The Cure of Souls

happening… when the door had opened and she’d walked out—

—followed by Stock: Merrily and Stock together. The first time he’d seen her in six months and here she was with Stock, who was looking, from this distance, as pristine as the husband in some old soap-powder ad, a man on the side of the angels. Merrily had been nodding to him – conveying understanding and sympathy – and at one point seemed about to take his hand. But then she’d turned and walked towards her car and Lol had sidled along the bushes, back to the Astra, to follow the Volvo.

When she’d parked close to Simon’s church, it had seemed meant. He’d made his move. Shock value. It hadn’t even been too difficult to persuade her to walk with him the few yards to the white vicarage.

Where it had all seized up like an overwound clock.

The door had been opened by a woman of about sixty-five, in a pinny, who told them the vicar and Mrs St John had gone shopping in Hereford. They always went on a Tuesday, see, because it was a slack day in the city, between the weekend rush and the Wednesday market. Easier for Isabel to get around town, the housekeeper had explained. Easier for Hereford if Isabel was in a good mood, she’d implied.

Blank wall. How could he persuade Merrily to back away from this when he couldn’t tell her any more than she already knew?

Like, what was the real reason Simon had refused to exorcize Gerard Stock’s kiln? It was becoming clear that there was more to it than the vicar’s declared belief that Stock was fabricating the whole thing either to screw Lake or milk some money out of an inheritance he couldn’t sell.

Isabel had implied, Trust him. Lol didn’t trust him – too many suggestions of instability there. And if anybody could spot instability, it was Lol.

He stood gazing down the aisle of Simon’s very basic little parish church – no fancy carving, no stained glass – towards the altar. The truth was he had no reason to trust anyone in the clergy, except—

He turned at the swish of the velvet curtain, and she emerged from the vestry like she was stepping out of a dress-shop cubicle. Apparently, some men were kinky for women priests, like with nurses and meter maids, because of the uniform. But when Lol watched Merrily stepping into the nave, in her cassock and white surplice, it only made him scared.

Stock was very bad news. Simon knew more than he was saying.

Lol… was just a guy who wrote songs.

She gave him a small smile. She looked like a child playing dressing-up – the silly-vicar outfit. Then he saw the lines at the corners of her eyes. New lines.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Merrily said. ‘It’s what I do.’

Walking back to the car, she sensed his discomfort. She didn’t think he’d ever seen her in the full gear before. Now she was a priest, with an aura of black and white sanctity; not a woman any more. There was even a new stiffness, a formality, in the way he spoke to her.

‘I just think,’ Lol said, ‘that perhaps you should ask him why he can’t sell the kiln – just to see what he says.’

‘Lol, that’s…’ It was childish, but she did it: pushed herself onto the bonnet of the Volvo, with the surplice fanning out around her. ‘That’s irrelevant, isn’t it? I’ve heard all about him, I know what kind of man he’s been, I realize he probably went to the papers for the express purpose of stirring it for this guy Lake, or capitalizing on it in some other way. But it – it doesn’t change the fact that I do think he’s got some trouble here. If I had to like and admire all the people I was asked to help, then… well, I’d be having a lot of days off, you know?’

Lol kept peering up the road and Merrily knew he was hoping to delay things until Simon St John got back from Hereford.

‘If you’re thinking about me…’ She felt suddenly edgy and embarrassed and delved in her bag for cigarettes. ‘I’m protected. From above, by the Bishop. And… from further above. I mean… you know… come in with me, if you want.’

‘In?’

‘When we do it. I don’t imagine Mr Stock would mind. I wouldn’t.’

Merrily bit her lip. She hadn’t thought about that, she’d just said it. She thought about it now. The standard advice to Deliverance ministers was to have a few good Christians around at an exorcism, including a second minister, if possible. Back-up. What kind of Christian you could call Lol she had no idea, but he was actually living here, he actually knew Gerard Stock… and, however he felt about dogma and the clergy generally, she knew by now that she could trust him. All the way.

The car bonnet was warm under her cassock. She looked at the fragmented cloud over the little church of Knight’s Frome and then back at Lol. He was coincidence. Charismatic Christians, like the infamous Nick Ellis, saw every small coincidence as a pointer from God.

‘Look, there are two ways of looking at an exorcism of place,’ she explained.’ It’s not waste disposal, pest control, Rentokil, whatever… it’s helping a dislocated essence… spirit… soul back on to the path. What I mean is, maybe we’re doing this less for Gerard Stock than for Stewart Ash.’

‘Whom neither of us knew.’

‘Every day, in crematoria all over the country,’ Merrily said sadly, ‘duty clergy conduct funerals for people they never knew, in front of grieving relatives they’ve only just met. Maybe we’ll meet him today.’

Lol looked up, startled.

‘It’s been known for the subject of an exorcism to make one final appearance,’ she said. ‘And then… peace.’

‘Hi!’ Stephanie Stock sprang up from the old leather sofa. ‘It’s really, really nice to meet you at last.’

A central ceiling light-bowl and two lamps were on in the living room at the kiln-house. It still didn’t get close to summer daylight. The walls had been painted white, but the furniture was old and dull. Unexpectedly, the brightest thing in the room was not the white-shirted Stock, but his wife. She squeezed Lol’s hand, lingering over it, smiling into his eyes.

‘I’ve kept on saying to Gerard, hey, bring him over! I had the first Hazey Jane album years ago, when I was at school, and I’m just dying to know what you’ve been up to since. It’s not as if… I mean, you’re looking good!’

Lol blinked. Stephie Stock wore a short white summer dress, like a low-cut tennis frock. She was considerably younger, conspicuously more animated than her husband who, close up, was looking as worn and grey as you might expect after last night in the Hop Devil. She’s a mouse, Simon St John had said dismissively. What other kind of woman would Stock marry?

‘Steph, this is Merrily Watkins,’ Stock said. This was a different Stock, sober and withdrawn. He had raised no objections to Lol being here, expressed no particular surprise that Lol and Merrily were acquainted. The feeling Lol had was that Stock was just relieved it wasn’t Simon.

Stephanie slowly let go of Lol’s hand, running her warm, slender fingers to the tips of his. She looked at Merrily and her wide mouth flexed into a one-sided grin. ‘You know, it’s still really strange to see a woman with the full—’

‘Steph was brought up a Catholic,’ Stock said quickly. ‘Convent girl.’

‘And, let me tell you, you don’t escape that easily,’ Stephanie said ruefully.

Lol was studying her. He still couldn’t be sure. He remembered that his Lady of the Bines had had darkish hair, stringy. Or maybe just wet. Stephanie’s hair was golden brown, shorter, looked altogether healthier. As did the woman herself: smiling, confident, in essence not the keening banshee wreathed in dead bines. But then nor was this the Stephanie Stock he’d been told about.

‘Coffee?’ Stephie offered. ‘Beer? Wine?’

Merrily shook her head. ‘Maybe afterwards.’

‘Afterwards! Wow. This is really going to happen, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is!’ Stock snapped. Then he straightened up, pulling his shoulders back.

‘Poor love,’ said Stephie. ‘He gets so spooked. One thing about Catholicism, it teaches you not to be too afraid of what goes bump, right? Look, Mary—’

‘Merrily.’

‘Right. Sorry. Look, am I… suitably dressed for this? I could go up and change.’