Chapter 1. Services.
The view from the slow lane of the motorway is quite pleasant as long as you restrict your view to the passenger side window and block out the snarling, snapping survival of the fittest in the fast lane. This camper van is fairly restricted at speed, the needle can push sixty but even then it doesn’t feel like you are traveling very fast. It’s all to do with angles, and the length of degrees of the different points of view. From the higher up seating afforded by a van, and with a 360-degree view through the many windows the world appears not so much to fly by but gently spin around you.
Adam sees the next blue square pop up on the hard shoulder. He has decided not to use his computer navigation for this bit of the journey as he only has the one power outlet, the old cigarette lighter and this is currently providing him with music. He’d rather get lost than drive without music. But he knows that this is his sign and he is nearly at the turning. SERVICES 2M with a picture of a knife and fork and a fuel pump and then DARROW 16M. He smiles. Nearly there. The next phase of the adventure. The adventure into the unknown. He glances out to his left to see the view slip away underneath him as the road suddenly hits an incline and in the distance a large a four-lane bridge straddles a wide part of the river. The van is starting to show the strain and he can see up ahead that this is quite some hill. Whoever designed and built the road has attempted to carve their way through the gradient with as little rise and fall as possible but now the geography gives way to a large Down and although it’s a slow incline, it’s a steep one.
Adam watches the needle begin to dip on the speedometer. And begins to rock backwards and forwards as if to will the van up the hill. In the back of the van are all his worldly possessions, but he lives quite frugally so this doesn’t amount to much. On the back of the orange camper van is strapped to his bike but the overall weight isn’t much. Adam, prone to bouts of anxiety and un-constituted panic, begins to scratch his head, a nervous tic he has developed. Now in his early thirties he only has a marginal fluff on his scalp, the men in his family seem to lose their hair at an early age and Adam’s had it cut off some time ago although he is handsome with it. The needle dips down a bit more and Adam can hear the engine straining at this last hurdle on a long journey.
Further up the hill now, he glances over to his left again to take in the vista hoping it will re-install some of his former good feeling. Glancing back from where he has come from to see the River disappearing off towards the City and in between smaller towns and vast countryside. The past is back there.
Oh fuck, this isn’t right.
The van is slowing to a crawl now, halfway up the long hill. Adam with his foot pumping the accelerator isn’t making any difference and cars are swerving out from around him sounding their horns and flashing their hazard lights, which instigates Adam to do the same. He gives up and pulls the camper van over into the hard shoulder and turns the engine off.
Two hours later, Adam is sitting in the services nursing his second cup of mint tea. After a panicky call to roadside assistance he had been assured his case would be a priority as he was on the hard shoulder of a busy motorway and rush hour was approaching. He then, on the advice of the young man on the other end of the phone, traversed the large embankment at the side of the motorway to get as far away from the traffic as possible. It was windy and cold up there so he had to scuttle back down again to get his jacket and then make his way back up to the summit where he stood, smoking cigarettes and taking in the view until the warming sight of an orange and red tow truck with flashing lights hovered into view.
The friendly mechanic had towed him out to the services where he could safely look at the van and Adam had retreated inside to warm up with a battered old PD James book he had found under the passenger seat.
The large central lobby of the roadside service was crammed with tables and teeming with people stopping for food, drink and goods from the commercial outlets that surrounded them. Piles of stacked plastic trays lived on overstuffed flip-topped bins. The floor, perpetually cleaned by a young man with a triangular yellow warning sign, sang a tap dancing symphony to the hurried rush of travel. The high windowed ceiling echoed its melodies.
Exiled to this strange country for a few hours, Adam now felt like the original resident of a place that had gone through several new generations of populace. Nobody stayed for very long and he was reminded of the fact that every single cell in the human body is replaced in seven-year cycles. Complete renewal. His thoughts drifted back to the happiness he had felt seven years ago at the start of a new job, another great adventure.
A young woman slipped into the plastic seat opposite him with only a glance meeting of eyes and no words. The ritual observed that her position was just on the boundary of Adams personal space and with a brief smile he gave her permission to be there. The illusion of space in the building was flattened by this interaction, which in some way spoke that we were all crammed in this together.
Aware that it is also rude for one's gaze to linger, Adam took only the briefest impression of the girl. She was pretty with sharp features, dyed auburn hair and a small sparkly nose stud. Her eyes were defined by dark mascara underneath. There was a small blut sound and she produced a smartphone, seemingly from nowhere and began tapping the screen fervently.
This small interaction had brought to Adam’s attention that he had read the same paragraph in his book at least five times and not taken anything in. He realized he was bored, waiting, detained in this postmodern node. He had been dreaming out and gazing off for some time and was uncomfortable doing the same thing in this young woman’s presence.
blut
The noise made Adam chuckle, but a little too loud and the girl looked up at him. Fortunately there was a gentle friendliness in her eyes.
“I’m sorry” he said “that’s just a great sound”.
“I know, I keep meaning to change it” she replied in a soft monotone. Her fingers and thumbs caressed the screen at such a pace that Adam couldn’t believe she was writing a text, more like she was playing a game. She set the phone down and looked up at Adam rolling her eyes up.
