Borderliners (7 page)

A tug on my coat sleeve took me by surprise. I swung round to see a short middle-aged woman behind me. She had sharp, squat features which gave her the appearance of being both wary and nosy at the same time.

‘Dr Lewis?’

‘Yes,’ I was a little perturbed.

‘Have you heard about our prayer groups?’

I considered this for a minute before nodding in answer.

‘Would you also be interested in joining us for our Sunday meeting?’ she continued, not missing a beat.

She was standing in front of a white tent. There were two display boards just outside and a table just inside the tent opening with two empty chairs. On the table was a clipboard and some sheets of paper, leaflets and a pen and directly above that was a sign pinned to the top of the tent which read ‘JOIN THE CHARISMATIC COMMUNITY!’ I wrinkled my brow, looking for a way out.

Just then a figure wafted past, vague and indistinct like a character from my dreams.

‘Tony!’ I called, but he didn’t hear me.

I turned back to the woman on the stall. ‘Thanks for the invite,’ I replied, half looking to see where Tony was headed so that I would be able to catch up with him later.

‘Shall I put you down on the list, then?’ Hostility crept into the older woman’s voice.

‘Well, no. I’ll come at some stage, but don’t bother putting me on a list, OK?’

I moved off, noticing that the other woman was scowling at me. Jiggling my shoulders and flicking my hair back as if to shake off the unpleasant sensation her continued stare was beginning to evoke, I scanned the field again for Tony. Spotting a blue figure a few tents down, I ploughed on in earnest. Moments later, I caught up and waved a hand in front of his face to catch his attention. Looking puzzled, he turned to face me.

‘Tony, hi.’ I wondered if I had imagined the anxiety which passed across his face. Smiling to lighten the atmosphere, I drew level with him.

‘You remember me don’t you? We met at Julia and Iain’s party last weekend.’

There was a long pause before he nodded.

I stole a backward glance at the Charismatic Community tent. The woman I’d been talking to had been joined by another, taller woman: Julia. As I turned to look at them, they stared over at me as if we were all joined by an invisible thread. Hoping that if I looked away, they would also, I shifted my gaze to one side before dropping my head. Squinting against a low autumn sun which peeked out from under some dark clouds, I stole another glance, only to see that the older woman was now pointing straight at me whilst Julia nodded, a grave frown plastered to her face.

I stared over at the pair before shaking my head and turning my attention back to Tony. At that moment the sun retreated and the sky above twisted itself open, freeing the horizon to close in on us and I felt a jabbing pain inside my ears, which suddenly felt bitterly cold.

‘Tony,’ I said leaning in closer to him. ‘I think it’s about to rain.’

‘Oh really?’ Tony replied, fiddling about what looked like a set of Rizla papers.

‘Yes. We need to get undercover. Come on.’

Putting my head down, I strode towards the food and drink tent, indicating with a swipe of my arm that he should follow. A few metres from the tent, my feet crumpled under me, and I went sprawling. Embarrassed, I looked up, but nobody seemed to have noticed, apart from a black figure who was standing right above me. She had synthetic dark hair, matching make-up and a long, black dress. In addition there was a faintly stale odour clinging to the air around us.

‘Martha?’

I jumped up to find myself completely alone. Both the dark haired woman and Tony had disappeared completely. The refreshments tent was only a few feet away so I walked the remaining distance in the downpour, dodging people who were scurrying around, clutching hats, hoods or bags to their heads to protect themselves from the onslaught. I saw a black figure pick its way straight across the bows of others and I screwed my eyes up to see if I could identify her as she drifted over to the edge of the field. But the rain intensified and hid her from my view.

When I caught sight of her again, she was right over on the far edge of the field. Another figure had materialised next to her and she appeared to hold up her hand as the other, a man, detained her. I squinted through the gloom, but could hardly see anything as the rain intensified. A few seconds more, and they seemed to have gone.

