Remains of an Altar

Seriously, I’d rather be in a band – Robert Plant, or something, big-voice stuff – but if you’ve got the finest tenor in Much Cowarne you’re expected to use it. Cross to bear, man. On the plus side, you get to work with some unexpectedly wild people.’

‘Tim Loste?’

‘Yeah.’ Dan’s voice came down like he’d been unplugged. ‘Prof told me. It’s crazy, man. You look at Tim Loste, you think, yeah, wouldn’t like to meet him on a dark night in a back alley. You talk to Tim Loste … no way. With a knife? Utterly out of the question. Problem is, the police talk to him … different wavelengths, you know?’

‘Can you tell me a bit about his … wavelength?’

‘Oh man, I could bend your ear for hours about Lostie. Only, I’m still in the choir, in a loose way, so none of this came from me, right?’

‘Count on it.’

‘Well, it’s a big choir. The Loste boys – and girls. Drawn from maybe a fifty-mile radius. And you don’t have to totally love Elgar, but it helps. Me, I like him better than I used to – when you’re born in this area, you get the guy shoved down your throat from an early age. You live in Elgar Country. It’s an honour. Yeah, thanks.’

‘So you sang at Wychehill Church?’

‘St Timothy’s. As we call it. Acoustics are amazing. The quarry tycoon who had it built … Longthorne? You know that story?’

‘Longworth?’

‘That’s the man. Venerated Elgar, saw himself as like Gerontius, from the oratorio, an ordinary man who’d sinned a bit, and now he’s facing the final judgement and he’s shitting himself. So the guy builds a bloody church. Stairway to heaven or what?’

‘A very big church designed for sacred music.’

‘I think he wanted to buy into the Three Choirs.’

‘Right. That would be The Three Choirs Festival? Gloucestershire, Worcestershire and Herefordshire?’

‘Oldest fest of its kind in the country. Dates back to about 1700. But it’s a cathedral thing, mainly, so I don’t suppose Wychehill was much involved. The road wouldn’t’ve been much more than a quarry track in those days. But it obsesses Tim. I don’t get too close, to be honest, you get … roped into stuff, and for every one that works there’s a lot of time-wasters. He’s inclined to exploit people – fair enough, he is a bit inspirational, and the women fancy him, not that they can get too close with the Witch of Endor around.’

‘Winnie?’

‘Spooky.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Just is. She gets the ideas. There was one where we were divided into groups of twelve, and Tim fixed up for us to use three different churches – Wychehill, Little Malvern Priory and St Bart’s at Redmarley D’Abitot. We had to go to these separate churches and sing a set programme at the same time. I copped for Little Malvern – the parish church now, it is – and we had mobile phones connected with Tim and Winnie at Wychehill. And he’d give the word, and we’d all start singing simultaneously.’

‘Singing what?’

‘Gregorian chant, to start off, the warm-up. Then Elgar’s Kyrie Eleison. These solid C of E establishments reverting to their Catholic roots. Strange at first but quite … moving. The other thing I remember is how weird it felt, but I don’t dwell on these things.’

‘Weird how?’

‘I dunno … unexpectedly exciting, really. We did it by candlelight – that was Winnie’s idea, too. Dunno whether you know the Priory church, but it’s quite small and narrow. And it was, you know, quite a thrilling experience. I was a bit cynical about the whole idea at first, taking the piss, as you do, but … I’d do it again tomorrow, I mean it, I’d travel a long way to do it.’

Dan sounded like he’d surprised himself, saying that. Lol waited. He was fascinated. He sometimes thought about playing in a church, not in some dumb happy-clappy band, but … he didn’t know; he just wanted, sometimes, to put himself into a situation where his music might find a different level.

‘It was the things that were happening in my head,’ Dan said. ‘And my whole body, really. A vibration going through you, like wiring, and it’s like different parts of you are lighting up in sequence. Can’t explain it. I mean, all right, the chant usually gives you a bit of a lift. But this time the interconnectedness thing … it wasn’t just three churches coming together, it was like being inside a big … orb of sound. Like we’d broken through to another place. I mean it. More than that, really, I … bugger me, I sound like I’d taken something, don’t I?’

‘Why those particular churches?’

‘Well, Tim never explained, he never does. He’s an inarticulate bugger at the best of times; you think if he could talk in notes and chords, instead of words, he would, you know? They say he was a useless teacher. But we worked it out, kind of. Comes down to the three churches being in the Three Counties – Wychehill in Herefordshire, Little Malvern Priory in Worcestershire and Redmarley D’Abitot in Gloucestershire. So what he’d done, he’d assembled his own Three Counties choir … the Three Counties united in sacred chant. Weird.’

‘And he never tells you what’s behind all this?’

‘Not talked about, Lol. We’re all a bit funny about that kind of thing, en’t we? One woman – this is just one woman, mind, and I don’t know her very well, but she was white as a sheet when we come out. Said that when we were doing the Mass, she seen like a figure, up at the altar. Tall hat. Well, a bishop’s mitre. And he’s standing there with his arms raised. Like … like a bishop, I suppose. She was pretty shocked, but it might’ve been just the state we were all in.’

‘This happened when you were singing music from the Mass – Elgar’s music?’

‘Well, yeah, but I later found out there was a famous photo taken in there where you’re supposed to be able to see the ghostly shape of a bishop with his crozier. So she may’ve come back down with that in her head. You’re a bit high with the singing and you find you’re focused on the same spot that you’ve seen in the picture, and it’s all candlelit. When she told us, she wasn’t frightened exactly, it was more white with awe. And I remember thinking, Yeah, we woke him up, and he’s celebrating the Mass. And suddenly the idea of celebrating the Mass made sense to me for the first time.’

‘Well,’ Lol said. ‘Thanks.’

‘You should write a song about him,’ Dan said.

36 The Dream

Stashing away the notebook and the phone and shouldering her bag, Merrily walked directly over. But Winnie was already blocking the porch, her hands out, long nails, and her eyes almost black in the full sunlight.

‘No way.’

‘They let him go?’

‘I’m asking you, Merrily, with civility, to back off.’

‘That was him, wasn’t it?’ Merrily said.

‘Whaddaya think, it’s Elgar’s freaking ghost?’

Tim Loste had vanished into the church and the oak doors were shut. At the porch entrance, Winnie Sparke didn’t move. Her arms were slim but unexpectedly muscular, tanned and taut.

‘And this is just as close as you get today, lady. He’s in a delicate state. You need to show some respect.’

‘You were laughing.’

‘I’m laughing, he isn’t. I’m happy he’s out.’

‘I need to talk to him.’

‘Some other time. Jeez, he was accused of killing a guy … with a knife? They had him in some interrogation cell, threw the whole damn package at him, hour after hour, different cops, good cop/bad