We all nodded sagely, visualising such adverts while considering the frustration and futility of a life spent in this way.
‘Well, he’s got his own studio and we put the car in it and set up delayed action cameras all around. Then he took pictures from every conceivable angle over a period of twenty-four hours in all degrees of lighting and, I’m delighted to say, not a single one shows anything other than a normal car. If you want to see the proof, there’s a hundred and fifty prints sitting in the back of the car for your inspection.’
No one seemed to want to take up this offer to examine the evidence for the vehicle’s declared clean bill of health. It may have been that the need to enter the car in order to do so influenced our decision to decline.
‘So where does that leave you?’ said the landlord.
‘Ah well, that’s not all of my story. I wouldn’t have been happy to leave it there. No, fortunately this chap up in London has a friend, a lecturer at the University College, who specialises in the technical aspects of photography. We went to see him with the original photographs and he reckons that he has the explanation for them.’
‘A university lecturer you say?’ asked Disvan.
‘That’s right. Apparently very prominent in his field as well.’
‘Now that’s encouraging. What was his explanation?’
‘It’s the glass. Some freak effect in the make-up of the car windows bends and distorts light in some circumstances to give that image of the little girl. It’s been documented before. He had a book with pictures that showed similar effects.’
‘What, like the one we saw?’ said the landlord.
‘Well... almost. Most of them were more fuzzy than the first photographs we took, but it’s recognisably the same phenomenon.’
‘Right…’ said Mr Patel. ‘What did he have to say about the car radio incident, then?’
‘Nothing. Like I said, he’s an expert on photography, not electronics. That’s my field.’
‘So how would you explain the voice you told us about?’
‘A freak effect, a drift of frequency that caught a snatch of another station, a burst of static that sounded a bit like a scream. Radios, especially wonky old car radios operating on the move, are quite capable of producing such a thing.’
‘It seems like a lot of freak effects to afflict one car,’ said Mr Disvan.
‘Life’s like that, Mr Disvan,’ Trevor replied.
‘I see.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ said Mr Wessner.
Trevor seemed cheerfully confident about his explanation. ‘Well such things do happen, Mr Wessner, whether they reach your ears or not.’
‘Whippersnapper,’ muttered Mr Wessner under his breath.
‘So what have you done about all this, then?’ asked Mr Disvan.
‘I went straight from the lecturer’s place to a while-you-wait garage in Streatham and had every bit of glass in the car replaced.’
‘Seems sensible,’ said the landlord.
‘Expensive, though,’ added Mr Patel. ‘If it were me... Well, I’d get a new car.’
‘Tell me,’ said Mr Disvan, ‘does Tania travel in the car now?’
‘No.’
‘Ah.’
‘Look, I know you lot don’t believe what I’m saying,’ the young man continued, ‘so I’ll have to prove it to you. Would you kindly oblige me with your new Polaroid please, Barry?’
‘If you want,’ replied the landlord. ‘Mind you, it didn’t show anything the first time, but when Lottie—‘
‘Yes I know, I know, but please just humour me.’
‘Okay. Lottie! Camera please.’
A picture was duly taken and we awaited its development back in the bar.
‘There you are,’ said Trevor eventually, quite his old self again. ‘Whip out the glass and wipe out the ghost—simple as that.’
‘Don’t think you’re going to get Lenin in there again to prove your university man right’ said Lottie defensively.
‘There’s no need. The story’s over. Here you are, Barry, here’s the two offending photos. You can pin them up on the holiday postcard board.’
The landlord looked at them gingerly but did not reach out to accept.
‘No, thank you all the same. I’m not as convinced as you, if I must be honest. I wouldn’t be happy having them in the Argyll. For my money, they show something not of this world and such things aren’t meant to be on view.’
‘Well said,’ Lottie added.
‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Trevor said jokingly. ‘Hasn’t the twentieth century reached Binscombe yet?’
