The Lamp of the Wicked

blue movies. ‘Smoothish type.’

‘Is he still here?’

‘Wouldn’t know. We were only introduced on Friday. Guy’d drifted into the Swan for a few drinks because he was a little tired of sitting there watching his wife reading her Bible and mouthing psalms.’

‘He told you that?’ Behind him, in the churchyard, Merrily saw a tiny tendril of smoke rising.

‘Not in so many words. Conjecture. Look, vicar, I don’t know the ins and outs of it. Never been anyone’s idea of a marriage- guidance counsellor, thank Gord.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘But if Box is blaming anyone’ – James dropped his hand from the oak – ‘then I’d say he’s looking in your general direction. And that’s a bit more than conjecture.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, I… I…’ James glared down towards the lych gate, as though wishing he was out of it. ‘Woman’s got a bit of a crush on you, after all. Pretty common knowledge in the village.’

‘What?’

‘Ah… wrong word, as usual. Sorry. Still… big thing, women getting ordained. More underneath all that than any of us suspected. And you yourself – all this cross-waving, holy-water – I’m simply saying you’ve probably become a… what’s the word?’

‘If you mean role model—’

‘Icon?’

‘Bloody hell, James.’

‘Wrong word too, is it? Shut your mouth, James.’

‘Bloody hell.’

She was shocked, couldn’t look at him. As they walked out under the lych gate, she glanced back down the crooked alley of

graves to where she’d seen the smoke. Gomer Parry was sitting in his usual spot on Minnie’s grave, a roll-up in his mouth.

‘Poor old Parry.’ James had followed her gaze. ‘Never bloody rains, eh? They buried his nephew yet?’

‘Next week. After the opening of the inquest.’

‘Bad show. Didn’t notice him in church. Having problems with the old faith, you think?’

Merrily said nothing. Gomer always went to Minnie’s grave when he had something to work out. Along with Minnie, he’d buried both their watches, with new batteries. Gomer’s was one of the old kind which, despite the batteries, still ticked loudly. Sometimes, he’d said, he thought he could still hear it. Helped him think.

She watched the smoke rise from Gomer’s ciggy, darkening the day, a signal of distress. Something was wrong. After he’d told Minnie, maybe he’d tell her.

When they reached the square, she said to James, ‘You going to come and discuss this thing in private? Tell me what on earth people are saying?’

‘I think not.’ James sniffed the air. ‘Never been a gossip. Anyway, told Alison I’d be back before one. I’ve said all I wanted to say. Question of watching your back, vicar. Watching your back.’

‘Thank you.’

James merely nodded and walked away with long strides. Merrily looked around the square, as if there might be small knots of people pointing at her and muttering. Maybe the angel sermon hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe – if Jenny Box had told anyone else here about her vision – it was a very bad idea.

In fact, the square was empty except for Frannie Bliss leaning against one of the oak pillars of the little market hall, munching a Mars Bar.

Merrily sighed.

22 Aura of Old Hippy

LOL TOOK THE call just before one on the kitchen phone at Prof’s. From the studio he could hear a playback of Moira’s ‘Lady of the Tower’, veined now with the seamless cello of Simon St John. Just Moira’s voice and Simon’s cello: experimental.

On the phone, he heard, ‘That you, boy? You know who this is?’

A warm voice, not quite American. Lol was momentarily baffled, before the voice threw up an image of the sepia sleeve of The Band’s second album, all beards and back porch.

‘Sam?’

‘Lol, I hope you don’t mind this intrusion. I got your number through talking to the cop… Bliss? Came over to see me a couple days back.’

‘Has he calmed down now?’

‘I guess you might say that,’ Sam Hall said, ‘though he doesn’t strike me as a man who can handle calm too well. Anyhow, we had a talk, and it, uh… it all came out about you and what you did when you weren’t up to your ass in mud.’

‘That Bliss,’ Lol said. ‘So discreet, it’s a wonder he never made the Special Branch.’ Behind him, Simon’s cello glided over the chasm left by Moira’s voice after the verse where the messenger climbed down from his horse and the night was in his eyes.

So in the afternoon I went on down to the village hall,’ Sam said. ‘They have a community computer room there, courtesy of Mr Cody, and I started to search the Web, and, hey, there you were, boy, all over the show – folks saying how come this guy is a footnote to so many other people’s careers? Where’d he go? Folks all over the world – America, Australia – asking questions about Lol Robinson.’

‘But you didn’t just ring up to scare me.’

Sam laughed. ‘Which, I concede, is the good side of the Web – people talking to each other, sharing enthusiasms. The payback, however, in phone lines, in power, that’s bad, bad, bad. But even a dangerous crank and a madman such as myself has to compromise sometimes… which is how I wound up at Ross Records, and they didn’t have the Hazey Jane albums, but they did have this collection by Norma Waterstone, with “The Baker’s Lament”. And… well, the up and down of it is, you’re good, boy. You… are… good.’

Lol was confused. ‘Thanks. That’s kind of you, but—’

‘I like how you write what are essentially new folk songs. “The Baker’s Lament”, that’s a new song sounds like it’s been around for ever till you really listen to the words, discover it’s a new take on an old theme, and it packs a strong message about what is happening to the countryside. So, the upshot, I wound up buying this Norma Waterstone album.’

‘Er… Waterson,’ Lol said.

‘Some voice, huh? Played it four times last night, used up all of my power ration. Listen, I’m gonna come to the point, Lol. You’re a guy feels strongly about the destruction of the country. You know my take on all that – and the power lines. But you don’t know it all. There is so… much… more.’

‘Well, I’m sure—’

‘And, listen, I don’t mean worldwide, I mean here. I’m talking Underhowle, I’m talking Lodge and I’m talking Melanie Pullman. I talk about this the whole time, and nobody listens to me ’cause I’m this old crank, this lunatic with a chip. I’m the fool on the goddam hill, man, and nobody listens. Wanna cut me off now?’

‘Go on,’ Lol said.

‘You wanna cut me off, you cut me off. Everybody cuts me off sometime. Anyhow, after the boy died the other night, I listened to all my neighbours walking home saying how it was all for the best, save the taxpayers having to keep him in jail for the rest of his miserable life, and I’m thinking, Hell, am I the only person in this whole village sees this as some kind of a tragedy? I’m always saying that – am I the only person in this whole valley knows what’s happening to us all? Anyhow, this time I went home and I started to write myself a poem. Sat up the whole night to finish it – a two-candle poem. And when Bliss told me about you, I started thinking, hey, this is more than coincidence. This is meant to be.’