Breaking and Entering (47 page)

‘Earth heals us,' Daniel sang, suddenly knowing it was true. Everyone was healed – pale decrepit Doris glowing in the firelight; Len's normally suspicious eyes shining with new fervour; Claire a soaring eagle in her dramatic feathered headdress. He relished the strong contrasts between light and dark, heat and cold: the black night closing in beyond the bright grin of the fire; the ground cool and damp beneath him, while his face was scorching hot; the moon gliding in and out of the clouds – now brilliant, now obscured.

‘
Round and round
Round and round
The circle of the wheel goes round.'

As the last chorus died away and the drumming slowly subsided, Robin rose to his feet, resplendent in his wolf-skin.

‘Great Spirit,' he prayed, extending his arms to the sky. ‘We are one with you, one with the moon and stars and with all celestial beings. We are the old people; we are the new people; we are the sacred people, who come to you in wisdom and …'

His words were interrupted by a sudden squall of rain, falling with such force and fury it seemed as if Great Spirit was not benevolent at all, but was answering Robin's prayer with a torrent of abuse. There was a wild flurry of activity as everybody dashed for shelter; clothes and feathers sodden; flames hissing out their protest as the fire was doused in seconds. Tony hoisted Doris into his arms and ran with her towards the tents, while Rob tried in vain to protect his precious drum. Rick was hunched over his own drum, loping awkwardly along; his hair in rats' tails, his shirt clinging to his back. Happy shouted in alarm as the glass cracked on her gas-lamp. Dylan rushed to help, but tripped on his sari and fell headlong on the grass. Gerard doubled back to rescue him, dodging the gyrations of Andrew and Anita, who were performing an ecstatic rain-dance, water streaming down their still half-naked bodies. Daniel left them to it, more concerned for Penny. He took her arm and steered her across the field, which was already liquefying into mud. Pippa had gone on ahead with Judith, and he could just make out the pair of them lurching over the tussocky grass, trying to see their way.

He pulled Penny to a stop, kissed her there and then in the middle of the field, the rain slamming down on their heads. She didn't pull away, although they were in full view of Corinna, but responded to him ardently. He could feel her warm wet body pressed close against his own as she returned his kiss, prolonged it. They were both absolutely drenched, but he didn't give a damn. He was in tune with all creation, so if Sister Rain chose to drum down on the tent all night as he drummed into Penny, well, the best of luck to all of them. He, the Great Plains Buffalo, was about to claim his mate again, with the blessing of Great Spirit.

Daniel jerked awake. Rain was lashing against the canvas, the tent straining at its guy-ropes like a panicked bucking horse. He disentangled his limbs from Penny's and fumbled for the torch. She didn't stir, only mumbled in her sleep. He was amazed that
he
had managed to sleep in what sounded like a force ten gale. But then he'd been awake the last three nights in equally wild weather, and was so exhausted yesterday evening he must have just crashed out. But now the alarm clock of the wind prevented any chance of further sleep.

He wormed out of the sleeping-bag and struggled into his waterproofs, cursing the constricted space. Before venturing outside, he went to check on Pippa in the other half of the tent – a separate sleeping compartment, slightly smaller than their own. She was wide awake, sitting up with her arms hugged round her chest, looking desolate and scared.

‘All right, darling?' he whispered.

She nodded, shivering.

‘I'm just going to tighten the guy-ropes.'

‘Want me to help?'

‘No, you sit tight. It's absolutely bucketing down.'

‘I know! I've been listening to it for ages.'

‘Why didn't you come and get us?'

She didn't answer. Daniel squatted awkwardly beside her, noting that her eyes were red and puffy. Judith and Tony had left two days ago, and she was so upset at their departure, she had been crying off and on since then, sobbing herself to sleep at night. He longed to comfort her, but there was little he could say to make up for the loss of that adoring faithful dog. And whatever words he chose, he knew they wouldn't get through to her. She was shut off once again in her own isolated world; her wretchedness a barrier between them. He glanced at her peaky face. If he was tired, then she must be dead beat. The uneasy silence in the tent made the wind sound even louder. It was like another person who had joined them for the night – a demented lunatic who kept stirring everything up, becoming more and more hysterical.

