The Macbeth Prophecy (7 page)

Eventually I switched on the engine and drove slowly out on to Fell Lane. At the corner of Ash Street, Rowan House stood large and dignified behind its garden wall and I remembered the euphoria that had gripped Philip and myself when we had signed the lease. What had made us so certain of our return? Surely not a few words whispered by a gypsy girl?

But in swift contradiction to the disclaimer, confidence flooded back and I almost laughed aloud. Of course I should get the job: Janetta Lee had implied as much! It was naive, utterly illogical, but my doubts vanished instantly and there was an idiotic smile on my face as I drove back to Barrowick in search of somewhere to sleep.

After some difficulty I managed to find a small room in an hotel on the outskirts, and on impulse booked it for two nights rather than the one I'd intended. Then, desirous of company, I phoned Anita Barlow. Even if she didn't, as I hoped, invite me straight round, I had the excuse of booking a table for dinner the following evening. In the event, the result was a compromise.

“Matthew! How long are you here for? Is Philip with you?”

“He couldn't get away, unfortunately. I came up for my interview and decided to stay over Saturday night as well.”

“That's fine, because we're having a few friends for drinks tomorrow. It will be a chance for you to meet them, and you must stay to dinner afterwards.”

For the moment, though, I was reduced to my own company and decided to look round Barrowick, mingling with the crowds in the cobbled streets, admiring the old clock-tower and stone archways.

Eventually I found an alley leading to the lakeside and strolled down it to the water's edge. Here, even on this grey evening, the motor launches had been busy and the last one was just returning to the jetty thronged with holidaymakers. Around the edge of the water, ducks and swans strutted and stretched, accepting titbits thrown to them by the crowds. Lake Crowswater, beneath which the Crow goddess had her home.

I was suddenly cold, and, turning away from the darkening water, made my way back to the hotel.

The following morning I awoke to heavy rain and resigned myself to a few hours in the dim dark lounge with the newspaper. About lunchtime, however, the weather cleared with the rapidity I was coming to associate with the Lakeland climate, and after I had eaten I drove back to Crowthorpe. I intended to spend the afternoon acquainting myself more thoroughly with the village which, if the gods of chance played fair, would soon be our home.

I parked in the market place and walked down to the jetty, a smaller less commercialized counterpart of that at the other end of the lake. Behind me, the Pavilion Café spilled its clientele on to its broad terrace and to the right the grounds of the Lakeside Hotel stretched down to the water. I could see one or two private jetties with small boats moored alongside.

Turning my back on such opulence, I walked instead alongside the stream, following it under the bridge of the main road and along the valley which stretched to the north. Some distance to the left, Crowthorpe climbed its hillside and I guessed this would be the view we'd glimpsed from the vicarage windows.

The grass was wet with the morning's rain but the racing clouds were high and fluffy and the breeze which sped them on their way ruffled my hair. I stopped suddenly, looking down at the gurgling water beside me, at the lush green fields and beyond them the slowly rolling hills. A wild surge of happiness exploded inside me. This without doubt was where I belonged, and the thought of having to return to Swindon for two more months was almost unbearable.

I continued my leisurely stroll along the path until I came to a fork in it. One branch led up the long slope towards the village, and after a moment's hesitation I took it. It was quite a stiff climb which eventually brought me out towards the top of the High Street just short of Crowthorpe Grange. I was well satisfied with my afternoon's exploration and regretted only that I had not been able to share the enjoyment of it with Philip.

When I arrived at the Greystones that evening, Anita greeted me warmly. “What a shame Philip couldn't be with you! Never mind, come in and meet some of the local community.” She tucked her hand into my arm and led me through to her private sitting-room.

“Here's our prospective new schoolmaster, everyone. Isn't he gorgeous? Douglas, of course, you've already met, and Dr and Mrs Sampson. This is my husband George, and here are Geoff and Felicity Marshall who, as I told you, are also lucky enough to have twins in the family! And this is David Buckley from the Lakeside Hotel, his wife Sally, and Tom and Vera Chadwick, from the Meadowlands.”

