The Cure of Souls

‘You’ll be fine,’ Merrily said. ‘I was saying to Gerard earlier, I don’t like this kind of service to seem sinister, because it’s basically about liberation. We’re asking God to give you back your home and at the same time free Stewart’s spirit from this earth and let him go into the light. In fact, it could be that when we’ve finished, you’ll notice a difference here.’

‘What, lighter?’

‘Let’s just see what happens.’

‘Wow,’ said Stephie.

She seemed very young to Lol. Although she had to be over thirty, she still had the confidence of inexperience – innocence, even. He couldn’t understand, seeing her now, why she’d kept such a low profile locally, why neither Prof nor Simon had ever met her. It couldn’t be that Stock had kept her penned up like some exotic pet; she didn’t seem the kind of person you could treat that way. And anyway, she was the one who went out to work while he stayed at home.

‘So, how much time have you got?’ Merrily asked her.

‘Well, I’m currently temping for this big car-dealer and it’s quite busy… but I guess I’ve got two hours. Is that enough? I mean, I can phone them…’

‘Let’s see how it goes. Erm… Stephanie, I’ve already asked Gerard, but is there anything else you think I ought to know?’

‘About Uncle Stewart?’

‘About anything.’

‘Well, not really, I’m just – I’m just glad you’re doing this for Gerard. I’m glad someone’s taking him seriously.’

‘But how do you feel about it?’

‘How do I feel?’

‘You don’t seem too scared.’

‘What’s to be scared about? He’s my uncle. My charming, camp old Uncle Stew.’

Merrily smiled tentatively. Lol could see her dilemma. Trying to put them at their ease, saying she didn’t want it to be sinister. But this girl seemed more at ease than the exorcist.

‘OK, then,’ Merrily said. ‘Let’s make a start. I want to organize some things in the kiln area. What I’d like the two of you to do is sit quietly and think about… about what this is for. Think about Stewart. Think about helping Stewart. Maybe recall some happy memories of him?’

Stock snorted mildly.

‘I can think of some,’ Stephie said.

‘Good.’ Merrily beckoned to Lol. ‘And, Gerard… maybe you can think in terms of reconciliation, like we talked about.’

The airline bag was open at her feet. She brought from it one flask and placed it on the table.

‘This was once a hop-crib,’ Lol observed. ‘See the crosspieces? There’d be like a big canvas hammock thing hanging here.’

‘Gosh,’ Merrily said, ‘you know your way around hops, then.’

‘There’s a museum down the road. They’ve got several cribs.’ Lol sensed that Merrily was less sure about all this now, after meeting Mrs Stock. He wondered if he should tell her about the Lady of the Bines.

He looked around the circular wall of old bricks, some of them actually blackened by the furnace. It was like being in a big chimney and nearly as dark. Apart from the stove and a tall, juddering fridge everything in here seemed to be still hop-related. Even the shelves on which crockery was piled looked old and stained.

‘OK,’ Merrily said quietly. She looked around the kitchen, then took down one of the coffee cups, put it in the centre of the table. She bent and took a small canister out of the airline bag, stepped back, closed her eyes.

Lol moved away, looking down at his trainers. He couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. He felt privileged to be here, but that didn’t make him feel any closer to her. She was The Reverend Watkins.

Merrily said softly, ‘We come to bless this place and pray that the presence of God may be known and felt in it. We pray that all which is evil and unclean may be driven from it. As a sign of the pouring forth and cleansing of God’s Holy Spirit, which we desire for this place, we use this water. Water has been ordained by Christ for use in the sacrament of Baptism…’

She poured water from the flask into the coffee cup, whispered to Lol, ‘We’re guarding against anything else that might be around.’

He nodded. The fridge rattled.

‘Lord God Almighty, the Creator of life, bless this water. As we use it in faith, forgive us our sins, support us in sickness and protect us from the power of evil.’

Merrily made the sign of the cross, opened her eyes and picked up the small canister. She took off the lid: salt. She blessed the salt, sprinkled some on the water. ‘Water for purification,’ she explained softly to Lol. ‘Salt representing the element of earth. A formidable combination. In any religion.’

Merrily stepped back from the table. ‘You up for this, Lol?’

Lol nodded.

‘Think calm.’

‘Sure.’

Merrily put her right hand briefly over his. Her fingers were cooler than Stephie Stock’s. The light, at close to noon, glanced off her pectoral cross. Lol thought, unhappily, of vampires.

‘I think we can bring them in now,’ Merrily said.

20 The Metaphysics

IT WAS PARTICULARLY during a Requiem Eucharist that images of the departed had been known to appear, sometimes standing next to the priest. They would usually look solid and entirely natural, an extra member of a select congregation.

Sometimes, as the rite was concluding, they would smile.

Gratitude. The received wisdom was that the hovering essence, presented with an overview and offered assistance, would usually recognize the pointlessness and the tedium of haunting. Nine out of ten cases, Huw Owen had told his students, they’re not going to resist you. They’ll not fight. Most times you’ll get a welcome like an AA van at a breakdown on the M4.

And so sometimes they appeared. Smiling.

Actually, this had never happened to Merrily – either that or she wasn’t sufficiently sensitive to have noticed. Always nervous enough, anyway, before it began. Who was she to go dancing on the great boundary wall?

Never, never, never show nerves, Huw Owen would warn his students. All the same, don’t let them think it’s a bloody tea party.

A balancing act, then, these dealings with the dead.

Initially, Merrily had prepared for a Requiem for Stewart Ash. The dining table, the converted hop-crib, was to be her altar. On it, she’d set out wine in a small chalice she kept in the airline bag and communion wafers in a Tupperware container.

And then – woman priest’s privilege? – she’d changed her mind.

Question of sledgehammer and nuts, Huw had said more than once. You don’t even get out the nutcrackers if you can squeeze it open between finger and thumb.

So she ended up telling the Stocks she didn’t think there were enough people here for a valid requiem – not enough committed Christians (she didn’t actually say that). She’d explained to them that she proposed, in this first instance, to offer a prayer commending the soul of Stewart Ash to God, and maybe a prayer of penitence for his killer, followed by a blessing of each room, a sprinkling of holy water.

A Eucharist for Stewart would be the next step if all this proved ineffective.