Return to Ribblestrop (2 page)

The truck behind was still blaring its horn. It had levered itself out into the oncoming traffic, which had come to a halt, and was inching past.

‘Put your flashers on, Father,’ said Doonan.

‘Doonan, if I knew where the blasted things were, I’d have put them on long ago. Is the child in?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Millie.

‘So steamed up I can’t see . . . where’s the damned indicator? Oh!’

The windscreen wipers had been chugging away evenly, now they doubled their speed. The car shunted forward once more, bounced down from the kerb, and stalled. There was a new flurry of furious
horns and someone was yelling.

‘Do you think this is the right direction?’ said Doonan. He had to twist himself round in his seatbelt, and Millie saw that he was young and friendly, with a spray of pimples. His
eyes blinked under pale lashes and he seemed to be panting.

‘Damn and blast!’ cursed the driver. ‘If we can’t get this louse of a car started, we’re in trouble! Say your prayers, both of you.’

‘You know, you really shouldn’t be hitch-hiking,’ said Doonan. ‘You meet strange people, and—’

‘Damn and blast, she’s dead as a door-nail!’ The driver turned the ignition again and the car coughed hysterically.

‘Hold your foot flat down, Father,’ said Doonan. ‘I think she’s—’

‘I’m doing exactly that! Start, damn you!’

The engine roared into life, for a racing-car start. There was a furious knocking under the floor, so Doonan had to shout to be heard. ‘You say you’re going to school? It seems a bit
late to be starting off—’

‘Boarding school,’ said Millie. She raised her voice over the screams of second gear. ‘It’s the other side of Taunton and I’m supposed to be there by six.
It’s called Ribblestrop Towers.’

A startled look came into the young man’s eyes. He clutched the headrest and stared harder. ‘You didn’t say
Ribblestrop Towers
, did you?’

‘Yes. You’ve probably heard of it because of what went on last term. It was in the papers, and a TV station came down—’

‘Not Ribblestrop Towers, surely! The house owned by Lady Vyner?’

Millie was nodding.

‘Father, listen to this!’

‘I can barely see the road, Doonan – we’re steaming up. Nor can I find . . . third blasted gear . . .’

‘But listen, Father, listen to this! This child is on her way to Ribblestrop Towers! Now is that not the Lord’s doing?’ He looked back at Millie and laughed. ‘We’re
going there ourselves! This is Father O’Hanrahan, the new chaplain. And I’m Brother Doonan, I’m just a trainee. We’re on our way to that very place!’

The car picked up speed, swerving madly as the driver wiped a vision hole through the mist on the windscreen. Oncoming lights were also swerving and hooting and it occurred to Millie that
she’d exchanged rain and discomfort for danger of a more lethal kind.

‘This is remarkable,’ prattled Doonan. ‘You see, Father O’Hanrahan wrote to the headmaster offering to help out with the chapel. He’d heard about the monks, you
see.’ He laughed. ‘I might be your teacher! I’m trying to get a little work-experience – I failed my exams so the college had to let me go.’

Millie raised her eyebrows and tried to smile.

‘Oh, but what a fantastic coincidence!’ laughed the boy. ‘Maybe it’s my map-reading skills after all!’

‘It’s the guidance of God, Doonan,’ said Father O’Hanrahan, heavily. ‘Ask her if she’s met the Brethren. They’ve had that vow of silence for some time,
but she might have
seen
them round the grounds.’

‘I hear they’re a very devout order—’ said Doonan.

‘Do you know the little chapel?’ interrupted the driver. He turned round in his seat and peered at Millie. ‘What’s your name, child?’

‘Millie,’ said Millie.

‘There’s a little chapel, Millie, with a crypt. Have you been down to it?’

‘No.’

‘Can you
get
down? I heard it had been bricked up, so I was saying to Doonan that our first job is to get all that sorted.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Have you spoken to the Brethren? They’re still there, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, but you hardly—’

‘There’s a walking ghost too, so we heard,’ said Brother Doonan. His eyes grew round with excitement. Millie guessed his age as about seventeen.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The ghost of Lord Vyner, but you don’t actually
see
him—’

‘That’s what we heard!’ cried the driver. ‘That’s the very one: a soul in pain, carrying secrets and sins, slipping around the place. I’ll be putting that
fellow to rest – that’s one of my first duties.’

‘Father O’Hanrahan is an
exorcist
,’ said Doonan. ‘Do you know what that is?’