The sea of smiling faces was a little confusing, but of all the names tossed into the air, the ones which had really registered were, of course, the Marshalls, and as soon as I could I edged myself back to where Felicity was standing.

“Are your daughters absolutely identical, Mrs Marshall?” I asked with interest.

“We can tell them apart, if that's what you mean. I suppose it's easier with girls – you can do their hair differently and so on. We've always made an effort to treat them as individuals rather than as a collective noun. I think that's important, don't you?”

She looked up at me smilingly – a fair, pretty woman, Felicity Marshall.

“I'm not sure,” I answered. “Speaking personally, my brother and I were never interested in separate identities. We preferred to be thought of as one entity.”

Her eyes flickered uncertainly and at my side Eve came to her rescue. “Take no notice of him, Felicity. He and Philip are uncannily alike, more clones than twins! Perhaps they
are
clones!” She looked at me laughingly, with raised eyebrows.

I smiled and turned back to Mrs Marshall. She didn't really look old enough to have nine-year-old girls. “And your daughters are quite happy to be – dissociated?”

“That's a forceful word,” she protested. “I only mean we give them the opportunity to grow up as sisters rather than twins.”

“How do you feel about it?” I challenged Eve. “Do you think of Anita as your sister first, or as your twin?”

“Well, we're close, of course, but probably not as close as you and Philip. We've often had fights, and so on. I rather imagine you haven't?”

“No.” It came as a shock to me that two such integral halves could ever be at odds with each other.

“Do Claire and Nicola fight?” Eve asked Felicity.

“Like cat and dog, at times!”

“Perhaps by your treatment of them you've forced them apart,” I said.

“Oh come now –”

“I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn't mean to sound critical. Obviously my brother and I are the odd ones out. I hadn't realized all identical twins didn't feel as we do.” Suddenly Philip's absence was an aching void. This talk of friction between other twins served only to emphasize how in tune we were, and how much we needed each other.

Anita touched my arm. “Philip's on the phone, Matthew. You can take it in the call box in the hall.” With conflicting emotions I hurried from the room and into the wooden kiosk. I snatched up the receiver and said rapidly, “Oh God, Philip, I wish you were here!”

“That's why I'm phoning. How did the interview go?”

I forced my mind back to the previous afternoon, my earlier doubts and fears forgotten. “Famously. I don't think there'll be any problems but of course it has to go through the official channels.” I paused, realizing I hadn't told him I should be at the Greystones. Still, perhaps that hadn't been hard to deduce. I added, “I timed it well, too. The Barlows have some friends in and I've just met the ‘squire's' wife. I think I was probably rather rude to her.”

“No doubt she'll survive. I have next Thursday off, by the way. All right if I come over?”

“Of course. I'll wangle a free day, too. It's ages since we saw each other.”

He laughed. “Don't start playing hooky just because you're leaving – bad for discipline! I'd better go, someone's waiting to use the phone. See you Thursday.”

“Thanks for phoning.”

“I needed to talk to you.”

The phone clicked in my ear. I drew a deep breath, rubbed my hands on my handkerchief and went back to face the crowd.

When we sat down to dinner an hour or so later, it was only the Barlows, Braithwaites and myself. George Barlow was a tall, worried-looking man with horn-rimmed spectacles and a shy smile. He treated his wife with the gentle, rather touching affection I'd noticed before between childless couples.

Not unnaturally, the conversation turned again to the subject of twins.

“You certainly gave Felicity pause for thought!” Eve teased me. “I don't think she found your views very comfortable.”

“I only said it was pointless to deny the fact that twins
are
twins.”

“In a way, though, I see what she means. Mothers of twins, especially identical ones, tend to dress them exactly alike, talk about them in one breath and so on. I suppose it could cause a child some crisis of identity.”

“On the other hand, our mother tried from the start to make us different, if only for ease of identification, and failed hopelessly.”

“So there will shortly be four pairs in Crowthorpe,” remarked Douglas. “It's remarkable how self-perpetuating the thing is. Twins hear of the story and willingly come along to bolster it.”

