Breaking and Entering (51 page)

‘Don't be stupid, Daniel. You sound inanely jealous. And anyway, you were enjoying it yourself last week. What's happened to make you so stroppy all of a sudden? Okay, I know the weather changed and we had a few bad days, but the rain's blown over now, and with any luck it'll stay that way.'

He stumbled towards her, embraced her almost violently, burying his face in the soft bolster of her breasts. ‘It isn't just the weather,' he admitted, smelling the chaplain's evil pipe again, feeling that obscene moustache prickling on his bottom.

‘Well, what then?'

He muttered something inaudible, wounded by her rebuff. Her tone had been impatient, and she had all but pushed him off. He had evidently made a
faux pas
. Only Corinna was allowed unrestricted access to her body.

He pulled away and started striding up the hill; the chaplain in pursuit. He was unable to rid himself of Sayers, especially now he had come so close to mentioning his name, blurting out the whole grotesque experience.

‘Daniel, for heaven's sake, where are you off to now? I thought we were trying to talk about Pippa.'

‘Oh, don't worry about Pippa,' he retorted, shouting over his shoulder as he continued his furious climb. ‘You get back to your darling Corinna. Perhaps you'll have another miracle – she'll turn into a man, so you can get married and live happily every after.'

Daniel buttoned his shirt with cold and clumsy hands. He was still shivering from his swim, but relaxed at last, at peace. Every time he came here he experienced the same calming effect, as if the lake were a source of healing in itself. Its very seclusion acted as a palliative, and its water appeared to have the power to wash away not just sweat and grime, but anger, fear, regret. The rocks beside the shore were some of the oldest in the world, and the thought of such a time-scale put things in proportion. Or maybe it was the almost religious process of immersion. He grinned to himself. Some of Penny's hokum must be getting to him, despite his strong resistance. As for Pat's ‘miracle', he had decided to reserve judgement. Not having witnessed it in person, he didn't feel he was qualified to make an objective comment. And anyway, it was much too soon to declare her permanently cured. She would need to return to the hospital, have her case reviewed. But he wasn't going to let it upset his peace of mind, as Margot's cure had done. For three or four nights after that, images of blindness had crept into his dreams, so that
he
was the one who couldn't see; groping through the interminable dark until, suddenly and shatteringly, the full light of dawn restored his eyesight, as JB rose resplendent in the sky.

He shook his head to dispel the dazzling image; concentrated instead on the mundane task of putting on his socks and shoes. His fingers were still numb, bluish round the nails. It was probably idiotic to swim in sub-zero temperatures when he already had a cold, but he felt far better for it. Certainly when diving deep, deep down, he had experienced a sense of total release, and had successfully drowned Sayers, whose body had sunk lumpenly to the bottom.

He smoothed his dripping hair, broke into a run. The best way to warm up was to jog around the shore, get his circulation going. The air itself was warm; the day still close and humid. It was only that unfathomable black water which never seemed to lose its jolting chill. He pounded across the sand, glancing up at the encircling hills, barred with sun and shadow; a lone sheep standing on a spur of rock, looking like a large white stone itself.

His mind was surprisingly clear and, even as he ran, he was working out a solution to the problem of the holiday, or what remained of it. He could hardly understand his earlier indecision. It all seemed perfectly simple now that he had rid himself of resentment and self-pity. He would keep his promise to Pippa and take her home for a week or two, thus giving Penny the freedom she craved, and removing the pressure from all three of them. It would also allow him to check on things in the office, and deal with any urgent post or phone-calls. And when he and Pippa returned here for a final week with Penny, he could bring a good stock of warm dry clothes and, he hoped, more tolerance. He had heard from Megan that while they'd been battling with rain and storms in Wales these last few days, London had been basking in a sunny spell. So, with any luck, he and Pippa would enjoy a fortnight's calm – in every sense. He would take her out, let her choose the excursions for a change, do his best to heal the breach between them.

