She shrugged. 'Maybe it's just like all these legends you keep pontificating about-some truth, lots of crazy stories trying to explain it.' She drained her can, carefully slipping it into the rubbish sack. 'Or maybe there's nothing out there at all. The No-Point Law-the perfect justification for staying in bed every day until we finally fade out.'
'That sounds a little bleak.'
'You think there's a meaning to it all? To all this we're going through?' Church was surprised; she sounded almost desperate.
'I don't know. A few weeks back, I thought there was no meaning to anything. Now I'm not so sure. We're suddenly living in a world where anything can happen. These days it's impossible to be sure, full stop.' He paused thoughtfully. 'Maybe we just think too much.'
The hoot of an owl made them both jump and they laughed nervously. Although he knew Laura irritated the hell out of Ruth, he felt remarkably comfortable with her. He enjoyed the spikiness of her character, and there was something oddly moving about the vulnerability he sensed beneath the patina of hardness; he was surprised Ruth couldn't see it too.
Laura cracked her knuckles, then seemed to become aware of the night's cold. With a shiver she moved closer to the fire, sitting crosslegged next to Church. 'So tell me,' she said, the faint mocking smile returning once more, 'have you and Miss Goody Two-Shoes done the monkey dance yet?'
Church looked at her in bafflement at the sudden switch in conversation. 'It's not like that. We're friends.'
'Come on! Don't tell me you don't realise she's desperate to get into your Calvins?'
Church shook his head forcibly. 'She's never shown any sign-'
'What do you expect? A big, flashing neon heart? Believe me, she's yearning to get to your loins, boy. So what are you going to do about it?'
Church shifted uncomfortably. 'There are things you don't know-'
'Well, tell me then.'
It was obvious she wasn't going to back down, so he reluctantly told her about Marianne. Yet as he spoke he became aware that something had changed; the rawness he felt inside whenever he discussed Marianne was gone. He felt sad, but not devastated-for the first time since her death. His hand went to the Black Rose in his pocket, gently caressing the petals, closing around the stem. Had the rose freed him from the despair, or was it because he knew some part of Marianne still existed in whatever place the dead dwelled? A sign that the new Dark Age was not all bad.
'So you haven't had sex for two years?' Laura said insensitively when he'd finished. 'What's the matter? You've got a phobia about it now?'
He felt his cheeks redden, with irritation rather than embarrassment. 'When you've been in love you don't automatically jump to someone new once a vacancy arises.'
'Look, I'm sure she was a nice girl and all that, but she's dead. Get over it. What are you going to do? Spend the rest of your days living in the past while life passes you by? I'm sure all this moping around was touching and romantic in the first few months after she died. But let's face it, it's pretty pathetic at this stage. And not a very attractive quality for the chicks.'
He snorted in exasperation.
'Ooh. Have I touched a nerve?' Her triumphant grin made him fume, but it was instantly tempered and once again he caught a glimpse of some honest emotion moving behind. 'You don't want to cut yourself off too much. In these days, with everything falling apart, you need to have someone close to you, know what I mean?'
'Yes. I know.' He looked her in the eye. She didn't smile, but there was a faint shift of something in her face that suggested they both recognised the subtext of their conversation.
Ruth saw it too. She was standing in the shadows amongst the trees after trying to find her way back to the camp. She had been desperate to tell them of her unsettling experience, but her emotions had diffused after hearing Church speak about her in terms that suggested little more than acquaintanceship and seeing Laura's obvious-at least to her-attempt at seduction. She felt more excluded than ever as she watched them looking deep into each other's eyes, locked in their own world. She hovered, undecided, for a moment, then hugged her arms around her and turned to walk back into the night.
She halted when a distant whirring sound broke through the stillness, and when she glanced back she noticed Church and Laura had seen her as they searched the sky for the origin of the noise.
'Sounds like helicopters,' Church called to her. 'Several of them.'
They walked to the edge of the glade, where they had a better view. Four searchlights played across the fields and hills as the choppers circled, searching the landscape.
'What are they looking for?' Ruth asked.
'Some crook on the run,' Laura said.
'You won't find many forces with the resources for four 'copters,' Church noted. They watched the lights for ten minutes more until they eventually drifted away. There was no evidence, but they all felt, instinctively, that it had something to do with the growing shadow that was falling across the country.
The morning was chill and grey, with heavy clouds banked up to the horizon, and there was rain in the wind. They waited patiently for Marianne to arrive with the milk, as she had promised, but when she didn't turn up, Church rekindled the fire and cooked bacon and eggs for him and Ruth while Laura simply had some black coffee. They were keen to move on as soon as possible. Church visited the garage the moment it opened, but the mechanic had made no progress and told him to come back after lunch. The breakdowns seemed to be continuing at an unaccountable pace; cars were starting to back up on the forecourt waiting for repair and the phone in the cluttered, nicotine-smelling office rang continuously.
The rain started to fall heavily by midmorning and Church, Laura and Ruth huddled morosely in their tents, one of them continuously watching the landscape for signs of movement. The conversation was muted and at times fell to silence as they struggled with their own thoughts. Church feared the worst when he returned to the garage, but the Nissan was waiting for him. The mechanic was apologetic; all the diagnostic tests on his equipment had found nothing wrong; it had started mysteriously an hour earlier as if it had suddenly decided the time was right. Church drove quickly back to the campsite where Laura had organised a methodical clean-up, insisting nothing was left behind which would damage the environment.
As they loaded their tents and bags into the boot, they were disturbed by the sound of crying caught on the wind, fearful and despairing, lost then as the gusts twisted among the trees. Soon after they caught sight of a red- cheeked man, his face distorted by grief, running wildly along the road nearby. Church's first thought was to ignore the distraught passer-by, but some instinct had him pounding through the trees to hurdle a fence and intercept the sobbing man further along the road.
'What's wrong?' Church asked, catching at his arm.
The man, who was in his late forties, grey hair plastered over his balding head by the rain, was startled by Church's intervention and for a second he seemed to be in such a state of shock he didn't know where he was. Then he said, 'My daughter-' before he was wracked by a juddering sob that crumpled his body. He came to his senses and roughly grabbed Church's shoulders. 'Have you got a car? I need a car!' Church nodded and hurriedly led him to where the Nissan was parked. 'My daughter's sick. Dying. Bloody car won't start. Only had it serviced the other week. Too far for an ambulance to get here and back to Bristol-' Another sob engulfed him.
Ruth and Laura wanted to know what was wrong, but the man made it plain there was no time to talk. They piled in the back and Church followed the man's directions up a long, winding lane to a neatly tended farmhouse. He scrambled out of the car and ran inside and before Church could follow he was out again carrying a young girl, with his hysterical wife close behind. It was Marianne.
Suddenly all her questions about death made sense. For nearly three years she had been living with a blood clot in her brain after a fall at the farm. It was in a position which made it too dangerous to operate, unless it moved or spread to become life-threatening, which, the doctors had warned her parents, it could at any time, without warning. When that happened, there was so little to lose that an operation became feasible. And the clot had chosen that day to strike her down.
'Her mother found her out cold on the kitchen floor with a bottle of milk smashed beside her,' her father said.
The one she'd been on her way to bring to us, Church thought.
