softer; there was something inhuman about it. It was the same mysterious sound Ruth and Church had heard on the tape in the therapist's office when they had first discovered what they had seen under Albert Bridge. Church hastily ran the tuner across the band, but the laughter remained the same, and even when he switched the radio off, it continued to come out of the speakers for a full minute. Ruth and Church shot an uneasy glance of recognition at each other.
Five miles further on, all the electrics failed.
'I'll have a look, but there's no chance I can do anything today.' The mechanic glanced at a dusty clock above the door of the repair bay; it said 3 p.m. He was unusually tall and massive-boned, with a solid beer belly kept in check by his grease-stained blue overalls. His face was ruddy and his unruly black hair was peppered with grey. 'Everything's going bloody crazy at the moment.'
Church sat wearily on the Nissan's wing. He'd spent an hour searching for a garage with a tow truck. This one had only relented and agreed to come out after he had virtually begged.
'It's these modern cars, you see,' the mechanic continued. 'They build 'em to break down. Though this last week I've never seen anything like it. The place has been full every day, most of it electrical stuff, though I've had a fair share of busted alternators. I tell you, you need a bloody degree to sort out these electrics. This week I've worked on some all day long and then, just like that, they've been fine again. No explanation for it. Couldn't find any fault at all, yet they were dead as a dodo when they were brought in.' He shook his head at this great mystery, then added, 'Still, bloody good for business.'
Church got his assurances that the car would be looked at first thing the following day, then wandered out to Ruth and Laura who sat with the camping equipment on the dusty forecourt. The garage was well off the beaten track, a rundown affair that seemed to have been barely updated since the fifties, down to the period petrol pumps that stood dry like museum pieces at the front. Only farms lay scattered around the surrounding countryside, and there was no sound of traffic, just the song of birds in the clustering trees.
'What did he say?' Ruth asked anxiously.
'Tomorrow. I think we can risk giving it a shot before we start looking around for the local Avis.'
'Yeah, there'll really be one round here,' Laura said sarcastically.
Ruth noticed Church's concerned expression and asked him what was wrong. He repeated the mechanic's tale of mysterious breakdowns. 'I think things are starting to go wrong, just like Tom predicted. It's as if the rules of science are falling apart in the face of all these things that shouldn't exist.'
Laura looked at him curiously. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean,' he said, nodding to the computer in the bag on her arm, 'that pretty soon that will be as much use to us as it would be to some lost Amazon tribe, along with every other technological gadget. New rules are falling into place. Science is dying.'
'Unless we can do something about it,' Ruth said hopefully, but Church merely shouldered the tents and rucksack and began to trudge along the lane.
They found a good campsite in a secluded grove out of sight of the road. They didn't ask permission, preferring anonymity. The trees were thick enough to prevent the tents being seen by the casual passer-by, and there was a natural clearing shielded by a tangle of brambles where they could light a fire. Ruth seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of sharing with Laura, but they reached some kind of unspoken agreement, and Church slipped off to collect firewood.
Lost in thought as he scoured the edge of the copse, he failed to see the figure until it was upon him. He whirled in shock, ready to fight or run, and was then suffused with embarrassment when he saw it was just a girl of about ten, pretty, with long blonde hair and a creamy complexion. She was wearing a tight T-shirt with a sunburst motif and baggy, faded jeans.
'Hello,' she said in a thick West Country accent. 'Are you looking for something?'
'Just sightseeing,' he replied ridiculously.
'Not much to see round here.' She laughed disarmingly.
Relaxing his guard, Church returned her smile. 'Not really my cup of tea.'
'Where you from then?'
'London.'
'I'd love to live in London.' She looked dreamily into the middle distance. 'It'd be great to be somewhere where there's a buzz.'
'Nothing to stop you when you're older.'
Her smile became slightly more enigmatic. 'My name's Marianne. What's yours?'
'Jack.' Although he knew nothing about her, the simple matter of her name suddenly made him warm to her. 'That's a nice name,' he continued. 'I used to know someone called Marianne.'
'A girlfriend?'
'She was.'
'Did you split up?'
He thought twice, then said honestly, 'She died.'
Marianne nodded ruefully. 'It figures.' Church looked at her curiously, but she'd already danced ahead of him. Noticing the wood he'd piled nearby, she grinned and said, 'Sightseeing, eh? Looks to me like you're going to have a little fire.' She looked around. 'Where's the camp?'
Church's shoulders sagged. 'Blimey. Rumbled. Look, we're trying to keep a low profile. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone.'
Her laughter at Church's obvious dismay was innocent and infectious. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to rat on you. But if my dad finds out it'll be a different matter. He farms on this land and he's always going mad about bloody trespassers. Threatened to set the dogs on the last lot he caught. We're close enough to Glastonbury to get those scruffy New Age types passing through. Some of them leave the place in a right mess, but most of them seem okay to me. My dad thinks they're all scroungers and vandals, though.'
'Well, I'm neither.'
'I can see that. Come on, I'll help you collect some wood.' She walked at his side for a minute or two, then said, 'Do you miss her?'
'Marianne? Yes. A lot.'
'I thought you looked sad. I could see it in your eyes.' Church winced at the thought that it was so obvious. There was a long, thoughtful pause and then she said, 'Do you think people die for a reason?'
He shrugged. 'I don't know-'
'Yes, but do you think?'
'I'd like to believe that, but it's not always easy to see.' The maturity of her conversation surprised him, and made him feel a little uncomfortable. 'This is heavy stuff for someone your age.'
'Just because you're young doesn't mean you have to fill your head with rubbish,' she said tartly. 'Anyway, I do like a lot of rubbish. It's just I like to think about other stuff too.'
'I stand corrected.'
'Apology accepted,' she laughed, picking up a rotten tree branch and tossing it to Church. 'Why are you so bothered about dying? Don't argue-I can see you are! It's just another part of life, isn't it? The only thing worth bothering about is what we do before we pop our clogs.'
'It's not as simple as that-'
'Why not? I want to do exciting stuff every day, learn new things, see life. I want to pack a week into a day, a month into a week and a year into a month. Don't you think that's a good philosophy? Why doesn't everybody do that?'
Church pretended to scour the grass for wood while he attempted to think of an answer, but he couldn't summon anything that didn't sound pathetic. Her victorious grin forced him to laugh. 'I think I should be Prime Minister,' she said triumphantly, sashaying theatrically ahead of him.
When she turned back to him, she'd pulled out a locket from under her T-shirt. With a dexterous flick, she opened it and held it up to show him the tiny picture squeezed inside.
'Princess Diana,' he noted. 'Did you like her?'
'I loved her. That's why I asked you about dying. She did so much good with her life. I think she died for a reason.'
'Oh?'
