Blood Harvest (15 page)

‘And this was past nine o’clock?’ Evi asked. ‘Quite late for a little one to be up, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, all the kids stay up late for the Cutting. It’s tradition.’

‘The Cutting?’

‘That’s what they call it. It’s an old farming thing. Then a party. Everyone’s invited. I was never that keen, to be honest, especially after Pete left. But then, when Harry asked me if I was going to be there, I thought, why not? Except then I was in this big panic about what I was going to wear. Not that it was a date or anything, but he had made a point of asking me if I was going to be there and … what’s the matter? What have I said?’

The paperclip was in Evi’s fingers after all. She shook her head and forced a smile. ‘Nothing, I’m sorry,’ she said, putting the twisted piece of metal back on the desk. ‘You’re in a very upbeat mood today. I can’t quite keep up. Carry on.’

‘So I decided to wear the cropped trousers in the end. With the yellow sweater I got in Tesco, only it doesn’t look like something you’d buy from Tesco, it looks sort of classy, really. I can’t remember the last time I bought new clothes. It’s a good sign, isn’t it, wanting to buy new clothes, to look nice again?’

Silence.

‘Isn’t it?’ Gillian repeated.

Evi nodded. Was she still smiling? Just about. ‘It’s a very good sign,’ she agreed.

It was an extremely good sign, wanting to look nice again. A long, floaty skirt almost to her ankles, a tight red top that would have shown off her shoulders, and a lavender pashmina in case the evening became chilly; that’s what she’d been planning to wear.

‘And how did you cope with the party afterwards?’ she asked. ‘There would have been alcohol, I’m guessing. Were you tempted?’

Gillian thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘There was so much going on. A lot of people wanted to talk to me, ask me how I was getting on. Jenny was sweet. Jenny Pickup, I mean – used to be Jenny Renshaw. I used to nanny for her years ago and then she was Hayley’s godmother. And Harry was around a lot. Course, I didn’t take too much notice of him at the party. You know how people talk.’

‘Was it a late night?’ Evi had imagined a late night, being driven home in that open-topped car. The night had been warm when she’d gone out into the garden just before eleven. There had been stars.

‘It all finished not long after we found Millie,’ Gillian said. ‘The Fletcher family went home and then the rest of us went back to the Renshaws’, but the band had stopped and people were starting to clear up. Odd really, because in the old days the parties could go on well into the night.’

‘Did you go home?’

Gillian shook her head. ‘No, I went with Harry.’

Evi reached out and lifted her glass. She put it to her lips, then licked the moisture off them. The glass went back down.

‘With Harry?’ she said. ‘Harry the vicar?’

‘I know, I know.’ Gillian was almost chuckling. ‘I’m still not used to the vicar bit myself. But when he took that stupid dress thing off he didn’t look like a vicar at all. He was standing outside when I left and I just had a feeling he’d been waiting for me.’

‘Did he say that?’

‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I think he might be a bit shy. So I asked him if he wanted to come back to the flat for a coffee.’

Evi’s hand was on the glass again. ‘What did he say?’

‘Well, I was sure he was going to say yes but then some people came round the corner, so he said he had to make sure the church was locked up and he walked off up the hill. Course, I knew he wanted me to follow him so I waited a few minutes and then I went up too.’

‘Gillian …’

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s just … vicars have a certain code of conduct.’

Blank look on Gillian’s face.

‘A certain way they have to behave,’ Evi tried again, ‘and inviting a young woman he hardly knows up to a church at night … well, it doesn’t feel too responsible to me. Are you sure that’s what he wanted?’

Gillian shrugged. ‘Men are men,’ she said. ‘He might wear a dog collar but he’s still got a prick in his pants.’

Evi picked up the glass again. It was empty.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Evi, when she trusted her voice again. ‘You probably think I’m prying. If you don’t feel ready to talk about this, that’s fine. Are you still sleeping well?’

‘You think a vicar wouldn’t be interested in someone like me?’
Gillian asked. The lines on her face seemed to have hardened. The lipstick she’d chosen looked too dark for her.

‘No, that’s not what I meant at all.’

‘So why did he kiss me?’

Evi took a deep breath. ‘Gillian, my only concern is whether you’re ready to get involved again. Emotionally, you’ve been very badly damaged.’