‘We’ve still got it on approval,’ growled the landlord, ‘and haven’t decided whether to keep it.’
* * *
Trevor Jones against the world—as later told to Mr Oakley
In honest truth, Trevor only felt around seventy-five percent of the confidence he had manifested to the clientele of the Argyll, but had felt obliged to put on a convincing show in front of the unenlightened. On emerging from the bar, his spirit of cheerful optimism returned as he saw the car, unoccupied and acquiescent, awaiting him. Having recourse to rational counsel from experts and professionals seemed to have purged the vehicle of the imaginary malign and brooding aura which had previously adhered to it. Consulting the joint wisdom of the villagers had had the opposite effect. Trevor now reproached himself for ever having placed reliance in their nth hand knowledge and handed down superstitions. How could he have been so unnerved as to panic in that way and surrender himself to beliefs straight out of the Dark Ages? They were decent folk in their way, but their time was gone.
Secretly, Trevor worried that there was a side to himself that would make willing obeisance to the irrational as they did. The danger of such a retrogressive slide was ever present. Even Mr Oakley, a well educated outsider, seemed increasingly that way inclined.
The engine started first time and Trevor pulled smartly away, consciously using his full driving skills to proceed as neatly and elegantly as possible. Made more than human by the addition of the machine’s power and speed to his own, he felt his assurance in his own world view growing back to normal strength. Thus emboldened he turned on the car radio for the first time since the previous disturbing incident and, with the slightest twinge of relief, heard the (contemporary) sounds of Radio One come forth.
At that time of day there was only light traffic about, and Trevor decided not to go straight home but to see where road and whim would lead him for a short while. He felt as at peace as a man of his age and time ever would be and with this came a sense of gentle benevolence to his fellow man (men such as those who had ‘reclaimed’ his car for him). Consequently, contrary to his normal practice, he stopped to pick up a lone hitch-hiker even though he was a young man of somewhat shaggy appearance.
‘Where are you heading?’
‘Goldenford, please.’
‘It’s not far out of my way, I’ll take you there. Hop in.’
‘Thank you very much.’
The young man got in and they drove away.
‘At the University are you?’ asked Trevor.
‘That’s right.’
In the way of such things the two strictly temporary companions soon lapsed into silence. Only a few more minutes driving would bring them into town. The young student produced a packet of sweets from his combat jacket and popped one into his mouth.
‘Want one?’ he said.
‘No thanks.’
‘What about your daughter—would she like one?’
* * *
‘Amen’ said the Reverend Jagger.
‘Amen’ we answered raggedly.
‘Well, that’s about it,’ continued the Rector of Saint Joseph’s, Binscombe, ‘though what good it will do I can’t possibly say. I’ve never done an exorcism before, least of all on a car. It’s a very unusual set of circumstances all round, really. I mean, I’ve heard of exorcisms on people sometimes, on houses occasionally, but o
n cars—never. The Bishop wasn’t very happy about it, of course. However, in view of the evidence, he agreed we could go ahead providing it was discreetly done.’
‘We’re very grateful to you, Rector,’ said Tania, ‘Thank you for persuading him.’
‘I’m not so sure it’s me you should thank. The Bishop’s final words to me were “if Disvan thinks it’s necessary then go ahead”, so perhaps you were more instrumental, Mr Disvan.’
‘I think not, Rector. I’ve never met your Bishop.’
‘No? Oh well, he seems to know of you.’
‘Curious.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway,’ said Tania, ‘our thanks to whoever’s responsible. Isn’t that right, Trevor?’
He nodded in response.
‘Are you not feeling any better?’ enquired Mr Disvan solicitously.
‘Yes I’m fine,’ the young man replied, although everything from the slump of his shoulders to the shake in his fingertips served to deny this. Quite apart from the effects of the last incident, Trevor was now pressed, half willingly and half by dire necessity, into a world of demons and exorcisms where he was very far from home. The consequences of this clearly showed.