“It’s getting a bit much now, that’s got to be the hundredth message he’s sent me today.”
Adam wanted to have a conversation but he was clearly a good ten years older than the Mascara girl and he didn’t want to appear an idiot. Things had changed so much since he was twenty he was unsure how to go about replying. But, he reasoned, it was part of his job to reach out to people even if he didn’t really understand the context of what he was saying. He also didn’t want to appear like a creep, but he furrowed his brow and said it anyway.
“That your boyfriend?” Ironically, the phrase sounded childish coming out of his mouth but the young woman didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, you could say that.” She extended the first word. “I don’t know, it's just… all talk, no action.”
The familiarity of the phrase made Adam smile and relax. He obviously hadn’t fucked up too badly, and if he had she didn’t seem to mind.
“Well, he must care about you fairly strongly if he’s messaging you that much.” Her eyes were back with her phone again and desperate to keep her attention he said the first thing to come out of his mouth “I only get about two text messages a week”.
Oh God. Sad.
He was saved by a blut
“What kinda phone you got?” She asked whilst simultaneously texting.
“It’s an iPhone too, I don’t use it that much” This was common ground.
“Which one, let's see?” Looking up, she moved slightly towards him and he allowed himself to linger a little longer on her face. She was more than pretty with dark brown eyes like the swirling hot chocolate in the adverts, she smelled nice too and Adam realized that this was his first interaction with an attractive woman for some time. But I’m not interested. She’s too young. I’m too…
He realized she was waiting for him to produce his phone.
“Oh I don’t have it, it’s in my van out there” he gestured towards the car park.
She suddenly hunched, eyes widening “God, don’t leave it in the car! Not in these places! They hang around there just looking for stuff to nick while people go for a piss. Sat Navs, phones, laptops, anything!”
“They?” said Adam momentarily wondering who they were. “No, it’s OK. I wouldn’t usually but there’s a guy out there fixing the van anyway, I’m sure it’s safe.”
She gave him a great look that said “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust anyone- Idiot ''. Not for the first time Adam pondered that the smartphone had become for a certain generation not just a communication device, or computer but a form of identification and profiling. It was a library of music and photos all attuned to the specific personality traits of an individual. Losing these things was truly losing one's self. He smiled, glad he didn’t have his phone with him as Mascara girl would probably be finding that he only had two Bob Dylan albums in his digital music collection. “Nah- it’ll be alright.” He said and realized that it would.
*
Dave, the friendly van repairer, had become increasingly less friendly as the job lingered. First it became obvious that the van was fucked and not going to be repaired in this car park, and then he realized that part of the conditions of service was that he would have to tow the camper van to its destination. This would be fine if Adam could tell him where the destination was. That information was on his phone, which due to the nature of its age, had run out of battery. This was not Dave’s neck of the woods and the countrywide rescue service that employed him had sent him some distance from his usual patch to cover for the day.
“It’s called Oxboat, it’s a little village about ten miles out of Darrow, that’s all I know.” Fortunately Dave magicked up the village on his computer and they were off.
Sometime later, when it had got dark, they were standing at the bottom of a muddy track.
“All I’m saying, Mate,” said Dave in a way that implied he was not Adam's mate “Is that I don’t want to take the truck up there if you don’t know what’s at the end of it. I might never get out and the Nav says it’s a dead end.” He gave Adam a sympathetic look. “I can leave you here but you’ll be blocking the lane. Is there someone else in the village you can go to?”
It was raining, even harder and harder.
“No. I don’t know anyone, yet.” Replied Adam, shielding his head with his hand and then had an idea “Look, we passed a pub on the way in, by the river? That must have a car park. Take me down there and I will put myself at the mercy of the locals, I think I can talk them around.” Then perhaps feeling that his plan relied a little too much on faith in human nature for Dave added more cynically “If you just leave the van in their car park they can’t do much about it anyway, can they?”
“Your call, mate.” Said Dave flatly, getting back in the cab.
They hauled the sad looking broken van back down the hill and pulled into the pub car park. Dave, eager to end his shift, was out of the door like a flash and lowering the van from the back of the flat bed truck. Adam, tired and stressed and worlds away from his earlier positive outlook summoned his courage, wished to God that Dave had turned the bloody flashing lights off when they had pulled in announcing their presence by turning the local drinking hole into a sudden temporary disco, and got out of the car disappearing into the pub.
A few minutes later he emerged again with a smile on his face, “It’s fine” he said and then to himself “It’s fine.”
“Okey Doke” said Dave, suddenly brightened “just a bit of paperwork” and a few moments later he was gone, the flashing lights of the truck picking out the rain drops as it pulled away leaving Adam crouching in the doorway of his van.
Adam climbed into his home. The back was filled with boxes and cases but he managed to make his way through in the dark pulling closed the curtains as he went. He found one of the large sponge seats from the seating area and constructed a makeshift rest on some of the boxes and he tried to lie down on it. It wasn’t comfortable but he sat in the dark for a while breathing steadily and massaging his temples. All part of God's plan. He rejected the thought and realized he was wallowing.
