Hiding From the Light (16 page)

By late afternoon the heavy mist had turned to rain. It hung across the churchyard as Lyndsey stood beneath the trees watching and listening to the gentle patter of the raindrops on the leaves above her head. Behind her, in the lane, she heard the sound of a car engine, the swish of tyres on the wet road. She ignored it. Huddling into her jacket she tried to concentrate harder, willing herself into the inner silence where she could hear the voices. The car had slowed up and stopped just behind her. With an exclamation of annoyance she turned and peered out through the leaves. The MG had pulled in at Liza’s. It was Emma Dickson. Lyndsey’s eyes narrowed with resentment as she watched Emma greet Colonel Lawson, who was walking his dogs back up the lane towards his house. Stepping back further into the shelter of the trees, she watched silently as Emma went round and, opening the car boot, pulled out various carrier bags, locked the car, and juggling her purchases fished in her pocket for the front door key. She pushed open the door and Lyndsey saw the two dark brown – almost black – cats jumping round her, standing on their back legs, wanting to see what was in the bags, rubbing against her as she went inside.

She scowled. Why was Emma Dickson still here? Why was the spell not working?

As Emma closed the door, Lyndsey saw her hesitate and glance uneasily across the lane as if she could sense that there was someone watching her. The whole episode had taken no more than three minutes. As a light went on in the downstairs window of the house, Lyndsey turned her back with an angry groan.

‘What are you up to this time?’

The voice beside her made her jump out of her skin.

‘Alex! Where did you come from?’ He was standing on the far side of the wall, watching her. ‘And for that matter, what are you doing here? Where’s your car?’ She rammed her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket. Rain was running down her hair, plastering it across her forehead. Her blue eyes were furious.

He shrugged amiably. ‘I misjudged the weather. I thought I’d take a stroll down here and be back home before it rained. I’ve been cooped up all day and my head needed clearing.’

‘So you thought you’d come and see how Miss Dickson was getting on?’

‘No. I had no intention of seeing how anyone was getting on. I only came up here because I’m getting soaked to the skin and it’s a shortcut. Besides, the kids will be back from school by now. Bet was collecting them today. I’ll have to go and get them from her place.’ He paused, eyeing Lyndsey as she moved out of the shelter of the trees and scrambled over the wall, her long legs making easy work of the slippery old red bricks and the tangled brambles as she landed beside him.

‘I wouldn’t bother with Emma Dickson. She won’t stay long.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’ He wished he didn’t find this young woman quite so unsettlingly attractive. Those eyes, the urchin-cut hair, the slim figure … He moved a pace away from her.

She noticed and smiled to herself. She knew Alex had a soft spot for a pretty face and she knew Paula was well aware of her husband’s proclivities. ‘I mean she is not going to like it here. She’s a townie. She doesn’t fit.’

‘We’re townies, Paula and me.’ He shivered. His Barbour jacket was letting in the damp.

‘Your wife is.’ Lyndsey grinned. ‘You’ve had a good go at going native.’

‘But, I know, it will take another twenty years.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘My point is, I have grown to love it here.’ She noticed he didn’t claim that Paula had. ‘Why shouldn’t Miss Dickson do so as well?’

‘Because she won’t.’ Lyndsey’s eyes narrowed and Alex felt suddenly uneasy. How was it that this girl managed to attract and scare him at the same time?

‘Well, I hope you’re not going to do anything to upset her,’ he said. He sounded pompous and old, even to himself.

‘Why should I do that?’ She was standing in front of him, her eyes fixed on his.

Because you’re a little minx, that’s why. He didn’t say it, of course. He merely smiled. ‘Just make sure you don’t.’ It was ridiculous that he should be afraid of her. ‘I have a feeling you’ve got something against poor Miss Dickson. She’s done nothing to you, after all.’

‘Hasn’t she?’ Lyndsey raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, has she?’

‘She’s bought Liza’s.’ Her eyes were deliberately challenging.

‘Yes, Lyn, someone had to. And you couldn’t afford it!’ He managed to hang on to the patronising tone. ‘Now, I suggest you go home before you catch pneumonia.’

Just for a second he saw the anger which flashed across the blue eyes and he felt another frisson of fear. Stupid. It was gone as soon as he registered it.

‘OK, boss.’ She gave him that enchanting smile she saved for moments when Paula wasn’t around, and turned away to pick her bicycle up out of the hedge.

He watched her ride off. She was trouble, that one. Frighteningly attractive, wild, and potentially dangerous.

Emma had seen the end of the exchange when she opened the front door. She had left a packet of screws on the front passenger seat and was ducking out to fetch them. It was too late to turn back. The young woman was pedalling off down the lane, but the man was still standing there only a few yards from her gate.

