Special. And then it all went wrong… really quickly. It went… dirty.'
'It was like baptism,' Chantal said, hugging herself with goosebumpy arms. 'Only in reverse. In our baptism… our re-baptism, we throw off some of our outer clothes – symbolically – and we're submerged in water. It could be a river, or we'll hire a public pool for an afternoon, and you come up cleansed and purified.'
'That's it,' Chris said, eyes full of agony. 'That's right. Only this was like being submerged and some of us threw off our Christian clothes and we came up not so much dirty… well, yes, dirty – but worse, really. Like it was before.'
'People smoking,' Chantal recalled. 'In church. But it didn't feel like church, it didn't feel like anywhere.'
'Yeah, and blaspheming in an everyday sort of throwaway fashion. And we drank… God forgive us, we drank the Communion wine, like it was any old pop. It didn't matter. We were like the mass of godless people out there, we didn't need religion any more, we had no use for it. Catherine, I'm confused. We'll burn in hell for this, I think we've started to burn.'
'It's OK,' Cathy said soothingly. 'The fire's out, now.' She turned to Moira and Macbeth. 'It's obvious, isn't it? It was the final sterilization.'
'Well…' Moira said. 'You can't just drain the power of centuries out of stone, you can only take it out of people, you let them absorb it through their mindless, passive ritual and then you snuff out the light, blow their shaky faith up their faces and leave them empty and when they walk out totally knackered like this guy here, they've drained out everything that was left in the church.'
'Forgive me,' Macbeth said, 'Why'd they wanna do that?'
'Because the church is the sacred centre of the village,' Cathy said. 'It's got to be neutralized before you can…' She stopped for breath and couldn't go on.
'Replace it with something black and horrible,' Moira said.
'What… what can we do to help?' Chris asked, rather feebly..
Cathy rounded on him. 'You can keep your bums on that settee, call in all your friends and don't move until your coach comes for you. And then you can go away for ever.'
'Steady, Cathy.' Moira took her arm.
'Wants to know if he's possessed?' Cathy said with a sharp laugh. 'Well, of course he's possessed. Possessed of a very slow brain. Moira, look, there's a copper out there who wants to go up the Hall with Stan Burrows and a bunch of his mates and do some sorting out, as they put it.'
'So stop him,' Moira said.
'You try and stop him!'
'Look, they go up there mob-handed, God knows what could happen. It's pretty damned obvious – and we're looking at something planned months ago – that Stanage has shut down the church to deflect a lot of energy towards the second natural focus, the second-highest building in Bridelow. The brewery, right? And what's at the very top of the brewery building?'
'Th'owd malt-store,' Willie Wagstaff said impatiently. Disused. Moira, happen this is over me head, but why don't we go up there mob-handed and flush the buggers out?'
'Because you can't fight this thing with primitive violence. I swear to you, Willie, those guys go up there they'll wind up killing each other. It's like, how come you can put a bunch of ardent, Bible-punching born-again Christians in a church and they come drifting out an hour or so later with this amazing born-again apathy?'
'He's right, though, Moira,' Cathy said. 'We can't just stand around doing nothing. Somebody ought to go up there.'
It's what I've been trying to tell you!' Willie cried, all eight fingers beating at his thighs. 'Somebody has. Mr Dawber's up there. And Mr Dawber's been in a mind to do summat daft.'
'OK,' Moira said. 'Come on, Willie.'
'We'll go in my car,' Macbeth offered, moving to the door.
'Ah… not you, Mungo.'
'What…!' Macbeth counted three seconds of silence before he tore off his black slicker and slammed it to the Rectory lino with a noise like a gunshot. Willie jumped back. On the sofa Chris and Chantal gripped hands.
'Now listen up!' Macbeth snarled. 'Everybody just fucking listen up! I have had it. I have had it up to here with getting told to butt out. I am sick to my gut with being treated like some goddamn halfwit with a stupid name who had the misfortune to be born five generations too late to be part of any viable heritage. Either I'm in, or I start figuring a few things out for myself, and maybe I'll kick the wrong asses and maybe I won't, but that's your problem not mine.'
It all went quiet. Shit, Macbeth thought. Which reject script did that come out of? He picked up his slicker and put it on.
'OK,' said Moira carelessly. 'You drive, Mungo. Cathy, I don't know what to say, except please keep that cop off our backs for as long as you can. And maybe if you can get the Mothers together in one place, that might be best. Would everybody fit into Ma Wagstaff's parlour?'
Some of what happened next Macbeth did not follow. Several times he wished he'd never left Glasgow.
Once, he wished he'd never seen Moira Cairns. Twice Ernie Dawber had said his throat was very dry and would it be possible to get a drink of water?
He was sprawled in a corner between the hallstand and the front door. There was broken glass all around him. He thought he'd sprained his ankle when he fell.
'When you ter-tell me.' Shaw Horridge was still standing, feet apart, amidst the wreckage of the mirrors. His mouth looked permanently twisted because of a cut which extended his lower lip. There were stripes of blood down both cheeks. Freckles of glass still glittered either side of his thin nose.
'What can I tell you?' Ernie croaked. 'He planted his seed in Bridelow and that seed turned out to be you. Was Ma going to have your mother turned away, same as they did with your father, and leave Arthur Horridge humiliated three days from the altar? 'Course she wasn't, she'd been in the same situation.'
'I cer-cer… I cer-cer-can't accept it, Mr Der-Der… Aaargh!' With both fists, Shaw began to beat his own head.
Ernie felt his agony, the way he used to experience the lad's frustration all those years ago, when Shaw was the best reader in the class and couldn't prove it.
'They never told you, because not many outside the Mothers' Union knew about it. Me, I put two and two together after a bit, but I said nowt. It was none of my business. Ma kept an eye on you but she'd never go too close. She never wanted you to be tempted or to get too close to the shadow side. For your own good. Please, lad… a cup of water?'
'If I ter-turn my ber-back on you, you'll be… out.'
'I don't think I can even walk, lad.'
'How der-der-do I know that? Ker-ker-keep talking.'
Ernie swallowed. 'I… remember once, Arthur came to see me. Arthur knew, of course. Arthur was inclined to link your stammer directly to the circumstances of your conception, and he said, Ernie, he said, why doesn't she do something? Ha? Why doesn't she cure the poor lad's stutter? Arthur, I said, if you knew how much pain that causes Ma, her own grandson…'
'Ger-grandson!' Angry tears joined the blood on Shaw's cheeks. 'I used to stand outside wer-with the other ker-ker-kids der-daring each other to look into the wer-windows. She'd cher-chase us all off. Wer-wer-witch. Owd witch!'
She was frightened, Shaw. Frightened for you. Scared that one day she might have to banish you as well because of what might be in your blood. Didn't want you exposed to the shadow side. That's why after your… after Arthur died, she'd never come up to see your mother, even when Liz became agoraphobic and wouldn't come down to the village. She didn't want to go near you. She didn't want you ever to know who you were or to become drawn to the shadow side.'
Which, in the end, he thought, you were. You were a sitting duck.
Wanted to ask, What happened to your mother? What happened after she forced herself to come down to the village and scream tor sanctuary outside Ma's door? While you were inside, presumably. For who else would it be? Who else could destroy Ma's defences so surely? Who else would Ma allow to push her downstairs?
'I didn't ker-kill her, you know,' Shaw said suddenly. 'She said she was der-der-dead already. Dead already!'