‘Let’s get inside,’ said the Rector. ‘There’s quite a nip in the air at this time in the morning.’
It was indeed only 6.00 a.m. when we, a small select number of invited people, had gathered in the rear car park of the Argyll (for reasons of convenience and concealment) to observe the service of exorcism. From opening address to closing dismissal, the operation took a mere ten minutes and the Reverend Jagger’s final dispensing of holy water upon the car neatly coincided with the rising of the sun above the rooftops. It was getting perilously close to the time when the advance guard of the commuter army would be appearing, taking an illegal but long tolerated shortcut through the landlord’s front car park on their madcap dash to their station. We had no wish to come under their incurious scrutiny in present circumstances, and so followed the Rector’s advice to adjourn inside.
The landlord and Lottie, ever practical, had prepared some mulled beer to dispel the chill, physical and otherwise, and in due course the gathering became almost convivial.
The Reverend Jagger started on an ill-timed tale of an exorcism he had heard of while working with the RSPCK in Africa and the trail of horrible deaths it had left behind. Trevor looked at him with increasing horror and became even paler than hitherto. The hand holding his mug of beer drooped until the contents were close to spilling. Disvan, the landlord and I simultaneously noticed the effect that the story was having on the young man and saw the need to interrupt. Sadly, the landlord was the first to react.
‘Are the police going to proceed with those dangerous driving charges, Trevor?’
Mr Disvan and I exchanged glances. It was not exactly the sort of intervention we could have hoped for, but at least the Rector’s tale of possession and murder was halted.
Trevor took no notice, continuing to stare at and through the clergyman. Tania nudged him. ‘Trevor, someone’s talking to you.’
He came to suddenly. ‘What?’
The landlord repeated his question.
‘Ah... yes... apparently. My solicitor says that if I blame the hitch-hiker for distracting me I might get off with just a disqualification.’
‘Have they located him yet?’
‘No, he ran off into the woods by Saint Catherine’s Mount and the University say that they haven’t seen him since.’
‘Poor boy,’ said Lottie.
‘To be honest,’ said Mr Wessner, who had previously been in deep thought, ‘I can’t see why you don’t resolve the whole matter by selling the damn car.’
‘Or by destroying it,’ agreed the Rector. ‘Couldn’t you put it through one of those crunching machines that turn motor cars into blocks of scrap?’
For a second, a weak spark of hope appeared in Trevor’s eyes, but it quickly faded and died when Tania answered for him.
‘No,’ she said, ‘that wouldn’t resolve it—not at all. Either way we’d be passing the problem on to the new owner or the scrap dealer and it’d still leave it as a mystery. No, I’ve thought of doing what you suggest but it wouldn’t be right.’
Lottie and Mr Disvan smiled at Tania in approval.
‘In theory,’ said the landlord, ‘there shouldn’t be a problem anymore, should there? Else what’s the point of us getting up at this Godforsaken hour—begging your pardon, Padre—and having Mr Jagger here do his stuff?’
Trevor looked unconvinced but too lost to protest.
Mr Disvan now tried to repair the damage done. ‘Would you care for me to drive you both home?’
‘What, in our car?’
‘Yes, I’ve no fear of it.’
‘Would you?’ she said.
‘Certainly. The Reverend here has done what can be done to put it right and we should put some faith in his efforts.’
‘Well, it would be nice at first to have some company, I must admit,’ she said.
‘If you wish, I’ll come too,’ said the Rector.
Trevor suddenly roused himself and reassumed, albeit by obvious force of will, his former robust manner.
‘Thank you but no, that won’t be necessary. It’s very kind of you but I’m damned if I’m going to back down in the face of this nightmare. So okay, I’ve had to call in an exorcist; so all right, I’m out of my depth and in a strange world that doesn’t make any sense to me. But I’m going to stay with this… thing—and see it through!’
The landlord applauded. ‘Good for you, boy,’ he said.
