Bad Faith

by Gillian Philip

  ‘Did you follow me?’ I asked. I made sure to keep the fear in my voice.

  ‘I thought you might go to the Minger’s house.’ He couldn’t repress his supercilious pride. ‘I waited there till you appeared, then I followed you here. I’ve been watching you for ages, you know. Silly girl.’

  ‘Aw. You’re God’s Special Forces, you.’ I shut my eyes tight, then snapped them open. Stupid, stupid. Be afraid, I told myself. Be very afraid. It’s the only language he understands.

  ‘Don’t try to take the piss, Cassandra.’

  ‘I’m not.’ I sucked in a lungful of forest air to remind myself this was my territory, not his. ‘You’re on your own,’ I said again.

  ‘And? So?’

  And. So. My brain was churning. Defragmenting. Hurry up, hurry up...bring me those files... ‘You were on your own that other time too.’

  ‘When?’ He moved through the trees.

  I turned again, keeping him in view. ‘Ming got into a fight with you and you came off worst. That doesn’t happen. You were on your own. Your friends weren’t there.’

  ‘You’re taking the...’

  ‘No, no. I swear I’m not.’ Please help me on this one, Jeremiah. ‘I’m only trying to...’

  ‘Yeah, I met him that day. On the road up there,’ said Jeremiah. ‘By chance. Who says he beat me? Who says I came off worst? Little infidel shit.’

  ‘What were you doing on the road? Why were you out in the...’

  He lunged out of the trees with a speed and violence that knocked the breath from my lungs. I thought we’d both tumble back into the river, but grabbing my arms, Jeremiah yelled in my face. ‘What did you do with him? I know it was you!’

  ‘Who? Jeremiah, I...’

  ‘You know who! You were in these woods, you and your Minger! What did the pair of you do?’

  His mouth was flecked with spittle at the corners. I’d only seen that on old people. To be specific, I’d only seen it on Bunty when she was dying, her and her guilty conscience fading from the world. I stared at the corners of Jeremiah’s lips, at his bared teeth, and I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t possibly look at his eyes.

  ‘What were you doing here, Jeremiah?’

  His greyish tongue came out to lick his lips, but it didn’t shift the white flecks.

  ‘Your mother should have rotted in jail,’ he hissed at last. ‘I saw what she did to Todd.’

  ‘You saw.’ I tugged free of his hands and backed off.

  ‘Yes. I saw. The Eyes of Justice, Cassandra.’

  Silence. Silence so heavy I couldn’t take the weight of it. Something had to break it.

  So I said, ‘You finished him off.’

  A breeze moved in the dusky skyward branches, a late blackbird fluted somewhere high and far. And Jeremiah laughed.

  ‘Oh, yeah. I smote him! I smote that apostate in the name of the Lord!’

  I put one foot behind the other, slowly, slowly backing off. ‘Tell me. Tell me what happened.’ My voice sounded mechanical. I was so afraid.

  ‘I saw them. I drove past them up on the road, and they were arguing. Imagine, your mother berating a man like the Bishop! How dare she! I knew I had to protect him, but by the time I parked and ran back, they’d gone into the wood. I followed them, but I didn’t show myself. The One God sent me, you see. It was God’s will that I saw them that day. God sent me to watch over the Bishop.’

  God was out to lunch, I thought, but I managed not to say it.

  ‘They went so deep into the wood!’ Jeremiah shook his head. ‘As if he was trying to get away from her, but she wouldn’t leave him alone, the bitch. So I followed. I was as silent as an angel because I knew I might have to take her by surprise.’

  I swallowed, over and over, because I knew how close he must have come to killing her. I wanted to be sick but I didn’t dare. He might think I was possessed or something. I looked at his muscular arms, and gulped back the bile.

  ‘Then they stopped, and I heard them,’ he said dreamily. ‘The river was loud, but the One God was with me and He made them raise their voices. I heard everything they said. You know, Cassandra, I worshipped Todd. Worshipped him. I wanted to be like him. No, I wanted to be him. And Todd betrayed me. He betrayed us all.’

  ‘No,’ I said. I shook my head violently, trying to keep up with the psychotic headcase. ‘Todd stopped believing, that’s all. He couldn’t help that. They can’t. When that happens they can’t help it.’