‘Well, I'd better brave the elements!' he said at last, with an unconvincing laugh. He touched her shoulder nervously, relieved she didn't flinch away from what he'd intended as a gesture of affection. Did he dare go further and give her a real hug? No. He still felt somehow dangerous – that baleful person who threatened her whole sanity and happiness, according to JB.

He crept back to the entrance of the tent, peering down at Penny's sleeping form. She was still dead to the world, despite the shuddering of the tent-poles, the frenzied canvas flapping back and forth. He pulled on his gum-boots, ducked out through the flaps. The wind hurled itself against him as if involved in some personal vendetta. He could barely withstand its savagery as it clawed his waterproofs, trying to tear them from his back; whipped his hair wildly around his face. The tent itself seemed about to blow away; one tent-peg out already, its guy-rope whirling helplessly, the others stretched to breaking point. He fought his way to each one in turn, the rain stinging on his face as he hammered in the pegs. The sky was remorselessly dark, but he could just make out two huddled figures engaged in a similar battle. He lurched across to see if he could help; found Gerard and Dylan, clad in dripping plastic macs, anchoring their tent against the gale.

‘Need a hand?' he called, voice shredded into tatters.

‘No, I think we're winning, thanks!' Gerard shouted back.

Over the last few days, a spirit of camaraderie had been building among the campers – the brave few who remained. The appalling weather had driven many of their band away, those too frail or too impatient to contend with continuous heavy rain. Doris and Esther had gone, as well as Len, Jeanette and their (uncured) daughter Sharon. The two Robins had also left, to run a Healing Circle in Glastonbury – out of doors again. How could anyone be healed, thought Daniel, living in such unspeakable conditions? His own cold had got worse, or perhaps he'd caught a second one from Andrew, whose semi-naked cavortings the evening of the pow-wow had brought retribution in the form of a sore throat. His nose was running now, though that seemed only natural, with everything around him streaming and dripping.

He struggled back towards his tent, his clumsy boots squelching in the morass of sticky mud. Every camper's clothes were spattered with that mud; every pair of Wellingtons heavy with its coating; even the bedding caked with it, and every car brown-streaked. He kept his head bent low as he tried to stand his ground against the wind; stopping in his tracks as he heard a muffled shout from Claire's tent. The whole thing had collapsed and was reduced to a heap of tangled canvas; she and Rick were trapped beneath the wreckage.

He staggered over to rescue them, almost colliding with Anita, who had just emerged and was looking round in consternation; a garish yellow cycling cape bellying out above her pink pyjamas. She and Daniel scrabbled to find the opening of the grounded tent, and yanked it apart while Claire and Rick crawled out. Claire was whimpering with pain. She had been hit on the head by a tent-pole, and a second bruise was swelling on her knee. Rick meanwhile was complaining about the huge black slugs he had inadvertently put his hand on as he wriggled free of the canvas.

‘Come and join us in our tent,' Anita offered, her drenched pyjama bottoms clinging to her skinny legs; her hair plastered to her head. ‘Everything's wet through inside, but at least the thing's still standing!' She took Claire's arm, while Daniel clumped along behind with a still protesting (and bare-footed) Rick.

‘I've just trodden on another frigging slug! They're ankle-deep in this lousy field. If this is Mum's idea of a holiday, she must be even madder than I thought.'

‘Perhaps she's into Outward Bound,' Daniel suggested with a grin. He and Rick had developed a style of jokey solidarity, though it was difficult to sustain in this all-consuming fight against the elements.

He heard another shout behind him, turned to see Corinna and JB, armed with a powerful flashlight which cut a welcome swathe across the darkness.

‘Quick!' Corinna called. ‘Everyone into Rainbow Lodge! Forget the tents – they're useless in this weather.'

Claire doubled back to clutch Daniel's arm, all but sobbing with relief. ‘Just the thought of a fire!' she exclaimed. ‘And a cup of hot sweet tea. And something dry to sit on.'

‘And more slugs, no doubt,' Rick put in,
sotto voce
, accepting the waterproof jacket which JB was holding out to him before the angry wind could snatch it up instead.

‘I'd better get Andrew,' Anita said. ‘He's feeling so lousy with his throat, even this gale wouldn't budge him from the tent, but a hot drink might change his mind.'

