Dreams of Origami (11 page)

‘Of course. Most of the colleges in Cambridge have their own resident phantoms; old masters who have drowned each other or come to some sort of sticky end. The Old Lodge at Corpus Christi is said to be haunted by the ghost of one of the masters of the college who hanged himself by his garters on Easter Sunday. No easy feat, I imagine.’

‘What about the big manor houses? Some of them look spooky.’

‘Oh, yes, they nearly all have their ghost stories, some quite famous, too. Like the old vicarage at Grantchester, of course—you know, the one in the poem.’

‘And is there honey still for tea?’

‘That’s the one. They reckon Rupert Brooke still walks about upstairs. Then there’s Sawston Hall, supposed to be visited by Queen Mary, no less.’

‘What about open places like this? Fields and village lanes?’

‘The usual urban legends, women in white walking along dark lanes at night. There’s one on the road from Harston to Haslingfield.’

‘And monks gliding through brick walls?’

‘Don’t know about brick walls, but lines of them have been seen walking, or rather drifting, above open fields, as if they are walking the old causeways that existed before the land level dropped.’

‘Were there many monks around here?’

‘Oh, yes. They built some of the large manor houses, or, more often, later houses were erected over the ruins of previous abbeys, like Spinney Abbey. It’s a farmhouse built where the old priory used to stand, and the pigsty’s built in part of the old ruins. The pigs aren’t worried, though occasionally they do get boisterous for no apparent reason.’

‘I think you’re winding me up.’

‘I’m just telling you what people believe. And that’s interesting in itself: why certain places should generate even imagined tales. This area used to be so isolated, the villages literally cut off from each other at certain times of the year; it’s not surprising if the population turned in on itself. And you can’t deny there’s a certain atmosphere, as if the veil between worlds is stretched very thinly. It’s easy to hear things on the wind, to see strange lights moving across a darkened field. The senses become sharpened, honed beyond those of city dwellers. Consequently, Fen folk have a certain reputation for being a little…well…shall we say, unusual.’

There is a sudden crunching of tyres on gravel. Lacey jumps, and then feels foolish as Gideon laughs at her. ‘That’ll be Drew.’

They both stand up as the door opens, expecting news, medical details, visiting times. The bewildered look in Drew’s eyes tells them everything. Lacey goes to him, arms around his neck. He bends his head, resting his forehead on hers.

‘When?’

‘Not long after we got there. They took him straight in. We could see them working on him, they really did try everything, but it was too late. The doctor who spoke to us, a young chap, he was upset
himself. He said the old boy was so cold he didn’t know how he’d lasted as long as he did.’

‘Damn!’ Gideon slams his fist on the back of the chair. ‘I should have come sooner.’

‘Look, no one’s to blame.’ Lacey looks from one man to the other. ‘Least of all you, Gideon—you didn’t even know him. Drew, you look all-in, come and sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.’ She goes into the kitchen.

‘Was he conscious at all?’ asks Gideon. ‘Did he say anything?’

‘I don’t think he was aware of what was going on. The nurse said he mumbled something about stars, but…’

‘Stars?’

‘Yes. He was an astronomer. Used to work for the Greenwich Observatory.’

‘Here, get this down you.’ Lacey sits beside him.

‘Thanks, love. They let us go back in afterwards. You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone dead. He didn’t look any different, and yet—I knew he wasn’t there.’

‘Is Bill all right? Did you bring him back?’

‘Yes, I dropped him off at the farm. His son’s with him.’ Drew takes a deep gulp from his cup. ‘We’re going to have to tell Triss.’

‘Oh Lord, yes, of course we are.’ Lacey can feel tears welling up. Silly. She didn’t know the man, never even spoke to him. ‘And Audrey. They’re over there together.’

‘Would you mind if I come with you?’ asks Gideon. ‘I was there and I feel—’

‘Sure. We’ll all go over as soon as I finish this coffee.’

