did the same. ‘May the Lord be with you.’ As one everyone replied, ‘And also with you.’
Prayers followed, hymns, and all Jane could think of was what she would do when David had gone; when he was with another woman. The problem was that having thoughts like that in church made her guilty. David called it the
Movement to her left caught her attention and she looked across to the statue of Lord Jesus. Blood seeped from the nails through his palms and feet.
She turned to the people behind her but apart from glancing at her they were intent on the prayer. David was oblivious to her, probably already thinking about whoever he was meeting afterwards. Jane looked at the statue again. Jesus had pulled Himself free of the cross and was poised to jump to the floor.
His eyes seemed to pour into Jane’s as He walked in front of the altar. No one else seemed able to see Him. Everyone continued with their attention on the priest. The figure of Jesus was changing as He walked towards her. The benign smile was fading, being replaced by a reptilian anger that made her think of flicking tongues and dry, flaking scales.
Within a few feet of her Jesus was no more. The figure that approached her was barely recognizable as human. It was more of the beast, but Jane was the only one who could see it.
Standing next to her, pressing a dark claw into her arm, she could smell the raw meat stench of its breath, feel the rough texture of the skin as it rubbed itself against her. Its eyes were fetid pools of hopelessness, alive with mocking fury.
The massed voices spoke aloud ‘Amen’ and Jane involuntarily joined them. With that the vision disappeared as if it had never been there. She looked up at the cross and Jesus was back where He belonged.
The priest began to prepare the sacrament, holding up the Lamb of God, pouring the wine, laying out the basket of symbolic bread.
People began turning to one another to offer the hand of peace, ‘Peace Be With You,’ ‘Peace Be With You.’ Jane turned behind her and it seemed like a thousand hands thrust forward, clutching at hers. She drew back her hand and the middle-aged man looked hurt at the insult, pausing before offering peace elsewhere.
Jane bent down to Gemma and smiled the best she could at her dear daughter, ‘Peace Be With You.’ A voice that wasn’t hers but came from Gemma’s mouth said, ‘Fuck off you boring old cow. Daddy wouldn’t have left if it hadn’t been for you.’ Jane flinched and in her normal voice Gemma said, ‘What’s the matter, Mummy? You have to say, “Peace Be With You.” Don’t you remember?’
People began to file forward for the Communion. Some would only take it from the priest himself but Jane was happy for she and the girls to accept the lay preacher. When it was their turn Jane let the girls go first, shepherding them along before they could start to ask questions of the poor man as they often did.
When it was her turn Jane opened her mouth for the wafer to be placed on her tongue. The man suddenly put his fingers into her mouth and took tight hold of her tongue. ‘Deliver us from evil, Jane. Deliver us.’ His fingers were gone and Jane felt the wafer in her mouth.
Back in her place she knelt to pray. Her mind was a rainbow pattern of thoughts and emotions, uncertain what was happening and how much of it was real. Real or hallucinatory, she wondered what was causing it.
As Mass drew to a close she became aware of a darkening in the church. The light through the windows started to dim. The candles flickered as if caught in a breeze. Flower displays drooped with dead petals floating to the floor.
She was vaguely conscious of the priest concluding, ‘Mass is over. Go in Peace.’
People were filing past her, some smiling at her, recognizing her from the primary school, or from the nursery.
David was readying the girls, collecting their drawings together, placing their pencils in the Barbie Doll pencil case.
One of Gemma’s drawings caught Jane’s attention. She picked it up from the pile. ‘What’s this?’ It was a large domed shape, and she could swear it was a good likeness of the images she had seen of Kulsay Island. Was that what this was all about? Gemma laughed, ‘It’s a hippo, silly. I can’t say the full name…hippopolemus…but it’s my hippo.’
David was looking at his watch. Family time was over.
The church had returned to normal. A place of worship with no threats beyond eternal damnation and endless confession.
As he opened the car doors in the car park David said, ‘I’ll drop you home. Then I do have to get off.’
Jane pulled her seat belt across her chest. ‘Of course, David, come back and visit us again soon, won’t you?’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The fine weather broke on Wednesday night. Storm clouds blew in from the east and drenched the capital in a torrential downpour. It was still raining on Thursday morning, hammering against the windows of the briefing room.
There were five people in the room, including Jane Talbot and Robert Carter. Carter was sitting at the back, away from the others, and they in turn were tactfully allowing him space to settle back into the routine of his working life. Jane stood at the front of the room. She had given dozens of briefings in the past, but couldn’t shake off the feeling that this one was different.
Raj Kumar glanced across at the rivers of rain rushing down the windows. ‘Did you order this specially, Jane?’ He had become accustomed to the harsh climate of Afghanistan recently, and the moderate and unpredictable British weather was still confusing.
The others laughed, except for Carter who was reading through the thick file given to him by Martin Impey before the meeting started. He had been received with friendly affection by everyone in the building, from the people in reception to his colleagues in this room. He hadn’t yet seen Crozier but he was ready for that occurrence. John McKinley had shaken his hand but kept flashing glances in his direction, obviously uncertain why he was here.
‘Doesn’t bode well.’ This from McKinley, who was a tall black American whose large frame seemed uncomfortable, curled in his seat. His deep voice resonated like the bass lines in a complex jazz composition.
‘It’s only a drop of rain, John,’ Kirby Grant said. ‘It won’t hurt you.’
‘Try telling that to my sciatica,’ McKinley said. ‘Give me sunshine any day.’