‘I saw the movie,’ said Millie.

‘It’s a gift that the Lord put in my hands,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘I don’t keep count of the demons I’ve dealt with and I take no credit. If I can
wrestle a soul from Satan, then it’s to the glory of God. And this Lord Vyner character, well! A violent past, as I understand it. It’s not surprising he can get no rest. That’s
what I told your headmaster: you can’t run a school with a walking ghost! The school needs a chaplain it can trust.’

The car picked up speed and Father O’Hanrahan laughed. ‘Oh yes – the Lord is certainly with us today!’ he cried. ‘Goodness knows what would have become of this girl
if we hadn’t been passing. What’s her name again?’

‘Millie,’ said Millie.

‘Well, Minnie. I hope we can rely on your total and unconditional help after this. That chapel needs to be looked after, and we’re going to need all the hands we can get. Is it true
that some of the children are heathen?’

‘Father, I don’t think they allow that word any more—’

‘I’m asking the
child
, Doonan – don’t tell me what I can and can’t say! Is there a living faith, Minnie? Will I get resistance or cooperation?’

‘There’s no faith at all that I’m aware of,’ said Millie. ‘The only time anyone prays is before a football match, and that’s because we’re
desperate.’

‘Well,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘If that’s the case, I think we should say a prayer right here and now, and start as we mean to go on. And you, Miss Minnie: you
should open up your proud heart and find it in your proud self to thank God for this deliverance – or you’d still be on that road, prey to any passing madman.’

‘What do you think, Millie?’ said Doonan. ‘Do you have a favourite prayer?’

‘I don’t believe in God,’ said Millie. ‘I’m an atheist.’

Doonan stared.’

‘
What
did she say?’ said Father O’Hanrahan.

‘She said she doesn’t believe, Father.’

‘Then our work has surely started. Will you take the wheel a moment, Doonan? I’m going to say a few words and make this fool mindful of her salvation.’

The rain was beating harder than ever. Doonan put a hand on the steering wheel, and peered through the misted wind screen.

‘I can’t really
see
, Father, to be honest.’

‘If the child herself won’t show gratitude,’ said Father O’Hanrahan, ‘we’ll show it for her.’ He clasped his hands over his chest and changed his
register. He spoke softly and earnestly, as if to a friend. ‘Look down on us, oh Lord. We thank you, here and now, for this encouraging sign. We thank you, God, for keeping us
safe.’

‘Amen,’ said Brother Doonan.

The car was veering right; Doonan eased it left.

‘We all need help, and most of us are humble enough to ask for it. We ask you now to open the eyes of the blind, and as we seek to work with your brethren, may we bring the chapel back to
glory and reinstate what is lost.’

‘Amen to that.’

‘We know there will be obstacles and hazards, like the stubborn child behind me.’

It occurred to Millie that both men had their eyes closed. She couldn’t be sure, but a kind of rapture had descended. She could also see what looked like a build-up of traffic ahead and
the red lights of an intersection.

‘We’re going too fast,’ she said softly.

‘Do you think so?’ said Doonan. ‘Well, the Holy Spirit can be a frightening thing, but you have to trust—’

‘Seriously,’ said Millie. ‘We’re going too fast.’

‘It was like that for me,’ said Doonan. ‘I was just your age, and one day I found myself speeding towards the presence of God, and—’

Millie was fired by instinct. She jumped forward and grabbed the wheel.

The two men jerked their eyes open and saw the danger at once. For a second or two, they fought, with flapping hands. Father O’Hanrahan stamped on the brake just as Doonan screamed.

Time slows down when you crash.

The slow-motion cuts in and you get to see every amazing detail. From Millie’s point of view, there was a great comet-shower of red lights hurtling towards them. The soundtrack was an
agonising howl of brakes and horns. Brake lights, traffic lights, and the long, pink strip of a petrol garage: the colours ran together in the rain, and as she twisted the wheel, she got the
vehicle clear of the stationary cars. They fishtailed wildly as the wheels locked, and Father O’Hanrahan snatched them away from an oncoming truck. Thus they skimmed into the centre of the
junction: the great box of the A312 and A303 interchange, beside the Family Roadgrill and Travellers’ Sleepeasy. Millie’s car floated through at twenty miles per hour; a family saloon
emerging from the garage crawled into her path at less than five.

They smashed together in a shower of glass.