  ‘Heretic. Blasphemer. Apostate.’

  ‘We – they don’t want to stop believing,’ I babbled. ‘They don’t want it to happen.’

  Jeremiah’s eyes were closed, his face raised to the deepening twilight sky. ‘Can you imagine how angry I was? It wasn’t the first time I’d followed Todd, you know. I wanted to be near him. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to inhale him. But I’d never heard him speak honestly before, can you believe it? I couldn’t.’ His brow furrowed. ‘But that day? I heard what he said to your mother.’ For a moment there was bewildered pain in Jeremiah’s features, and tears in his eyes. He shrugged, and the humanity was gone.

  ‘Then he turned his back on her, and she picked up a stone and hit him. She hit him so hard! Oh, she was angry. Not as angry as I was, Cassandra, but angry enough!’

  I glanced quickly around me at the darkening wood. I couldn’t see a single place to run to. Our cave was underwater, and even if it hadn’t been, I couldn’t have run there, not to a trap. I couldn’t outrun this crazy boy. The rush and roar of the water wouldn’t even let me think straight. I didn’t know what I was going to do but I didn’t want to die, that’s all. And I knew what Jeremiah was going to do. He was going to kill me.

  I stumbled back, my eyes on Jeremiah. He followed me, desperate to tell, hands open, face beseeching.

  ‘Todd was just lying there, like some drunken sot. Insensible. A Bishop!’

  I wanted to scream at him, He wasn’t drunk, you mad bugger! He was unconscious! What are you talking about? The thing is, I don’t think even Jeremiah knew what he was talking about. Not in real life.

  ‘I watched over him till he started to come round, and he saw me. Perhaps he saw it in my eyes, Cassandra. The Light of the Avenging Angel, because he stumbled up and tried to run. But he was hurt, and he tripped and fell half in the river, and that was good, that was God’s blessing on me, because there was so much blood. So much,’ he whispered, ‘but all in the river. The river turned to red wine. You see how many signs God gave me?’

  ‘So you...’

  ‘I hit him again, that’s all. Just like your mother did, only I did it properly.’ He sounded proud. ‘It wasn’t hard. Not once I got started.’

  ‘My Mum didn’t mean to...’

  ‘Just like your mother!’ he screamed again, drowning me out. ‘Except she didn’t strike him down for a holy purpose. She wasn’t like me! She struck him out of venal self-interest! Oh, she should have rotted in jail. Her and your apostate father!’

  I swallowed, but my throat wouldn’t close. I can’t describe how scared I was then.

  ‘She would have rotted in jail,’ he went on casually, ‘if it hadn’t been for you. See, I panicked to begin with. I ran away, I wasn’t thinking straight. But on the next Sunday, it came to me like a revelation. I realised at last what God intended. I loved Bishop Todd, you see; it was your mother who led him to his death. It was your mother who should be punished. So I knew then. I knew I must come back to the wood, find the body, and call for help. I must lead God’s forces of justice to the Bishop. But when I came back, he was gone!’

  I breathed carefully, in and out. In and out.

  ‘You hid that body, didn’t you? You, Cassandra, you and the Minger. You must have, you’re the only ones who come near this wood, you’re the only ones who’d do such a thing. What did you do with Todd? You must have been quite clever. Where did you put the Bishop, Cassandra? Not in the river. He’d have washed up long before now.’

  ‘You killed him,’ I s
aid, stunned, ‘and you’d have let my Mum hang for it.’

  I might as well have said not a word. ‘You haven’t paid for that yet, Cassandra. Hiding Todd, keeping his body from the people who loved him.’ Jeremiah’s eyes were misty again. ‘You haven’t paid for that terrible deed, and neither has the Minger. Where is he?’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I said clearly. ‘You’re mad. You know where Todd is. He washed up on the beach north of the harbour. Maybe he was caught underwater for a while, ever thought of that?’ Not strictly a lie, I thought, mentally crossing myself.

  ‘What did you do with him?’ He was all strained tolerance. ‘Where did you hide him?’

  ‘Jeremiah.’ I knew I was talking for my life. ‘We. Have just. Had. This conversation. I’m not hiding Todd.’ Not now, anyway. ‘He’s in the morgue, Jeremiah. Okay? Listen, why don’t we go there now? I’ll come with you. You were very fond of Todd, weren’t you? That’s okay. You’re upset and I...’