I dived back into the tent, surprised to find Tony already sitting at one of the plastic white tables to the right of the entrance. I felt both sad and fearful as I watched him light up his roll-up, looking distinctly fragile, his grey wavy hair matted and wild by turns and his clothes grimy and ill-fitting. He looked as if he hadn’t washed in a while.

I leaned over to get his attention, and indicating that I would get us drinks I went over to the makeshift bar to order beer for him and orange juice for myself before sitting down again. I listened to him talk for a bit, allowing his words to wash over me as he turned the subject around to his PhD. ‘This Charismatic movement here is fascinating, you know,’ he said. ‘Quite illuminating, actually.’

I gaped at him, but let him continue.

‘It’s a mission based community rather than an apostolic one. Their sole purpose is to lead lost souls to salvation rather than practice discipleship per se.’

I nodded.

‘Take Julia and Iain, for example,’ he continued. ‘They have really taken on board the need to recruit lost souls. You know in other organisations, you don’t see that so much.’

A shift in the atmosphere caused me to look up: Julia was weaving her way through the tables towards us. Oblivious to the stony expression on her face, Tony waved the hand in which he was holding his roll-up, and smiled gently. Julia’s eyes flickered but she kept her eyes fixed on me.

‘It was a little discourteous of you to just leave whilst my friend was talking to you about our community earlier,’ she said, ignoring Tony.

‘Sorry, I-‘

She cut me off. ‘Save it, Elena. It’s a waste of time dealing with people like you. I’ve seen plenty of your type come and go and it’s always the same.’ She turned on her heel.

Tony got up and made to follow Julia out of the tent. I made no attempt to move. Sipping my drink, I stared into space for a few minutes, attempting to still my anger. Instinct told me Tony was one of those people who lived at the edges of society, on the borderline. I knew it. And it was a truth I cared little for. I thought about how all people were on the edges of existence to a greater or lesser extent, victims of life, of contradiction, of the constant struggle to balance the need for flexibility with the desire to stand firm and constant against the world.

But there were some who were closer than others to the intersections of time and space: sometimes I felt that the left field was never far away: it was only there that anyone had the chance to understand the true nature of the world. I also knew that some people in society were drawn to the fragile minds of others, instinctively understanding how to manipulate and exploit them.

Such people were dangerous.

I’d almost finished my drink when a different kind of shadow darkened my table accompanied by a light, musky scent which hit my nostrils before I glanced up.

‘Elena, we were looking for you earlier.’ His expression was impassive.

‘Hi Vince.’ I motioned for him to sit down.

He pulled out the spare chair and sat down, leaning on his elbows. I shifted slightly.

‘Did you catch up with Emma?’

‘No, I got side tracked. How is she getting on?’

‘OK until it started raining.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the tent opening. ‘Look,’ he went quite still, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that girl who died. There’s been some more odd talk around the village.’

‘So I gathered. But you didn’t expand on that the last time this came up.’ I held his gaze, my expression sour.

‘Well, I wanted to listen around a bit more to be sure. Apparently, Martha worked at that New Age shop sometimes and she was into some weird stuff. There’s talk that you’re involved with that place too.’

‘Why would I be involved with the New Age shop people?’

‘I never thought you were.’ But even as he said it, I noticed his expression was wary.

‘There’s also some other talk going round about you. That you’re making trouble for the Charismatics in some way.’

‘That’s not true,’ I said. ‘But even if it was, I don’t see what that has to do with the death of that poor girl.’

‘Well, she was known for her opposition to the Charismatics as well, wasn’t she?’

I didn’t miss a beat. ‘Was she? That would explain a lot.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Oh. Something and nothing.’ Julia’s visit came to mind immediately and I thought of the odd things Martha had said in therapy. And of the diary. I shivered.

Outside the rain had abated. The tent started to empty out again as people reopened stalls. The oppressive darkness lifted. Vince leaned in to me a bit further, close enough for me to catch another hint of his aftershave. I watched his lips move.

‘Just while we’re on the subject, there are other things we need to talk about, but not here. After the next council meeting.’

