fraught getting-ready-for-school/breakfast routine would get under way. For an hour he wouldn’t even have one second to himself to think, then the rest of the day would stretch ahead of him. Housework. Shopping. But then, he smiled to himself half guiltily, maybe he would pay Emma a visit and test the water regarding a new job.

  43

  Mike parked his car some distance away from the churchyard and from Emma’s cottage and walked up the lane, aware of a certain sense of furtiveness. On his shoulder he carried a black bag, a freebie from a book promotion he had attended once in Canterbury. In it were the items he needed in order to celebrate Holy Communion.

  As he passed Liza’s he glanced up at the windows, visible in the early morning light just beyond the hedge. Was that one of her cats sitting on the window sill, looking down at him? He looked away hurriedly in case she was there with it and saw him staring.

  The place where he could duck into the undergrowth and climb the wall into the churchyard was invisible from her windows. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the road he pushed between the elder and the hawthorn and scrambled over the old bricks. Once inside and out of sight of any passer-by, he paused and looked around. His heart had begun to thud uncertainly under his ribs and he felt his breathing grow shallow and fast. He stared round again, trying to steady himself. He must not show fear. He must not feel fear. If he did he was done for. Useless. Ineffectual. The early morning light was pale and cold, throwing a dull monochrome across the grass. He found himself wishing fervently that the sun would come up.

  Putting down his bag he shivered again, pulling up the collar of his waterproof jacket. Then he rammed his hands into his pockets. The area of ground he was interested in was some twenty-five yards away, half hidden from where he was standing. Perhaps before he went any closer, he would pray.

  ‘Our Father who art in heaven …’ He whispered the words out loud and stopped. It was as though the world was holding its breath. The rustle of drying autumn leaves ceased as the brisk wind dropped. The gentle confidential murmuring of a small bird in the ivy near him ceased. He could almost feel the beady little eyes on him, watching him closely. ‘Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come.’ He glanced round again. ‘Thy will be done …’ He stopped. He was sure the temperature had dropped several degrees and he could feel the odd spot of rain on his head. ‘As it is in heaven. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive …’ He stopped again. Somewhere near him an owl had hooted, the long quavering call of the night. He caught sight of the shadow on silent wings whisk across the far wall out of sight. What was it Shakespeare said: the bird of night did sit, even at noon-day, hooting and shrieking. Something like that. All right, so it was bad luck to see an owl by day. But night was still very close, lurking in the wooded valleys and under the trees nearby. ‘Deliver us from evil. Christ be with me. Christ within me. Christ behind me. Christ before me …’ Taking a deep breath, he picked up his bag and strode forward to the spot where he imagined Lyndsey to have been standing.

  He found a stone, half buried in the mud. It probably came from the fabric of the old church itself. It would do for an altar. Crouching down, he unpacked the bag. Inside was a small Communion set and stole. He put the stole round his neck and opened the little case, taking out the cross and setting it on the stone. Kneeling in front of it on the wet grass, he had to force himself to concentrate. The urge to look over his shoulder was almost unbearable.

  Pray. Keep focused.

  Quickly, he opened the containers of bread and wine. His hands were shaking. ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believe in me, though he die yet shall he live …’ His pulse rate was slowing. The familiar words were giving him strength. Whatever she had done here, this witch with her magic circles and her spells, it was not strong enough to withstand the love and protection of Christ.

  When he had finished he stayed where he was, kneeling quietly in the grass for several minutes, then he opened his eyes. The churchyard was still, the shadows gone, the unquiet echoes had died. He looked round, then calmly reassured he set about packing up. When he stood up the knees of his trousers were soaked and muddy, and he had left two small dents in the grass, but the place felt clean, energised. The rite had worked.

  Turning away, he slung his bag onto his shoulder and strode towards the wall.

  Kill the witch!

  The words were so loud he spun round, unsure whether they had been said out loud or whether they were in his own head.

  You are a man of God. It is your duty to fight Satan!

  Taking a deep breath, he gripped the strap of his bag.

  Kill the witch!