  ‘You’re taking the mickey again, Cassandra.’ His voice turned cold and crystal-clear. ‘Who gives a flying toss for that apostate? Of course I know where he is, now. Todd’s rotting in Hell. Now I’ll ask again: where is he?’

  ‘I don’t understand!’ I screamed. ‘I don‘t understand!’

  ‘For the last time,’ said Jeremiah patiently, ‘where did you put your infidel lover?’

  ‘What?’ I said stupidly.

  ‘The Minger. Where are you hiding him?’ He lunged forward to grab my arms again.

  God. Oh, God. I felt the most violent impulse I’ve ever felt in my life, and I could barely get a grip on myself. But I had to, because I had to know. ‘I’m not hiding him,’ I said, my voice small and frightened and shaking like a bike going over cobbles. I had to keep it that way.

  He shook me like a doll. ‘We’ve got rope now, Cassandra,’ he leered. ‘If we’d had one then, he’d be swinging from a lamp post already, and the police wouldn’t dream of touching us. Shame we’d used all our rope on the sodomite.’ He sighed. ‘Shouldn’t have left the Minger lying there, I suppose. That was a mistake, but we knew he wouldn’t be moving. He couldn’t have. Not by himself.’

  I stayed absolutely silent. Bile was back in my throat, and revulsion. I couldn’t speak but I kept thinking, Tell me, go on. Go on and tell me, please. Please. Jeremiah was my little god at that moment, my awful, unholy, all-knowing god. The hope was frail and feeble but it was hope. He had to tell me. Oh, please.

  ‘I mean, we left him for dead. He probably was. Did you even recognise him? Are you sure you got the right guy?’ He gave me a cruel smile. ‘Who helped you? You couldn’t have moved him by yourself, Cripple, and you couldn’t have gone far. He’s not at his house, I’d searched it before you got there, so where did you take him?’

  I smiled then. I just couldn’t help myself, but it was a bad move. I put my hands over my mouth to hide my giant grin but it was too late, and anyway, he could still see the smile in my eyes. Jeremiah’s face darkened and swelled, puffy with hatred.

  ‘We’ll find him, Cassandra.’ He made my name a mockery. ‘When we do we’ll string him up anyway. You haven’t saved him. And I do believe we’ll string you up with him!’

  I don’t know what he meant to do when he yanked me against him. Just snarl his hate in my face, maybe, but that wasn’t what my reflexes thought. They went berserk all by themselves.

  As I thrashed and lashed at him he snatched my throat, jerked and shoved. Catching a glimpse of his face, dark brown eyes out on stalks with panic and hatred, I thought, he’s like a spider. Calm down. He’s more scared of you than you are of him. He’s more scared of you...

  My overworked hip picked that moment to give out on me at last. It went from under me and I collapsed, and Jeremiah, taken by surprise, fell with me, his one-handed grip on my throat slipping. As I rolled aside I kicked and bit, hammering at him with my fists and my working foot. And with every yowl and recoil of his, with every chance I got when he was off me even for a moment, I was scrabbling around on the ground.

  At the risk of repeating myself: rocks are never around when you need one. I was sobbing and gasping with terror before my hand closed around something solid and smooth: Ming’s dad’s walking stick. Whatever. It would have to do. Grabbing it with two hands I rolled and swung it into the side of Jeremiah’s head as he came at me. As he stumbled back, I hit him again, and staggered to my feet through the agony in my hip, and hit him again.

  After that it would be easy to say it wasn’t me doing it, it was my mother with a rock, it was Bunty with a rolling pin. But it was me, it was all me, no excuses. I beat him back, his hands alternately shielding his bloody face and snatching viciously at me. When he was teetering on the edge of the crumbling slope where the river was eating its own banks, he pulled his hands away from his face and clenched them into fists, glaring at me in shock and pain and rage.

  It was the rage that did for him, because watching him spit fury along with his fear, I knew for certain it was him or me. It was him or Ming. And of course, it was him or Griffin. Because I knew fine who must have dragged Ming away from his lynching, and it wasn’t me.

  ‘You godless witch!’ screamed Jeremiah.

