The Bells of Scotland Road (35 page)

The weather looked fair, so Richard suggested a walk to help digest the feast. Everyone followed him through French windows and into the rear garden. Spring bulbs were past their best, but there
was a promise of summer in the fine evening.

They walked to the front of the house and across the lawn, then Maureen sat with her mother on a bench facing the fountain. Noel pranced about for a while before settling at Maureen’s
feet. He had appointed himself guardian to this quiet girl. Also, the dog seemed to have acquired a modicum of decorum during recent days. Perhaps he recognized that he was leading the good life at
last.

Maureen fixed her gaze on the flowing water, found it soothing. Richard and Edith lingered among rose beds while Bridie carried on towards the little orchard. The apple trees were burgeoning,
blossom swelling the buds and threatening to erupt at any moment. Cherry trees, too, were ready to bloom, as were the plums and pears.

‘We’re alone,’ said Anthony. ‘Look at the cherry trees – hundreds of them. I suppose they gave the house its name.’

She jumped. ‘You shouldn’t creep up behind me like that.’ She looked over his shoulder, noticed that the rest of the party had failed to follow her. ‘I’d better get
back,’ she said. ‘In case the girls wake.’

‘Mrs Cornwell will watch and listen,’ he told her.

Bridie sighed. He was still in a state. A frown had crept across his forehead, seemed to be trying to knit its way into both eyebrows. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said
softly. ‘Stop worrying about what can’t be changed.’

‘You read minds, too?’

‘No. But I understand what’s bothering you.’

He plucked at an overhanging branch, rained a few leaves onto the ground.

Bridie turned and began to walk back towards the house. She had to get away from him, had to keep her distance. As she moved, she began to realize that she was trying to escape not just from
him, but also from herself. If they could only stay apart, things might settle down. Separately, she and Anthony would carry on as normal. He would teach, she would rear the children and run his
father’s house. But together, they might destroy everything. It was as if some chemical reaction took place whenever they met. Sometimes, substances that were benign on their own became
explosive when mixed. Where had she read that? In one of Sam’s many secondhand books?

‘Bridie?’

Something akin to temper rose in her throat, and she turned on him. ‘We are not children.’ But there was no chance of remaining angry, not with him. He was so sad, so frightened. She
wanted to smooth his brow and tell him that everything would turn out fine. But he was not her child. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m tired.’

‘Tired enough to fall off a horse?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She did not trust her eyes, her ears, herself. Diddy was near. She would turn and run to Diddy and Edith. Women were the strong ones in situations such as these.
Women were the strong ones, anyway, because they had to be. Men followed their instincts, lost reason where love was concerned. They didn’t have to bear the grief or the babies.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said.

‘I know that.’

‘How?’

She knew because she loved him. ‘I just do.’

He lowered his chin and thought for a moment. ‘Be safe,’ he said. ‘Watch for him, stay away from him.’

Bridie made no reply. Her throat was dry, probably because of the nervousness he engendered. She wished with all her being that she could offer him some comfort, but any gesture of sympathy
could be misconstrued. She feared touching him.

‘Bridie?’

‘Yes?’

‘I am deadly serious. Keep away from him.’ Liam didn’t need evidence to attain his proof. One careless word, and he might home in on Bridie. ‘And don’t talk to my
father about the rift. If you speak up for me, and if Dad then speaks to Liam, my dear brother will assume that you are on my side. With him, being on my side is as good as being at my side. Do you
understand?’

She nodded.

‘He knows things. He’s uncanny, almost weird. It’s as if he has a sixth sense, but no common sense and no decency.’

Bridie heard his misery, wished for a miracle. ‘You must not concern yourself about me. I’m a grown woman.’

‘And he’s a big, strong man.’

‘How could you possibly be twins? Apart from colouring and build, you are like chalk and cheese.’

He tried to smile. ‘I am the chalk, I suppose, because I use enough of it in my job. Somehow, I don’t see my brother as half a pound of Cheddar.’

They walked back together, each painfully aware of the other’s proximity. Bridie saw Maureen sitting peaceably with Diddy, hailed Richard and Edith as they plotted over which roses to
prune before summer began.