He decided that being proactive was the best cure. Ok, he was not where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be but he had shelter and he had a pub next door with toilets, food and best of all booze. He opened a small wooden drawer and fumbled around for a pencil torch, which he turned on and then stuck in his gob. He then started to tidy and stack his belongings so he at least had a living space and could get to the cupboard with the extra battery. With this turned on the van lit up from the inside and the decorative fairy lights that had been strung up around the van's circumference cheered his mood even more. When the van looked habitable he sat for a minute, smoked a cigarette and listened to the rain, deciding that it was time to go and meet his parishioners. He unzipped his main suitcase and pulled out his black shirt and dog collar, gathered his fags and wallet and made his way out of the van and into the Floating Goat Inn.
*
“Is everything OK, Sir?” asked the waitress on her way past his seat. Adam nodded thanks and she was gone with a speedy amble to scoop up empties from another table. He had seated himself in the corner of the dining area that still displayed some of the building's historic origins. Great black, thick beams covered the ceiling and a huge brick fireplace containing a stack of burning logs was shooing away any reminder of the rain. The Floating Goat was busy. There was a Bar area, where he had entered, with twenty or thirty good tempered people providing a comforting level of noise and cheer and this further restaurant area where only two or three tables stood empty. The food came quickly and was good. The several pints of local Beer he had consumed with the meal had been better and he felt quite enjoyably light headed. He gazed out of the window and the night was clearer. Beside the pub a beer garden with benches and a few idle child’s playground toys stretched down to the road with a picket fence running alongside. On the other side of the road the moonlight in the now clear sky reflected from the shore of the river Candion, looking wider here than it did upstream. Adam remembered the village was situated on a basin that came in from the river. It was a pretty view even at night.
As he looked out a white box truck skidded to a halt on the wet road outside and proceeded to do an ill-advised three-point turn. The truck was fairly battered but he could just make out that it once bore the legend “WHEN AND WHERE” in a zippy font across the side of the back flat. The truck bounced through its turn with a jiggly confidence just the right side of acceptable and disappeared out of view. Just for a fleeting moment, a millisecond, Adam thought he had glimpsed in the driver's seat the face of a Lion, or maybe a Tiger but amplified and huge and colorful. He yawned, it had been a long day and he was probably feeling the effects of the alcohol. In his book that only meant one thing, time for some more.
He picked himself up and made his way to the bar to pay for his meal and order a further drink. The room was still busy and he slipped onto a stool. In a moment of self-conscious indecision he had decided not to wear his dog collar into the pub. He had already used his status as the new vicar to introduce himself and his plight and didn’t want to draw any more attention, preferring to be left alone while he ate. The woman behind the bar, who had already introduced herself as Jane, remembered him from their early conversation.
“Ah Reverend, Hope you enjoyed your meal, can I get you anything else?” she enquired. She was a blossomy woman in her thirties, relaxed and cheerful with brown hair pinned up in an attractive bun.
“It’s not Reverend.” Adam said with an embarrassed chuckle, “Adam is fine. Adam Bushell. The meal was absolutely lovely, just what I needed after that little… adventure.” He was apologizing again, a trait he was aware of that caused annoyance in himself.
“It’s really no problem. You are going to love boats. Now, another beer- it’s on us.” She put her hand on the pump in anticipation.
“Actually I was thinking of something a little stronger. Whiskey and Coke?” he questioned “I’m happy to pay.”
She smiled a conspiratorial smile “Of course, I’ll get you a double.” She turned to the optic display, “Like I say, on us. You can consider yourself a resident of the Floating Goat for tonight. I’d give you a room but as you can see we are fully booked, well, we only have the three rooms nowadays anyway. I had a look at your van though- quite comfy?” She turned back and filled the glass with frothy soda, “say when.”
“That’ll do” the sight of the concoction was making him happy. ”I haven’t had to sleep in it for a while, but yeah, it’s pretty comfy in there.” He tipped back the sweet mixture into his mouth and savored the strong alcohol as it reached into the corners.
She lent over the bar and looked at him earnestly “I think it’s great” she said. Jane had a lovely, smooth voice and she enunciated these last four words clearly and slowly to make a point. “The church has been boarded up for over a year, ever since old whatshisname died.” She looked at Adam as if he should know, he didn’t. “To have somebody young come in. Well, our age” she looked around the pub that contained people who were in the majority somewhat older than both her and he “I think you are going to have a lot of customers.”
Adam screwed up his face. He was a teensy weensy bit pissed “Not really customers…” he said and then laughed and Jane did too.
“Ah, this will be fun.” She said grabbing his spent glass without asking, “You haven’t even met his Lord Majesty Jim our fearless leader yet.” She turned and plopped another double in the glass.
“Keep an eye on that.” Said Adam. He already liked this place. “I’m going for a cigarette.”
“Of course, there’s a cover over the side of the car park if it’s still raining.” Said Jane. “See ya in a bit, Hon.” And she made her way up the bar collecting glasses. Adam, feeling good and happy to go on feeling better thought maybe I’ve struck gold here and ambled out of the door into the car park fetching his cigarettes from his pocket.
