Breaking and Entering (33 page)

‘Hey, look!' said Rick, nudging him as they crossed the muddy ditch.

Daniel glanced in the direction Rick was pointing. A girl appeared to be making love to a tree – the girl who'd talked to him at lunch about her therapy. Well, it had certainly succeeded in removing her inhibitions, since her arms were flung tightly round the tree-trunk, her face pressed against its bark, eyes closed in ecstasy. She was crooning to the tree – a stunted blackthorn with several dead or broken branches and a scattering of sickly leaves.

‘I offer you my love,' they heard her whisper. ‘And I ask for yours in return.'

Rick caught Daniel's eye and tapped his forehead with his finger. ‘Another nutter,' he mouthed.

Daniel nodded in complicity. If
he
found this place hard to take, especially its lunatic fringe, then it must be even worse for an adolescent boy deprived of
Neighbours
, Nintendo, and his normal high-tech life. The two of them were standing only a few feet from the girl, yet she was oblivious of anything beyond her wounded lover.

‘May you and I be at one in the sacred circle of life,' she confided to the tree. ‘I feel your sap rising in me. I feel my roots growing as deep and strong as yours.'

Daniel gave her a wide berth, shepherding Rick past. It was easy to scoff, dismiss the woman as mad, but her utter concentration, the solemnity in her voice, was somehow most unnerving. And anyway suppose such things were catching? Would he be able to return to the real world, to do his job administering scarce resources for deprived and suffering Africa, without being affected in some fundamental way?

He quickened his pace, half-running to the car, fighting a sudden urge to get in and slam the door, drive away from the whole crazy bunch – tree-amorists, and healers, and gullible depressives developing their souls. Instead he hunted for the toffees, eventually locating them underneath the front passenger seat. He helped himself before passing them to Rick, deciding to join him in the crime, if only to douse his craving for a smoke.

‘I've got a crate of apples here as well,' he said, remembering Claire's reference to the campers pooling food. He was probably breaking another rule by hoarding all this fruit, when the principle was share and share alike. ‘If I dig you out a carrier, perhaps you'd like to take some?'

‘Thanks,' said Rick, tearing the wrappers off two toffees and cramming both sweets in his mouth at once.

Daniel unwrapped his own more slowly. ‘They look a bit squashed,' he observed.

‘I'm not complaining!' Rick handed back the bag. ‘Here, have another. They're nicer two at a time.'

Daniel complied. At least it solved the problem of any further conversation. He locked the car and they set off again, cheeks bulging, chomping in a companionable sort of harmony. It did feel truly wicked to be guzzling sweets like this, imbibing banned white sugar. He had rarely broken the rules at school – he'd been too frightened of letting his parents down, when they continually impressed on him how fortunate he was compared with the poor African children. He had never really understood that ‘fortunate'. The ‘poor African children' weren't parted from their families for three-quarters of the year, nor did they get chilblains or detentions, and certainly nobody dinned into them what fearfully bad form it was to cry, or whinge, or admit you missed your mother.

They skirted the blackthorn votary, who was now lying at the base of the tree, fondling its sinuous roots. There was something overtly sexual about the way she touched those roots; her bare arms stretched along them, her lips murmuring endearments. Daniel felt strangely threatened. Supposing Penny left him for a tree? Oh, he knew the thought was ludicrous, but his confidence had hit rock bottom after his recent potency problems, and there was no way he could compete with the phallic might and majesty of some vigorous young oak.

He picked his way despondently between ruts and bramble-bushes, Rick following at his heels. As they approached the huddle of tents, the boy stuffed the bag of toffees right down inside the carrier, covering it with apples. ‘Gotta be careful the Mega-Wanker doesn't see!'

‘The Mega-Wanker?'

‘Well, Blue, if you prefer. If Mum
has
to call him a colour, I think slime-green suits him better. He's such a creepy toad.'

Daniel dislodged a lump of toffee from his teeth. Yes, Mega-Wanker was bloody good! He amplified JB to JBMW, deriving a definite satisfaction from putting the healer down. He needed to get his own back for the way the fellow had undermined his defences, infiltrated his mind.

