The Smile of a Ghost

‘Is she hurt?’

‘Not much, I don’t think. Sick, though.’

‘Sick?’

‘Go on up.’

Climbing the steep steps, Merrily realized how tired she was. A long day, or was that yesterday?

The door at the top was ajar. It was an old door, patched and stained, the light inside mauve-tinted. She went through, directly into the room over the shop, a room that shouted temporary. Strip lights were hanging crookedly from a bumpy ceiling shouldered by old beams smeared with new plaster. The furniture was second-hand rather than old — the kind of stuff Lackland Modern Furnishings might have sold twenty-five years ago. There was a wide-screen TV and a stereo with silver speaker cabinets, and a flat-screen computer that looked expensive.

The room smelled of curry.

‘Bit of a mess,’ Jon Scole said. ‘Haven’t had time to tart it up yet. Can I get you a drink? Red wine? White wine?’

‘Jon, it’s after midnight, I’m a bit knackered.’

‘Sorry.’ His flaxen hair was slicked back, and his beard looked damp, as though he’d held his face under a tap to sober himself up. ‘I’m not thinking. She does your head in. Look, at least sit down. Cup of coffee, yeah?’

‘No, really…’ She lowered herself to the edge of a red, upholstered chair with wooden arms. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

‘It’s like I said, she comes banging at the shop door. I’d not been in long, been down the pub with some tourists after the ghost-walk. She’s like, “They’re after me.” ’

‘Who were they?’

‘Just girls… women. See, she’s safe, more or less, if she stays up the posh end of town. Anywhere else, pushing her luck. She’s not popular in some quarters. It’s like, rich slag doesn’t give a shit for the poor young people she’s forcing out.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning the land over there, below the castle, that this guy was gonna build on and she bought off him?’

‘I thought people were delighted about that.’

‘Some people were delighted — the neighbours who’ve got all the old houses near hers, the ones as were faced with losing their view and getting kids on bikes, and lawnmowers and radios and idiots cleaning the fuckin’ car on a Sunday morning — they were delighted, the Ludlow bourgeoisie. But, you see, there’s a ruling now from the council that if you’re building new housing you’ve got to include a percentage of affordable homes.’

‘I get it.’

‘’Course, this guy Dickins, the feller planning to build down here, he’d agreed to double the low-cost quota. He’d’ve wormed out of it if he’d got planning permission, but he gets the benefit of the doubt, unlike the bitch who’s denied young people their only chance of having an affordable house in a decent part of town. So that’s why they went after her, I reckon. Get tanked up and then it’s like, Let’s wait for the rich bitch. Rage and booze, Mary.’

Jon Scole went and stood by the window. It overlooked Corve Street, a red-brick Georgian dwelling opposite, under a street lamp: the unattainable, unless you’d sold your house in London.

‘What did they do to her, Jon?’

‘Mucked her up a bit. Mauled her about. She wouldn’t go into details.’

‘It’s a police matter.’

‘She don’t want the publicity. If I rang the cops, she’d never speak to me again. Anyway— Bloody hell’ — he squatted at her feet and looked up into her bruised eye — ‘what happened to you?’

‘I have a dangerous job,’ Merrily said. ‘Where’s she gone?’

‘So that’s why you were wearing them sexy shades.’

‘How long was she here?’

‘Went in the bathroom to clean herself up, and that was when I phoned you. I see you’re not wearing a wedding ring.’

‘You told her I was coming?’

‘She wasn’t gonna wait. Just hung on till it had gone quiet and then she was off. About quarter of an hour ago. You got a boyfriend, Mary?’

Merrily didn’t move; if she leaned away from him she’d be trapped in the armchair, if she edged forward she’d be touching his knees. He was evidently still a little drunk. It would, on the whole, have made more sense not to come up here.

‘What was she wearing?’

‘Aye, well…’ Jon Scole stood up. ‘That couldn’t’ve helped.’ The keys clunked at his belt; he seemed to like wearing things that made metallic noises.

Merrily took the opportunity to stand up, too, stepping nearer the door.

‘She’s got… kind of a nightdress on,’ he said. ‘Satin. It laces up at the sides. It looked… strange.’

‘She was walking through the streets like that?’

‘I offered to drive her home. She wouldn’t let me. Just as well, I expect I’m a touch over the limit.’

‘You could’ve walked back with her.’

‘Mary, nobody’s allowed to do that. When she walks at night, she walks alone.’

‘Don’t you think you should ring the police now?’

‘She’d know who it was. I keep telling you, Mary, I don’t want to blow it with her. She’s like…’ He waggled his hands. ‘Look, if you wanna make sure she’s OK, I know which way she goes.’

‘What sort of state was she in?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Shocked? Distressed?’

‘I don’t know…’ He went to the window, looked down into the street. ‘Angry… electric.’

‘In what way?’ Merrily moved nearer the door.

‘It’s like something charges her up. I went to watch her, once. I waited for her in the churchyard, behind a tree — just to watch what she did, you know? I’d waited for bloody ages by the time she showed. I mean showed — faded up, not a sound. Weird. She was like she was in a trance — like her mind was somewhere else, but her body was… wooar… trembling. Vibrating, you know? Like it was aglow. I’m probably exaggerating this a bit, she was just a woman walking in the dark. Anybody like that in these streets is bound to look a bit spooky.’

‘You approach her?’

‘Break the spell? She’d have had me eyes out. I let her go past, and I went home.’

‘What did you think was happening?’

‘She was getting off on it.’

‘On what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Scole seemed almost angry that he didn’t know. ‘When she comes banging on the door tonight, she’s all over me. Hot and… you know. Burning up. It’s why I called you. Anybody could see she were burnin’ up…’

Merrily waited by the door. There was a dark green waste bin next to it, with chip paper in it, a curry carton, squashed lager cans.

‘I din’t trust meself, all right?’ He looked down at his trainers. ‘Didn’t wanna blow it.’ He looked up, across at Merrily, punched his palm. ‘I cannot believe you’re a priest. What’s a woman like you doin’ bein’ a fuckin’ priest?’

‘Which way did she go, Jon?’

‘Dunno. Back towards St Leonard’s? Makes no difference, she’ll pass through St Laurence’s churchyard. Whichever way she goes, it always takes in the churchyard. I’ll show you, eh?’

‘No, I think it’s best if I go on my own, thanks. We don’t want her to feel threatened. Not after what happened.’

‘You think that’s safe, Mary, on your own?’

‘It’s Ludlow, Jon, not Glasgow.’

‘I wouldn’t touch you,’ Jon Scole said, plaintive.