Last Rites (18 page)

Rod was unsure what reception he would get as he stood on Abigail's doorstep. He had her blanket over his arm, to give him the excuse that it was a courtesy call.

As the door opened, Abigail looked at him, and then at the blanket.

‘You didn't have to bring it back, officer,’ she said.

‘It gets cold around here in winter, Miss Hobbs. It would stay on my conscience if anything happened to you.’

Abigail smiled and then turned to walk into the house. As Rod followed her, he saw that she had touched up her hair, the grey roots disappeared now, her hair frizzy black right down to her scalp. She was wearing a long purple dress, loose and flowing over her large frame, but as Rod looked, he got the sense that she was naked underneath, everything in her dress moving around too freely.

He looked away, uncomfortable, and then as he entered the living room, he saw a sprig of rosemary pinned to the doorframe. The living room itself was tidier than the first time he'd been there, with the rug
back in its place and the intersecting lines of salt swept up. And there was some light coming in from one of the windows, catching the small trails of smoke coming from the incense sticks dotted around the room, making the air hazy. The back of his throat tickled and made him cough.

‘That's strong stuff,’ Rod said.

Abigail turned around and wrinkled her nose. ‘It helps me think,’ she replied slowly, and then pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down.’

Rod nodded and took his place in the chair while Abigail shuffled off to the kitchen. He waited, looking at his fingernails, no sound in the house except the tinkle of some wind chimes by the window and the regular clunk of an old clock on the mantelpiece.

When Abigail returned, she was carrying a small tray with two cups. Rod got to his feet to help her, but she shook her head that she didn't need it. He noticed another sprig of rosemary over the door to the kitchen. As Abigail set the tray down, she offered Rod a cup and then asked, ‘How can I help you?’

Rod took a sip of his tea. ‘I want you to tell me what is going on,’ he said, pausing to pick some tea leaves from his lips.

‘Why do you think anything is going on?’ she asked.

‘Miss Hobbs, I don't mean to upset you, but someone blew up your cat, there was an explosion in Isla Marsden's shed, and in someone else's before that. Isla pretends not to know you, but you both wear the same rings.’

Abigail looked uncomfortable and shuffled in her
seat. ‘I don't want to do anything that would cause harm to anyone,’ she said quietly, ‘but I cannot say anything.’

‘But if you don't say anything, someone else might get hurt.’

Abigail shook her head slowly. ‘No, Inspector. I just can't.’

‘What about your craft group?’ he asked.

Abigail looked surprised, and Rod saw the cup tremble in her hand.

‘I know that you are in a craft group with Isla,’ he pressed. Still Abigail wouldn't respond. ‘Would anyone have any reason to want to harm you?’

Rod looked at her, waiting for her to continue, but she stayed silent.

‘What about the salt pentagram on your floor?’ he continued. ‘The rosemary over the doorframe?’

Abigail just shook her head.

Rod sighed as he realised that he wasn't going to get anywhere. He reached out and took her hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Miss Hobbs,’ he said, and then stood as if to leave.

Abigail kept hold of his hand. ‘Finish your tea,’ she said.

Rod looked back at the cup, saw the black leaves swirling around. He paused, unsure, and then he reached down to drain it. When he'd finished, Abigail said, ‘Spin the leaves.’

Rod looked at her, confused.

‘The cup,’ she said. ‘Rotate it three times, and then put it on the saucer, upside down.’

He did as he was told, and then watched as Abigail
reached for the cup. She concentrated, turning the cup back over, holding it up to her face, looking closely, starting with the rim and then looking further into the bowl.

‘Can you see that?’ she said eventually, holding the cup up to him.

Rod leaned forward. All he could see were tea leaves scattered around the inside of a white china cup.

‘Near the handle,’ she continued. ‘Can you see the leaves are in a hammer shape?’

Rod couldn't, but he nodded anyway, just out of politeness.

‘It means you will be rewarded for your hard work,’ she said, and then she smiled.

Rod nodded slowly. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, although he was unsure what he was thanking her for.

I was driving too fast, but I knew I was late, the Triumph Stag skittering around corners. I checked my watch. The Court Welfare meeting was at three, and it was already quarter past. Our cottage was sometimes hard to find, tucked away on a quiet road in the hills around Turners Fold, so I hoped the visitor would be late.

