Crybbe aka Curfew

you, possibly before and after, outlining the issues – the town's

attitudes to becoming a major New Age centre.'

'Well, I'll do my best, Guy. But I must say, one of the things I was hoping to learn in there tonight is what exactly New Age is. Drink?'

Thanks, just a small one. You like it here, Colonel?'

'Col. Name's Colin. Well, you know, got to settle somewhere. No, it's not a bad place. Once one gets used to their little peculiarities. Like the dogs – used to take these chaps into town of a morning, pick up the paper, that kind of thing. Always well-behaved, never chase anything. But a word or two was said and now I walk them in the other direction. Compromise, you see. Secret of survival in the sticks. I don't mind.'

'So if I were to ask you how people here feel about Max Goff and…'

'Ho!' said Mrs Croston, passing through, wearing a stained boiler suit.

'Ruth's not terribly impressed with Mr Goff,' Col said. 'My own feeling is it's no bad thing at all, long as it doesn't get out of hand. You've got to have an economy, and this place has ignored the possibilities of tourism and that kind of business for too long. Agriculture's going down the chute so, on the whole, I think we're quite fortunate to have him.'

'Will you say that on camera?'

'Oh… why not? Long as it's clear I'm speaking personally, not on behalf of the council.'

'Super,' Guy said. 'Now what about all these prehistoric stones Goff's sticking in the ground?'

'Ah well, there've been rumblings there, I have to say. Fine by me, but country folk are incredibly superstitious. Who, after all, got rid of the original stones? Money, however – money does tend to overcome quite a lot, doesn't it? But I wouldn't be at all surprised if some of them started disappearing again.'

'Interesting,' Guy said. 'So you think there'll be fireworks in there tonight.'

Col laughed. 'Will there be disagreement? Oh yes. Will there be suspicion, resentment, resistance? Definitely. Fireworks? Well, they'll listen very patiently to what Goff has to say, then they'll ask one or two very polite questions before drifting quietly away into the night. And then, just as quietly, they'll do their best to shaft the blighter. That's how things are done in Crybbe If they don't like you, best to keep the removal van on standby with the engine running.'

'Doesn't sound as if it would have made very good telly, in that case, even if we got in.'

'Excruciatingly boring telly,' Col confirmed. 'Unless you've got some sort of infra-red equipment capable of filming undercurrents. 'Nother one?'

'No… no thanks.' Guy covered his glass with a hand. 'Sounds like you have this place pretty well weighed up, Col.'

'Good Lord, no. Only been here a few years. That's just about long enough to realise one needs to've been established here a good six generations to even get close to it. Annoy the hell out of me, these newcomers who profess to be like that – Col hooked two fingers together – 'with the locals after a month or two. I know where I stand, and I don't mind, we've got an interesting home with about fourteen acres I'm still trying to decide what to do with. And I'm the token outsider on the council, which is just about as close as anyone can aspire to get. When I'm Mr Mayor I'll try to effect a few minor structural changes on the council which will doubtless disappear when the next chap takes over. Mrs Byford will see to that – she's the clerk. Mayors come and go, Mrs B doesn't.'

'Is that Tessa Byford's mother?' Guy watched the Colonel's eyes.

'Grandmother.' No specific reaction. 'The girl, Tessa, lives with them. What they call in Crybbe a problem child. Shows a lot of promise as an artist, apparently – that's not a very Crybbe thing to be, as you'll have realised. She'll leave, go to college and never come back. They all do.'

'All?'

'Anybody who doesn't want to be a farmer or a shopkeeper or some such. Sad, but that's the way it tends to be.'

'Ah,' said Guy, 'but will she move away now – now there's a place for artistic types? Now Crybbe looks set to become a little melting pot for ideas and creativity?'

'Look, Guy, creativity and ideas have always been frowned upon in Crybbe – and, before you ask, no, I certainly won't say any of that on camera. 'Nother drink, did I ask you?'

Graham Jarrett was just too smooth, too confident. Powys didn't trust him. He'd wander down to your subconscious like he owned the fishing rights.

'I assure you,' Jarrett insisted, 'that this is on the level. I've checked dates, I've checked what facts I can and… Now, here's something… The Bull. The girl said she lived at the Bull, and as you know there's no such pub in Crybbe any more. But I've discovered the Bull was actually the original name of the Cock. And that's not a cock-and-bull story.' Graham Jarrett straightened his cardigan. 'I have it on very reliable authority.'

He'd given Powys a transcript of the Catrin tape without argument, because Graham Jarrett wanted to be in The Book, didn't he?

'OK, how many other cases have you encountered where the subject is regressed to the very same town where the regression is taking place?'

'It's been known. Very often they specifically return to a town because they feel they've been there before.'

'But she didn't. She came here to work.'

Jarrett opened his hands. 'Stranger things…'

'Yeah, OK. But you've got a situation here where one personality is fading and another just forces its way in over the top, right?'

Graham Jarrett shrank back into the dark-green drapery of his consulting room. Powys was sure there must be more on the tape than there was on the transcript. Jarrett claimed he'd given the cassette to Guy, but he wouldn't have done that before making a copy.

'I know what you're going to suggest, Joe.'

'Well?'

'Don't. Don't even use that word 'possession' in here.'

There was a bonus for Guy in his visit to Col Croston's house. He'd raised the matter of the suicide, the old man and the razor, less inhibited about it now and less intimidated by it as time went on. There'd been no disturbance in his room at the Cock last night, unless one included Catrin's shrill moments of ecstasy. Catrin had been quite amazing. With the light out.

'No,' Col Croston said. 'Can't say I have.' But he'd referred the question to his wife, neither of them, fortunately, seeming over-curious about Guy's interest in local suicides.

'I know,' Mrs Croston had said. 'Why not ask Gomer? Gomer knows everything.'

The little man working on the soakaway to the Crostons' septic tank had been only too happy to come out of his trench for a chat. There was a disgustingly ripe smell in the vicinity of the trench and Guy found that he and Gomer Parry were very soon left alone.

'Good chap, the Colonel,' Gomer said. 'Ad this other job lined up, over to Brynglas, see, and it was postponed, last minute. Straightaway, the Colonel says, you stick around, boy, do my soakaway. Fills in two days perfect. Very considerate man, the Colonel.'

It didn't take him long to get a reaction on the suicide. Unlike most people in this area, Gomer appeared to have a healthy appetite for the unpleasant.

'Handel Roberts.' Gomer beamed. 'Sure to be.'

'And who precisely was Handel Roberts?

'Copper,' said Gomer. 'While back now. I wasn't so old, but I remember Handel Roberts all right. Didn't Wynford tell you about this? No, I s'pose 'e wouldn't. Coppers, see. They don't gossip about their own.'

Gomer broke off to wipe something revolting from his glasses with an oily rag.

He blinked at Guy. 'That's better. Aye, Handel Roberts. He was station sergeant, see, like Wynford. Only there was twice as many police in them days, before there was any crime to speak of – there's logic, isn't it? Well, this was the time they'd built the new police 'ouses as part of the council estate. And it comes to Handel retiring and the County Police lets him carry on living in the old police 'ouse, peppercorn rent, sort of thing, everybody happy. Until – I forget the details – but some new police authority takes over and they decides the old police 'ouse is worth