The Wine of Angels

‘No, tight, Lol, you’ve got a leg coming out. The way I see it, it helps keep the holy names in circulation. Especially when used in times of stress.’

Ethel’s mouth snapped open; Merrily gritted her teeth, slipped a forefinger inside.

‘Not entirely sure whether I should’ve used it in the same sentence as crap, mind ... See there? Lost a tooth. Possibly a couple. Where the blood’s coming from.’

‘Not internal?’

‘Don’t think so.’ She touched the spot; Ethel writhed. ‘Good.’

‘God,’ said Lol. ‘Thank you.’

‘One of my uncles used to be a vet. In Cheltenham.’

‘I wanted to be a vet when I was a kid, then I found out you had to put things down a lot. She’ll be OK?’

‘If you’re still worried, you can pop her over to a real vet in the morning. You can let her go now.’

They watched the liberated Ethel make like a bullet for the door to the scullery. Merrily held up her finger with blood and a tiny, white splinter on the end.

‘That’s probably the last bit of it. So ...’ She sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘Talk to me, Mr Robinson. I’m a priest.’

It was fairly quiet on the square now, but she could hear music coming from somewhere else, fainter. It didn’t seem a problem but it didn’t make sense.

Ethel had reappeared in the doorway, looking miffed but not distressed. Merrily wished Jane would also show.

She smoked in silence while he told her about this guy, now occupying his cottage, who’d been in the band, Hazey Jane, with him years ago and had come back from the States with ambitions involving Lol and some new songs and an album. Which sounded reasonable.

‘Just I have problems with this guy,’ Lol said.

‘He knows that?’

‘He doesn’t seem to realize how deep it goes.’

‘Not a sensitive person, then.’

‘That would be about right,’ Lol said. ‘And he drinks. And when he drinks he gets over-emotional.’

‘Violent temper.’

‘As you saw.’

‘And he’s in your house. He’s broken in.’

‘Right.’

‘So – pardon me if this is incredibly naive – but why don’t you just call the police?’

Almost immediately she regretted asking that. He looked like he’d rather throw himself in the river.

The police arrived, just the two of them in a car. No hurry, no panic – except on the part of the Cassidys, who came out of the alley to meet them, with Barry the manager.

Jane crept back under the market hall to listen, blending into the mingled shadows of the oak pillars.

‘Certainly seems quiet enough now,’ one of the cops said.

‘That’ – Caroline Cassidy was in tears – ‘is because they’ve gone on some sort of drug-crazed rampage. Everything was perfectly under control, all decent, well-behaved young people from good families, no strong drink. And then it was gatecrashed by some ghastly local thugs. Barry ... Barry, you tell them.’

‘Exactly as Mrs Cassidy says,’ Barry said, the crawling sod. ‘It was all fine until these lads came in. Somebody must’ve let them in, because we had the doors bolted. Well, with the flashing lights and things I didn’t notice them for a while. But they brought the drugs in, no question.’

‘Kind of drugs, Mr Bloom?’

‘Oh, well, Ecstasy, I reckon. Probably some amphetamines. Crack, maybe, I wouldn’t rule it out. They target parties, don’t they?’

‘You know them?’

‘Seen ’em around. There’s a thin lad, about seventeen. Mark ... Putley? Dad’s got the garage on the Leominster Road. Then the fat one, Dean ... Dean ... I can find out.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!’ Mrs Cassidy was close to hysteria. ‘They’ve gone into the woods. They’ve taken my daughter!’

Unbelievable. Jane longed to step out there and tell them it was the other way round, that if they pulled in Colette, it would all be sorted out. Tonight, Colette was overstepping even Jane’s mark. On the other hand, she didn’t want to get involved. She just wanted the police to get them out of the orchard.

‘And where were you while this was going on, Mrs Cassidy?’

‘My wife and I,’ said Terrence, ‘were having discussions with Mr Richard Coffey, the playwright, at his home. Earlier, we’d been to an event at the church.’

‘All right. And you think the kids’ve gone into some woods?’

‘The orchard. Down there, through the churchyard. The Powells’ land.’

‘I don’t think we’re going to get too excited about trespass at the moment, sir. You think they’ve got drugs with them, that’s going to be our main interest.’

‘And my daughter ...’

‘Quite.’

Lol was cleaning his glasses on the hem of his sweatshirt. Without them, he looked bewildered and innocent, an ageing teenager. She was supposed to turn him out now, with his injured cat in his arms?

‘You obviously can’t go home tonight.’ Teapot and cigarettes between them on the kitchen table. ‘You need to give this guy a chance to sober up and realize what he’s done. So if you don’t mind a sleeping bag, you could stay here. We’ve got masses of bedrooms, no beds.’

Lol said that was really nice of her, but it was OK, really, he’d got a car down the road. Merrily thought the state he was in he’d probably pile it into a tree.

‘Look at it this way. One of the oldest traditions of the Church is offering sanctuary. I’ve always liked to do that. I’m not good at much else. I write lousy sermons, my voice is too tuneless to lead the hymns, I get upset at funerals and I’ve had a really bad night. So just give me a break, huh?’

‘I heard about that,’ Lol said.

‘Heard what?’

‘That you ... weren’t well.’

Merrily felt for another cigarette. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I ... overheard somebody talking about it.’

‘Saying what?’ She bit on the cigarette, fumbled for her lighter.

‘That you were ill. At your inauguration service.’

‘Word travels fast in a village.’ By tomorrow half the county would know. She stood up. ‘Let’s get this sleeping bag sorted out.’

‘You’re still not well, are you, Mrs Watkins?’

‘I’m Merrily. And I’m fine. Just need to eat sometime, but it’s a little early for breakfast. I’m trying to think where we put the sleeping bags. I think Jane’s room. Jane’s apartment!

He followed her upstairs, the main stairs this time.

‘It’s a big house, isn’t it?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Would it be OK if I slept downstairs?’

‘Wherever you like.’ She waited for him on the upper landing. Glad he’d said that, she didn’t quite like the idea of a stranger up here with Jane.

The sleeping bags weren’t in the kid’s bedroom. Which left the sitting room/study, into which Merrily had been forbidden to go until the completion of the famous Mondrian walls. Well, this was an emergency, and it was Jane’s fault, so she’d have to slip in there, grab one of the bags and just not look at the walls.

But the door was locked. ‘Damn. The kid is so exasperating sometimes. I like to think I’ve never been the kind of mother who spies, you know?’

Lol said tentatively, ‘I think there was a key on the bedside table. In Jane’s room.’