‘It’s a group they have here in Withens. I don’t really understand it, but it seems to be a local tradition.’
Emma was dressed all in black, which wasn’t unusual for a girl of her age. In fact. Fry had a fondness for black, too. But the outfit Emma was wearing consisted of a black tail coat, black leggings, a black top hat, and Doc Martens boots. She looked tall and very slim -just not the right shape for the outfit. She was also wearing reflective sunglasses, and carrying a recorder.
‘This was something to do with Neil Granger?’
‘He’s one of the group. Or he was,’ said Sarah. ‘As you can see, Emma’s a musician. She’s a very talented girl in a lot of ways.’
‘I’m sure.’ Cooper held the page open, and Fry turned it slightly towards herself, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the photo.
‘But what I’m wondering, Mrs Renshaw,’ she said, ‘is why Emma has her face blacked up.’
Derek Alton laughed to himself, and sat down in one of the front pews of his church. There was a strange smell in the aisle this morning. It was a musty odour, as if the windows and doors hadn’t been opened for months. He wondered if there was damp rising through the stone flags and rotting the oak of the pews, or soaking into the fabric of the kneelers.
Perhaps he would come back into the church tomorrow and find green shoots bursting through the floor, as they had broken through the paths in the churchyard. He knew he would be powerless to
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fight back the invasion, and would have to watch helplessly as nature pulled apart his aisle, ripped up the pews, clambered into the pulpit and clawed at the altar rail.
Three of the Oxleys had come to see Derek Alton at his bungalow the previous evening. There had been Lucas, smiling and in his suit. There had been the old man, Eric, nodding and winking knowingly. And young Scott, too. Scott Oxley had sat behind the two older men. Yet his stare was the one that Derek Alton had felt the most.
‘Vicar, you know that we lost Neil …’
‘Yes, I’m so sorry.’
‘We wanted to ask you a bit of a favour.’
‘Oh, of course. You want me to conduct the funeral? That’s no problem.’
The two older men looked at each other, but said nothing.
‘When do you want to have it? Do you have a date in mind?’
‘No, no,’ said Lucas. ‘Neil’s going to be cremated. The service will be at the crematorium in Edendale.’
‘I see. But you’ll need someone to lead the service.’
To his surprise, the three men began to shift uneasily in their chairs.
‘We’ve got someone from the Humanist Society,’ said Eric. ‘We reckon it’s what he would have wanted.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’re welcome to come along, of course.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It was something different we wanted to ask you.’
‘What then?’
‘Vicar, we want you to take his place.’
‘What?’
‘We want you to join the Rats for May Day. Well, you know all the stuff we do. There’s no time for anyone else to learn it in time, you see.’
‘Well, I don’t know what to say.’
‘You’ll do it, though, won’t you?’
‘Well, I’m not sure it would be appropriate, Eric.’
Despite his words, Alton found a surge of excitement building up inside him. It was a warm churning, which started in his abdomen, almost like a sexual excitement. He tried to be calm, and hoped the Oxleys wouldn’t see his reaction. But then he glanced at Scott, and saw the smirk on the young man’s face.
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‘I’m a Church of England clergyman/ said Alton.
‘And we’re your parishioners/ said Eric. ‘You’re not going to reject us, are you? This is important to the community. You’re always talking about the importance of community.’
‘Yes/
With a smile, Lucas produced a thick blackthorn stick that he had been holding inside his coat, and held it out towards the vicar.
The old man had spoken then. The darkness and the light/ he said. ‘Will you be the darkness or the light?’
‘You’re not going to do it, are you?’ said Ben Cooper. ‘I mean, you won’t go with them to see a psychic, Diane?’
‘You’re kidding. I’d rather read all Emma Renshaw’s sickly poems ten times over. Besides, I don’t think it was me the Renshaws really wanted. They think you’re the sensitive one.’
‘Oh/
‘What do you think, Ben? Fancy playing the part of Gypsy Rose? Knock once for yes and twice for no? I can just picture it. You’d have the Renshaws in the palm of your hand. They’ll believe anything, those two/
‘Like the psychic/