“What brought you here?” I asked Anita.

“It was ‘who' rather than ‘what', since we were only babies, but it was certainly because of the legend. Our father was a professor who married late in life. He was steeped in Celtic mythology and had known about Crowthorpe for years. When his wife presented him with twin daughters he was just about to retire, and made a point of settling here. So although we weren't actually born in Crowthorpe, we've been here virtually all our lives.”

“I hadn't realized,” George put in, “how comparatively rare identical twins are. There was a talk about them on the radio the other day. Apparently twins occur once in every eighty or so births but identical ones only every four thousand. Scientists are appealing for volunteers to take part in a series of tests on immunity to disease, hereditary weaknesses and so on.”

“Perhaps they should come to Crowthorpe!” Anita said laughingly.

“It would be fertile ground. At this rate, you'll soon outnumber the rest of us!”

“So they're doing tests, are they?” Eve mused.

“Yes, on quite a wide field: diabetes, psychology, and the old bone of contention, heredity versus environment.”

“I wonder what form the psychological tests would take,” I said, and felt both women glance at me – anxiously, I thought. Perhaps their husbands didn't approve of the parlour games we'd indulged in at the vicarage.

George for his part had looked across at Douglas. “Oh, the usual, I imagine. Behaviour under stress, personality characteristics and so on.”

“Telepathy?” I prompted.

“Quite possibly.”

Anita said, “Eve and I once had the same dream. I started to tell her about it the next morning, and she finished it off for me.”

“I've read,” I said, “of twins dying at the same time as each other. One of them has an accident and the other, miles away, dies at the same instant of no apparent cause. I've always taken it for granted the same thing would happen to Philip and me. We couldn't survive without each other.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause. Douglas Braithwaite cleared his throat. “Without wanting to sound pompous, I'm not too sure I approve of that philosophy. Each life is sacred; a completely separate being, however close one might feel to another. The fact that two people are born at the same time most certainly does not infer they must also die together.”

“Nevertheless, it does happen.”

“Very seldom, I think you'd find, and for quite valid reasons. Good gracious, man, even at the rate of one in four thousand, there are vast numbers of identical twins throughout the world. Imagine their reaction, if someone suggested they should die simultaneously! It's reminiscent of throwing a wife on her husband's funeral pyre!”

I put my hands up in mock self-defence. “Far be it from me to frighten anyone! I only said it has been known, and whatever you say I'm quite sure it will happen to us. I hope it does.”

“You won't insist on it, will you Anita?” Eve queried humorously, and in the general laughter the conversation edged on to more comfortable topics.

I recounted it to Philip the following week when he came over to see me, but the discussion took a turn I hadn't expected.

“You know, I'd like to have another go at that mind-reading stunt,” he said slowly. “I know you weren't too keen, but just consider the possibilities!”

I frowned into my glass. “I've a feeling we could easily get out of our depth.”

“If we don't experiment, we'll never know what our depth is. Suppose it really is possible to read a patient's symptoms telepathically. It would be an enormous advantage; people are so bad at expressing themselves.” He looked at me shrewdly. “Eve was right, wasn't she, about your being slightly jealous over that demonstration we did? Surely you know there's no reason to be?”

We changed the subject then, but that he hadn't forgotten it was made only too apparent a few days later. When Philip and I phoned each other, it was always in the evenings at each other's lodgings. Yet suddenly, in the middle of one afternoon, I felt an urgent need to contact him. I tried to play it down – for one thing it was in the middle of a class – but the necessity became too strong for me. I set the children some work and hurried to the nearest phone. There was no reason whatever to expect Philip to be at home at that hour of the day, but he answered the phone on the first ring.

“Bless you, Matthew!” he said exultantly, before I'd even spoken. “Look at your watch, will you? I can't stop now but there's a letter in the post which will explain.” I was left standing with the dead phone in my hand, feeling flat and oddly frustrated. As instructed I looked at my watch. It was four minutes past three.