Jago (34 page)

He looked at the house and saw Mummy and Hannah standing by the door. Behind them was the spindly wreck of a patch of ivy Mummy had encouraged to sweep up over the side of the house. Jeremy thought Mummy and Hannah were leaning against the ivy, letting its creepers twine about their legs and arms to hold them up. Earlier this summer, the ivy had gone from rotten brown to brittle grey, but now it was deepening green, its colour reflected in the faces of his mother and sister.

Mummy waved. He ran away from the house, towards the road. There was a steady flow of traffic being directed by young men in armbands into the fallow field. Daddy had said cars from the festival would be using some of the dry pastures. If Jeremy could reach the traffic, he’d be safe for a while. If there were people, he’d be safe.

W
hen Hazel woke up, she felt different. The comfort of sleep carried over into consciousness. Her pains were eased, her head clear. It was pleasantly cool inside the alcove. High up on the wall was a stained-glass slit window. Coloured shapes hung on the purple curtains, a smudgy back-to-front picture. She tried to remember how she’d got here, but swiftly realized it didn’t matter. Everything before the Agapemone, before the Beloved touch, was a fading dream. She’d been born on the steps of the Manor House. What was important was now.

‘Sister,’ a girl’s voice said. The curtain was drawn aside.

Hazel got up and stepped out of the alcove. They were waiting for her in the chapel. Jenny’s white dress and blonde hair shone in the twilight. Three other women, faces she recognized but couldn’t name, wore different robes, light blue with white edging. Sisters of the Agapemone.

‘Alleiluya,’ they chimed.

Jenny hugged her, holding tight, pressing her soft cheek against Hazel’s face. Hazel felt Love pouring into her.

‘You’re honoured,’ Jenny explained. ‘Beloved has chosen you. Tonight there will be a Great Manifestation.’

‘Alleiluya,’ the women repeated.

‘It’ll be wonderful, I promise. You’ll be a Sister of the Agapemone.’

Hazel nodded, accepting the honour. It was the right, the only thing. For the first time, probably in her life, she knew what she must do, what she wanted to be.

‘Let me introduce everyone,’ Jenny continued. ‘Sister Cindy, Sister Janet, Sister Kate.’

The women smiled when named, and leaned forward to kiss her. Jenny smiled sunnily. She was the perfect angel. Hazel could imagine delicate wings, cornsilk-gold to match her hair, spreading under Jenny’s dress, straining to emerge.

‘Come with us,’ Jenny said. ‘First, you must be anointed.’ The Sisters grouped around her like an honour guard, and she was led beyond the altar into a vestry that looked like a Roman bathhouse, with marble benches, wooden cabinets and empty nooks for classical statues. There was a sunken pool, dry at the moment, four feet deep, with a shaped stone block at the bottom for sitting on. The windowless vestry was lit by fluorescent tubes.

‘Sister Hazel,’ Jenny said, ‘you’ve been baptized, confirmed. That was the first step.’

Hazel remembered Beloved’s touch on her forehead. She wondered if the sign of the cross was still there, glowing like a cattle brand.

‘Simple, wasn’t it?’

Hazel agreed.

‘Outsiders imagine terrible things, but the Agapemone is founded on simplicity.’

Jenny was trying to put Hazel at her ease. Her hair was loose, and she played with it while she talked.

‘The Great Manifestation will be your initiation, not only into the Agapemone, but into its Inner Circle. You’ll be one of Beloved’s Sister-Loves. That’s special. Not everyone gets so far so quickly.’

‘You’ve been bumped up a couple of grades,’ Cindy said. ‘Lucky girl.’

Hazel was just about following this. The procedure didn’t matter, it was the acceptance that was important. Once this ritual brouhaha was concluded, she would at last feel complete.

‘Before the Great Manifestation, you must be cleansed in body and spirit. Don’t worry. It’s symbolic. You don’t get scrubbed with lye or anything. Basically, you take a long bath and meditate, think things out.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Kate, roundly pregnant, said, ‘it’s quite pleasant.’

The women all agreed, nodding and humming.

‘I know it seems like dressing up and playing games, Hazel. Beloved believes in ceremony. Rituals channel natural forces’

Jenny’s voice was soothing, persuasive.

‘Sister Janet, get Sister Hazel a towel, would you.’ The slender blonde girl, tall and angular with a fringe over her eyes, opened a whitewood cabinet and brought out a full-size beach towel.