He’d kissed her?

The girl had shrunk into her chair again. She didn’t seem able to look at Evi any more.

‘Do you really like him?’ Evi asked softly.

Gillian nodded without looking up. ‘It sounds stupid,’ she said, speaking to the rug at her feet, ‘because I hardly know him, but it’s like I care about him. When I went in the church he was just sitting in the front pew. I went and sat down next to him and put my hand on his. He didn’t pull his away. He said he was sorry about what had happened, that it must have been dreadful for me, after what I’d been through.’

‘Sounds like it was pretty grim for everyone,’ said Evi. Ten minutes before the end of the session. A tiny amount of time in the greater scheme of things. And yet too long to carry a picture in her head of Harry and this girl, in a dimly lit church, holding hands.

‘It was like we had such a connection,’ Gillian was saying. ‘I felt I could say anything. So I asked him what I’d wanted to the first time I met him. How could God let bad things happen to innocent people, like Hayley? And almost to Millie. If He’s all powerful, the way people say, why do these things happen?’

And me, thought Evi. What part of the great plan made me a cripple? What part of the plan whisked Harry away from me just when … less than ten minutes to go.

‘What did he say?’ she asked.

‘He started quoting this prayer at me. He does that a lot, I’ve noticed. Incredible memory. Something about Jesus not having any hands or feet …’

‘No hands but ours,’ said Evi, after a moment.

‘That’s it. Do you know it?’

‘I was brought up a Catholic,’ said Evi. ‘That prayer was written by St Teresa in the sixteenth century.
“Christ has no body now on
earth but ours, no hands but ours, no feet but ours.”
It means that everything that happens here on earth – all the good things, all the bad things too – are down to us.’

‘Yes, that’s what Harry said,’ replied Gillian. ‘He said it’s up to us now. He said God had a great plan, he was sure of it, but that it was a plan in outline and that it was up to us to fill in the details.’

‘He sounds quite wise, this Harry of yours,’ said Evi. So ridiculous. She’d only met him twice. There was no reason, really, for her stomach to feel like lead.

‘I think so,’ said Gillian. ‘I’m going to church on Sunday. First time in years.’

Gillian turned suddenly and looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I have to go,’ she announced. ‘I said I’d meet him at noon. I’m helping decorate the church. Thank you, Evi, I’ll see you next week.’

Gillian got up and left the room. There were still eight minutes of her appointment left to run but it seemed she didn’t need Evi any more. And why would she? She had Harry.

‘T
HE
ASSISTANT
REFEREE
RAISES
THE
BOARD
AND
THERE
’
S
only three minutes of injury time to play in this crucial top-of-the-table clash. The ball goes to Brown … he turns, passes to young Ewood debutante Fletcher… Fletcher, still Fletcher… a little look up … Green’s in space … I think Fletcher’s going all the way … GOAL!’

Giving the supporters a modest wave, Tom jogged back to the centre of the pitch for the final kick-off. Less than a minute of injury time to go and victory, as they say, was in the bag. Then one of the other players turned to him.

‘Tommy,’ he whispered.

Tom was awake in an instant. No longer the new star striker, leading his favourite football team to victory. Just ten-year-old Tom Fletcher, lying in bed in the middle of the night. With a big problem on his hands.

Outside, the wind was racing up the moor. Tom could hear it whistling through alleyways, making windows tremble in their frames. He lay, not daring to move, with the quilt pulled up around his ears; he was used to the wind by now. In the radiator pipes he could hear the odd gurgle as the house settled down for the night. He was used to that too. From two feet below he could hear the soft ticking of Joe’s breathing. Everything normal.

Except that someone else was in the bedroom with him and Joe. Someone at the end of his bed, who had just tugged at his quilt.

Completely awake now, Tom didn’t dare move. The tugging could have been part of his dream, he just had to stay still, make sure it didn’t happen again. He waited for ten, twenty seconds and realized he was holding his breath. As quietly as he could, he let it out. A fraction of a second later, someone else breathed in.

Still he didn’t dare move. It could have been his own breath he’d heard, or Joe’s. It could have been.