Lacey steps into the street, Gideon following her. Drew turns his key in the lock: who knows how long this will take? Across the road the schoolhouse looks silent and empty, the way these old houses do, the windows dark, and the cockerel weather vane, for once, still. The wind seems to have dropped and the sun is climbing high against
a gingham-blue sky. They step into the road, turning their heads at the sound of an engine. Drew waves to the motorcyclist, who has kicked his machine into life and is now balanced astride it, the toes of his leather boots tipping the roadway as he adjusts his helmet and visor.

‘Who’s that?’ asks Lacey.

‘Tom, er, Morrison, I think he said. You know, the art student I told you about—he moved in a few weeks ago. I got the impression he’s renting the place from some relative. Haven’t really seen much of him.’

Tom the biker turns his machine and roars off in a cloud of dust. There’s always dust and grit in this road, thinks Lacey. She looks down, the kerb is silted with it. It blows off the fields and gets in everywhere.

‘So, could you clarify who’s living where?’ Gideon stops in the road and looks around. ‘On this side, is it just these four cottages?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Audrey’s at the other end.’ Drew points along the row. ‘Then Tom. Next door is empty, then me.’

‘And at the other side is the schoolhouse opposite Audrey, then the first cottage is Abercrombie’s. What about the next two?’

‘They’re the weekenders. Then Bill’s place is at the end, facing mine. The larger cottage set apart, that’s owned by the Tivertons, a middleaged couple, who both work in Cambridge. They’re hardly ever here, though, and when they are they’re always arguing. Lots of shouting and slamming of car doors.’

‘According to Audrey,’ says Lacey, ‘these eight cottages were intended for the farm labourers, and the Tivertons’ place must have been for the foreman.’

‘I guess so. And that’s it until you come to the farmhouse. You can’t see it from here.’

‘And you own the empty cottage next door to you, Drew? I see it’s up for sale.’ Gideon points to the estate agent’s board.

‘That’s right. No takers yet, but it’s early days.’

‘So, it’s unoccupied?’

‘Well, it is at the moment.’

Gideon is still looking back at the empty cottage as they cross to the other side.

Yes, the wind has definitely dropped,
thinks Lacey. It’s actually quite warm in the sun. Could have the makings of a nice day. Or it did have. The perfect day for the village cricket match.

The three bearers of bad news walk together down the front path. Under the shadow of the schoolhouse, the air feels suddenly sharp and cold. Their attention is on the front door and what they must tell the women who are waiting inside. They do not see, up on the roof, the old, rusted cockerel begin to turn slowly, very slowly, in the still air.

We cannot claim that death itself is an illusion. An irreversible change does take place—a permanent severing of the mind (consciousness? spirit?) from the physical body. But supposing the limitations imposed on us by the confines of matter are designed to temporarily fool us into thinking that this is the sum total of our existence? And supposing that, in reality, our spiritual self arises from and returns to a non-physical dimension?

If that is so, it must be physical life itself that is the illusion.

Extract from
The Cosmos of Illusions
by Gideon Wakefield

T
HIS SIDE OF THE OLD BUILDING
is in shadow and cool, despite the almost noonday sun. Gideon follows Lacey and Drew inside and finds Triss, pale as a ghost in the dim light. She waits, unable to ask. There is no need for an answer, their heavy silence is enough. There are no fresh tears; perhaps she has shed them all. This time it is Audrey’s strength that wavers. ‘What the devil was the daft old bugger doing out there anyway?’ She stuffs her handkerchief into her pocket and clatters dishes into the sink.

‘I should’ve gone to look the first time.’ Triss’s voice is a whisper. ‘He was still there an hour later. If I’d have…’

Drew takes Triss by the arm and guides her to a chair. He sits beside her and explains what happened at the hospital. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The doctor said he must have been out there most of the night. There was nothing anyone could have done.’