He veered towards the water's edge, slowing his pace to a walk. He wanted one last look at the lake before he left for London, so that he could take something of it with him – its tranquillity and composure. He had never seen the slightest sign of life in the water, yet it seemed to
give
him life, like some baptismal rite. He remembered what Penny had said about people needing a sacred space where they could be more in touch with nature. It had annoyed him at the time, but this particular spot did indeed feel sacred; stirred in him some deep response to what he could only call the numinous. He watched his reflection trembling on the surface of the water, bent towards it like a modern-day Narcissus, finally thrusting his fingers through the shadow of his face and dispersing himself into fragments.

Reluctantly, he turned away, walked across the sand towards the path, and began the long trek back. It must be early afternoon by now, and he had eaten nothing since last night except a few ripe blackberries he'd gathered on the way. He must grab some leftovers from lunch, then have a word with Penny; try to make her see that, despite her earlier arguments, it was not in Pippa's interests to stay here any longer. Actually, he didn't anticipate any major opposition on her part. It was pretty clear to him that she was so caught up in this tribal way of life, she was merely using Pippa as a convenient excuse. She might well be secretly relieved to have her daughter off her hands, but probably couldn't bring herself to admit it, especially as the whole purpose of their coming here had been to help Pippa over her problems.

He strode on down the path, making a mental list of what he had to do: pack his things, check the car, make sure the tent was sound, ask Gerard to give Penny a hand if anything went wrong, and explain to Claire and Rick why he was leaving. He hoped to be on the road within an hour, though he had no real idea of the time. He stopped a moment to cram in a few more blackberries – small mean things with no taste to them and pips which stuck in his teeth. He also picked a flower or two for Pippa, and kept a look-out for bones to add to Rick's collection. Flowers were rare up here, so he pounced on any tiny bloom as a treasure, especially pleased to find a spire of toadflax: each pouting pair of yellow lips complete with protruding orange tongue. As he stooped to pluck it, he was suddenly aware that this stretch of lonely moorland would probably have looked the same five thousand years ago. The remains of the lead mine were a long way further down, and all he could see around him was hill blurring into sky, green merging with grey-blue, chameleon clouds forming and re-forming, and shadows like mauve bruises on the crags.

He lengthened his stride, actually relishing the prospect of tepid chick-pea fritters or congealing fungi fricassee, or whatever they had left him. He was too hungry to be fussy, and anyway, he could compensate tonight with steak and strawberries in the French bistro round the corner. He'd treat Pippa to a slap-up meal, with not a slug or wasp in sight.

At last he reached the final lap, the steep and muddy sheep-track which led down to the camp. Far below, he could see three figures crouching on the ground, unrecognizable at this distance. The details gradually sharpened as he approached, until he could make out Penny's beacon-head – the only splash of colour in the surrounding hazy-green. Corinna was on one side of her (of course), Claire the other, and all three women appeared totally absorbed. He shouted to them, and waved, but they didn't seem to hear. Well, however engrossed they were, he would have to beg a minute of Penny's precious time, to tell her he was leaving. He jogged over to the group, lurching abruptly to a panicked halt. It looked as if they were peeing, all three of them, together. But surely community living didn't go as far as that, and why should they choose so exposed a spot, instead of seeking cover? Unless it was connected with Anita's urinotherapy. She must have talked them into it, and this was some communal collection rite. He was about to take to his heels and run, when Penny called him over.

‘It's … okay,' he mumbled. ‘I can see you're busy.'

‘No, don't go away. It's lucky you're here. Come and join us, will you?'

He edged towards them warily, his face flaming with embarrassment as he saw that they were naked from the waist down, and although not apparently urinating, seemed on the point of doing so. He averted his eyes and stared fixedly at his feet, studiously counting the eyelet holes in his shoes.

‘We were just saying that we ought to have a man present,' Corinna informed him in an accusing tone of voice. ‘After all, it's men who are to blame for making a natural function a taboo.'

‘I … I'm sorry, but I don't quite …'

‘Oh, men always deny it. But it was a brilliant manoeuvre on their part – the perfect way of undermining women's power and confidence. Every month our already shaky self-esteem receives another kick in the teeth.'

‘Look, wait a second,' Penny interrupted. ‘What's the point of attacking Daniel – or any man, come to that? We've got to make them understand, Corinna.'