  ‘I have blessed this ground in the name of Jesus Christ!’ Mike turned round slowly. Lifting his right hand, he made the sign of the cross. ‘Let all who lie buried here rest in peace.’ He paused, listening. ‘From all evil and mischief; from sin, from the crafts and assaults of the Devil; from thy wrath and from everlasting damnation, Good Lord, deliver us.’ His voice echoed in the silence with words from the Litany he wasn’t even aware he knew by heart. There was no response, and he exhaled loudly, trying to collect himself again.

  Forcing himself to walk slowly he crossed the churchyard, climbed the wall and returned to his car where he sat for a moment, his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed. His bag lay on the seat beside him.

  The rap on the window nearly made him jump out of his skin. A face was peering at him only a few inches away through the glass.

  ‘You all right, Vicar?’

  It was Bill Standing. Mike took a deep breath and wound down the window. ‘Hello, Bill. Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Just a bit tired.’

  ‘You look peaky, Vicar, if you don’t mind my saying so.’ The old man shook his head. ‘I thought that the other day when I was tidying round the graves and I saw you and Miss Sadler going into the church together. And I thought it again just now.’ Mike was aware of a pair of shrewd eyes fixed on his face. ‘You bin up to the old churchyard?’

  Mike shrugged. No point in denying it. ‘I have, yes.’

  ‘Best not to meddle there unless you know what you’re doing.’ Bill shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘They pulled that old place down for a reason, see. People don’t hold with churches round here.’

  Mike closed his eyes. When he opened them he didn’t look at Bill. ‘It’s my job to meddle in some things.’ He was watching a file of gulls flying in up river against the wind.

  ‘And then again it’s not. You mind the living, Vicar. Leave the dead to theyselves.’

  ‘And to you, eh, Bill? Keeping their graves nice and smart.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Down at St Michael’s maybe, but not up here. Never.’

  ‘Does anyone look after it now?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘There are sheep in there. They keep the grass down.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m talking about something else, Bill.’

  Bill chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘I know. If there’s things need doing, they’ll be done,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe with your help. Maybe not.’

  There was a long silence.

  Mike sighed. ‘Do you know Lyndsey Clark?’ he asked at last, cautiously.

  ‘Yes, I knows Lyndsey.’ Bill chuckled. ‘Silly girl. Playing around with things she don’t
understand.’

  ‘Then warn her off, will you? Please, warn her off.’ Mike reached for the ignition. ‘I’ve got to be going. Do you want a lift?’

  The old man shook his head. He stood back and raised his hand. As Mike drove off he peered in the rear-view mirror. The old man was still standing in the road watching him.

  44

  Emma had pulled off her gardening gloves as she came in to answer the phone, hoping it would be the builder announcing that he was going to come back and finish off replacing some of the floorboards in the room which was supposed to be her study – the room where the computer was swiftly gathering dust as time and again she put off the idea of trying to put some reports together for David. In the background the radio was playing quietly. The kitchen was warm and very peaceful. She threw the gloves down on the table and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Em? It’s me!’ Peggy’s regular phone calls usually began with enquiries about Emma’s health and well-being, whether she was eating properly and how the cats were settling in. Today she plunged straight into her conversation; she sounded excited. ‘The most extraordinary thing has happened. Are you sitting comfortably?’

  ‘What is it, Ma?’ Emma pushed her wind-tangled hair back from her face with the back of her hand. She had been in the shed at the side of the terrace, sorting through the mountains of old clay pots and ancient gardening equipment she had found there. Some of it, she was sure, was old enough to donate to the local museum.

  ‘Ever since you moved in I’ve been wondering about those holidays we spent at Manningtree with your Dad’s grandparents when you were a child. They were such happy times.’ There was a fractional silence as her mother gave a small sigh.

  ‘Ma – ’

  ‘No, dear. Listen, your Dad never talked much about his own childhood, except that he loved going there too, of course, but I thought I’d sort through some boxes of papers and stuff of his in the attic to see if there was anything from those days, and I found a couple of old albums. They must have belonged to his mother. Wonderful pictures of her Bennett parents and grandparents. It appears that they lived for generations at a place called Overly Hall, near the farmhouse where they lived when we went up there. It’s about a mile from where you are now. Isn’t that strange? That he never mentioned it? I’m sure I would have remembered if he had!’