In the village those who had glimpsed so much as a fragment of the events in the dip were already elaborating on their stories: and the evidence of the naked eye lent credence to the most fantastic inventions. The chaos in the churchyard, the smashed door of the Vestry: the cordoned-off car on the north road, Whatever had happened that Saturday night it was going to take a long time to forget.
There was no harvest festival service, which came as no surprise to anyone.
Maggie was insistent: ‘I want us all to go back to London.’
‘A day ago you wanted us to stay here. Got to be part of the community.’
‘That was on Friday, before all this . . . this . . . There’s a maniac loose, Ron.’
‘If we go now, we won’t come back.’
‘What are you talking about; of course we’ll come back.’
‘If we leave once the place is threatened, we give up on it altogether.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘You were the one who was so keen on us being visible, being
seen to join in village life. Well, we’ll have to join in the deaths too. And I’m going to stay – see it through. You can go back to London. Take the kids.’
‘No.’
He sighed, heavily.
‘I want to see him caught: whoever he is. I want to know it’s all been cleared up, see it with my own eyes. That’s the only way we’ll ever feel safe here.’ Reluctantly, she nodded.
‘At least let’s get out of the hotel for a while. Mrs Blatter’s going loopy. Can’t we go for a drive? Get some air – ‘
‘Yes, why not?’
It was a balmy September day: the countryside, always willing to spring a surprise, was gleaming with life. Late flowers shone in the roadside hedges, birds dipped over the road as they drove. The sky was azure, the clouds a fantasia in cream. A few miles outside the village all the horrors of the previous night began to evaporate and the sheer exuberance of the day began to raise the family’s spirits. With every mile they drove out of Zeal Ron’s fears diminished. Soon, he was singing.
On the back seat Debbie was being difficult. One moment ‘I’m hot Daddy’, the next: ‘I want an orange juice Daddy’; the next: ‘I have to pee’.
Ron stopped the car on an empty stretch of road, and played the indulgent father. The kids had been through a lot; today they could be spoiled.
‘All right, darling, you can have a pee here, then we’ll go and find an ice-cream for you.’
‘Where’s the la-la?’ she said. Damn stupid phrase; mother-in-law’s euphemism.
Maggie chipped in. She was better with Debbie in these moods than Ron. ‘You can go behind the hedge,’ she said. Debbie looked horrified. Ron exchanged a half-smile with Ian. The boy had a put-upon look on his face. Grimacing, he went back to his dog-eared comic.
‘Hurry up, can’t you?’ he muttered. ‘Then we can go somewhere proper.’
Somewhere proper, thought Ron. He means a town. He’s a city kid: its going to take a while to convince him that a hill with a view is somewhere proper. Debbie was still being difficult.
‘I can’t go here Mummy – ‘
‘Why not?’
‘Somebody might see me.’
‘Nobody’s going to see you darling,’ Ron reassured her. ‘Now do as your Mummy says.’ He turned to Maggie, ‘Go with her, love.’
Maggie wasn’t budging. ‘She’s OK.’
‘She can’t climb over the gate on her own.’ ‘Well you go, then.’ Ron was determined not to argue; he forced a smile. ‘Come on,’ he said.
Debbie got out of the car and Ron helped her over the iron gate into the field beyond. It was already harvested. It smelt
. . . earthy. ‘Don’t look,’ she admonished him, wide-eyed, ‘you mustn’t look.’
She was already a manipulator, at the ripe old age of nine. She could play him better than the piano she was taking lessons on. He knew it, and so did she. He smiled at her and closed his eyes. ‘All right. See? I’ve got my eyes closed. Now hurry up,
Debbie. Please.’