Jenny tugged Hazel’s T-shirt out of her jeans.

‘It’s all right,’ Hazel said. ‘I can manage.’

She took off her T-shirt and wriggled out of her jeans. Then she sat on one of the benches—sort of enjoying the chilly shock of marble—and pulled off her socks and underwear. Janet draped the towel around her.

Cindy—small, smiling and dark-haired—was turning a wheel set into the wall. Under the floor, something gurgled, and water gushed out of a fish-head tap, splashing the bottom of the pool.

‘It’s luxurious, actually,’ Cindy said. ‘Beloved believes in comforts of the flesh.’

‘Comfort of the flesh frees the spirit,’ said Kate. She scattered what smelled like bath salts into the water, raising a slight froth.

‘It’s natural,’ Jenny said. ‘Herbs from the garden, mostly.’

Janet was folding Hazel’s clothes, stowing them in one of the chests.

‘We’ll get you a proper dress later,’ she said. ‘What are you? Five three? Five four?’

Hazel didn’t know exactly how tall (rather, short) she was, but that sounded about right.

The water rose, giving off a wonderful scent. Cindy stuck her hand in to check the temperature.

‘Fine by me, but you have to sit in it. What do you think?’

The towel wrapped a little awkwardly around her. Hazel bent down and touched her fingers to the water. It was warm, but not hot. She nodded.

‘Okey-dokey,’ Cindy said, ‘that’ll do then. Jan, turn it off, would you, or we’ll have water all over the floor. Again.’

Janet wrestled the wheel back, and the fish dried up.

‘Right,’ said Kate, ‘let’s get you in.’

Janet took her towel. Hazel didn’t mind being naked with these almost strangers, although she was usually self-conscious about her body. The Sisters were family. Cindy and Kate took an arm each and guided her to the bath’s edge.

‘Careful,’ Kate said, ‘it’s deeper than it looks. Step on the seat.’

Hazel dipped her toe, then her foot, then her ankle, into the water. The fine hair on her shin prickled. The Sisters lifted her over the bath and lowered her like an invalid. The water rose, sucking a little, and warmth wrapped around her, lapping up over her body. Her bottom settled on the seat and she leaned back. The shaped stone was surprisingly comfortable. Water came up to her neck and rippled against her chin, the scents of herbs tickling her nostrils. It’d be easy to fall asleep.

‘You’re comely, Sister,’ Jenny said.

‘Yeah, dead comely,’ Cindy agreed.

Her hair was wet now, floating around her, drifting against her cheeks and shoulders. Jenny stroked it out of her eyes and mouth, smoothing it against her head.

‘It’ll come after the evening service,’ Jenny explained. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to skip dinner. You’re supposed to fast.’

That was all right by Hazel. She’d been meaning to eat less anyway.

‘Beloved will read a short lesson, and you’ll be brought to the altar. Be careful, by the way, the altar is an antique and easily damaged. Sister Kate nearly knocked it over during her initiation into the Inner Circle.’

‘That was hardly my fault, Jenny. The spirit was moving within me.’

The women laughed. ‘Just teasing, Sister,’ Jenny assured.

‘You won’t be familiar with the ritual, but, believe me, your part is easy.’

Hazel was warm all over.

‘You’ll know what to do,’ said Kate, easing her pregnancy with her hands as she knelt by the bath.

Janet had sat down, and was dangling bare feet into the water.

‘Just let the spirit come.’

‘We’re well rehearsed,’ Kate said. ‘We’ve all been through it.’

‘More than once, in some cases,’ Cindy said.

Hazel wondered if Jenny were blushing. The girl pulled her hair over her face, and continued.

‘Beloved is the Lord God made flesh. The Great Manifestation will give you proof. Until then, you’ll have to get by on faith.’

Hazel nodded, water slopping into her mouth. She understood this was important, but didn’t feel it vital she understood everything straight away. If she’d been waiting all her life, a few more hours didn’t matter.

Kate cupped a little water in her hand and sprinkled it on her bulging dress, wetting down her stomach.

‘For luck,’ she explained. ‘The baby will be blessed.’

‘We share Love,’ Janet said.

‘We all share Love,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Tonight will be yours, Hazel. It’ll be special, but we all have a part.’

‘Alleiluya,’ they chorused.

The four faces bobbed over the water, beaming benevolence.