The night was cold, but it was not raining. Adam however sought out the covered area that was set aside for smoking up on the far right hand side of the car park and between the pub and a tall two-story barn like building that sat behind the main plot. The area was lit and he discovered that with the touch of a button a glowing lamp was activated providing a bit of heat and he sat down on one of the benches provided for the smokers with a small upside down plant pot now commonly used as a tidy ashtray. He lit his cigarette. Adam noticed that the van he had spotted earlier was pulled up to two big double doors on the side of the barn. The back doors of the van were open and there was some commotion going on from within the box truck.
He inhaled deeply on his cigarette blowing the smoke back out through his teeth.
“Fucking donkey fuck fuck” came a voice from the van, clearly agitated.
Adam jerked his head to one side and squinted, like a curious dog.
The sound of clatter. “Come on you Jesus fucker.” The voice came again. This time it sounded mildly amused. A man appeared at the back of the van pulling on something that looked like flashy material.
Intrigued by the inventive cursing and well on his way to get drunk , Adam moved closer. “Do you need a hand?” he enquired in a slightly slurred manner.
A face peered around from the back of the door. Adam couldn’t know at this time that this was the face of a man who would become his closest friend. The bushy brown beard that covered the bottom half of his face hung from a mouth agape, seemingly surprised to find anyone else standing there in the yard. This showed off his wonky teeth and seemingly giant brown eyes. His hair appeared to be standing up in a few different directions and he looked like he had been wrestling an animal. It turned out he had. A mythical one at that.
“Ahhhh! Yes. Just what I need, get over here.” Exclaimed Jim Wenham in a delightful burr.
Adam walked around the back of the box van and saw a spattering of color and shape which was quite obscure just in the light of the patio heater. Materials of red, gold, rich greens and shiny orange twisted around in a tubular fashion.
“I’ll get in, and you pull this,” said Jim, handing over the material he had grabbed in his hand and then plunging without second thought into the back of the van. He disappeared into the soft material.
“Not yet” yelled Jim “Ah Bollocks fuck, it’s snagged that’s why.” The truck rocked slightly “OK Pull.”
Adam pulled and was suddenly The Great Adamzo, magnificent conjurer. The material spread out of the van like a giant concertina. The rabbit was out of the hat. Hang on; no- the dragon is out of the van.
It was the body of an enormous Chinese dragon. Puffy horned ridges ran down the length of its spine. The material was shaped and overlaid to give the effect of scales. This was all in glorious oriental coloring. As he pulled the Dragon’s lengthy tail fell out beside him, long material punctuated by a fluffy bon bon twist. It was quite wonderful and Adam looked up to see Jim holding the other end right at the back of the van's interior. Stretched out the monster must cover at least twenty-five feet.
“Good, Isn’t it” shouted Jim.
Adam ran out of room and had to veer off backwards to the left. “Wait a minute, I’ll grab the head from the cab.” Said Jim, jumping down from the back of the truck and dumping his side of the puppet on the floor. He emerged with a giant, fearsome and handsome Dragons head and Adam realized it was this that he had seen apparently driving the truck earlier. “Right. I mean to your right.” Jim commanded. “There’s an alleyway, we’re off down there.”
Adam glanced behind him, worried that backwards walking and alcohol might not be a great mix, he saw the alley and began to back down it. The Dragon rustled as they moved.
For some reason, Jim took on the voice of Noel Coward.
“You really are the most excellent chap helping me out like this. I am overjoyed at your assistance.” He purred in an upper class accent. “You will be sampling the delights of the Floating Goat tonight free of charge my old man.”
“I’m glad to help, Old Chap” Adam had subconsciously entered into character with his benefactor. This was one of Jim Wenham’s key abilities- the art of making one an accomplice without his or her prior knowledge. “Anything for a free booze.”
“OK, now you are going to go around to the right. Your left” yelled Jim.
“Yes, yes I know” said Adam in a patronizing manner and then proceeded to trip over backwards landing on his arse on a wet metal step. “Donkey fuck” he exclaimed appropriating Jim’s florid curse.
“Ah, there are stairs there by the way, Mate.” Said Jim with a chuckle and Adam couldn’t help but think that the slapstick was all part of this guy's hilarious plan. Still, he found himself laughing along, numbed into submission by the drink. This was fun.
“Up we go!” The two men hauled the giant dragon up the stairs until they came to a door. “Just kick it,” said Jim, helpfully and Adam did. The door swung open.
“Lights on the left hand side.”
“My left or your left?” Quipped Adam but the joke fell flat. He hauled the magnificent, awkward beast into the room and turned on the lights and suddenly found himself gawking in slow motion.
The room was a poem to hoarding. It was filled to the brim with bric a brac and ephemera of all kinds. This wasn’t just your bog standard junk though it was a museum of odd. In the middle of the floor sat a rowboat with a Zebra and a Giraffe apparently piloting. The cockpit to a Huey Helicopter (surely not to scale) sat in one corner but it was painted in bright psychedelic colors and was being flown by a waxwork of Marilyn Monroe. Musical instruments, furniture, stacks of records, books and lots of characters, animals and humans staring back at him. The overall impression though was of a neat cluttering, as in a museum or shop.