Anthony Bell said his goodbyes and went home. He lit the lamps, turned on his wireless and opened a bottle of beer. The news would be on the Home Service soon, and Bridie loved him. Because of
that love, he must stay away from her. But he found no solace in his radio, was aware only of that special loneliness which comes to those forced to live without company. ‘If he touches her,
I’ll kill him,’ he informed the fireplace.

Outside, birds practised evensong, and a skittish breeze ruffled leaves. While Anthony ached for Bridie, the world simply carried on turning.

A tall, dark man strolled through the village of Astleigh Fold. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt, black tie and black shoes. He was on his way to visit his second cousin,
Edith Spencer, but first, he intended to call in on his brother.

Liam stopped for a while and studied the village stocks, crude boards with holes positioned to trap the hands of miscreants while the rest of the village hurled abuse and rotted vegetable
matter. The stocks had been a good idea, he thought. Anthony should go into the stocks, for the simple reason that Anthony was trying to betray his brother.

The collar and tie felt strange, because he had grown so used to the life and garb of a priest. But there was nothing in the rules that forbade a day off, so he was having a change. People
stared less at a man in everyday clothes.

He walked on towards the cottage where his brother stayed. Anthony had been to visit Father Brennan, it seemed. Liam was annoyed. It was plain that his twin had said something to Michael
Brennan, because the latter had begun to act quite oddly. He was questioning Liam at every opportunity, had taken him to task about helping in the Welcome Home, was always probing for information
about Liam’s movements. Once, Liam had caught sight of his parish priest lurking in a doorway. Fortunately, Brennan was a very visible man, so Liam was now on his guard. What had Anthony
said? Wasn’t all that business over with?

One thing was certain, thought Liam. The weapon used on Maureen Costigan had not been found. God had protected His true servant by making sure that the stole would never be discovered. Had
anything turned up, the police would have spoken by now. So. There was no further need for concern in that direction. This near knowledge had provided Liam with a degree of confidence, enough to
allow him to sally forth and see his brother.

He arrived in the lane, stopped at the garden gate, looked through the window and saw Anthony sitting reading a newspaper. Liam stood still for a few seconds. As ever, he felt a degree of
confusion when he looked at Anthony. Liam loved his brother and hated him. Sometimes, the strong feelings bubbled over and pushed Liam to act on his brother’s behalf. But he protected
Anthony, made sure that Anthony’s path was swept free of sin and temptation.

He steadied himself on the gatepost, blinked, tried to remember. There was the first girl, then a hanging. Then a second girl had come along . . . ah, yes. Today, he would see Maureen Costigan.
She did not know him, would never recognize him. A man who did God’s bidding was safe from creatures like Maureen Costigan. With his shoulders squared against the vagaries of life, Liam Bell
walked up the path and knocked.

The door opened. ‘Bugger off,’ said Anthony.

Liam pushed his way in. ‘You invaded my territory,’ he snapped. ‘This is the return visit.’ He walked into the living room. ‘Cosy,’ he remarked, a sneer on
his lips.

Anthony crushed the newspaper and gripped it hard as if holding on to his temper, then he cast it to the floor. ‘I don’t want you here,’ he said slowly and clearly. ‘So
get out.’

Liam sat down. ‘I think you should see a doctor.’ His tone was mild. ‘There’s something wrong with your brain. What have you been saying to my parish priest?’

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, closed it quickly. He must tread carefully, must avoid giving Liam a reason to turn on poor Michael Brennan. ‘You should never have gone back to Scotland
Road,’ he said. ‘You ought to have taken a post elsewhere.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why, Liam.’

The priest folded his arms. ‘Tell me, Anthony.’

Anthony leaned against the doorpost, was glad of its solid support. ‘Because of Valerie,’ he said softly. ‘And because of Maureen.’

‘Who?’

‘Maureen Costigan. The girl you molested.’

Liam’s lip curled. ‘Rubbish,’ he spat. ‘There is nothing to connect me with the attack on Maureen Costigan. As for the woman you intended to marry – the murderer
was hanged.’

It was no use. Anthony stood in the doorway and realized anew that he was in the company of a very ill man. Liam was probably aware of most things he had done, yet a part of his mind rejected
his misdeeds. Liam was the one who needed a doctor – and a padded cell, no doubt. ‘Don’t you remember killing Valerie? What about the girls in Lime Street and Bold Street –
those who were merely mauled about?’