The quilt moved again, pulled away from his face. He could feel the night air on his cheek now and his left ear. In the bunk below Joe called out in his sleep – a muffled word that sounded a bit like ‘Mummy’ and then a low moan.

‘Tommy.’ Joe’s voice. Except Joe was asleep.

‘Tommy.’ His mother’s voice. But his mother would never scare him like this.

Tom’s eyes were open. How had it got so dark? The landing light that was always kept on at night in case one of the children needed to get up had been switched off and his room was darker than it ever normally was. The furniture, the toys left scattered around, were little more than dark shadows. They were familiar dark shadows though, the sort he was used to and expected to see. The one he really hadn’t expected to see was the one at the foot of his bed.

Whatever it was, it was sitting quite still, but breathing, he could see the slight movement of the shoulders. He could see the outline of the head and the two tiny points of light that could have been almost certainly were – eyes. The shadow was watching him.

For half a second Tom wasn’t capable of movement. Then he wasn’t capable of anything else. He scrambled backwards, kicking against the cover with his heels, pushing with his elbows. His head slammed hard into the metal frame of the bed-head and he knew he couldn’t go any further.

The shadow moved, leaned towards him.

‘Millie,’ it said, in a voice that Tom thought was perhaps supposed to be his. ‘Millie fall.’

3 October

‘A
RE
THEY
OK?’
ASKED
HARRY,
WHO‘D
BEEN
LISTENING
TO
the story in fascination.

, Gareth shrugged. ‘Well, they’re all pretty quiet,’ he said. ‘Tom and Joe aren’t speaking but neither of them will let Millie out of their sight. Tom’s developed something of a fascination with window locks, checking they’re secure, wanting to know where the keys are.’

‘And he says it was a little girl? Who’s been watching you all?’

Gareth nodded. ‘He’s mentioned her before, we just didn’t take much notice. There are lots of kids around town, and Tom’s imagination has always been on the colourful side.’

‘And where was Alice while …’ he stopped. Did that sound judgemental?

‘In her studio,’ said Gareth, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it. ‘She’s been working on a portrait of old Mr Tobias, he’s been sitting for her several times a week and she wants to get it finished before the end of the month. She heard Tom screaming upstairs but by the time she got to him he’d woken the other two and they were yelling their heads off too.’

‘Any sign of a break-in?’ asked Harry. ‘Is it possible Tom did see someone?’

Gareth shook his head. ‘The small window in the downstairs loo
was open but no normal-sized person could get through it. And a child – even if one were out on her own at night – wouldn’t be able to reach it.’

The two men had reached the back of the church. They stopped in front of a tall narrow door that looked as though it had been made from yew. ‘Are you sure you’re OK to do this?’ asked Harry. ‘It’s not urgent. You should probably …’

Gareth picked up the tool-box he’d brought with him. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone on a walk. Joe wanted to have a look at the Tor. I said I’d join them when we’re done.’

‘Well, if you sure.’

‘I’m sure. Let’s open this crypt.’

Harry found the right key and pushed it into the lock. ‘Technically, not a crypt,’ he said. ‘More of a cellar. Might be handy for storage. I just want a steer on whether I need to call a surveyor in to check it’s safe.’ The key turned easily enough. Harry took hold of the handle and raised the latch.

‘And you don’t want to look round the spooky place on your own,’ said Gareth.

‘You’re absolutely right about that. Blimey, this door is stiff. Shouldn’t think it’s been moved in years.’

‘Oh, step out of the way, Vicar, this is a job for a man.’

‘Back off, buddy, I’m on it,’ said Harry. ‘Here we go.’

The door swung inwards just as a bubble of sour-smelling dust burst in front of them. Harry blinked hard. Gareth cleared his throat. ‘Stone me, that’s a bit rich,’ he said. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing dead down there?’

‘I’m not sure of anything,’ replied Harry, picking up his flashlight and stepping on to the spiral staircase that wound its way down beneath the church. The cold air seemed to steal around the back of his neck. ‘Stakes and garlic flowers at the ready.’

The damp smell of the church’s cellar got stronger as the two men went down. Before they were halfway Harry was glad he and Gareth were wearing fleeces. Twenty-two steps and they were at the bottom, shining their torches around. The two beams picked out massive stone pillars and a vaulted brick roof. So much bigger than either of them had expected.