He gave her a friendly smile and walking towards her he held out his hand. ‘You must be Emma Dickson? I’m Alex West. I live a couple of miles from here towards Bradfield. How are you settling in?’

She liked the look of him. Solid, calm, thinning red-gold hair, pale-blue eyes and an engaging smile. He radiated slightly diffident charm. And he looked the kind of man you could like – and trust – on sight.

‘I’m settling in well.’ She smiled at him. She hesitated. ‘Look, I know it’s a nerve to ask, but as fate has delivered you to my doorstep, I couldn’t possibly ask you a huge favour and impose on you for a couple of minutes, could I?’ She laughed, embarrassed. ‘I pride myself in being totally capable in every way but I desperately need another pair of hands – well, one other hand, actually.’

He smiled. ‘I am at your disposal. Two hands.’ He held them out. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘I’m trying to fix some hinges in the kitchen. Every time I go to put them on, I need another hand to hold the door. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Lead on.’

He followed her through the front door, glancing into the room on the right as he did so. She had dumped her parcels from the car in the middle of the floor in there.

‘It’s in here.’ She led the way down the passage. ‘I’m redoing the kitchen completely but there’s a lovely old dresser in here I want to keep. The doors are falling off and each time I come home I find my cats have levered them open. Look!’ They stood surveying the doors in question. Both hung open, dramatically held on by huge old rusty hinges.

Alex bent to scratch Min under her left ear. ‘What a lovely cat.’

Min closed her eyes in ecstasy.

‘She likes you.’ Emma was reassured. She was probably mad to ask a stranger into the house, but Min’s instincts were obviously the same as her own. This was a nice man and suddenly she was quite anxious for some solid human company.

‘Screwdriver?’ Alex had picked up the new hinges and was inspecting them.

‘Here.’ She indicated three. He selected one and squatted down in front of the dresser door. ‘First we must take off the old ones.’ It took him only seconds to remove the first screw.

‘Who was that woman you were talking to?’ Emma took the first bent rusty hinge from him and tossed it into the rubbish bin.

‘Lyndsey Clark. She lives down in Mistley. In a cottage on the quay.’ Alex rocked back on his heels and looked up at her.

‘She comes up here a lot. I’ve seen her watching me. I’ve tried to say hello but she pretends she doesn’t hear.’

He frowned, trying to force the screwdriver into a burred rusted screw which had twisted to almost nothing. ‘You’ll get to know her soon enough. I’ll introduce you. There, that’s got that one out!’ He handed her the second hinge.

‘How many kids have you got?’ She turned away and started to fill the kettle.

‘Two. Sophie and James. Six and eight. They go to school in Colchester. My wife commutes up to town each day. She’s a commodity broker. As she earns shiploads more than I did, when redundancy reared its ugly head I volunteered to stay at home and be a househusband. Hence having the time to walk around in the rain offering my services to damsels in distress.’ He smiled. He was, she noticed, fitting the door very competently without the need for third or fourth hands to hold it in place.

‘Don’t you get bored?’

He shrugged. ‘If I’m honest, yes.’

‘I worked in the City. Everyone thought I was mad giving it up and coming down here.’

He tightened the last screw and opened and shut the doors experimentally. Both worked efficiently. Standing up, he put the screwdriver down on the table. ‘Everyone round here thought you would be a weekender.’ He glanced across at her. ‘Anything else need doing while I’m here?’

She laughed. ‘Don’t tempt me. One of the challenges I’m facing is to be a bit more self-sufficient. I’m looking for someone to do the big jobs, but I’ve got to learn to do some for myself. If you know a good builder, I could do with his number.’

‘I’ll have a word with a chap I know. Get him to call round.’ Alex paused. ‘But I’m always happy to drop in and do any small jobs for you. And, I tell you what. Why don’t you come over for a meal? Meet Paula and the kids. We’re almost neighbours, so we can impart some of the local gossip to you.’

Her face brightened. ‘I’d love that. Would you like some coffee by way of saying thanks for the hinges?’ She gestured towards the kettle.

He shook his head. ‘No thanks. I do have to get back to the kids.’ He headed towards the door. Then he paused. ‘You’re not thinking of starting up the herb nursery again, are you?’

‘I might be.’ She followed him down the hall.

‘If you do, keep me in mind.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve quite a bit of business experience and willing hands and – as you see – time.’

She watched as he strode out of sight up the lane. A nice man. Friendly. Lonely. At a loose end.

‘And he likes cats, Min.’ She bent to pick up the animal circling her legs. ‘We must be careful, mustn’t we.’

The cat nestled in her arms and rubbed its head against her chin.

Mike put down the phone. He realised his hand was shaking and, picking up his pen, he stared intently at the heaps of paper on his desk.

