The Cold Calling

‘What? ‘

‘Well, he hasn’t!’

‘So, you’ll tell the junkies, then. And the dead junkies’ parents. And the small- timers who were fitted up to get them out of the picture. How they all seriously misjudged Father Tony of Calcutta Street. Em, you ever think maybe your old man lies to you a lot?’

She trod on the brakes so hard the BMW stalled and a Land Rover coming up behind had to swerve into the hedge.

‘All right.’ Hands flying off the wheel. ‘No more. Change of subject.’

‘You want us to be ordinary people?’

‘We can do that, can’t we? One night?’

He saw her face in the headlights of the Land Rover behind.

In the silly blonde wig.

‘Course we can,’ Maiden said.

Almost believing it.

Confirmation.

Even the goddamn dress was the same, with the print flowers. Looked faded, worn-not blue, sepia in the picture, obviously, but it was the goddamn same dress. The hair wasn’t in plaits, but it looked like the same hair, and the eyes …

The eyes weren’t dead, but they weren’t laughing either. Weren’t laughing, even then.

Grayle felt as if she’d been attached to some kind of emotional vacuum pump.

‘Listen,’ she said earnestly, straw-clutching. ‘This could be a delusion. Like that explanation they have for deja vu? Like, you see something and your mind does this kind of double take so that the first image, even though it happened only a fraction of a second ago, it’s become part of your memory and you recall it like it was years ago or maybe in another life. Yeah?’

Looking hopelessly at Marcus and Cindy the Shaman who’d kind of filtered into the room soon after Maiden left.

‘I mean, listen, I’m ready to go with that,’ Grayle said. ‘I don’t want you to believe me when I’m not too sure I believe myself, is what I’m saying.’

Marcus and Cindy looking at each other without a word.

‘Hey, come on,’ Grayle said. ‘Help me out here, guys.’

The eyes of Annie Davies gazed solemnly out of a photograph over three-quarters of a century old. In the background was the church of St Mary, looking not much different from today.

A slow, icy shiver went right up Grayle’s spine. A classic shiver, just as they were supposed to, just like in all the stories.

Marcus said, ‘Do you know why they had her picture taken with the church in the background? For the same reason they sent her there every day for most of a year, to pray. For forgiveness. For her own soul. Can you imagine that? The indignity of it? Like a juvenile felon checking in with the probation officer. For the crime of seeing the Virgin Mary at a heathen burial place.’

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.

‘It’s true enough,’ Cindy said. ‘Just been quizzing them in the pub, I have. Still two sides in that village. Hard to credit. When I was about to leave, a very old woman caught hold of my sleeve.’

‘I know,’ Marcus said. ‘Funny eye.’

‘That’s the one. Funny eye. You know what she said? She said, You want to ask yourself why it happened on her thirteenth birthday …’

‘Bloody hell. People still saying that? You know, she never went to church again. A more Christian woman never walked this earth. But her holy place was High Knoll. The child in her, the healer in her, belongs to High Knoll.’

‘It makes me wonder,’ Cindy said.

‘Wonder what?’

‘What time did you see this, Grayle? Do you remember?’

‘Well, I … I’d been to the centre, left there maybe around three. Three-thirty? I can’t say for sure.’

‘Half past three.’ Cindy smiled thinly. ‘As her coffin was being lowered into the earth.’

‘What?’ Grayle jerked like her chair was wired up. ‘You’re saying the woman who was buried today was-’

‘She’s gone back,’ Marcus said breathlessly. ‘Might be planted in the churchyard, but her spirit’s up there. Liberated. And even bloody Falconer’s taken down his fence.’

Grayle felt like her whole body was made of ice. ‘You’re saying-’

‘And she’s young again. That’s the point, isn’t it?’

‘Oh gee.’ Grayle stood up, backed off. The crazy world of Holy Grayle was coming alive all around her, too much, too quickly; she couldn’t handle this. ‘Listen, I’m kind of overtired. Could I get a ride back to the inn?’

‘Wait.’ Cindy moved to block the door, tall and straight. ‘Young and free, Grayle? The apparition …’

Apparition. Jesus.

‘Did she seem young and free to you?’

Grayle stared at Cindy, wanting out of here and fast, but Marcus’s whisky had made her unsteady.

‘Give it to us unexpurgated,’ Cindy said. ‘What did you feel when you saw this … child?’

Grayle held on to the back of her chair. The room swam out of focus.

‘OK.’ She breathed in, breathed out. ‘There was no sense of freedom … no free spirit. Deep sorrow, real despair.’

Marcus looked sick.

‘What I saw, it … she … she was like … how can I tell you … drained? Like a dried flower? Like a leaf at the end of the fall, you know, when all the richness of the colours have gone, and there’s only the little stem things? Like the skeleton? And it isn’t pretty any more? I’m sorry. It’s what I saw. I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ Cindy said. ‘Thank you, Grayle.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Marcus was on his feet, looking as unsteady as Grayle felt. ‘I don’t understand. What the hell are you saying?’

‘You should have listened,’ Cindy said. ‘You never listened. To the local people who said the Knoll was a dark place.’

The camp Welsh accent all but vanished.

‘The darkest evil will always gather round the perimeter of a holy place,’ Cindy said. ‘Sometimes someone lets it in.’

The lights were on in Abergavenny, under half an hour from St Mary’s, as they passed through the town. Then there were long, dark hills against the evening sky like oil tankers anchored in a steel-grey bay.

‘You must feel in a kind of limbo, down here, Bobby.’

‘No more here than anywhere.’

Big hills — mountains, the Brecon Beacons maybe — were in all the windows now, sponging up what remained of the light.

‘You could go abroad. Nah, forget that. What about the press? Not the Elham Messenger. Does the News of the World still do that kind of story?’

‘Not got the tits for it,’ Maiden said.

A bilingual sign came up on the left: Hotel/Gwesty.

Em ran the BMW into a gravel drive lit by small floodlights in the lawns to either side. She parked in a stone courtyard enclosed on three sides by what seemed to be a very old and opulent country house. Wrought-iron lamps at the entrance. Golden light spilling from deep-sunk windows.

‘Collen Hall,’ Em breathed out. ‘Thank Christ it’s still here. Would have been a real drag if it had been turned into a home for rural battered wives or something.’

‘You’ve stayed here before, obviously.’

‘Just the once,’ Em said.

‘With Mr Curtis?’