My mind circles back to Lisa telling me that the Devil needed to be driven out of her daughter. It’s such a strange, archaic thing to say, yet almost entirely in keeping with this strange town with its hagstones and offerings and “Devices” in boxes. I wonder what Sam will make of it when I tell him. I lift my head at the sound of approaching footsteps, smiling over the rim of my cupwhen I see Stevie running toward me. She is wearing a Ninja Turtles T-shirt and baggy corduroy shorts, her tongue pink from the ice lolly slowly melting in her hand. She stops right in front of me and very gently threads her hand into mine. Her fingers are cold and sticky.
“Mary’s dead,” she tells me. “Mummy’s been cryingallmorning.”
Fern is wearing oversized sunglasses and a pinched expression, her usual sunny demeanor noticeably dimmed. She carries a small posy of wildflowers in her hand.
“I’ve been dreading this day.” She sniffs loudly, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. “I don’t know what Bert’ll do without Mary. She was his whole world.”
“How did you hear about it?” I tip the remainder of my coffee out into the hedge. It’s gone cold anyway.
“The same way all news spreads in Banathel. Yesterday afternoon I bumped into Karen Archer who had spoken to Matthew Tregurra who had been working at the hospital when Vicky Matherson had died. Then last night I had a call a little after ten-thirty to tell me about Mary. It was just rumor at that point, of course. Someone had seen the undertakers arrive. They’re Glenn Richards’s boys, by the way. Twins, but not identical. It’s a family business. They deal with all the deaths ’round here. It must take a hell of a toll on them.”
“Why?”
“Because we all know each other, Mina. Those boys went to church with Simon Pascoe and now they’re dressing him for his burial. It’s a hell of a thing.”
Fern slowly lowers her sunglasses. Her eyes are red rimmed and swollen from crying.
“Everyone talks around here, Mina. Simon wasn’t an angel,we all knew that. We all knew he’d wind up in trouble one day, probably find himself in jail or something. I don’t think anyone expected him to—” She glances down at Stevie who is looking up at her mother with big, round eyes, ice lolly dripping down her arm. “Hey, kiddo, why don’t you give Bert these flowers? I think he’d like a hug from you. Go on and knock, I’ll be there in a moment.”
She waits for Stevie to run up the path to Bert’s front door before pushing her glasses back up her nose and straightening up. She sighs.
“People have been talking about what happened to Simon the same way they’ve been talking about Vicky. Pretty soon they’ll all be saying the same thing about Mary. Some of them have already started.”
“And what is it they’re saying?”
“Youknowwhat. About Alice. That she hasn’t been right since she broke that witch bottle. You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”
Her voice lowers.
“You’d do well to get away from here, Mina. You and Sam both.”
“Is that a threat?”
Fern looks down at the ground for a few breaths, staring at the writing beneath her feet.Good Riddance!
“I know you had good intentions in coming here. Maybe you thought it would almost be fun—a little trip away, some spooky goings-on—’cos everyone loves a ghost story, don’t they? Everyone loves to look into the darkness.”
I think of the car wreckage Oscar and I drove past, the way I twisted in my seat to see it, even though it frightened me. I think of the basement with the Devices in the box hidden away at theback of the room.Yes,I think,everyone loves to look into the darkness.
“Thing is, this story, it’s grown teeth, hasn’t it? It’s mutated. It’s not cozy anymore, it’s not a story about redemption or ghosts. You can’t wrap it up neatly and give Alice a diagnosis and pills to fix what’s broken. It’s a mess and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I know this town, I know these people. There has to be a penance.”
“God, you sound like Lisa.”
Fern nods, smiling. “She’s another one. A Riddance girl. She knows what’s coming. Look, I’d better go or Stevie will be trying to get poor Bert dancing or something. I haven’t had any sleep and I’m sad as all hell so maybe I’m not making sense. I just want you to be careful, Mina. Things’ll settle here one way or another but you might end up doing more harm than good.”
Just for a moment her hand moves over to her arm and runs her fingers over the fine lines of scars there, stroking them distractedly. She sighs again before turning away and walking toward Bert’s house with her head down. Chalk rises in rainbow-hued dust about her feet.
THIRTY-THREE
Shortly before curfew begins, I leave the house to call Oscar. Inside, the phone box is stifling with the reek of warmed metal and urine. I’m forced to stand with the door propped open so that the air can circulate. It is almost unbearably hot. I feed the coins into the slot and the phone rings in my ear—I’m trying the laboratory again because given the choice Oscar would always opt to be there—and it is picked up on the fourth ring.
“Baldhu, eight-nine-four.”
It’s him. I swallow, suddenly unable to speak.
“Hello?” He’s impatient.I don’t have time for prank calls, I have to study the known universe.
“Oscar? It’s me. It’s Mina.”