‘I’ll be over in ten minutes,’ Judith had said when he had finally decided to ring her. He glanced at his watch, and then at the Bible almost submerged beneath all his correspondence. The screensaver on the monitor in front of him was swirling silently around, endlessly spinning patterns in front of his eyes. The phone rang. He stared at it for a moment, then leaning forward he turned on the answer machine.

‘Lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil …’ he whispered.

The voice in his head in the street outside Barker’s shop had not been his. Please God it had not been that of Matthew Hopkins.

Hearing Judith’s old Vauxhall on the drive at the front of the house he was at the door to meet her as she climbed out.

‘Mike?’ She followed him into his study. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘I think I’ve done something rather stupid.’ He sat down at his desk. Putting his head in his hands, he ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair.

She hesitated, then took the chair opposite him.

‘I went to the Barker shop this afternoon. You know, the shop this TV chap thinks is haunted? He was on the phone to me this morning. Apparently they’ve only just looked at it properly and he thinks they’ve caught the ghost on film.’ He paused.

‘Oh, Mike!’ She glanced heavenward, clearly exasperated. ‘I did warn you not to get sucked in.’

‘I know you did.’ He frowned. ‘But I wanted to see for myself. So often one hears this kind of story. Rumours start to fly. They feed on themselves. I thought if I could say I had been there, checked it out and found there was nothing, I could help allay the stories before it was too late.’

‘And what happened?’ She was frowning. ‘Don’t tell me you saw something.’

‘No, I didn’t see anything.’

‘What then?’

‘I felt something. An atmosphere. Cold. That could have been imagination, of course. But then I heard footsteps.’ He paused. ‘And a voice. Well, not a voice. It was in my head. In the street afterwards. I saw these two girls and …’ He paused, not quite knowing how to go on. ‘I felt judgemental in a way that was completely alien to me. It was as though someone else’s views were being broadcast into my brain. And someone else’s illness took over my body. Just for a few minutes.’ He shuddered. Looking up at her he shook his head. ‘I don’t quite know how to explain it, but it scared me, Judith, it really did.’

‘You’ve prayed about it, of course.’

He nodded.

‘You’re probably right and it’s your imagination. This kind of story helps to bring in the tourists. Manningtree loves its witches and its witchfinder. It’s probably total rubbish and you’ve done just what they hoped. Picked up on the hysteria. The Witchfinder is part of history. He’s not real. Not any more.’

‘I thought you said there were still witches here?’ He was studying her face.

‘Oh, there are, but they are nothing to do with Hopkins.’ She leaned forward and put her elbows on his desk. ‘Or ghosts. There are two kinds of witch around here. Both evil. Both an affront to Christianity, but nothing to do with the past. Everything to do with modern films and TV.’ She shivered. ‘Satanists, Mike. Devil worshippers. People who practise child abuse.’ She shook her head. ‘Vile, vile people. Then you have people who practise what they call Wicca. That’s a kind of nature worship. They meet in covens. Evil. Anti-Christian. What they do is horrible. Perverse. Ugly. You’ll probably have to deal with all of them in your ministry here, just as you would anywhere. I don’t think it’s because this is Manningtree, or Essex particularly. Not any more. Don’t get sucked in. You didn’t really think it was the Witchfinder talking to you, did you?’ She gave a short worried laugh. ‘Mike, you didn’t!’

‘No. No, of course I didn’t.’ He paused. ‘Not really. Judith …’ He stood up and began pacing up and down the floor, uncomfortable with the vehemence of her outburst. ‘Who is the local person to contact about occult phenomena? Is there a deliverance team in place in this diocese who’s used to dealing with ghosts and things?’

‘Oh, Mike! I don’t think you should go down that road.’ Her lips narrowed. ‘Really. I know there are clergy who get involved with all that; but so many of them are seduced by the glamour and the drama and most of it is just superstitious nonsense. They tend to be high church. Smells and bells. Oh, no way. That would not go down well here, I assure you. The PCC would be appalled. It detracts from the real job. From the Mission.’ Her eyes flashed bright with zeal as she pushed back her chair and stood up with him. ‘Prayer is all you need, Mike. Why don’t we pray now, together?’

Mike turned away. He resumed his favourite position by the window, astonished by the wave of distaste which swept over him; distaste for this woman who believed in nothing and knew everything … He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Judith. That is an excellent idea.’

It was as they finished that she glanced at him thoughtfully. ‘Mike, there is someone in the deliverance team you might speak to about all this. John Downing. He’s a good man. Very genuine. Sensible. Let me have a word with him. He’s an old friend.’ She smiled, nodding. ‘I’ll get him to ring you.’

She was as good as her word. That evening, John Downing phoned.

‘Obviously Judith has filled me in as far as she can,’ he said after he had introduced himself. ‘But I would like to hear the whole story from you.’

He listened without interruption and when Mike had finished there was a moment or two of silence.

