Numbers

right in front of the big church with the tower. As good a place as any. I sat down and put my drink on the bench next to me.

I unwrapped the muffin. The egg yolk had broken and was oozing out of the bun. I was hungry, but I couldn’t eat that. I put it down on the bench, picked up my tea instead, and eased off the plastic lid. I took a sip, the hotness in my mouth making me realize just how cold I was.

I looked at the massive building on my left. Notices at either corner said BATH ABBEY. There was a big wooden door in the middle. Above it was a gigantic arch-shaped window. All the way up on either side there were horizontal lines carved in the stone, with figures perched on them; looked a bit like people on a ladder. Actually, that’s what they were: stone ladders with stone people climbing up. Some of them had bits missing, made them look like a smudged drawing, but the ones that were whole had wings. Angels? They were definitely trying to get up there, although some of them were the wrong way ’round, looked like they were about to drop off. Daft buggers, why didn’t they just fly?

I drank my tea and studied the weird carvings. The drink was warming me, making me feel more like a human being. I picked up the muffin, which was cold now, the liquid egg congealed. I took a little bite, but my stomach lurched as I chewed. No way. I spat my mouthful back into the wrapper.

There were more people around now. They were making for the area to the side of the abbey; through a makeshift arch I could see some little wooden huts, some sort of market. I could sense the sideways glances, the unease, and started to feel exposed again. Better to move on, find somewhere more out of the way to sit, until I’d figured out what to do. I stood up and hitched my bag onto my back. I was about to walk away when I thought better of it, picked up the empty cup and the vile muffin in its wrapper, and put them in a trash can a few feet away.

“Thank you,” a guy in a long coat and scarf said as he walked past, “for keeping the abbey churchyard tidy.” He held up his hand in a kind of greeting and breezed over to a little door at the side of the main one, a big bunch of keys jangling at his waist. I turned away and made for an alley to my left, out of the square.

There was someone in uniform at the other end.

I swiveled ’round and headed back to the archway where I’d come in.

Two men in suits were striding toward me – could have just been office workers on their way to work, but they were looking straight at me.

Shit, this was it, then. All those people I’d thought were taking no notice, one of them had clocked me, perhaps loads of them had. Or that woman in the fields. Bloody busybody. I wanted to shout, No! To hear it echoing ’round this square. I glanced over my shoulder to see if there was anyone behind me. The guy with the keys had got in now, was just swinging the door shut. I ran toward him.

“Wait, wait. Please.” He looked up, startled, then put his hand ’round the edge of the door, stopping its movement.

“Help me, please. I’m scared. Please let me in.” My voice was breaking. His pale blue eyes searched mine and then looked beyond me. He hesitated for an agonizing second, then grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. I stumbled into the darkness while he pushed the heavy door with both his hands until it slammed shut. Then he drew the bolt across. From the other side came the sound of footsteps and hands thudding onto the wood.

Then shouts. “Open up! This is the police!”

As my eyes got used to the gloom, I could see my rescuer turning around and leaning on the door. He put his hands up to his mouth. “What have I done?” he gasped, looking straight at me. “Dear Lord, what have I done?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

He looked at me.

“Are you all right?”

I nodded.

“Are they really the police?” He meant the thugs banging on the other side of the door. I nodded again.

“I should open up, really, let them in.”

I closed my eyes – after all that, he was going to turn me in anyway.

“You look exhausted. Do you need a bit of time? Compose yourself?”

I didn’t know what that last bit meant, but I did want some more time.

“Yeah.”

“Go through that door into the abbey and have a seat. I’ll tell them what’s going on.”

I wasn’t sure.

“It’s all right. Go on.”

I pulled on a big metal handle and opened the inside door. I stepped through, expecting more gloom, but the church itself was flooded with light. I was in the tallest space: columns of stone reaching up and up to the ceiling, which seemed to be propped up with huge stone fans. Lower down, the windows were made of colored glass, but up high they were clear, the sky beyond now a brilliant blue. I took my bag off and sat down on a wooden bench. It dug into my back. Behind me, I could hear the bolts on the main door being slid back. Any minute now, those guys would burst through. I didn’t want to see it happen. I closed my eyes again and waited. There was the sound of voices, but I couldn’t catch all the words. The door banged back into place, the bolt went across again. Then footsteps, and the inner door opening.

“They’ll wait. They’re not happy, but they’ll wait. I said you’d claimed sanctuary in the Lord’s house and that they could not trespass here. A white lie,” he said, with a little self-conscious laugh, “made with the best of intentions.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him blankly. It took him a while to twig that I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? Sanctuary? A place of safety,” he explained. He was younger than I had thought when I first saw him. Late twenties, maybe. Thin, with wavy brown hair crinkling over from a side part, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously up and down, and pale, pale eyes.

“Yes,” I murmured, “somewhere safe.”

He frowned. “Do you mind me asking why the police are chasing you? I mean, you don’t have to say, not if you don’t want to.”

“They think I’ve done something bad, but I haven’t.”

“Something serious?”

“They think I blew up the London Eye.”

The frown deepened.

“Oh. I see.” He swallowed and the Adam’s apple went into overdrive. “You’re the one, the girl from London that they’re all looking for. That is serious. You really need to talk to them,” he said gently, “to clear it up.”

“Yeah, but they’re not going to listen to me, are they? They just want someone to frame, guilty as charged, case closed. You seen them, they think I done it, but I never did. I never…” My voice rose, echoing up and through the space.

“They certainly want to talk to you, but not as a suspect, as a witness.”

“They’re going to frame me, and they’ve taken my friend, and…”

“OK, OK. Look, the rector – my boss,” he added quickly, “will be here soon for Matins. I’ll discuss it with him. I need to get the church ready. Do you mind waiting here while I get on? Or you could come ’round with me. I don’t mind.”

The back of the chair was boring into my back. I didn’t want to sit there for any longer than I had to, so I got up and followed him as he bustled about the place, switching on lights, unlocking doors, and lighting candles.

“I’m Simon, by the way.” He half turned and offered me his hand. I took it in mine, and we shook awkwardly. His hand was warm, delicate, and surprisingly soft for such a thin man. “And you are…?”

“Um, Jem. I’m Jem.”