Breaking and Entering (49 page)

And yet, according to Anita, Penny wished to adopt this way of life for good – maybe not living in a tent, but at least in some community. He knew that both Happy and Corinna were keen to start one up, so doubtless Penny had been willingly co-opted as another founder-member. He couldn't quite work out how he fitted into the picture. Would he be expected to give up his job (and Pippa quit her schooling, to learn yoghurt-making or shamanic rites, in place of maths or history), or would a husband and a daughter be regarded as an irrelevance – like sex? He still hadn't managed to make love to Penny, no longer even wanted to. It was too cold and too uncomfortable, and there was rarely any privacy – always some emergency or interruption, as had happened the night of the pow-wow. Just as he'd stripped Penny of her rain-drenched clothes and was about to remove his own, he had heard an anxious Claire shouting from outside: her tent was leaking and could he help her patch the hole? In a matter of seconds, the lusty Great Plains Buffalo had changed to paltry handyman.

Despite the problems, Claire seemed remarkably cheerful. She insisted Rick was cured, although Rick had told him privately that he only pretended his stomach-pains were better, to be excused the odious potions. She had nothing to go home for, except the dole and an empty house, and, like Penny herself, enjoyed the company, the communal meals, and the sense of being part of a fraternity (or sorority he should say, since females still outnumbered males). The more he reflected on it, the more he realized he was out of tune with the others, woefully lacking in community spirit. In theory, he might endorse their principles. Indeed, the whole concept of collectivism and co-operatives struck a chord with his own socialist ideals. But it was much easier to approve such things on paper, or to support them in, say, Israel, or in a safely generalized Third World context, than to rethink one's personal life and maybe lose one's home and whole security.

He fidgeted on the seat, stamping his numb feet to restore the feeling to them. He had no idea what time it was – except it had been night for far too long. He fought a sudden panic. Suppose dawn never came, but darkness followed darkness for the entire rest of his life? He had felt the self-same terror his first night at Greystone Court, lying in his dormitory watching the black fanlight stay black, black, black, black, black. No, he mustn't think of school – It would lead on to thoughts of Sayers, another source of darkness which he was determined to suppress.

He jumped out of the car, slammed the door behind him and dived into the back, shutting out the wind and rain which had seized their fleeting chance to beleaguer him again. He shook the wet off his hair, tried to get more comfortable spread across the seat, first removing all the clutter – the mouldy apples, rotting food, abandoned summer clothes and untouched books. He would relax here for a while, enjoy a brief respite before returning to the fray. He hardly dared imagine what might be happening in the lodge now: rebirthing sessions (Anita's speciality), or Shiatsu massage (Andrew's), or working out their astrological compatibilities? Claire had asked him only yesterday if he was Scorpio or Pisces, and when he'd told her neither, she'd seemed genuinely disappointed that his earth sign and her water sign were not altogether harmonious. He tried to keep his mind on fire signs, to provide a spark of inner heat to thaw his frozen limbs. He could scarcely believe it was August, rather than mid-February. He shivered at the allusion. February was Sayers again. Would he ever quash the memories, ever recover from this horrendous trip? Everything was dark – inside, outside, past and future.

He shut his eyes, hid his face in the musty-smelling seat. ‘Help me,' he begged silently, wondering who the hell he was addressing – Great Spirit (who had departed with the Robins), his dead and buried childhood God, or that infuriating healer he seemed unable to escape.

Daniel rubbed the steamed-up window and Stared out in astonishment at full impressive daylight, shreds of blue in the sky, even glints of sunshine. Once again he had slept – overslept, in fact – in impossible conditions, even in his boots! He had cramp in his left foot, his back was stiff, and his forehead ridged and furrowed from the imprint of the seat. Yet he hadn't woken once – hadn't so much as stirred – despite his uncomfortable position, his restricting waterproofs, and the fact that never in his life before had he managed to drop off in a car.

He refused to give the credit to the healer. It was a fluke, that's all, a proof of how exhausted he was. He opened the door, stepped out and stretched himself, gulping down great draughts of clean fresh air. He was starving hungry, but had probably missed breakfast, if not lunch as well. His thoughts shouldn't be on food, though, but on Penny and Pippa, whom he had abandoned in the middle of the night. Were they anxious, or annoyed with him for managing to sleep, while they'd been forced to stay awake till dawn?