Gideon comes around to where Triss is sitting. ‘Did he say anything?’ he asks. ‘When you found him, was he able to speak?’

‘I’m not sure he knew who I was. I had to lean close to hear him. I didn’t understand what he was saying, something about me being right about the stars. Perhaps he thought I was Sarah; she was his wife.’

‘You say you first noticed him from the bedroom window? Would you mind if I take a look?’ Gideon goes upstairs. From the window he can see over the fence. It looks like an old man’s garden, hollyhocks and daisies towering over clouds of delicate forget-me-nots; neat rows of cabbages and a structure of bamboo canes to hold the runner beans. The summer flowers around the rustic wooden bench are trampled where the ambulance crew manoeuvred the old man onto a stretcher. The garden tells him nothing.

‘Do you think there’s any link?’ Lacey has followed him up and is looking over his shoulder. ‘You know, with Matthew?’

Gideon shrugs. ‘I’m not sure. Old men die, it’s the way of things. But why the garden? What did he think he’d find out there? There’s certainly something going on here, and I don’t think it stops at Matthew Caxton. Or Mr Abercrombie.’

Back downstairs they find the tableau unchanged: Drew and Triss at the table, Audrey directing her distress at the crockery. A car draws up outside and Triss looks up. ‘Oh no, it’s him.’ Gideon hears the fear in her voice, and looks through the window to see two men entering the gate. They have the look of policemen.

‘It could be good news,’ Gideon says, ‘or a just routine check.’ But even as he speaks, he realizes that her fear is to do with the man himself.

‘They’re not doing anything, you know,’ says Triss. ‘They’ve stopped looking, I know they have. He doesn’t believe me.’

‘But they have to—’ Lacey begins a protest, her voice blocked by loud knocking.

‘I’ll get it,’ says Audrey.

Triss stands up, her gaze fixed on the doorway from where Detective Inspector Fletcher surveys the room.

‘What’s this? A neighbourhood-watch meeting?’

‘We’ve had some more bad news—’ Audrey begins, but he strides straight past her and towards Triss.

‘Another resident of Gainsborough Street, is it? Only this time we have a body. So it was you who found him, was it, Mrs Caxton? Now there’s a coincidence. And the press were quick to get onto it, I see.’ He glares at Lacey.

Drew tries to intervene. ‘I was at the hospital—’

‘Yes, I have a full report, thank you.’ Fletcher almost pushes him aside. ‘And now I must ask you all to leave. We need to talk to Mrs Caxton alone.’

‘I think she needs—’ Audrey moves forward.

‘I said alone.’

Gideon can feel the man’s aura pervading the room, something raw and filled with rage. Drew and Lacey look at each other. Lacey is about to protest, but Drew pulls her to the door. Gideon and Audrey have no option but to follow them. Outside, Sergeant West is hovering on the step. He looks decidedly uncomfortable, and for a moment Gideon thinks he may say something. Instead, he nods as they pass and, entering the house, he shuts the door behind him.

Audrey turns her head away and strides off to her own home. Gideon, Drew and Lacey look at each other, then slowly return to Drew’s cottage, glancing back at the schoolhouse and its closed door.

‘He can’t actually do that, can he?’ Drew puts the kettle on for fresh coffee. ‘I mean, isn’t Triss entitled to have some sort of representation?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Lacey sounds uncertain. ‘She’s not a minor, or under arrest. Or even officially a suspect, come to that.’

‘Well, what was all that about anyway? He doesn’t seriously think
Triss had anything to do with Abercrombie, does he?’

‘God knows what he thinks,’ says Lacey. ‘Triss looked really scared. What the hell has he been saying to her? What do you make of him, Gideon?’

‘Bit of an odd one,’ he replies. ‘He’s certainly carrying a great deal of anger. He may be finding it difficult to think logically.’