As I rounded the corner close to our house, I saw Laura's car parked outside, pulled onto the small patch of gravel at the front. In front of her car was another, a stranger's car. I cursed to myself and rushed inside.

Laura looked up at me. She smiled, but I could see that it was forced.

‘I'm sorry I'm late. I got held up with work.’ I tried to show my regret and make it sound official, that there was nothing I could do, but I knew that Laura would know the truth, that I had become distracted.

The woman on the sofa with Laura stood up to shake my hand. ‘You must be Jack,’ she said. ‘I'm Jenny.’

I shook hands and tried to assess her like I knew she was assessing me. She looked like how I expected, cords and blazer and a short haircut. No rings. I guessed that
she had no children herself. It was the earnest look in her eyes, that she knew best, which gave it away. People with children tend to be more forgiving.

‘I came a bit early. I'm sorry,’ Jenny said.

To catch us how we really are, I thought, rather than as the package we would present.

She smiled at me and sat down again.

The rest of the meeting went in a whirl, just lots of talk about plans for us and plans for Bobby, about contact arrangements, schooling. All aspects of our life disclosed to a stranger so that she could recommend what should happen to Laura's child. But Laura had already made that decision, that he was best with us. Geoff was disputing it only because of me, as I was the intruder in the nest, although he hadn't been so protective when he had been unfaithful to Laura, and more than once.

As I looked at Jenny, I wondered whether she would see through Geoff. I told myself that most families she saw would be riddled with more problems than our little unit. Maybe this visit was a break from the routine. Or maybe it was routine to her, the absent father making trouble for the new boyfriend.

I answered her questions honestly, about our plans for Bobby's schooling, how our jobs interfered with looking after him. I stammered a bit when I was asked about marriage plans, but Laura stepped in with an explanation that we had none. Bobby was playing upstairs most of the time, I could hear him rattling his toys and talking to himself. Jenny asked if she could speak to him. Laura said it was okay, and as soon as
Jenny's flat shoes disappeared around the bend in the stairs, I whispered, ‘I'm sorry I'm late. I got held up in the library, and then I went to see Sarah's parents. I just lost track.’

‘Were you with darling little Katie?’ she snapped at me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I've seen photographs of a loving goodbye,’ she said.

‘Carson?’ I asked angrily.

‘Probably, but that's not the point.’

‘Nothing went on,’ I said. ‘You saw what she was like last night. It doesn't mean I responded.’

Laura stared at me, clenching her jaw, and then she said, ‘Well, you were supposed to be here. Do you remember all that crap you keep saying, that this is our fight, not just mine? It didn't last long, did it?’

‘It wasn't like that,’ I protested.

‘Oh no? I might just decide I don't want the fight any more, and that will take me away from here. Will you fight then?’

Before I had the chance to respond, Jenny came back downstairs, Bobby just behind her. When he came into the room, he sat right next to me. Jenny noticed that. I couldn't have scripted it better.

We answered a few wrap-up questions, Laura's smile switched back on, although I still sensed the frost, and then Jenny grabbed her things. I let Laura show her out as Bobby ran back upstairs, his game not complete. When Laura didn't come back inside, I went to look for her, and found her at the end of the garden, on an old bench I'd bought from a reclamation yard, the wood
gnarled and bent. I'd put it where we had a good view along the valley, the height of the wall cutting out the slate-grey of the town.

She looked up, and I saw that she had been crying. I sat next to her and linked my fingers into hers.

‘So that's it then,’ she said quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘That woman will go and decide our future, and we just have to sit here and wait.’ She sniffled and wiped her eyes. ‘Do you know what was the strangest thing?’

‘No, go on, tell me.’

‘I found myself explaining for the first time why I had moved up here. No, that's not right, not explaining. Justifying. That's what I was doing. You wanted to come home to the north, you had something to come back for, but I just sort of followed, with dreams of a new start, all that romantic stuff.’

‘This conversation doesn't sound good,’ I said.

‘No, it is good,’ she said, ‘because I had to tell Jenny why I wanted to stay up here. The fields. The view. The job. Even the people. I loved London, still do, but it is nice to be out of it. I've slowed down a bit, and that has to be good. For the first time since I moved here, I had to convince someone else that it was not only good for me to be up here, but also that it was good for Bobby.’

I kissed her on the cheek, and she put her arm around mine, rested her head on my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, neither of us speaking, and then Laura broke the silence. ‘Tell me again, why were you late?’