He set off to find out, apprehension weighing on his mind in the same way as the mud dragged at his boots. The weather was much warmer, though; an airless, humid sort of day, which made him sweaty in his layers of windproof clothes. The camp-site looked a wilderness: Claire's tent still horizontal, and several others sagging; plastic bags and empty tins scattered by the wind; branches broken off the trees, and a flotsam of small twigs and leaves clogging every surface. He was surprised that no one was around, clearing up the mess, but the place seemed totally deserted.

He crawled into his own tent, found Pippa curled up in a ball, lying on her sleeping-bag. She sat up as he entered, looking anxious and forlorn.

‘What's wrong, darling?'

‘N … nothing.' Her voice faltered on the brink of tears.

‘You're not ill, are you?'

‘No.'

‘Where's Mum?'

‘In the Healing Dome. Everybody's there.'

‘Everyone except you and me,' he smiled, trying to create a link between them, however tenuous. ‘I'm sorry I disappeared. Believe it or not, I fell asleep in the car, and I've only just come to. Did Mum wonder where I'd got to?'

She shook her head, pulled down her crumpled skirt. He struggled out of his waterproofs, then sat awkwardly beside her on the sleeping-bag, shocked at how damp it was. He heard her take a deep breath in, as if preparing for some physical feat.

‘Once the rain had stopped,' she said, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it, ‘Mum and Corinna went to find you in the car and saw you were fast asleep. She said you looked so peaceful, she didn't want to wake you.'

Again, he felt a twinge of disbelief. Could he really have continued sleeping with people peering in at him, or looked peaceful in that cold cramped car? But more important was the fact that Pippa had responded to him; actually uttered two long sentences – well, long compared with her usual terse replies. If only they could continue talking, he might find out what was wrong with her, get close to her once more. She was clearly tired and miserable, cowering here alone, with not so much as a book to distract her, and lying on wet bedding amidst a tide of dirty clothes. He was beginning to feel resentful that JB had done nothing for her. His cures might be spectacular, but they were few and far between. Penny had tried to convince him that their daughter would find healing through her bond with Bernard the dog, but now that bond was severed, any hope of a recovery appeared to have vanished with the dog itself.

‘Would you like to go home?' he blurted out impetuously, feeling an instant sense of disloyalty to Penny. ‘I mean, all of us? Today?'

He was startled by her response: the way she gripped his arm and whispered ‘
Can
we?' with such urgency, such a note of desperate longing, his guilt immediately redoubled, and he stammered out a promise to arrange it. He had obviously underestimated how much she loathed this offbeat way of living, without her beloved Bernard to compensate. He was determined now to leave, whatever Penny said. It was unfair to keep the child here when she was so utterly dejected and had no one her own age but Rick.

‘Look,' he said, shifting in the restricted space and rubbing his stiff back, ‘this thing with you and Rick – he hasn't hurt you, has he, or …?' The memories of Sayers had made him inordinately suspicious, though it seemed unlikely that a shy lad such as Rick, who was usually tongue-tied in her company, would have abused her in any way. Yet he noticed her expression change, the look of fear, distaste. He had been miserable at her age, locked in his own nightmare world, but his parents hadn't known about it. He still felt angry with those parents (or strangers, as they seemed now), who'd been so laudably overburdened with the sufferings of the entire Third World, his own woes had failed to register at all. He couldn't bear to think that he was equally insensitive to what was going on in Pippa's life; ignoring a weight of private pain. Somehow, he had to get through to her. She hadn't answered his question, so he repeated it, rephrased it.

Any reply she might have made was drowned by shouts from outside – eager footsteps, shrill elated voices.

‘What on earth's going on?' he frowned.

Pippa shrugged, flinching back from the disturbance into a corner of the tent.