Drew shrugs his shoulders and reaches for a packet of biscuits. Lacey wonders what Drew makes of Gideon being here. He wouldn’t feel threatened, would he? A bit jealous? No, that wouldn’t be like Drew. He probably thinks Gideon’s a bit eccentric. No doubt he’ll voice his opinion later, when they’re alone.

‘Have they stopped looking for him?’ Drew asks Lacey. ‘It’s nearly four days now and nothing seems to be happening.’

‘I’m not sure. I know that all the routine procedures have been carried out, information circulated and so on. At the Thursday handover they did seem to be swinging into action. But after that Fletcher took over. From what he was saying yesterday, I don’t think he’s convinced about the disappearance at all. It seems like he’s more interested in Triss.’

‘See, he thinks she’s buried him in the garden.’

‘Drew, that’s not funny. Ignore him, Gideon, he’s got a weird sense of humour. Are you going to eat all those biscuits?’

‘Sorry. Anyone else want one? So, what’s Fletcher’s line?’

‘Well, he says they’ve only got Triss’s word that Matthew is a missing person. The trouble is, you see, there’s nothing to corroborate her story. He’s concentrating on their background, especially her breakdown. It’s as if he’s fixated on her and won’t look any further. And now, after what happened this morning—the hospital and everything—well, you heard him, didn’t you? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘No, the man’s attitude certainly didn’t appear to be rational.’ Gideon moves across to the window. ‘His car’s still there. At least there’s another officer present.’ He turns to face Drew and takes a deep breath. ‘Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but…the cottage next door, it’s empty at the moment, isn’t it?’

‘Why, you thinking of buying it?’

‘No, but I was wondering if you’d consider renting it to me. Only
for a short time—a month, perhaps.’

‘Why?’ asks Lacey. ‘What have you got in mind?’

‘I’d like to move in for a while. I need to be at the centre of…of whatever’s happening. I wouldn’t get in the way if you need to show people around. Even if a buyer turns up tomorrow, it would take longer than a month for the sale to go through.’

‘Well, I don’t know.’ Drew looks to Lacey for help. ‘It’s not what I had in mind. And I don’t see what you could do if you were here.’

‘Oh come on, Drew. It’s a great idea. Gideon could keep an eye on things while we’re not around. Audrey’s been great, but I think Triss needs all the help she can get. Besides, I don’t trust Fletcher.’

‘I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this,’ says Gideon, ‘and I don’t like pressuring you, but I feel this is really important. And urgent. Naturally, I’ll make some financial arrangement.’ Then Gideon mentions a sum of money and Drew’s jaw drops.

‘Look, that’s at least twice the going rate, Drew.’ Lacey’s warming up to the plan now. ‘What about moving your stuff in?’

‘I wouldn’t need much, just the basics.’

‘You’ve got some camping equipment, haven’t you, Drew? You could lend him a camp bed and some cooking stuff. Why don’t you take Gideon next door so he can see the place?’

Drew looks from one to the other. The decision seems to have been taken out of his hands.

‘Well, this is it. As you can see, it’s all freshly decorated. Curtains, carpets. The kitchen’s through there, it’s all new, and there’s a bathroom beyond.’ Drew stands in the centre of the empty lounge while Gideon takes a quick look through the back end of the house.

‘This would suit me just fine. I know where I can hire a man and van. I’ll move a few things over this afternoon. If I could borrow your camping equipment I wouldn’t need to bring much, just clothes and perhaps an armchair. Oh, and I’ll need to bring my computer and something to stand it on.’

‘Of course, you’re a writer, aren’t you? I expect you’ll want to work here, then.’

‘That’s what I had in mind. And I really need to be online. Is there a phone socket I can plug into?’

‘Yes, but it’s not connected.’

‘No problem. I’ll call an engineer out on Monday morning.’ Gideon goes to the window and looks across the road to the schoolhouse.

‘So, what are you writing?’

‘My current work? It’s called
The Cosmos of Illusions.
It’s about physical existence and death.’