He sidestepped a coil of dog-shit, stopping abruptly as his wife's flamboyant hair flashed into view. She and Corinna were about fifty yards ahead, both crouching on the ground, examining a plant. Perhaps Penny had been instructed to gather herbs, like Claire, to make some vile concoction for poor Pippa. He was about to call out to her and ask what she was doing, when suddenly he froze. Corinna had put an arm around her and was giving her a kiss – not a sisterly or friendly kiss, but a fervently erotic one, full on the lips. And Penny appeared to be responding, kissing Corinna back no less eagerly. He stared in disbelief. He had considered semi-seriously the risk of losing his wife's affections to a tree, but this was even worse – more immediate and more real. Corinna must be lesbian. No, that was hardly likely when he'd seen her in a clinch with JB, and when Claire had told him (not without a hint of jealousy) that Corinna had a crush on Blue and wore a snippet of his hair in a locket round her neck. But perhaps
Penny
had made the overtures; encouraged Corinna somehow. Now he came to think of it, everyone she met, regardless of their gender or sexual proclivities, appeared compelled to grope her: first the healer, then Dylan, and now this wretched woman. Only
he
was excluded – the legal wedded husband ousted from her tent.

He felt the more humiliated because Rick was watching avidly, and would be adding Penny to his list of nutters and/or nymphos. He expelled his breath in relief as the two women disengaged; Penny blithely unaware not only of his presence but of the turmoil she had wreaked in him. She and Corinna ambled off together, arms entwined, like lovers. He followed at a distance, still shaken and suspicious, watching as they stopped to talk to various of the campers – laughing, joking, exchanging hugs – utterly relaxed and so … so
physical
. It was years since he'd seen his wife like this: radiant and carefree, as if released from her normal worries and concerns. He realized with a surge of guilt that here in the camp she had regained the things she'd lost when she had married him and left the Streatham madhouse – the company, community, the dogs and kids and mucking in, the chatter and the sharing. Without intending to, he had imposed restrictions on her life, and now she was retaliating – ignoring him, in short; far more interested in a female she had known a mere two days. And she was probably neglecting Pippa too – so blissfully absorbed in seducing her new playmate that she had neither time nor energy to bother with her daughter.

Well, if that was the case, he'd better go and sort Pippa out himself. He'd take Rick with him (once he'd had his medicine), so he could introduce the pair, and perhaps Claire would come as well, to provide some moral support. Pippa had gone to the Healing Dome to find some ointment for the dog – or so he'd been told by Len – and the Healing Dome always made him nervous. The few times he'd ventured in there, he'd been frightfully embarrassed – unfamiliar faces smiling at him as he entered the green gloom; unfamiliar bodies in various stages of undress; worthy people offering him weird things he didn't want: nettle tea or carrot juice, or lumps of different coloured crystals which apparently could affect your state of mind. He had forgotten now which one promised peace – amethyst, was it, or rose quartz, perhaps? – but anyway, whatever, he shouldn't have been so quick to refuse. He could do with some inner serenity to cope with this new shock.

Rick had run on ahead to rejoin his mother, and was craftily brandishing an apple, whilst concealing the criminal sweets. She had finished the washing up and everything was shipshape, Daniel noted approvingly – plates stacked in one box, beakers in another, the dirty water emptied, mops and cloths wrung out. A woman after his own heart, at least as far as domestic order was concerned.

‘Great news!' she smiled, standing over her son with the medicine-glass in one hand and the Thermos in the other.

‘Oh, really?' Daniel was unconvinced. His own definition of ‘great news' would be Penny agreeing to leave this place and spend a month in Rome instead, with no hangers-on, no threesomes; or a scientific breakthrough proving nicotine to be highly beneficial; or a guarantee from the Great Roué in the Sky that he would never lose his erection in his life again.

‘We're going to have a healing session,' Claire announced triumphantly. ‘This evening, after supper. And guess who Blue wants there?'

‘You and Rick?'

‘Yes! Who else?'

‘Er, let's see – how about Margot and George?'

‘Gosh, you're clever, Daniel! That's absolutely right. Who else though?'

‘I've no idea. I assumed everyone could wander along if they chose.'

‘Oh, no! Blue can't concentrate with so many different energies – some of them might oppose his. Healing works at a very subtle level, you see, so he has to be careful that his channels don't get blocked. One last guess – go on!'

‘Um …' Daniel frowned, trying to recall the circle of faces at lunch. ‘I know! Jeanette and Len's daughter. What's her name? Sharon?'

Claire shook her head, beaming in delight. ‘No,
your
daughter, Daniel – and you!'