“Welcome to my Sluttery” said Jim, slotting himself through the door with the remaining dragon “Now, who are you?”
“Adam” he replied, not turning around “This is great! Um...” he turned to look at the man in the light. He was a bit shorter than Adam but looked around the same age, although he appeared to have the hair that so eluded the priest. It stuck up in different directions in wild clumps but in a way that did not look intentional. He had a long beard and a heavy brow but a friendly, familiar and jovial face.
“It’s Jim, but you can call me Jim. Are you by chance the wayward Vicar who has ended up camping in the car park?”
“That’s me, and you must be the Jim that owns the place” deduced Adam.
“Correct” Jim affirmed. He had the Dragon's head resting on his right arm. “Thanks for the help, Adam.” He attempted to flap the Dragon's mouth as he spoke in a funny high pitched voice “By way of thanks, let’s go and have a drink.” Then with a smile he returned to his usual voice “I reckon the boys will be starting up about now.”
*
The boys turned out to be three brothers who played quick hillbilly music on a double bass, guitar and banjo. They stood in the corner of the bar area and were obviously favorites of the Floating Goat as the pub erupted into a long frenzy of foot stomping joviality. Adam was particularly impressed that they managed to get through all eleven verses of Bob Dylan’s “Hurricane” in double time. He was sitting at the end of the bar just by the flip top that provided entry for the bar staff. Jim Wenham sat with him and matched him drink for drink. He was introduced to everyone in the bar and instantly forgot their names. This didn’t seem to matter as word had got out that he was the new man that would be re-opening the doors at St. Florians and he seemed to be quickly accepted into the tribe.
Adam, bamboozled by drink, rabbited on to his new parishioners about subjects they seemingly wanted to hear until near incoherence took him. It struck him that the friendly crowd seemed not to ask too much about him and where he had come from, and he was glad about this.
Jim Wenham on the other hand was figuring the new guy out. He had decided instantly that he liked Adam (impulsive decisions were the fuel to Jim’s fire) and they had spent the night in jokey banter with Jim reeling out all his tired and tested favorites to amuse his new friend. Jim was a collector not just of things but also of people and he decided that the new vicar was quite a catch to have in his circle of friends, so he was trying to impress. He wanted to find the edges of the man and tried on many occasions to shock Adam with his graphic language and stories. This man was too street for him though and didn’t once even remotely react to Jim’s attempts.
Come closing time, the band struck up an unexpected cover of the disco classic “YMCA” and Adam suddenly jumped up and started pogoing around to the music much to the amusement of the rest of the audience, most of which were doing the same. The boys ended with a slow version of “Hey Jude” to which the whole room sang to the very end and continued singing long after the boys had put their instruments back in their cases. Jim who as well as keeping good company for Adam had also spent the evening schmoozing everybody in the room jumped up onto a table.
“Right you lot it’s been a cracking Saturday night at the Floating Goat, and thanks to the Lee Brothers for making it so great once again.” There was a boisterous cheer. “But you’ve all got homes to go to and so now it’s time for you all to…”
“FUCK OFF” said the entire room back in response. Adam catching up just at the last minute found this ritual hilarious but looked around to see that sure enough the drunken rabble was dispersing. He tipped his glass back and finished his drink. He approached Jim. “Thanks mate” he said in earnest, “I couldn’t have had a better welcome to the place.” His words were ice-skating on a lake of clarity. “I’m gonna sleep well tonight.”
Jim took his hand. “Ah no not you Reverend” he said.
“I’m not…” began Adam but then slipped away.
“You are having one last night cap with me.” He said and produced an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid from behind the bar. The eyes of the devil thought Adam.
*
Look at the moon. Look at the moon. I’m really not that drunk. Where’s the damn key? I had the keys. Oh, I’ve left the keys. Oh no I have the keys! Well that one doesn’t bloody fit. That’s not the key. Oh you bloody idiot. God, I’m really pissed. Sorry God. I don’t mean. I mean that you don’t mind. Because you are LOVE. I’m lovely. You are lovely. This is all lovely. Oop nearly fell over. Keys. It’s not that key. What’s that key? That’s the church key! Ah yes I put it on the thing, the key thing so I wouldn’t lose. Where’s the key key? The van key? Ah the van key. No, the church key. Let’s go to church then. I can walk to the church. It was up here this way. No, not that way you silly billy. This way. Up here a bit. Lovely moon.
I liked those people. I like them. They are lovely. Lovely people. It was up here up this track. I hope I’m not going to be sick. Lovely people. I like Jim. And Jane. Jim and Jane. Hehe. Jim and Jane. Up here. He could have got that truck up here. “Oh I can’t take my truck up there, sir” he could have plenty of room up here. Wanker. Nice people. It’s a bit dark up here. Is this the right lane? This is the right lane. This is the only lane and look, that's it. Up there. The church. There it is. It looks. Dark. It’s a bit muddy. It’s a bit dark. That was funny, tonight. They’re funny. All of them. I like it here. Nice people. Glad he didn’t bring his truck up here. Would have got stuck. Ho ho ho. Is this the way, up here? That’s the back, that’s the front. The door. This door. Yes this door is open into the entryway. Anybody here? Nobody here. It’s a bit scary. Ah the door. Why did I come up here? Ah the key. Let's try. Just to see them go back. Ah it works. Funny smell.