He got up and nodded a curt goodbye as he left whilst I tried to guess what he needed to discuss with me. I watched him swagger off, lithe and easy, but he kept his head down and was less open to greeting people than I would have expected. Gripped by a sudden tightness in my throat, I got up and made my own way across the field, driven by a question about Martha which had not presented itself in my mind before. Vince’s words rang in my head -
she was known for her opposition to the Charismatics
.

I rushed over to the parking field, climbed into my car and drove straight home.

I’d left the last entry in the diary unread. Somehow I felt that if I read no more, I’d remain untouched by the author’s fate, but now I wondered. I was already in too deep. I’d known Martha was an outsider, but Julia seemed to be telling me she was a member of their community. Had she fallen out of favour, like Joan, or was it something more extreme? I wondered when she’d left the community, if it coincided with her treatment dates. And it occurred to me then, that she might not be the only person who opposed the Charismatics.

I felt as if I was almost out of time.

Excitement and a chill wash over me at the same time in waves, a unique feeling to replace the usual. I’m so glad Julia asked me to come here and study her community. It coincided well with my new treatment and provided the new impetus I needed, as my PhD had been stalling somewhat…But now I have a new focus, an interesting element to add.

Today we talked about the traditions of the early Christians and about Julia and Iain’s community, otherwise known as the ‘Charismatic Community’. I’d been wondering when I could bring it up when the moment came. We were having tea in their sitting room, my tinnitus calm for once. Julia asked me how things were going. Somehow the conversation turned to a discussion of their prayer group. Until today I’ve had no opportunity to talk about it with them in more depth. I’m glad we did. This is why I am here, after all.

Julia said, ‘Tony, would you like to come to our prayer group on Sunday? I know you’ve been looking at our beliefs and we’ve given you some of our books to help, but there’s nothing like the real thing, you know, nothing which replaces that direct contact with the divine which comes when you are in a group of believers.’

There was an odd pause. A disconnect.

I wonder if she had expected me to answer straight away, but I had to think. Eventually, I nodded my agreement but Julia was already on her way out to get more tea and biscuits. After a few minutes in which I contemplated the idea, Iain fixed his beady eyes on me. They are opaque, somehow blank, and it disconcerts me that I cannot read my soul in their reflection, in fact, I can read very little there. We sat like that, in silence, until Julia returned, unperturbed by the peculiar atmosphere in the room. She placed the tray on the table at the centre of the room and poured me a cup of tea. Iain, I noticed, did not have one.

‘We’re having another one of our “open house” parties in a couple of weeks’ time,’ Julia said. Yet her eyes didn’t match the rest of her body language. They were cold, so cold, and when she turned to look at me I felt icy fingers of dread rooting around inside my head, as if she was looking for something she was sure to find.

‘What kind of a party is that?’ I asked, all of a sudden desperate for a roll-up. Julia’s gaze locked me in and prevented me from getting up to fetch my Rizla papers.

‘Just a little cocktail party with some nibbles. You know, a kind of drop in type of an affair.’

It struck me then, that she uses words like an affectation to mask her Scottish roots – she doesn’t quite add up. But then, maybe nobody does.

Later on in the day Iain agreed to let me interview him. It will be useful in case I use the Charismatic Community as a case study in my PhD.

Intellectually, I struggle with what he told me, and yet… A word comes to mind, whispered from the beyond. Whispered. Right into my ear. This man is crazy, it tells me but none are crazier than I and who am I to question what is best left a mystery?

I asked him, ‘Tell me more about the Charismatic Community? What do you believe in? What exactly is your doctrine?’

‘We don’t
exactly
have one,’ he replied. His tone was not altogether kind and I could smell his breath, rancid and sour, from where I was sitting. Normally my nostrils are filled with the lingering scent of my own roll-ups and the smell of another was unwelcome. It brought to mind my late father, who had often reeked of alcohol. His hitherto blank eyes sharpened with something I could only recognise as hatred, although hatred of what? That’s the question (Ha! Thus spake Hamlet in my ear). It’s one of the questions, anyway - hatred that is. What’s the point of it? I find it everywhere in my studies.