  As he lunged at me, the fragile riverbank went from under him and he stumbled. Taking my only chance, I swung the ash stick hard. It caught him on the side of the neck, and Jeremiah went down like a shot bird, tumbling and plunging into the murky racing flood.

  It flung and rolled him, and as he caught on a submerged rock the water mountained up against him. For a ghastly age he stuck there, drifting, battered as a piece of weed, head hanging back and swinging with the wild current, eyes bulbous and looking straight at me. Did he blink? I don’t know, but I realised then that his eyes had always looked dead. The next second, the river tore him free and swallowed him.

  I stared and stared into the gathering darkness, till even the far bank and the trees had merged with the dusk, and the dusk had merged with the night, and all that marked the river’s presence was its awful torrential sound.

  My eyes stung and ached with staring, and I breathed mechanically, over and over, forcing myself to do it. That was all I could do. Only when I knew for sure that Jeremiah wouldn’t be crawling out again did I let myself start to cry.

  • • •

  I don’t know if Jeremiah was dead when he went into the water. I don’t know if I broke his neck first, and I’ll never know. They’d have been able to tell, I think, but they never did find Jeremiah Maclaren. Not all bodies wash up.

  Not all secrets, either.

  After

  Dearest Cass,

  I hunted all over town for you, you misbegotten trollop. Why did you guys sneak off without me? That day of all days. Hadn’t you watched the news? And if you and that idiot weren’t always trying to dodge me, I might have got there earlier.

  Come to think of it, that might not have helped. I didn’t think for a minute you’d go back to his house. Didn’t you realise? The cops would have taken the keys off his parents and that means the militias would have got copies too. What possessed you? Anything could have happened, and you’re lucky nothing did. I wouldn’t have dreamed of looking for you there, and anyway, I couldn’t do everything, could I? Do you have any idea how hard it is dragging a bloody corpse into hiding without being seen? I wish I’d thought of calling Wilf earlier, but that’s what sheer panic does to you.

  When I did phone him, Wilf showed within five minutes. Driving a hearse, can you believe it? A hearse! God knows where he got it. Knowing Wilf’s hotline to the Almighty, God probably provided it. Of course we put poor Ming in the coffin. I’m ashamed to tell you, Cass, I know it’s horrible and inappropriate and you’ll be hurt, but I want to tell you everything about that journey. I laughed and laughed. I laughed almost all the way to the border. When I started crying Wilf stopped the car and slapped my face and bought me some whisky. But we were over the border by then.

  Please try and write again. Please giv
e me the news. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back but it took your letter ages to find me. I want you to keep me up to date – for once. And you know what I mean and don’t pretend you don’t.

  You didn’t tell me. What news of Abby?

  Folding Griff’s letter, I eased it back into its envelope. I didn’t want to tear it or crease it. It hadn‘t gone through the regular post, of course, but hand to hand through friends, and I didn‘t know when I‘d get another. Anyway, I didn’t know how many times I was going to have to read it and re-read it before I got up the courage to answer it. I knew I could lie. I could lie beautifully; it runs in the family. But I didn’t think I could lie to Griff, tell him Abby got community service, tell him she was slogging her guts out down the Laundries. Like I wished she was.

  A month after that terrible day with Jeremiah, I came home and found Mum staring silently into the cooker hood and Dad leaning his head on the table, his hands clasped behind his neck. As if he was thinking about praying but couldn’t quite remember how it was done.

  I’d told them about Ming, obviously. And we knew that it was because of what happened to him that Griff disappeared that day, too. But I could never tell them what happened to Jeremiah. They couldn’t know that, not ever. To paraphrase what Mum told Dad a hundred years ago: what your parents don’t know about you, they can’t let slip. Best not to know. I knew we’d spend our lives keeping secrets now, trying desperately to protect each other, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe that was normal even when the world was normal, too.

  The world wasn’t normal that day. I saw their faces and said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Abby,’ said Dad. Beside the cooker Mum had started to cry, silent sobs convulsing her thin body.

  ‘What?’ I couldn’t even be afraid at that point. I didn’t have any space left for extra terror. ‘Have they charged her? What is it? Is she still in jail?’

  ‘It’s worse than that,’ said Dad. ‘They let her go.’