It's dark. Where is my lighter? It's dark here. Funny smell. Is that a candle? This is my church. Well no sorry Lord it’s your church, it’s everyone’s church all the nice people. It’s nice here. Smells funny. I’m just gonna sit down here. Just for a bit at the nave. This is where I will be. Just here. “Dearly beloved” Is that OK? I’m sorry. I’m drunk. Ah a cushion, a pew cushion. Bit dusty. I’m just gonna lie down here for a minute. This is where I will be.
Chapter Two- The Birdhouse.
Alice Beale is planning her birthday party. It’s a big one. She has an old ring bound notepad that she has had in the drawer for over a decade and is writing down a list of invitees. By her side, on the plastic tablecloth sits a warm mug of tea. The sun is shining bright through the window of the house she and Bob named Apple Blossom on account of the tree that dominated the front lawn and the cream pink explosions that spring forthwith. The tree was only a sapling when they moved into the modern house twenty-five years ago. The house stands, similar in look to the other few hundred that occupy this roadway known as “The Viola” as the basic shape of the avenue of the modern estate mirrors that of the musical instrument. Alice is musing that after nearly Sixty years of existence she seems to have less friends to invite than she did at her previous big gathering a decade ago. This is not because people have died but that they just drifted apart or grown bored with repeat viewings of each other.
With that she finds herself thinking of Sheila and Dick. She can hardly believe that they were coming apart after all these years. They were always considered the most stable of her friends. The others looked them up in jealousy as they gifted each other, listened intently and seemed to have an unusual closeness and protectiveness that was much envied by their friends. Now, if it was to be believed that was all a veneer. Their sheer indifference to each other had always given an impression of casual caring and they could now be apart as easily as they could be together. After all this time.
She thinks of Bob.
Bob would never have it in him to have an affair. He would never go anywhere. Good old Bob. The same as always. The voice in her mind had a sarcastic flair.
Alice picks up her tea and her saggy bangle of beads clink against the side of the mug. She takes a sip and momentarily steams up her small purple oval glasses and she realizes that just right now she isn’t into party planning. It has made her feel angry.
“Bollocks to it.” She says and flips the notepad back to its cover page.
She will go outside and enjoy the weather. She whistles for Toby who is pretending to be asleep in his basket with his ears over his eyes and he is suddenly alert. “C’mon, outside.” The dog jumps up. They walk up the side of the house and out through the meadows that circle the estate. It is a lovely spring day only a faint breeze attempts to ruffle her hair that she has had cut short and spiky. “Tow-beee!” she sings, the dog has temporarily disappeared into some bushes and pops out again at the far end excited, smiling, panting.
She thinks of the Birdhouse. It has been over a month now since she found a mobile phone in the wooden cottage that sits atop a pole in her garden. This was curious as it barely fitted through the small archway carved in the wood for entry and exit. It took her a while to maneuver her fingers inside the hole and pull it out, tongue between her lips and brow furrowed. She knew there was no way that an animal or bird could have pulled the device in through that hole. This was also her first suspicion when she had found a silver ring in the same place a month before.
It had been nearly a month since the incident and she had checked it every day. She had mentioned the ring to Bob who had feigned interest. Alice had a little knowledge of wildlife and knew that there was a small chance that a bird would pick up something shiny and move it. Perhaps if someone had dropped the ring? She kept meaning to look it up on the Internet as she was thinking that this type of behavior seemed wrong for garden birds. She had handed the ring in at the police station in Darrow. It didn’t look very valuable and she had neglected to mention to the desk officer where she had found it. Then a few weeks later the phone appeared.
She turns back and heads for home, Toby obediently follows.
Definitely put there by a person. Well, maybe a squirrel. Oh don’t be daft Lucky. Her Father’s pet name for her.
Who would decide to hide things in her bird’s house? Not Bob. Bob was incapable of having an affair. But maybe he was up to something.
She had been watching him like a hawk the past few weeks and was starting to realize with increasing vehemence that he was up to precisely nothing.
She had taken the phone out. It was an old mobile phone, roundish with large push buttons. She looked through the drawer in the garage that contained old phone chargers but none of them seemed to fit. She wondered if the phone in the birdhouse would be missed and decided to put it back so as not to arouse suspicion. She was going to get to the bottom of this.
She did a little digging around on the Net and found the now defunct correct charger and managed to order an old second hand version. It took a few days to arrive and then she waited for a clear day when Bob went out and returned to the birdhouse and extracted the phone, which she was pleased to see, was still there.
Unfortunately this yielded nothing, as the phone was empty. It did start up but had no network reception and even though it was a pain scrolling through the older style phone menu it became very apparent that no one had used this phone or it had been scrubbed clean. No messages, no pictures, nothing. It was the kind of thing to be thrown away and she reluctantly returned to her original theory that a contortionist squirrel had somehow dragged it there.