‘You realise that most of these cases turn out to be anything but genuine hauntings,’ he said at last. ‘Some of them are hoaxes, of course, but more often they are imagination. Shadows. Spooky houses. The heightened awareness of primed expectation. Even hallucination. Forgive me for asking, but are you on any medication at the moment?’

This was not what Mike had expected and for a moment he saw red. ‘Are you implying that I am under the influence of drugs? Perhaps you think I’m a drunk?’

‘No, no, Mike.’ John Downing’s voice was professionally reassuring. ‘I have to check these things. It’s part of my brief. Just as I have to bring in a psychiatrist to interview you. He is part of the team.’

‘A psychiatrist!’ Mike’s fist almost crushed the phone. ‘Now you seem to be implying that I’m mad! What on earth has Judith said to you? I expected support, John, as from one professional to another. I expected you to come and look at this place. To pray with me, not to talk about psychiatrists!’

‘And we will come if we feel it is necessary.’ John Downing’s tone had inadvertently slipped from calming to patronising. ‘We are used to handling this kind of case, I assure you. We’ll look into it, Mike, and get back to you, OK? And in the mean time I’ll pop a few prayers for you in the post. And Mike, don’t go back there yourself, OK? Leave it to us.’

Mike slammed down the phone and took a deep breath. If this was Judith’s idea of helping, he could do without it. Whatever she had said seemed to have led Downing to assume Mike was an incompetent hysteric!

Angrily he paced up and down his study a few times.

So that was it. He was supposed to leave it to them. Forget it and submit to a psychiatrist’s report which would no doubt claim he had imagined the whole thing, or lock him up for being insane!

He threw himself into his chair, tapping his pen against his teeth and it was then the name came to him out of nowhere. Tony Gilchrist.

Mike had met the Gilchrists several years before at a conference before he had taken holy orders himself; he had liked them both enormously and Tony’s interest in the deliverance ministry had intrigued him. The man had seemed so genuine, so sane and so humane in his approach to the subject. They had kept in touch sporadically and Ruth had sent him a card with their address when Mike’s appointment to his first parish had been announced.

Mike was trying to recall what had happened to bring them to Suffolk. Tony had been involved in a high-profile exorcism up in Lancashire, the kind the church disliked intensely. It had attracted all kinds of media attention, and in the end the bishop had brought pressure to bear. Tony had retired and he and Ruth had moved six months later and disappeared from the news. Mike reached for his address book. Then he picked up the phone.

Tony was in. He too listened without comment to Mike’s story. At the end there was a long pause. When he spoke it was one word: ‘Fascinating.’

Mike gave a sigh of relief. ‘Am I right to be worried?’

‘Oh, yes. Don’t let anyone kid you these things don’t exist, Mike, or that it’s your imagination or the pills you took last night for a headache. Go with your instinct. If you’re worried, then there is probably something to worry about. Look,’ Tony paused at the other end of the line and Mike heard the rustle of pages turning. Obviously a diary. ‘Ruth and I are going away for a few days. New grandchild to view and baptise. I won’t be away long. When we get back I’ll come over. How’s that? Just as a friend. For your own sake don’t tell your deliverance chappie or let your bishop hear about it – he’ll probably have me expurgated before I get near you.’ He chuckled. ‘Mike, St Patrick’s Breastplate. You know the words, of course?’

Mike frowned. ‘“Christ be with me, Christ within me”?’

‘That’s the one. Good stuff. It’s recommended by the Christian deliverance study group. Make sure you can recite the whole thing – upside down, back to front, in your sleep. Any time. Any place. If you feel threatened, attacked, frightened, even mildly uneasy, surround yourself with those words. Hold the breastplate before your heart, OK? And Downing is right about one thing, keep away from that shop! It sounds as though it is a focal point. And if you can dissuade your TV friend from continuing with his programme, do so. You won’t be able to, of course, but try. And don’t be interviewed on camera, Mike. Believe me, it leads to all kinds of trouble. I’ll come over as soon as I get back and we’ll see what can be done. Chances are it will all fizzle out.’

Letting himself into the church later, Mike walked up the aisle. Outside it was growing dark. The building was deep in shadow and he flipped one of the light switches on the bank near the vestry door. The spotlight shone onto the altar, illuminating the cross. It was the wooden cross they left out during the week, the cross they hoped would not be stolen; during services it was replaced by one of engraved brass which looked like gold. The light cast its shadow on the wall and Mike found himself staring at it thoughtfully. He was profoundly relieved to have spoken to Tony, but there was still something there at the back of his mind which was worrying him. Something hidden in the shadows, lurking deep inside his own brain. With a sigh he knelt down on the step and fixed his eyes on the cross.

‘“Christ be with me. Christ within me …”’

Above his head, outside in the dark, the rain began to lash against the windows.