‘And is it an illusion? Death, I mean. Old Charlie Abercrombie looked pretty much a goner to me.’

‘Exactly.’ Gideon turns back to face Drew. ‘There was a change from one moment to the next. Yet the body was still there, all the elements still present. Agreed, the system had shut down, but the process of disintegration hadn’t started. And yet you could tell that he was no longer there, couldn’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. But…’

‘So what was it that was there one moment and gone the next? There’s actually no evidence to indicate that consciousness is limited to physical existence.’

‘Look, about Lacey…’

‘Lacey?’ Gideon is thrown by the sudden change of subject.

‘I’m concerned about her. If you’re going to be staying here, there’s something we need to get sorted. I’m worried about her becoming too involved.’

‘What do you mean? You don’t think—I’m aware that you and she are an item.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, credit me with some intelligence, will you? She doesn’t fancy you, if that’s what you’re thinking. And even if she did, I shouldn’t think she’s your type.’

‘Well then…’

‘It’s all this talk about death and survival.’

‘Ah, I see. I thought there was something. What happened to her? Did someone die?’

‘Her husband, Michael. Three years ago. It was very sudden. She fell apart for a while. I thought…hoped…she was beginning to come to terms with it—’

‘Until all this happened and stirred everything up again. And you think my presence could make it worse?’

‘You and everything else. There are people dying and disappearing all around her. Babies and old men and…and husbands. Matthew Caxton’s not the only mystery she’s trying to solve. But Michael’s dead. There’s nothing you can do or say to change that. She needs to get on with her life.’

‘Yes, you’re absolutely right.’

‘Don’t go by appearances. She’s not as tough as she’d like everyone to think.’ Drew stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks away. ‘You know, she still looks around if she hears a door open or a phone ring. It’s as if she’s expecting him. Sometimes I wake up in the night and find her crying in her sleep.’

‘So where does that leave you?’

‘I rushed headlong into my first marriage. It was a disaster.’ Drew smiles. ‘I think I might have got it right this time. I can wait for however long it takes.’

Gideon nods. ‘Thank you for telling me. I’ll be careful.’

‘Just so’s you know.’ Drew rubs his hands together. ‘Right, so you’ll be moving in this afternoon, then? Can’t help, I’m afraid: I’m supposed to be playing cricket. Christ, is that the time? I’d better be going. I’ll just turn the power on and give you a set of keys.’

The afternoon is glorious—blue sky, brilliant sunshine. Men in cream and white stroll across a daisy-flecked village green, while their women, dressed in coloured cotton skirts, drape themselves in deckchairs. Dogs run and bark, ice cream dribbles down the bare arms of children as their mothers listen to the
thwack
of leather ball on willow bat. An afternoon so long and leisurely, so picture-perfect, that Lacey feels like screaming. She tries to follow the game, but her mind
is on the events in Gainsborough Street, so she hasn’t a clue about what’s happening on the field. She applauds with the crowd in case Drew looks in her direction.

Fletcher’s car had still been there when they drove off. She should’ve waited, gone straight over to Triss as soon as he had left. And what about Gideon? She was itching to ask him what had precipitated the impromptu house move. But here she is, trapped for the afternoon. She tries glancing down at her book, but it might as well be written in Arabic. The match is followed by tea in the pavilion, an eternity of sandwiches and Victoria sponge cake, where she’s obliged to make polite conversation with the other wives and girlfriends while the men dissect every run, every bowl and catch. And when they do finally get into the car, all Drew can talk about is the umpire needing a new optician.

‘Fletcher’s gone. Drop me outside the schoolhouse, will you?’ As she scrambles out, Lacey glances over at what is now Gideon’s cottage. The only change there is the Jaguar parked outside. Triss answers the door herself. She looks miserable.
And something else,
thinks Lacey.
Angry. That’s it, she looks angry.
Somehow that’s a good sign, the first positive reaction Triss has shown since this whole business began.