Daniel removed his muddy shoes and placed them with the other footwear which had been left outside the tepee. Then he ducked in through the entrance, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Pippa was still behind him and hadn't taken to her heels and fled. The instant he stepped in he was lassoed by a circle of faces, assailed by murmured greetings. Why so many people here, when Claire had mentioned only six? She gave a cheery wave and he stumbled gratefully towards her; sat down on the dirty folded duffel coat she had saved as a cushion for him. He shuffled up to make room for Pippa; introduced her to those who hadn't met her yet, praying he'd remember their names. Her shyness only increased his own. Her face was scarlet beneath the freckles as she mumbled her ‘hellos'.

‘And this is Rick,' he concluded. The boy was sprawled beside his mother, picking little bits of fuzz from his sweater and rolling them in balls between his fingers. ‘Or do you prefer Richard?'

‘Don't mind,' Rick shrugged, scrambling up to a sitting position and darting a sidelong glance at Pippa. ‘Dad calls me Richard when he's mad with me.'

They all laughed except Pippa, who had shrunk even further into herself, and had actually cut Rick dead by deliberately turning her back on him. Couldn't she make an effort, Daniel fumed? Claire had been so friendly towards him, this was no way to repay her. Rick slumped down on his rug again, chewing at his thumb.

‘Rick's thirteen, like you, Pippa,' Daniel continued doggedly. ‘And he lives in Wales, not far from here.'

Still she didn't respond. She had drawn up her legs, clasped her hands around them, and put her head down on her knees; her body language signalling complete shut-off and withdrawal. Daniel's self-control was stretched to breaking point. This was downright rudeness, not just shyness. ‘Pippa, I'm
speaking
to you,' he rapped.

There was no reaction whatever, but he sensed her silent rejoinder: Shut up and go away!

‘She's got her mother's lovely hair, I see,' Doris put in tactfully. She was sitting next to Pippa, her wasted frame supported by nothing more than a single flimsy cushion. On her other side was Gerard, still wretched with his cold, then George and Margot, looking peeved, Dylan, with wet hair, and a woman he'd never seen before, wearing a pink home-knitted cardigan over what looked like a nightdress.

‘I thought you said there were only going to be six of us?' he whispered to Claire, deciding to ignore Pippa for the present.

‘There were,' Claire whispered back. ‘I can't understand why Blue's called in these others, or where on earth he's disappeared to.' She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes – undoubtedly her most attractive feature, being luminous and large, though they were screwed up at the moment in dismay. ‘And we should be in the Healing Dome, not here. It's got much better vibes.'

This was the nearest she had come to criticizing the master, though he didn't share her objections. As far as he was concerned, the more people there, the less conspicuous he and Pippa would be, which was definitely an advantage. As for the healer's late arrival, well, the later the better – just so long as he wasn't dallying with Penny. (It was difficult to know which was the more galling: the thought of Penny snuggling up to Corinna, or lying in the Wanker's hirsute arms.) The change of venue from Healing Dome to Rainbow Lodge was also to his liking, since he found the former claustrophobic and loathed the reek of incense. He was happier here in the tepee, with its memory of that first night's blissful sleep, which still seemed quite extraordinary.

On that occasion, he'd hardly noticed his surroundings – simply sunk into the black balm of unconsciousness – but now he had a chance to look around. The central fire had been banked down and was only gently smouldering, but there was a stack of fresh-cut logs beside it, and an ancient kettle steaming on a trivet. The canvas, dirty-grey inside, was hung with shawls and rugs, which gave colour and a sense of warmth; one especially striking batik depicted a vibrant purple sun above a golden mountain peak. To the right of the entrance, a tray of chipped mugs sat balanced on a crate, with various jars labelled Barley Cup, or Fig and Millet ‘Coffee', plus a few large battered cake-tins, which (he remembered with distaste) were used to store Happy's specialities – damp and sugarless flapjacks, dry and fatless cakes. Opposite stood a sort of makeshift altar, which seemed more a shrine to Nature than to any God he recognized, being heaped with flowers and fruits – mostly wilting buttercups and knobbly mottled apples, but also a bunch of whiskered grasses and some overripe red plums. Stones and pebbles had been arranged around the edges of the altar, and three gleaming magpie feathers were stuck in an empty jam jar. Another, smaller, jar held a single plain white candle, which, though unlit at present, had drooled writhing coils of wax down its sides. The whole thing looked amateurish, yet was also quaintly touching, as if constructed by an eager child as an offering to its teacher.