Quite a few people have been inspirations to me over all these years. My parents were for telling me to always be myself, even if they didn’t care much for the self I turned out to be. Mrs Day at secondary school and Brian Stroud at university taught me how to look at history and bypass seeing what I wanted to see. My partner Carole of nearly forty years has always supported me in putting out the truth, and that means writing this. Two old friends from my childhood still inspire me—Dominic Sheldrake, who became a lecturer after he made me want to write like him, and Jim Bailey, who followed his father into the police and showed me how to stand up for the right (not the same as “rights”) even if it’s unpopular. But my biggest inspiration was my biggest disappointment, and made me realise how naïve I am.
I first met Tina Noble when I was at school and she was hardly out of her pram. Even at that age she knew her own mind, and I’ve never been so impressed by someone I’ve just met. Now I wonder how I could have missed so many signs that day, even if I wasn’t old enough to understand them. Admittedly, back then most people missed them too. Tina’s mother was obviously uncomfortable around her, and you could tell there were problems the woman was keeping to herself. It’s only now I wonder if Tina was already being abused by her father. That would explain how he gained such a hold over her.
Christian Noble taught history at a Catholic grammar school until he set up the Trinity Church of the Spirit, a front for a cult which ate plants grown on graves as part of the ritual. In 1954 Erie Wharton, a Liverpool journalist, exposed the cult, as a result of which the church was destroyed and the Nobles went into hiding. In the 1980s they showed up near Liverpool under an assumed name, running a project called Safe To Sleep. This claimed to help children with sleeping disorders, when the real purpose was to give them occult visions similar to those the church had offered to its members. I investigated Safe To Sleep but was won over, which shows how persuasive the father could be. The visions I experienced blinded me to signs of the truth. Tina’s small son Christopher (then known as Toph) couldn’t hide his amusement when his family was referred to as normal. Tina mentioned the family was unusually close but avoided identifying the boy’s father, and now I know why. He was her own father.
I was too much of a coward to say this at the time, but I will now: the treatment of the children at Safe To Sleep was a form of child abuse, and I’m certain all their parents would have put a stop to it if they had known. I have no proof that any other form of abuse went on, but I have compelling evidence that Christian Noble had sex with his daughter. All three of the family have said as much. Under yet another name—Le Bon—they are behind the Church of the Eternal Three. Christian Noble may believe it can protect him, but we shall see if it’s able to hide him. Call me disillusioned, but sometimes that’s how the truth has to work. I simply want to see the truth fully addressed now it is in the open. I’ll say only one more thing. To have managed to exploit somebody as strong as Tina Noble in that way, her father must have more power than any man should have over a woman.
In the days since Bobby had posted all this in her blog, the Nobles seemed to be everywhere online. Some of their enemies were virtually incoherent, and some invented new obscenities to call them. Many of the most impassioned had suffered child abuse, and quite a few were so enraged that they attacked not just Christian and Tina but Toph as well. Defenders of the family pointed out that other religions encouraged unconventional relationships—polygamy, for instance—that were by no means universally approved of. Numerous supporters dismissed Bobby’s claims because they saw no evidence, while others maintained there was no reason to believe that Tina and her father had consummated their relationship before she was old enough to consent. A related controversy erupted about Islamic child abuse, though some internet providers tried to suppress the discussion, and over similar behaviour in the Catholic church. Paedophilic politicians and celebrities were savagely resurrected, not least to suggest that too many of their kind remained unprosecuted. Quite a few comments implied or simply said outright that some perpetrators yet to be identified might belong to the Nobles’ church.
Most of the media were a good deal less forthright. While a few of the tabloids ran blunt headlines—NOT SO NOBLE, CHURCH LEADER’S SEX SECRET, NOBBLE NOBLE NOW—the stories beneath them came nowhere near risking libel. Other newspapers appeared to be waiting for some official involvement in the case, while the television channels that acknowledged the story contented themselves with footage of the Nobles emerging from Venus, an Italian restaurant near Starview Tower. Christian led the way, followed by Tina and then Toph, each of them presenting the reporters with the identical blank look and not a word. Every time I saw the clip I thought each member of the family was gazing straight at me. I wanted to see nothing but indifference, but it was hard to judge when their eyes were so dark.
