Remains of an Altar

‘I don’t know.’ Stella shook her head in disgust. ‘I think Sparke’s doing the Rector now.’

‘What?’

‘Now that he’s on his own.’

‘That’s rumour, is it?’

‘Who knows?’ Stella flipped a hand. ‘She’s been seen going into the rectory more than once. People notice these things.’

‘Which people?’

‘Holliday, for one. He doesn’t like the rector … or anyone much. Well…’ Stella looked across at the hill, near- vertical here, because of the quarrying. ‘Sorry to spoil your day. I suppose, people in your job, it must make you feel quite worthwhile when you think you’ve found a real one. Especially if it’s somebody distinguished. Elgar. You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?’

‘It’s a result, anyway,’ Merrily said tightly.

She stood up, and Stella Cobham swung round to face her.

‘Who told you about that? Somebody obviously did.’

‘I have a friend. At the CPS.’

What harm would another lie do, in a place like this?

34 Don’t Do Sorry

‘Awful,’ Jane said. ‘Barbaric.’

She said there were three double rows of barbed wire, more than chest high and with new stakes. And like a plastic screen over part of it, so you couldn’t even see through.

‘Like some high-security … like Guantanamo Bay or something. Like Guantanamo Bay’s just appeared in Coleman’s Meadow.’

Lol said, ‘You didn’t—?’

‘No. Well, I’d’ve had to go back to Gomer’s for the wire-cutters. And anyway, it was very thick wire. Heavyduty. A proper fence, like I say. Impossible. Plus there were these two blokes there, putting up a big sign.’

‘I’m guessing it doesn’t say Welcome to the Coleman’s Meadow Ley Line.’

‘It says Private Land. Keep Out. Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. And the word Will is underlined in red. Like somebody’s splattered it on in a rage.’

‘Can they just fence it off like that, if it’s a public footpath?’

‘Is it a public footpath, though? I don’t know.’ Jane didn’t look at him. ‘I should’ve checked it out, and I didn’t. It’s not marked as any kind of footpath on the OS map. This is all so totally my fault, isn’t it? You get carried away with the romance and the excitement and you don’t check the basic nuts and bolts. Didn’t even check whether it was a right-of-way and I ignored the fact that it wasn’t in The Old Straight Track. I’m naive and immature. I’m an idiot, Lol.’

Jane punched her knee and winced and started to cry. The Guardian was crumpled up on the hearthrug. Lol thought it was actually a bit magnificent. Jane wouldn’t look at it.

‘Ever wish you hadn’t started something?’

The warmest day of the summer so far and she looked starved. Lol eyed her, curious. He’d never before heard her wishing she’d never started something.

‘When I first saw the fence I was shocked and then I was furious. And then I saw … when you’re right up to it, the worst thing is … you can’t even see Cole Hill. I felt just … sick. I just walked away and sat down in a quiet part of the orchard and howled.’

‘Jane…’

Lol sat next to her on the sofa. This was the time to put a comforting arm around her, but he never had. They were close, but she wasn’t his daughter and there was an old barbed-wire fence in his head that had never quite rusted away and probably never would.

‘And you know what?’ Jane said. ‘When I stopped howling, I realized I was sitting right on the ley, and there was … nothing. Nothing to feel. No ancient energy. No shades of Lucy.’

‘Because they’d … blocked the line, you think?’

‘Oh, Lol…’ Jane squeezed his hand. ‘There’s absolutely no need to be kind. I just wanted … just wanted there to be some magic left.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s naive. People like me who listen to Nick Drake singing “I Was Born to Love Magic” and go all shivery. See, what I should’ve done – what a mature person would’ve done – I should’ve just objected to the housing, got some backing for that. Kept quiet about the ley. But no, I’m too smart for that. I go doorstepping a bunch of council guys at Pierce’s … in effect, tipping the bastards off. Now they know what it’s all about and they’ve turned it into some disgusting no-man’s-land. So nobody will ever see the magic again.’

‘Do you know who they are?’

Jane shrugged. ‘This guy Murray, the owner? Lol, look, if—’ She glanced towards the door. ‘If anyone comes, you haven’t seen me. Only, when I got back from the meadow just now, Jim Prosser’s like, Oh, Radio Hereford and Worcester are looking for you and some newspaper people, and they’ve all been ringing the vicarage and getting no answer. So now I can’t even go home in case anyone … I mean, I can’t talk to them now – I’m supposed to be at school. And I haven’t any evidence. They’d just walk all over me. I’m just totally dead, Lol.’

Lol stood up and went to the window. Saw two men and a woman walking up Church Street – people he didn’t know, and it was too early in the day for tourists. He stepped back and saw his own shadowy reflection in the dark side of the pane and knew that it wasn’t Jane who’d been stupid. She was a schoolgirl, below voting age, in no real position to object to a private housing plan or attempt to influence a local authority to veto it.

He, on the other hand…

… Had just stood and watched, perhaps only really concerned that Jane shouldn’t do anything to embarrass Merrily as parish priest.

‘You’re right. Best if you don’t talk to anybody at this stage. Best if you stay here while we work out how to handle this.’

‘We?’

‘If you have no objections.’ Lol turned his back on the street. ‘Interesting how fast this fence has gone up. They didn’t even wait for it to appear in the paper. The cattle had already gone last night.’

‘I noticed that. Jim said they belong to the guy who bought the Powell farm, rents the grazing from Murray.’

‘So if the cattle were removed yesterday – before the story appeared – that suggests that it was set up as soon as they heard the media were on to the story. OK … I’ll go and check it out. You stay here, don’t answer the door and be careful who you answer the phone to.’

‘You don’t have to—’

‘I do have to. Listen, while I’m gone, could you … My laptop’s under the desk. Could you put Wychehill Church into Google, see what you can find?’

‘What for?’

‘Think of it as Brownie points with your mum. You might need them.’

Jane smiled. Bit watery, but it was there. He told her about Prof Levin and the recording of the choir that had to be made at Wychehill.

‘You’re looking for connections with music. Choirs. Singing. I don’t know. Any link with Elgar in particular would be good. Use your intuition.’

‘Don’t you think that’s caused enough damage?’ Jane folded up the Guardian, put it behind a cushion, out of sight. ‘I can’t bear it. Why couldn’t I have just smiled? The photographer was going, no, no, don’t smile, but I didn’t have to play along, did I? Now I