Mercifully, everyone was belted in, so the worst injuries were three whiplashed necks and a nosebleed. It could have been so much worse, and the police said that many times over the next few
hours.

Who was driving the family saloon? A cautious driver by the name of Donald Tack. His wife, Edith, was next to him, and in the back, amongst comics, games, and sweet-wrappers, sat Sam Tack, Jacob
Ruskin, and a newcomer to the school: nine-year-old Oli, brother to Jacob. Their car was spun three hundred and sixty degrees, and two of the windows burst over them, but it was actually no worse
than one of those fairground rides you pay several pounds for. Oli had the nosebleed, but that was shock, not impact. He was reading his advanced guide to radio technology and was mortified to get
blood on it. But he didn’t cry. Nobody did.

The children were herded into the Family Roadgrill by teams of helpful garage staff. Millie’s vehicle was crunched up against a lamp-post, but the back door opened easily enough. She was
pulled out, and was able to stand shakily in the fuel and water that poured out of the broken car. The adults stayed where they were.

‘Millie!’ said Ruskin.

The two children looked at each other, thunderstruck. There was Ruskin, short and wide, built like a balloon. He snatched off his glasses to clear them of raindrops, grinning happily.
‘Unbelievable!’ he said.

He started to laugh. Sam was more worried about his parents, but a forceful waitress led him and the others firmly to a table.

‘Of all the incredible coincidences, what are you doing here, Millie? How was Canada?’

Millie was trembling with shock. ‘I didn’t go to Canada,’ she said.

‘Yes you did – you went with Sanchez. You patched things up at the end of term, and everyone said you were going to Canada!’

‘Sanchez lives in
Colombia
.’

‘Did you go?’

‘Yes. Ruskin, what are
you
doing here? Were you in that car?’

‘Yes! Sam’s dad was driving. We’re on our way to Ribblestrop, same as you.’

He sat down at the table and Millie joined him.

‘We were delayed,’ continued Ruskin. ‘Ironic really. Sam forgot his cap, so we had to drive over to his house and no one could find it. When we did find it, we were running
late, so my father got a bit cross and we decided to go in Sam’s car instead, and have tea on the road. In fact, this is our table – I bet there’s a cup left in that
pot.’

‘You and Sam spent Christmas together?’ said Millie. ‘That must have been . . . mesmerising. Could I have a hot chocolate?’ she said to the waitress.

‘We actually live quite close to each other,’ said Ruskin. ‘So we’ve been taking it in turns to have sleepovers. The fun we’ve had, honestly! We’ve got some
super stories. Sam’s dad had a fall and had to go into hospital. That meant we had the house almost to ourselves – and the things we got up to!’

‘Could I have another glass of water?’ said a quiet voice, nervously.

Millie looked again at the third member of Ruskin’s party. Ribblestrop uniform, same as the rest. But this child was smaller, thinner, and altogether weirder. He had a tuft of pale hair on
the top of his head and slightly protruding teeth. His eyes were huge and his little pink hands clung to the table top. He had the look of a foetus, born very prematurely and dressed up in clothes
that would never fit. His grey shirt collar didn’t touch his neck, and he didn’t appear to have any shoulders.

‘Who’s the alien?’ said Millie.

‘Pardon?’

‘You’ve brought a pet. What’s its name?’

Ruskin closed his eyes. ‘This is my little brother, Millie. His name’s Oli.’

‘No way,’ said Millie. ‘It must have been a Christmas present.’

‘Actually, Millie, you’re wrong and you’re rude,’ said Ruskin. ‘And I had forgotten how hurtful you can be. Oli’s nine and he’s got a GCSE in maths
already, so don’t insult him.’

‘Mmm, hello,’ said Oli, breathlessly.

‘Wow,’ said Millie. ‘I love the voice.’

‘I’ve told Oli all about you, Millie,’ said Ruskin. ‘I don’t think I mentioned your insensitive side, though. We may not look the same, but we’re alike in
many ways, or that’s what our parents say. So if you think you’re going to pick on Oli, you’ll be dealing with me and Sam first.’

‘Oh no,’ said Sam.

The others looked up. Sam hadn’t joined them at the table. He was at the window, nose against the glass. The first blue light had appeared, closely followed by another. There were distant
sirens too. Floodlights were going up on stands, reflecting broken glass: a couple of men from the garage were directing traffic, and both crashed vehicles were still full of grown-ups. Sam watched
as the first couple of stretchers emerged from an ambulance.