It’s a good question and I’m not able to give him an answer.
Instead, I say: ‘Can I see him?
He stares at me for a moment. And then he nods. He leads me down the hall, to a door which is half open. The institutional smell is worse here.
‘A few years ago, I moved him downstairs, converted the front room into a bedroom for him.’
Aaron pushes open the door and we step inside.
The room is large. Bookcases line one wall. A large cross hangs on another wall. In the centre of the room, Reverend Marsh lies in a hospital bed. I can hear the faint wheeze of the pressure mattress as it undulates to prevent bed sores. I can smell the sour urine from the catheter, the faint odour of the commode. Smells I’m familiar with from visits to nursing homes and hospitals.
Marsh is a pale, thin shadow of himself. The shock of dark hair has bleached to white and is as fine as candyfloss. Veins protrude starkly beneath his skin. His eyes are closed and the paper-thin lids tremble gently as he sleeps.
‘They keep him dosed up on drugs,’ Aaron says quietly. ‘He sleeps a lot now. It’s about the only time I feel he’s at peace.’
‘Is he in pain?’
‘Not so much. It’s more frustration, fear. He’s still aware enough to understand that his body is failing around him, becoming a prison of flesh and blood. He’s trapped within himself. Helpless.’
A phone rings from another room. Aaron makes a small bow. ‘Excuse me. That will probably be the hospital.’
I nod, and then I walk towards the bed. I stand, staring down at Marsh. I think again how unprepared we are for illness and old age. How we trundle towards it unthinkingly, like lemmings towards the edge of a cliff. The tiny humans we coo over at the start of their lives, we shudder to look upon at the end.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I wish things could have turned out differently.’
He opens his eyes. I jump. They meet mine and widen. One hand lifts from the sheet, crooked fingers pointing.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m –’
A gurgling groan emits from his throat. He’s trying to speak, but it sounds more like he’s choking.
‘Meh … Meeehhh.’
I back away, legs shaky. The door bursts open and Aaron rushes back in.
‘What happened?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘He woke up and started crying out.’
‘He doesn’t see many new faces. It’s probably just shock.’
He goes to his father’s side and gently takes his arm. ‘It’s all right, Dad. It’s all right. This is Reverend Brooks. The new vicar.’
Marsh tries to pull his arm away. ‘Meh, meh.’
‘I should probably wait outside,’ I say, and hurry out of the door. I stand in the hallway, gathering myself, still feeling a little shaken. That look in his eyes. The choking cry. A few minutes later, Aaron steps out to join me, closing the door behind him.
‘He’s calmer again now.’
‘Good. I’m sorry for upsetting him.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He clears his throat. ‘I appreciate your visit, and your support.’
We smile at each other uneasily.
‘I’d better get going,’ I say.
Aaron walks me down the hall. I’m eager to escape this house now. The smell, the misery, the memories. But at the door, Aaron hesitates.
‘Reverend Brooks?’
I look at him inquiringly.
‘I can think of only one reason why my father would hide a body, and that’s if he was protecting someone else.’
‘Who?’
His eyes meet mine. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’
FORTY-SIX
What tangled webs we weave. Except we don’t, not really. We’re more like unfortunate flies than spiders, never seeing the sticky trap we’ve wandered into until it’s too late.
I pull up outside the chapel and walk up the uneven path to the cottage. At the door, I pause. My neck prickles. That odd sensation you get when you feel like you’re being watched. I turn and scan the road and surrounding fields. No cars. No people. The distant sound of farm machinery. Nothing else.
Maybe I’m just twitchy, on edge. My brain is still processing all the new information that’s been thrown at it. Changing presumptions I’ve made about people. Although not Simon Harper. He’s still a dick. I also have a strange feeling that I’m on the verge of answers, but unsure whether I really want to know what they are.
I frown, look around one final time, and then I push open the door.
‘Hello?’
No reply. I poke my head into the living room. Flo is sprawled on the sofa, legs hanging over one arm, staring at her phone. She looks up. ‘Hi.’
‘Miss me?’
‘Not really.’
‘Charming.’
She swings her legs around and sits up. ‘Mum, I’m sorry about last night.’
‘Me too.’
I perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘Look, I don’t want to be one of those interfering mums who treats you like a child.’
‘You’re not. Most of the time. Well, sometimes you are. A bit.’
I smile. ‘I’m a mum. And I’m old. Believe it or not, I was a teenager once and I did a lot of stupid things.’
‘Like what?’
‘I’m not giving you tips.’
She grins.
‘But, as a mum,’ I continue, ‘my job is to try and keep you safe.’
‘I am safe. I know you want to look out for me, but you have to trust my judgement, too.’
‘It’s just, sometimes, you make friends and they get you into trouble.’
A raised eyebrow. ‘Wrigley didn’t get me into trouble. I got myself into trouble and he helped me out.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I am. Please, Mum. I don’t want us to keep arguing about this.’
Neither do I. But I can’t tell her why the thought of her and boys fills me with dread. How there are predatory males everywhere. How it doesn’t matter if you are clever, eloquent, kind, talented – a man can still use his physical strength to take all of that from you, degrade you, abuse you and turn you into a victim.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll try to make an effort with Wrigley, okay?’
‘Good.’ She sits up. ‘Because he’s asked me to go to the youth club with him tonight.’
And there it is.
‘A youth club?’
‘Yes.’
‘With Wrigley?’
‘Yes.’
‘When did he ask you?’
‘He called round earlier.’
‘He did what?’
‘He came to bring me a phone to replace mine. That’s kind.’
But he also came around here when I was out. I try to rein in my annoyance.
‘Where is this youth club?’
‘Henfield.’
‘How are you planning to get there?’
‘Bus.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Mum? Please?’
I don’t want her to go. But neither do I want to give her something else to kick back against.