Liam shuddered, tried to hide the involuntary action. He was not here for an inquisition; he was here to do the asking. ‘Have you spoken to Father Brennan about these insane
theories?’

‘No.’ Sometimes, a lie was the lesser sin.

‘Are you sure?’.

‘I’m sure.’

Liam leaned back. Perhaps he was mistaken, then. Anthony invariably told the truth. ‘He is acting strangely,’ he said.

‘He’s keeping strange company.’

The priest let out an exaggerated sigh of impatience. ‘Anthony, I am an ordained man.’

‘Some of the Borgias were men of the cloth,’ replied Anthony.

Liam nodded. ‘Why do you hate me?’

‘Oh, come on, for goodness sake. Why did you try to drown me? Why did you break my arm and knock out a few of my teeth?’

The man in the chair glowered. ‘Children do those things.’ A picture came into his mind. Anthony was falling, falling very slowly into the Mersey. Grey waters parted to receive his
flailing body. As he relived the half-forgotten moment, panic entered Liam’s throat, caused him to gasp. Anthony had to live. Anthony must not drown. Who had pushed Anthony into this murky
river?

‘Not your most pleasant memory?’ asked Anthony.

A man jumped in, his body displacing dark, scum-crested ripples. Another man threw a lifebelt. The dripping body of Anthony Bell was lifted out. Men worked on the child, pumped the filthy water
out of him. He was alive. ‘I was so glad you didn’t drown,’ Liam said now.

Anthony bent down and picked up his wrecked newspaper. He didn’t know what to do or say. It was as if Liam had a split personality, two sides that seldom came together, an almost distinct
pair of individuals, each of whom carried no crosses for the other. Liam’s dominant self was cold, unfeeling – rather like Dad’s. But beneath the calm exterior dwelt a fiend over
which there could never be control. Where had such a creature been born? ‘Liam, you really don’t know what you’re doing when you hurt people. Am I right?’

The frigid eyes fixed themselves on the man in the doorway. ‘No, you are not right,’ he replied.

‘But you have raped women. You have killed. I know.’ He hammered his ribs with a closed fist. ‘For God’s sake, don’t you need to get all that off your chest?
Don’t you want to confess and be done with it?’

Liam’s eyes seemed to cloud over, so he blinked to clear his vision. He had done nothing wrong. He had simply tidied his brother’s way through life. He and Anthony were joined, bound
together for the rest of their days. ‘I pray for guidance every day,’ he said. ‘And God is with me in all I do.’

Anthony stepped into the room. ‘Do you hear the voice of God?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Are you sure it’s His voice, Liam? Remember the story of Jesus’s temptation – Satan had the temerity to try to fool the Son of God. After having a go at Jesus, the devil
might find you to be very easy meat.’

‘No.’ Anthony was doing his best to play tricks. ‘I am a priest,’ said Liam quietly. ‘Because that is my calling. As a priest, I do God’s bidding and no-one
else’s.’

‘And do you also obey your parish priest?’

Liam laughed mirthlessly. ‘The man’s a fool. A good enough fool, I daresay, but not equipped for the post he holds. I expect he will be put out to pasture soon. Of course, I may well
be offered his position, because I know the area so well.’

‘Including the various church playgrounds and sports fields.’

Liam inhaled deeply and leaned back in the chair. ‘Anthony, you are mistaken about me. If you need proof, I am going now to visit Edith. Maureen Costigan is there, I believe?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘And she will not recognize me.’

Anthony leaned over his brother’s chair. ‘No, she won’t,’ he said. ‘Because you attacked her from behind.’

Liam kept his hands firmly in his lap. He would not strike his twin. The room spun slightly, as if the earth had suddenly quickened on its axis. But Liam intended to remain calm. There was no
point in hitting out at Anthony, not now. Anthony was the loser, because he was a mere teacher. Whereas Liam, the superior twin, had graduated with honours from the toughest seminary in England.
‘I shall go now,’ he said. ‘To visit Edith.’

Anthony stood aside and allowed his brother to pass. The front door slammed shut and Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. But Bridie was up there. Bridie was at Cherry Hinton with her little
girls. No, he told himself firmly. Liam would not do any harm in daylight. But Liam disliked Bridie already. She should be warned, must be forced to listen.