I hadn’t slept much since reading Bobby’s piece. I was afraid Toph might decide to take me away in the night for revenge, unless one of his parents did. Even if there was no sign of anybody homing on me, might this mean they planned some reprisal against Toby and his family instead? Too often when I lurched out of yet another fitful doze I seemed to sense an intruder in the house. Perhaps it was at large downstairs, having uncoiled itself from Lesley’s desk, or sneaking snakily to find me, extending its split tongue that would be the first touch I’d feel in the dark. More than once I fell to wondering how to get rid of the icon, but I thought it might be needed as some kind of evidence.
I hadn’t shown it to the policeman who’d come unannounced to the house. He was a greying fellow decades younger than me, whose black hair dye fell short of the parting, and whose tone was rather too suggestive of a male nurse. His questions felt slowed down and painstakingly enunciated to make sure I understood, though he seemed just to need confirmation that I’d recorded the Nobles and could identify them beyond any doubt. I thought of asking whether Jim’s sons were involved in the investigation, but in case they weren’t I refrained from mentioning them. The official visit left me feeling more responsible than ever for exposing Christian Noble—more in danger, however undefined. It was one more reason why I didn’t sleep much, at least not while I was in bed.
When I awoke I didn’t always know where I was or even who. The deserted section of the bed reminded me of lying beside Lesley, and sometimes this brought me memories that should have been only dreams—of visiting another self’s wife in her four-postered chamber, for instance, or huddling against my woman on the floor of a room crowded with our sleeping children, where you could hardly distinguish our breaths from the smoke a gale was blowing out of the hearth. The recollections felt unfaithful to Lesley’s memory, especially if I had to struggle to grasp whose husband I had actually been. I’d begun to feel safer falling asleep in a chair, which made my mind not quite so desperate to reach back for companionship.
I was doggedly reading some of the latest posts about the Nobles—one commentator speculated about the incidence of incest in the Church of the Eternal Three, and another argued that the practice should be legal if consensual—when I began to nod as if my body were agreeing with whatever was on the screen. I felt too exhausted to deal with any unfamiliar memories, and so I tried not to think of Lesley in case this led me too far back. Perhaps the attempt to fend it off elicited the reminiscence, and as I settled into sleep I imagined we were in bed. Before I could leave the illusion behind I was unconscious, and then I was lying close to a fire with my mate in a cave. Beyond the dim embers, which looked drained of energy by the vicious cold and the restless night, a blizzard was billowing through the jagged stony entrance. That wasn’t why my flat-faced big-eyed partner and I clutched fiercely at each other. We were on the edge of making out the shape that moved behind the storm, a presence vaster than the blizzard and yet able to lurk behind every single swollen flake. Perhaps it lent them some form of illumination, because their faint lurid glow was brightening as the snow crept further into the cave, and even though we had no words f
or the phenomenon we saw how unnatural it was. The snow wasn’t melting, even when it reached the remnants of the fire. As the last ember went out, a vast whisper invaded the cave—the mouthless voice of the shining swarm that raced across the floor to feast on us. I felt as though every inch of my body had been pierced by the icy night, which was freezing us in place so that we couldn’t even scream.
I managed to cry out at last, or someone did. I floundered awake to feel I’d left that memory behind but not the self. A noise helped me scramble back into my own identity—a car engine closer than the road. When I heard it stop I knew it was blocking my way out of the drive. Was Christian Noble paying me a visit, or had he sent the police? I did my best to grow more furious than nervous as I propped my fists on the desk to raise myself and hobbled to the front door. As I grasped the latch the doorbell shrilled, and I felt at if the metal had tried to deliver a shock, I snatched the door open and came face to face with my son. “Dad, what did you think you were doing?” he said at once.