She veered away, soon obscured by the sheeting rain, while JB rescued Gerard, who was floundering in the mud. Dylan followed disconsolately, his frail form almost lost in his all-enveloping mac, his fading torch-beam bobbing about like a tiny helpless boat adrift on a black sea.

‘I'll join you in a moment,' Daniel shouted, picking his way back to his own tent; each step slow and clumsy as the wind tried its vicious best to batter him off-course. Pippa was watching for him anxiously; Penny still miraculously asleep. He secured the guy-ropes once again, then went to wake her up; tell her they were transferring to the tepee. It was some time before she realized what was happening, although the tent was blowing almost inside out; the canvas heaving all around her and bulging down so low it almost touched her face. He passed her her mud-encrusted boots, helped Pippa into her anorak. Rain was spitting in at them from the entrance of the tent, and a black dustbin-bag suddenly whirled in from outside, spinning like a dervish.

‘Can't we stay here?' Pippa begged, dodging out of its way.

‘No, darling, I'm afraid we can't. This gale is really nasty and everything's getting soaked. It'll be much drier in the tepee – not to mention safer – and the fire will warm you up.'

‘I'm not cold,' she said through chattering teeth.

‘Come on – up and out!'

He marshalled them in front of him, shining the torch to light their path, though the lowering darkness seemed to swallow up the puny beam. The wind was like machine-gun fire, exploding in their ears, and the conditions did indeed remind him of a war: the same sense of fear and chaos in the blackout; the same disorientation as all normal landmarks vanished and they were assailed by hostile forces entirely beyond their control. The short distance to the tepee had become a daunting route march. They were blitzed by wind and rain, slowed by viscous mud, unsure what might hall down on them from the enemy in the sky.

They removed their boots outside the lodge; Pippa shrinking back as she heard the sound of singing. He, too, felt nervous at the thought of all that matey bonhomie, though Penny was already bounding in. He followed more reluctantly with Pippa; found the war spirit once again in evidence: tea being brewed; wet clothes drying by the fire; the troops belting out a rousing tune to keep up their morale. He hovered by the wood pile, self-conscious with so many eyes turned in his direction, but attracted by the cosy fug, the smell of fragrant wood-smoke and hot toast. This large and sturdy tepee provided a genuine shelter from the storm, and although the poles were creaking and the canvas straining like a ship under sail, it was a doughty ship which wouldn't sink or founder.

He knew he must join the circle, not stay skulking at the back. He'd been told often enough by Penny and Corinna that circles were not only companionable, but sacred – a universal symbol of wholeness and perfection, infinity, eternity (and also represented feminine power: unbounded, oceanic, and opposed to ‘straight' masculine power, whatever that might be). Even living in a tepee was apparently healing in itself, not only through the potency of its circular shape, but because it allowed direct contact with restorative Mother Earth. He shuffled forward, Pippa trying to hide behind his back. Claire smiled at him encouragingly, beckoning him over with her eyes. He hesitated. Pippa would object to being dragged so close to Rick. She was still extraordinarily hostile to the boy, and though he was baffled by her attitude, this was hardly the time to challenge it. It was enough that they got through the night without any further crises.

He steered her firmly by the elbow, and squeezed between Dylan and Anita, judging them relatively innocuous, and certainly preferable to Megan and her vile son Tim, who had arrived the day after the pow-wow in a clapped-out Daimler hearse. Megan had brought her elder sister Pat, who was said to be suffering from a malignant tumour on her thigh, though her strapping build and ruddy cheeks made her look anything but ill. Tim was there on sufferance, since there was no one to look after him at home – a fractious, unattractive child, who, although he was almost four (and thus not far off school-age), was still being breast-fed by his doting New Age mother. Even now, he was pushing up her jumper to grab a floppy breast, cramming it into his mouth and sucking with a violent greed. Daniel switched his gaze to the fire. He knew that women such as Megan considered breastfeeding a natural healthy function which could be performed just as well in public as in private. But personally he found it an embarrassment. It also presented him with a dilemma: if he viewed the proceedings with no hint of reserve, he would feel like a voyeur; if, on the other hand, he averted his eyes, he would doubtless be thought squeamish or reactionary.