These words of Trevor’s were more or less addressed to the company in general but now his tone suggested that he was talking to himself and vocalising some internal struggle. He spoke with genuine fervour.
‘This is our world. We belong here. It has its own rules and laws and—it’s more powerful than whatever’s out there in that car!’
Doctor Bani-Sadr, a known rationalist who had nevertheless listened respectfully to the service of exorcism, joined in with the landlord’s applause.
The Reverend Jagger and Mr Disvan exchanged apprehensive looks.
* * *
‘Well?’ said the landlord.
‘No problems so far,’ replied Trevor, ‘It’s as quiet as the... Well, nothing’s happened, anyway.’
‘The service must have worked,’ Tania agreed.
‘Have you told the Rector?’ asked Mr Disvan.
‘Yes,’ said Tania, ‘I rang him up. He sounded more relieved than us.’
‘Well, that figures,’ said Doctor Bani-Sadr, ‘if you’ll excuse me saying so. All that’s at stake for you is a car, but for Jagger it’s the reputation of his church and his whole system of beliefs that’s on the line isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think it is as simple as that, doctor,’ said Mr Disvan. ‘The rector didn’t guarantee anything.’
‘Don’t know why you should stick up for him, Disvan, it’s not as if you’re one of his believers,’ the doctor grumbled into his barley wine.
‘That’s neither here nor there.’
‘I disagree...’
‘The point is,’ Tania interrupted firmly, ‘that Reverend Jagger was kind enough to stretch a theological point in the first place in order to exorcise a car. I don’t suppose it’s done his career any great good in the Bishop’s eyes. The further and crucial fact is that it appears to have worked.’
‘So get shot of the car before something happens,’ advised Mr Wessner.
‘There may not be any need now,’ said Trevor.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said the landlord. ‘Excuse me while I serve this customer.’
He moved off to attend to a little old lady who had just entered. I recognised her as the owner of one of the ancient terraced houses directly opposite the pub. It was a rare event for either her or her diminutive husband to actually ever enter the Argyll.
‘What can I get for you, Mrs Singer?’ he asked.
&
nbsp; ‘Nothing. I didn’t come over here to buy anything. I came over to complain.’
‘What about, dear? People been knocking your hedge around again at closing time, have they?’
‘Yes, but that’s not what I’m complaining about. I want to know who owns the yellow Fiesta parked out front.’
The public bar instantly fell silent.
‘I do,’ said Trevor with commendable calm.
‘Well, young man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you, young lady. Your little girl’s been screaming and crying her eyes out for the best part of an hour. Isn’t it time you did something about it?’
A wild light blazed in Trevor’s eyes.
‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said, ‘it’s high time I did something about it!’
Thus saying he dashed from the pub.
* * *
‘Where do you think he was heading, Stan?’ said Mr Disvan.
A group of half a dozen of us were gathered round the Community Policeman’s bed in Saint Dismas’s Hospital in Goldenford.
‘From what you’ve said, my guess is that he was going to Pavlik Kolakowski’s scrap yard between Goldenford and the Winchester roundabout. He’s got a vehicle crusher there. Judging by where the car ended up, I should imagine that was his intention. Of course we’ll never know for sure.’
‘How did you come to get involved, then?’ asked Mr Patel.
A senior looking nurse who had been hovering around us, pretending to be occupied in some task, intervened at this point.
‘Please, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘remember that the constable is still technically in a state of shock. Don’t overtax him with questions or make him relive whatever upset him.’
‘Ignore her,’ the policeman said, ‘she just wants to keep me helpless and in her power for as long as possible. But for her say-so I could have gone home this morning. I’m all right, I tell you.’
‘The doctor and I think otherwise. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘If it’ll get rid of you, yes please. Anyway, gentlemen, to continue...’
‘Are you up to it?’ Mr Disvan interposed.
Binscombe Tales - The Complete Series Page 7