The sight of him threw me as much as the question did. “I’ll have to ask you to be more specific.”
“Christian’s had the police at the tower and your friend Roberta Parkin wrote all that about him online.” With a hint of hope that I found worse than dismaying Toby said “Didn’t they get it from you?”
“If you read Bobby’s piece you’ll have seen she talks a good deal about her own experience.”
“You know what I mean, dad. Did you tell them the thing that’s causing all the row? We’ve even had people leaving the church.”
While his anger didn’t shake me, the reason for it did. “Why should you think I’m responsible?”
“Because the police say there’s a recording, and you left your phone where Christian and his family were talking.”
“If you suspect me you have to suspect them.”
“I don’t see how that follows.”
“You’re saying I recorded what they said, which I did.” As his stare grew disappointed, perhaps even betrayed, I said “Come and hear for yourself.”
He closed the door firmly enough to be trying to shut out the world and tramped after me into the front room, so fast that he might have wanted to shove me aside in his haste to be done. He sat fiercely upright on the chair opposite mine and planted his fists on his knees while I lowered myself and groped for my phone. He didn’t move or speak while he listened to the playback, but I could have thought the darkness in his eyes grew deeper. As soon as the recording ended he said “Who have you sent that to?”
“Just my friends you met at your mother’s funeral.”
“Roberta and the one who was in the police, Jim. Mum said you used to play at detectives. The Terrific Three, did you call yourselves? The Terrible Three?”
I couldn’t tell if this was sarcasm. “We called ourselves tremendous. We weren’t even half your age.”
“But you’re still playing at it now.”
“It’s no kind of game, Toby. Maybe for the Nobles but not for us.”
“You still haven’t said what you thought you were achieving.”
“I’m keeping the promise I made to your mother the last time I saw her.”
He ducked his head towards the phone, a gesture suggestive of the Noble trait. “What’s that going to achieve?”
“I’m waiting to see what it does.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said, and his stare glinted like a cinder. “I don’t know how much Christopher and his family trust me any more.”
“You think more of their trust than mine, then.”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t have had both.”
I had a sense of talking to someone I hardly knew. “You still want to be involved with people who behaved the way they did.”
“Christopher hasn’t behaved like anything, and is it really anybody’s business what the others did? As Christian says, it’s in your Bible. It’s how we all began.”
“It hasn’t been mine for a very long time,” I protested and was ashamed that this should be my initial reaction. “Toby, what they did is completely against the law.”
“Maybe it shouldn’t be for some people. Your friend Roberta’s right about one thing. Nobody could make Tina do anything she didn’t want to do.”
I was repelled by my own question. “At what age?”
“If you’ve any evidence she was involved with Christian while she was too young you should take it to the police. If you haven’t I’d be careful what you’re saying.”
I tried to see into his eyes, but they were unreadably dark. “Who’s threatening me, Toby? Not just you.”
“Nobody is, dad. I’m giving you some good advice,”
“I’m the one who needs it, am I?” Less bitterly I said “If you aren’t speaking for Christian, perhaps I should go and talk to him myself.”
“You wouldn’t get past Joe. You wouldn’t even be let into the car park.”
“I’ve been excommunicated, have I? Or does Christian have a different word?”
“I’m saying you can’t use the church any more.”
I couldn’t let myself be touched by Toby’s unconcealed distress. “I’ve done everything I needed to do there, I think.”
“You haven’t, dad. You don’t understand at all. We haven’t finished guiding you. It’s no use stopping halfway there.”
He was acting out so much concern that I didn’t know whether to believe in it. “What are you saying I’m deprived of?”
“You won’t be prepared like us. That’s why we invited you into the church, to make certain you would be.”
“Prepared for what?”
“You have to find out for yourself. As Christian says, there aren’t words.”
“Then I’ll just have to be unready, if that’s the price of telling some of the truth the Nobles are supposed to be so fond of.”