‘Like I said, it was about work, and I'm sorry, but this Sarah Goode story has taken an interesting turn.’

‘Tell me.’

I looked down the valley, away from Turners Fold and towards Pendle Hill, sprawled across the view. Its summit wasn't high, but it always seemed like the clouds were not too far away, as if the hill pulled them towards it.

‘Do you see that hill?’ I asked.

‘What, the long one?’ she queried.

‘That's the one,’ I said, and I knew what Laura meant. It didn't just rise up, it seemed to lie along the landscape, more barren than the green fields around it, the sides darker, bleaker somehow.

‘What about it?’

‘It's seen some strange things.’

Laura shuddered. ‘I don't like it,’ she said. ‘It's strange, it spooks me.’

‘Pendle Hill,’ I said. ‘It's a landmark in these parts. Tales of witchcraft and dark deeds.’

Laura smiled at that. ‘Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble, and all that.’

‘You're not far off the mark with that,’ I said. ‘The
Macbeth
reference, I mean.’

She looked up at me. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Have you never heard of the Pendle witches?’

She curled her lip. ‘I've sort of heard about them, in that I've heard the name, but I don't know anything about them.’

‘Well, let's go inside. It's nearly Halloween, and so it's a good time for some ghoulish local history.’

Sarah pulled her knees closer to her chest.

She knew she had to escape. She wasn't going to be kept so that she could be used by him whenever his urges were too strong. Escape or die trying. But she needed to be strong, had to keep a clear mind. He was right, she had let hate distract her. The door had been open. She could have rushed for that. Instead, she had become consumed by hatred, wanting to kill him more than she had needed to get out.

She needed to draw on some strength, some inner resource.

Sarah stood up and began to walk backwards in the room, dragging her heel in the dirt, making a straight line, bold and clear, from one corner of the room to the centre of the opposing wall, and then back down to the other corner. Then she went across to another wall, dragging her heel still so that it became raw and started to bleed. But she carried on, knew she had to keep going, and so she went back across the room again, another line, before making her way back to the corner that she had started from.

She looked back at what she had done. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough.

It was a pentagram, drawn into the dirt.

Sarah knelt down in the middle of the pentagram, so that its five arms stretched out all around her. She closed her eyes, tried to conjure the images in her head that she needed. It was hard. The speakers beat out that steady heartbeat rhythm, so that she fought hard to banish it from her mind. Then she realised that it was easier if she went with the sounds, so she swayed with the rhythm, backwards and forwards, then to the side, her eyes closed, her lips closed in a half-smile.

Then the right thoughts came. She thought she could feel the warm breeze in the room as she thought of it tugging at branches, or brushing the soft hairs on her arms. Her hair seemed to flutter over her shoulders.

‘Watch over me, Air,’ she said softly. ‘Guard me, guide me, protect me during whatever lies ahead. Blessed be.’

Sarah felt stronger. She tried to think of a flame, swaying like the flickers of a roaring fire. She rubbed her arms, felt them become warm under her touch.

‘Watch over me, Fire. Guard me, guide me, protect me during whatever lies ahead. Blessed be.’

Then it was a fast-flowing stream. She thought she could hear the ripples over the sound of the heartbeats, softening the sound.

‘Watch over me, Water. Guard me, guide me, protect me during whatever lies ahead. Blessed be.’

Her voice was getting stronger as she swayed in time to the heartbeats.

Sarah thrust her hand to the floor and grabbed a handful of dirt. Her nails felt broken, her fingers raw, but she held her hand aloft and let it fall over her.

‘Watch over me, Earth. Guard me, guide me, protect me during whatever lies ahead. Blessed be.’

Sarah's voice grew louder, more strident, seemed to echo around the room, over the sound of the heartbeats coming from the speakers. She clenched her fists and felt tears roll down her cheeks. She held out her arms and looked upwards.

‘Lord and Lady, I call upon you to watch over me. Guard me, guide me, protect me during whatever lies ahead. Blessed be.’

Sarah reached out with her right hand and began to draw a circle around herself, turning clockwise on her knees.

‘I make this circle as a place between the worlds,’ she shouted, turning still. ‘It will protect me. Blessed be.’

As she overlapped the end of the circle over its beginning, she slumped forward, panting. All she could do now was wait.