She checked the birdhouse every day though.
As Toby and her paced down the alley by the side of her house the tall apple blossom hove into view. She made her way around the back and splashed some water in a pan for Toby telling him he was a good boy. Then she made her way down to the bottom of the garden where the bird-table sat beside a tall aspidistra. She could immediately see that it had been disturbed. The four compass prongs of the bird-table feet had been moved slightly revealing the yellower grass underneath. There was something inside. Alice couldn’t make out what but something slightly reflected with an oily sunlight flash. She came up close and stared into the darkness but it didn’t make any sense as looking in from the light made her retina close up and her vision swam. Some sort of object, an unusual shape. It looked like a black candlestick. She pulled her head back and narrowing her fingers into a clench shoved them into the hole. She was now quite expert at this procedure but no matter how she tried she couldn’t lose the object and it moved only very slightly. It was wedged in the firm.
Alice let out an exasperated sigh. She thought momentarily of pushing the whole thing to the ground and smashing it open with her feet like a small child with a sandcastle. Instead she examined the fastening under the roof of the little cottage. They were nails and they didn’t look as if they had been interfered with. But this object was clearly bigger than the bird hole. She went to fetch a hammer and pulled the nails one by one. This was slow awkward work. In her anticipation of the reveal she wanted to tear the roof off but she held back and made sure she completed the process methodically, mechanically.
When she had finished unfastening the nails she ceremoniously lifted the roof from the birdhouse. It was a black wheel wrench. A long pole with a fitting at the end that would slot onto the bolts on a car wheel. It looked a bit small for a car but she was no expert. It was jammed into the square house at the only angle it would fit. She pulled it out with a little effort and examined it. It’s a wheel wrench. Alice was confused and a little relieved. She proceeded to clumsily nail the lid back on the wooden lodge and then took the new object into the house wondering all the time what the fuck was going on.
*
Half an hour later Alice Beale had got no further. She had decided that some sort of magic was occurring. She sat upstairs in what was once her daughter’s bedroom and was now a room of no purpose. She had pulled a variety of books from the shelf looking for an answer. Self-help and Mind Body and Spirit books littered her surroundings. Publications about Karma, Crystal Healing and Ghosts sat with old trusted favorites such as The Bible and Jonathan Livingstone Seagull.
She had discounted the idea of paranormal activity in her Birdhouse several times but still kept coming back to one moot point. The nails were intact and there was no way the wrench could have got in there without the lid being removed. She was sure of it.
Like many baby boomers Alice had ditched religion early on but held onto a flimsy do-it-yourself style of belief that tended towards the idea of the supernatural rather than the divine. It could be a poltergeist- She thought. Or a sign.
This last thought gave her the shivers. A sign for what? She found herself softly speaking:
“The ring- the symbol of marriage, of unity through life. Never ending. Infinite.
The phone- Communicating, talking, messages. Secrets.” She found herself getting carried away in the drama. “The wrench…”
She stopped.
She stared up to the ceiling as if calling for the answer.
“The PULL!” she was talking loudly, aware she was alone in the house. “The pull of the wheel. Karma. Life” she found herself panting.
Another pause and for quite a long time she didn’t breathe. “My marriage is over” she smiled and laughed a hearty laugh.
It didn’t matter that it was bollocks. It didn’t matter that it was based on spurious assumptions about strange objects left in her garden. Alice was relieved and she knew then that it was the truth as clearly as she knew that she would never leave Bob and he never her. The sheer exultation of her epiphany had left her almost post orgasmic. Alice Beale decided to go up to St Florian’s Church, now uninhabited, and say a prayer of thanks for her revelation.
She ran down the stairs nearly tripping on her bag and slid into a battered old pair of sandals. Toby whinged in protest that Alice appeared to be going out without him but she ignored him. She was out of the door and down the road and crossing Darrow Lane on the edge of the estate. Here she took a short cut over a field and then through a part of the grounds of Oxboat Hall, which the locals used with permission. The church was on the brow of the hill ahead where the woodlands intersected the grounds of the hall. She was out of breath and sweating as her feet began to crunch on the gravel path leading up to the entryway. She didn’t have to go in, but she had to thank someone for this moment. She peered up at the square tower with its short pointed steeple at the top and the sunlight bounced into her eyes for a second causing a swirling heliograph.
She reached the entryway and was considering dropping to her knees in prayer when she noticed the door was open. There was a sound from within like someone using a jigsaw to cut wood. Alice was unaware that the church was going to reopen and decided in the spirit of community and maybe just a tiny impulse of nosiness that she should investigate. She pushed the door further aside with a low creak and squinted as she entered the dark pallor of the church. The noise that was echoing through the rafters wasn’t a power tool at all but…
Snoring.
There, on the parapet lay a man with his head on a pew pillow and what looked like a red velvet curtain draped over him. He was fast asleep and as she approached she smelt a mixture of tobacco and alcohol in his atmosphere. He looked like a colorful sarcophagus. A waxwork in sepulcher draped in oceanic rouge that flowed down the steps before him.