She beckoned him closer, rewarded him with a smile – a patronizing, parental sort of smile, he felt, as he squirmed beneath their scrutiny. It struck him that he must indeed look childish, if not downright absurd, clutching a droopy bunch of flowers and with a rabbit's skull bulging from his pocket.

‘Now listen, darling,' she continued, ‘let me try to explain. All three of us started our periods today, and that's quite important in itself. Women in primitive tribes used to menstruate together, at every new or full moon. Their periods were synchronized, you see, and the same thing's happening with us. Apparently it
does
happen when women live in communities.'

‘Look, Penny, I … I'm …' He was lost for words in such intimidating circumstances. He had already caught disturbing glimpses of pubic hair, bare and fleshy thighs, and felt like some shameful pervert gawping at forbidden sights.

‘Hold on!' said Penny, sensing his desire to escape. ‘I haven't even told you what we're doing yet. This is a very ancient rite, a shamanic rite, in fact. Robin was explaining to us that the first shamans were women. The original form of the word actually means a female rather than a male. And he said they used their menstrual blood in ceremonies and rituals – let it flow on to the ground as an offering to the earth. And apparently some tribes still do it today. Well, we're doing it ourselves, to regain our sense of power, and to re-connect with all those ancient women who were revered as priestesses or healers, rather than made to feel inferior.'

‘It's a sacrifice which takes no life,' Claire said solemnly, sitting back on her heels. ‘And,' she added, ‘a natural fertilizer. You can put it on your house-plants.'

‘Don't be silly, Claire,' Corinna frowned. ‘That may be true, but it sounds plain daft. This is a really serious issue. The last thing we want is to trivialize it and make men still more hostile.'

‘I … I'm
not
hostile,' Daniel-stammered, lowering his eyes again. The sight of his mud-caked shoes seemed infinitely safer than the terrifying prospect of three converging streams of menstrual blood.

‘The whole of society is hostile,' Claire pronounced. ‘You only have to look at the word “curse”. I mean, I've always used it myself, but it's completely negative. And when you think that we grow up in an environment which actually hates and fears women's core biological function, is it any wonder that so many of us feel bad about ourselves?'

‘That's because it's a patriarchal society,' Corinna said with a dismissive shrug. ‘In other, wiser societies menstrual blood was seen as sacred, the most potent healing medicine there was, and of value to the entire community. And when a woman had her period, she was specially honoured and respected. They believed that she had psychic powers and was more intuitive at that time – in touch with the cycle of the moon, and the ebb and flow of the tides.'

Daniel shifted uneasily. He could see they had a point, one he might find fascinating if he was ensconced safely in a library, reading it in an academic journal. It was quite another matter actually to be confronted with three half-naked women, squatting right in front of him, letting their blood flow on to the ground. He had no idea what was expected of him, nor what part mere men were supposed to play in such shamanic rites. Did they touch the blood, or taste it, or smear it on their faces, God forbid? He forced himself to look at it, as the first stage in his initiation. It had soaked into the grass, making a deep scarlet stain, with one or two blackish clots still glistening on the surface. He quickly looked away. Rick's murky green concoctions seemed innocuous in comparison. In his fantasy at the Plough and Harrow, he had imagined these same women naked in the bath, but that had been soft-focus, an erotic panorama he could switch off if he chose. The reality was different: mortifying, inescapable, and repellent in its detail.

Claire was speaking again – something about the spiritual significance of woman's menstrual cycle. He couldn't really take it in; was wrestling with a sense of isolation. He had regarded Claire as his special friend and ally, yet now she seemed a stranger who had gone over to the enemy. Except even words like ‘enemy' only went to show how basically aggressive he must be; his whole view of men and women conceived in antagonistic terms. He felt thoroughly demoralized, not to mention trapped. He couldn't simply walk away after such impassioned homilies, unless he took his courage in both hands and confessed to all three women that he was driving back to London and had to leave forthwith. He could always stress it was for Pippa's sake, and indeed he did feel more determined now to remove her from this company, before she, too, was pressured to take part in these distasteful primitive ceremonies. She was so excruciatingly shy about her periods, the very notion would appal her.