‘We’ll be with you from now until the Great Manifestation. We’ll look after you. Think of us as bridesmaids’

O
nce Paul decided to phone the Agapemone to see if Hazel was all right, it took twenty minutes to find the leaflet Wendy and Derek had left. It turned up in the showroom, weighted down by one of Mike Bleach’s ashtrays. A prospectus for stallholders at the festival, it listed three local telephone numbers.

He sat at his desk with the remote phone, and tried to control his breathing. He didn’t like tricky conversations on the telephone, and avoided them whenever he could. The first number he dialled was engaged. The second rang twice and fed him through to a series of bizarre, birdlike squawks. He’d called a fax number by mistake. He dialled the third number. It rang. And rang. He began counting rings. After about twenty or twenty-five rings, the receiver was picked up.

‘Festival office,’ a secretarial voice chirruped, ‘Angela speaking. How may I help you?’

‘I’d like to speak with Hazel Chapelet, please.’

There was a pause, and Paul heard the girl clicking her tongue to herself, presumably as she ran her eyes down a list.

‘I’m sorry, I have no one of that name down here. Is she staff, or with one of the bands?’

‘No, she’s a visitor.’

Angela tried not to laugh. Paul imagined her looking out the window, seeing fields full of visitors.

‘Not to the festival,’ he explained, ‘to the Agapemone.’

‘This is the
festival
office. We don’t have anything to do with the Agapemone, really. Your best bet is to call the Manor House.’

‘Do you have the number?’

‘I’m not really supposed to give it out.’

‘It’ll be in the phone book, won’t it?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Fine. Angela, could you be a love and save me some time by giving it to me? Please.’

He smiled at the phone, trying to exude charm down the line. Angela had a nice voice, slightly low with a West Country burr. He imagined a pretty face and sparkling eyes, and concentrated on impressing her.

‘Oh, all right,’ she said, and gave him a number. There was no pen within reach, so he scratched it in a soft notepad with the handle of a teaspoon.

‘Thank you, Angela,’ he said.

‘Have a nice festival,’ she replied, and hung up.

He waited a full minute, trying to calm himself. He was ridiculously on edge. The war machine had rattled his entire life. He imagined a cooling breeze, but was disappointed by reality. It was another hot, oppressive afternoon. There was a crack in the side of the house and white dust had fallen from it. Probably subsidence. Slowly, he dialled the Agapemone number. A man answered almost immediately.

‘Ben,’ the voice rasped, as if through a scrambler.

‘Ben, hi,’ Paul said, ‘could I speak with Hazel?’

‘Huh?’

‘Hazel Chapelet. She’s with you at the moment. Tell her it’s Paul.’

‘Huh?’

Something about Ben’s voice spooked Paul. He imagined it went with glowing eyes like Allison Conway’s. Come to think of it, her number-one boyfriend—Harley-Davidson’s answer to the Phantom of the Opera—had been a Ben.

‘Who is this?’

‘Ben,’ he repeated.

Ben had trouble breathing, and was wheezing into the telephone like an obscene caller. Paul got the impression he was talking with an idiot. He needed someone he’d talked to before, someone who’d know who Hazel was.

‘Could you get Wendy?’

Ben laughed, sending crackles through the telephone.

‘That’s what I’m here for.’

The receiver at the other end was put down with a clump.

‘Ben?’

Paul heard footsteps. Ben had left the phone off the hook, and was walking away. He heard tiny telephone noises, and the line was cut off. He dialled again, but the number was engaged. Paul felt he’d just been shat on. Again.

T
erry was starting to enjoy himself too much, which was dangerous. He wasn’t
Mastermind
material at the best of times, and when he enjoyed himself his brain power dropped below that of the average lump of pond scum. He had no vision, no foresight, no eyesight. Allison would have to keep him in line with some pain. That, he could understand.

They’d been in the crowds, sussing things out. Allison’s vision was improving. She recognized the people she wanted. They had an aura, a cloudy jacket around their entire bodies, especially thick over the eyes. It was like a personal atmosphere, held in place by a baggily invisible diving suit. There were potential recruits for Badmouth Ben’s army. She’d struck up conversations with a few, sounding them out, puzzling them, planting seeds. Apart from the aura, they were no different from anyone else. That was good. That would help.

By the Agapemone, Allison and Terry ran into a couple of the kids from London, Mike Toad and Pam. They shared cigarettes and listened to some of Mike’s jokes.

‘How does a Somerset farmboy know when his sister’s having her period?’

Allison didn’t know, but had an idea she was about to find out.