Toby’s eyes glistened until he blinked. “We mustn’t leave it like that, dad.”
“I’ll still see you and the family, won’t I? Where are they, by the way?”
“Where they should be. At the church.” Before I could react he said “I mean we mustn’t leave you just able to go where you’ve been. You don’t need to be at the church to be guided. Let’s do it while I’m here. Let’s do it now.”
I would much have preferred not to say “Tell me this isn’t Christian Noble’s idea.”
“It’s just mine, dad. I shouldn’t think he even cares. I’ll swear it if you like.” Though this made me uneasy, I had to ask “On what?”
“On whatever you believe in.”
I felt desperate to answer. “That your mother’s safe somewhere.”
“I’ll swear on that and to it as well. I’m doing this for you because of the promises we made her.”
Surely he would never use his mother’s memory to deceive me, and so I said “Where should I go?”
“Here is fine. Anywhere will be. Where are you keeping your icon?”
“It’s on your mother’s desk.”
“I’ll bring it.” He darted out of the room, returning faster than I could have reached the door. “I wish we could have guided her as well,” he said.
“Why,” I said and couldn’t hold back from adding “Where would she be now?”
“Only she would know, dad.”
I was nervous of enquiring further. Toby leaned down to hand me the icon, and I couldn’t help welcoming his awkwardness—his lack of the reptilian grace any of the Nobles would have shown. As he delivered the icon like a newborn child into my hands, the circuitous body seemed to hint at changing shape. Perhaps it was the way the light through the window had caught it, only to appear to be absorbed, but I was unable to judge how the image felt—its endlessly self-consuming form, its unnaturally smooth substance, even its temperature. “What am I meant to do with this?” I said.
“The same as you did at the church,” Toby said and sat facing me again. “It helps loosen your mind.”
His turn of phrase failed t
o lend the prospect much appeal, and I delayed it by saying “Who makes these things?”
“Christian has them sent. You’d need to ask him.” When I kept my thoughts quiet Toby said “Start relaxing now, dad. I’ll help you migrate.”
“Doesn’t it have to be dark?”
“You shouldn’t need that any more. It gets easier each time you go. Before you set off, always think of a way to remember yourself.”
This sounded like a warning. “Such as what?” I had to ask.
“We all use how we look.”
“I’m not likely to forget that in my case. Sometimes I wish I could.” I was still anxious to learn “What did you mean when you said I was halfway?”
“There’s another journey you have to take. You need to experience it, not hear anything about it. I’ll be here. You’ll be safe.”
He sat forward, holding me with his dark gaze. “Am I supposed to shut my eyes?” I said.
“Just do whatever feels right. Whatever helps you let go.”
His ensuing silence made it plain that he was more than ready to begin. When I saw his lips shift I heard the meditative mantra in my head. As his lips released a whisper almost too faint to be heard, the icon shifted wakefuily between my hands. No, my fingers had started to retrace its outline, seeking to define its shape. It felt like learning how boundlessly ambiguous that was—like trying to grasp a void and fix its limits—and distracted me from noticing how the mantra Toby and my mind were intoning had changed. Each set of syllables and their inversion reversed the formula that had sent me into memory. I couldn’t concentrate on them, because I needed a mnemonic. I had to recall how I looked in the mirror.
I saw my face at once, as I’d seen it that morning in the bathroom: tousled hair the colour of dust, sticky eyes that appeared to be resting on wrinkled bags, cheeks undecided whether to sag outwards or inwards, nostrils a lair for hairs as grey as the stubble framing the wizened lips. I had a disconcerting sense of fingering its lines and pouches and the prickly pelt of the chin, not the icon in my hands. Its presence was so vivid that it took away all my awareness of the room, and I didn’t see how I could leave it behind. Then the mantra someone was repeating broke the hold, and I wondered whose face I was confronting now. I would rather not have realised it was my own.
The Way Of The Worm Page 10