“Excuse me, you can’t sleep here.” Said Alice.
More snoring.
Alice suspected that this tramp had somehow broken the lock of the church door and made his home here during last night’s storm. She wasn’t worried though, he had a gentle look about him and so she leaned over and nudged him briskly. “Excuse me, wake up, you shouldn’t be here” She shouted at point blank range.
“Thizzis weyable bee” said the man and rolled over pulling the red curtain up over his head and returning to slumber. The smell was quite intoxicating. He had been going at it hard the previous night. She looked around for inspiration and then remembered she had been drinking coffee in her travel mug and had snatched it on the way out of the house. It was deep in her bag and the mug had its own lid that acted like a little cup for sugar or milk. She pulled it out and unscrewed the lid off and made her way over to the font hoping it would still contain water. It didn’t but on further examination she found a small push tap on the base of the font and managed to fill her cup that way. She made her way back over to the man.
“Wakey, Wakey” she proclaimed and tipped the cold water on his head.
“Jesus Christ” yelled Adam and shot up, suddenly losing his grip and toppling down the stairs of the parapet into the aisle.
*
“So you don’t actually think he’s having an affair?” asked Adam and quietly thanked God for his intervention in this matter. The miracle had come by way of the fact that Alice’s huge coffee travel mug was still warm and the lovely lady had also managed to somehow conjure up two paracetamol from her bag. She took bird-like sips from the smaller cup while Adam tried not to gulp from the mug.
Alice took another dramatic pause. This was a new feature she had added to her repertoire and she liked it. It was the new her. Thoughtful.
“I don’t think that matters.” She replied avoiding the answer. “The point is that we were meant to be together even if we don’t like it. There is nothing we can do.”
Adam sighed and it turned into a yawn. “Sorry” he yawned. “You are saying that your own happiness doesn’t matter? Why would that be?”
They were sitting on the back step of the south east corner of the church. It was mid-morning and the sun was swaggering in the sky to itself. Adam, after his rude awakening had managed to explain himself to Alice who had then transformed into mum mode. The hung-over vicar was appreciative and Alice wasted no time telling him the saga of the appearing objects and her subsequent epiphany. They had been talking for some while.
“I’m happy,” said Alice. “Well, sometimes I wonder if I might have just made different choices along the way, you know.” She looked at Adam.
“I know.” He said.
“But my life has been alright. I have a lovely daughter, and Bob is Bob.” She looked out at the shadows cast by the gravestones.
“Can I ask you” Adam chose his words carefully “If you could imagine Bob not being around. I don’t mean that he’s dead or has died. But if he just kinda didn’t exist? What would you be doing instead? Who would Alice be?”
She stared at him and gave him a toothy smile. “I would have traveled. Far” she said pointedly. “I would have become something different from how I started.”
“Would you mind if I smoke a cigarette?” asked Adam. “I know it’s disgusting and it’s social leprosy in this day and age but…”
“Ah don’t worry, of course. I couldn’t care less, it’s your body,” she laughed.
He felt about in his pockets. Found them thank god.
“Ah” he lit one. Talking with it in his mouth. “You do know that you can do that? What you describe to me is telling me that you can do anything that you want. I think you always could Alice. Bob will be here, if he doesn’t want to come with you and he may surprise you. This thing. Today, it’s not the first time, is it?”
He looked cool, authoritative. Adam realized that this was the test. He had arrived in Oxboat four months early with nowhere to live but his campervan because he wanted to get to know the place. He was not going to repeat past mistakes. He needed to be sure.
She shook her head, eyes down, like a little girl. He blew out smoke.
“Nobody is trapped. Not really. There is always a way to find happiness. This, for me, is happiness- just talking to you here by this magnificent building.” He gestured up.
She genuflected. “You are wonderful, Adam.” she smiled at him. “I am going to be full time church goer of the year now we have you.”
He interrupted, “OK hold your horses! I’m on holiday first getting to know the place. The shop doesn’t open until September, remember?”
A look of worry flew passed her face
“But I will be around if you need me,” he added. She looked relieved.
“What about the bloody birdhouse, though?” she said. “That can’t be right”
“Mysterious ways.” Adam responded with a smile. “Look, something was always going to bring you to this place on this fine day, it just happened to be something…” he paused and put out his fag “Something fucking weird.” She laughed a hearty chuckle at the swearing vicar.
“Seriously, there will be an explanation. Come on. I love a mystery so I will get to the bottom of it. Call it a bit of early community work before my holidays begin.” He had a feeling that his holidays would never begin but he dismissed it. He thought for a moment. “Can I ask you, when you took the roof off the birdhouse was it dirty inside?”
She stopped. Alice had not registered this at the time. “No,” she said.
“And do you clear it out regularly?” he enquired.
“It’s a bloody birdhouse, I barely registered it until it started magically producing objects.” She snapped back at him.
“OK. I’m going to lock the church and then we are going back to yours. If you give me more coffee and show me this wheel wrench we will get to the bottom of this. There is always a logical explanation” He said, decisively. He held out his hand to Alice.