‘It sounds like another pow-wow, God forbid!' He ducked out through the entrance, saw all the others streaming from the Healing Dome, babbling with excitement. Andrew and Gerard had lifted Pat shoulder-high and were carrying her in procession. Megan followed with Tim in her arms; she crying, he laughing; both sounding near-hysterical. Claire and Happy were clinging to JB, Claire kissing his neck, twining her fingers through his long loose wavy hair. Penny and Corinna were almost dancing along, exchanging jubilant glances, while Dylan and Anita brought up the rear, leaning on each other, as if too dazed to walk without support. All the faces wore a look of triumph, like victors in a war, or devotees who had attained a state of nirvana. He felt totally excluded – the loser, the non-combatant, the uninitiate.

‘What's happened?' he asked Penny, sidling up behind her; his curiosity overcoming his embarrassment at being the only one in ignorance.

‘Pat's been healed! Completely. Her tumour's disappeared.'

‘Another miracle!' Claire exulted, stroking the healer's arm, to absorb his magical energies.

‘I prefer not to use that word,' JB reproved her gently.

‘Why not, when it's the right one? Pat's doctor said her cancer was incurable.'

JB stopped, as if to give his words more weight, addressing not just Claire, but all of them. ‘ “Incurable” only means that medicine can do no more. It takes no account of higher forces. There are no limitations to healing, other than those we set ourselves. If we truly believe we can recover, then we will.'

‘That's bloody nonsense!' Daniel exploded, thinking of his father, who'd had almost superhuman confidence in his ability to survive a stroke and then a heart attack, but had died still fighting death. He backed away in confusion when he saw the hostile glances aimed in his direction. He had discredited their miracle; the once euphoric revellers now patently resentful, and Megan complaining fiercely about his rudeness to the healer.

He hardly knew whether to apologize or to return to the attack. These people had become his friends, or at least his comrades in adversity. The hazards of the last few days had created a sympathy between them. Yet now he was the killjoy who had stopped the joyous cavalcade; thrown cold water on their flames of triumph. Gerard and Andrew set Pat down on her feet, while Claire gazed at him reproachfully, as if he were Judas to the healer's Christ. He was closer to Claire than anyone, yet when he watched her fawning on JB, smothering his neck with kisses, it aroused an incoherent rage in him. He was overreacting again, of course, but the horror of the Greystone Court affair had stirred up an inner ferment he found it impossible to control.

Penny reached out and squeezed his hand in an attempt to calm him down, include him in the group. He drew her back the other way, safely out of earshot. ‘I need to talk to you,' he whispered, cursing the fact that it was virtually impossible ever to get her on her own.

‘Can't it wait?' hissed Penny. ‘We're on our way to Pat's tent, to celebrate her cure.'

‘No, it can't,' he griped, suddenly enraged at her obtuseness. If she was close to him at all, she should
know
he was upset; use her intuition to detect his inmost feelings. Couldn't she see that something had happened to him, and what a bad state he was in? And what about her daughter? It didn't appear to bother her in the slightest that two out of the three of them were loathing every minute of this so-called holiday.

Lowering his voice still further, he turned his back on the group, deliberately avoiding Corinna's cold blue stare. ‘I've just promised Pippa that we're going home today.'

‘
What
?'

‘Well, she really does seem miserable. And I honestly don't think it's fair to inflict another fortnight on her.'

‘Look, we can't talk here,' said Penny, frowning at Rick, who had pushed his way towards them and was trying to catch Daniel's eye.

‘No,' said Daniel, ‘you're right.' He took her arm and marched her away, she protesting at his vehemence.

‘Not so fast! I'll break my ankle if you drag me along like that. Where are we going, anyway?'

‘Just somewhere we can sit in peace and talk without an audience.'

‘Well, I can't be long. I want to get back to Pat.'

‘For Christ's sake, Penny! We've hardly had a moment to ourselves since we arrived here.' He strode on up the hill, making for a stump of wall – wreckage from the lead mine. He brushed the debris from it and sat down.

Penny panted after him, tripping on a half-hidden ledge of stone. ‘Listen, Daniel, will you? I've just witnessed something absolutely riveting; something which has changed my life – and might change yours as well, if you weren't so self-obsessed – and you have to go and ruin it.'