‘Can I have a phone?’
‘No,’ said her mother and father at the same time.
The robin continued to hop and flutter, peering for worms and beetles in the overturned earth. Viggo watched it intently, but behaved himself.
‘So, nothing at all, then?’
He turned to look at her. ‘Why? Are you expecting something?’
She tried to laugh it off. ‘No, of course not. It’s just that old saying, you know, about it being too quiet.’
‘Well, I like it quiet,’ said Becky. ‘Though chance would be a fine thing with this monster rampaging around my house all the time,’ she added, and pulled Alice’s hat down over her eyes.
‘Mummy!’
‘Although,’ Becky added, ‘there is that big hog roast on Sunday, which sounds like it should be fun. I take it you’re going?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. I’m a bit busy this weekend. I’m also a vegetarian, so hog roasts aren’t really my thing.’
Removing meat from her diet had been another of those changes after Brian that she couldn’t have made while he was alive. He’d liked his Sunday roasts. He’d also liked his Sunday morning fry-ups, and his Friday evening sausages – in fact there hadn’t been a day of the week which hadn’t included meat on the menu, a factor which had probably gone a long way towards explaining his heart condition.
‘Well, my family’s Jewish but it doesn’t make any difference to me,’ Becky said. ‘I’m sure there will be other options for us social outcasts, and for heaven’s sake we can take something along anyway to help out. It would be lovely if you could come. I think there should be more occasions like that, getting everybody together for a big celebration. You know, like a proper little village within a village.’
‘Have you met our new neighbours, then?’
‘Only to chat to, in passing.’
Dennie sipped her tea carefully and tried to keep her tone neutral. ‘And what do you make of them?’
Becky shrugged. ‘They seem nice. She’s obviously got him wrapped around her little finger, but he’s a bit of a charmer himself.’
‘Easy, woman,’ growled David in a mock yokel voice. ‘Don’t you be staring at no other menfolk, or I’ll beat you.’
Sarah tries to laugh it off but Dennie can see that it’s a fragile and shiny thing, that laugh, like a glaze over something brittle that might craze and crack into pieces at any moment.
‘Don’t be silly, Dennie.’ She laughs. ‘I was taking Fred for a walk and he saw a bird and charged off after it, and I had the lead wrapped too tightly around my wrist, that’s all.’ She tugs the sleeve of her jumper down from where it has accidentally ridden up to expose the bracelet of bruises around her forearm – they are an angry purple, thunderclouds threatening to break out from under her skin. Dennie doesn’t say that she has seen a matching bracelet on her other wrist, because then Sarah will have to elaborate upon the lie with something about how she transferred the lead to her other hand and then, wouldn’t you know it, the silly dog did the same thing again. Dennie doesn’t point out that she’s noticed over the past year how Sarah’s t-shirts have gone from short to long-sleeved, and how she’s gone from wearing low-cut blouses to turtle-neck sweaters even when working on her allotment in the heat of summer. Dennie doesn’t think her brittleness could survive that. But she can’t say nothing, because if she says nothing she may as well be inflicting the bruises herself.
Sarah’s baby boy, little Josh, is eighteen months old and trundling around the allotment in tiny overalls and rainbow wellies, using a plastic beach spade to help Mummy dig. Dennie watches him potter and chatter happily to himself, and experiences a deep upwelling of sadness for what this boy will have to grow up seeing.
‘Sarah,’ she says. ‘You know that if you ever need, you know, a break. A rest. You can always… there’s always room… now that my lot are gone…’
‘I’m sorry, if I need a what?’ Becky was frowning at her in concern. Not Sarah. David was pretending to be helping Alice break part of a biscuit into crumbs for the robin, but Dennie could tell that he was listening too. Viggo was on his feet, whining.
‘Oh no,’ she whispered, struggling to her feet out of the folding camp chair. Her mug clattered to the deck and spilled lukewarm tea. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…’
Becky was rising to her feet too, now. ‘Dennie, are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?’
Dennie waved it away. ‘No. Thank you. For the tea and… No, sorry, I just. I need to…’
Muttering more vague and half-coherent apologies, she wandered back towards the safety of her own allotment, Viggo close beside, leaving the Pimblett family staring after her.
5
THE SUMMONING
A FRESHLY PAINTED SIGN ON THE GATE THAT OPENED onto the main road proclaimed that this was now Farrow Farm. Preparations for the equinox rite were as complete as they were going to be, but the deserter was still nervous.
‘You’re sure we don’t need to do this at the allotment?’ he asked.
‘I told you, we only need to raise him there,’ she said. ‘We are the new Church of Moccus, and we can perform the rite in any way we see fit. He can be killed anywhere, which is just as well, considering the noise.’
‘Aren’t there not quite enough of us? You know, for an orgy?’
‘The sex was always in celebration rather than summoning. Still,’ she added, with a teasing smile, ‘if it makes you feel better, you and Gar could always—’
‘No, forget it. No way.’
‘Well, then maybe you and I can celebrate afterwards.’
As mother of her ‘church’ Ardwyn had controlled the purse strings but she hadn’t wanted to take any
