♦
One person looks around and sees a universe created by a god who watches over its long unfurling, marking the fall of sparrows and listening to the prayers of his finest creation. Another person believes that life, in all its baroque complexity, is a chemical aberration that will briefly decorate the surface of a ball of rock spinning somewhere among a billion galaxies. And the two of them could talk for hours and find no great difference between one another, for neither set of beliefs make us kinder or wiser.
William the Bastard forcing Harold to swear over the bones of St Jerome, the Church of Rome rent asunder by the King’s Great Matter, the Twin Towers folding into smoke. Religion fuelling the turns and reverses of human history, or so it seems, but twist them all to catch a different light and those same passionate beliefs seem no more than banners thrown up to hide the usual engines of greed and fear. And in our single lives? Those smaller turns and reverses? Is it religion which trammels and frees, which gives or withholds hope? Or are these, too, those old base motives dressed up for a Sunday morning? Are they reasons or excuses?
♦
Benjy waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark then approached slowly and quietly, because rats could run up your trouser leg, which was why thatchers tied string round their ankles. Except that it was not a rat, nor a mouse, but something halfway between the two, with a rounder body and a long pointed nose. Some kind of shrew perhaps. It was clearly sick and not going to run anywhere fast, so he crouched down and was about to reach out and touch it when he saw that several flies were sitting on its fur. It moved again, just a twitch really. There was blood coming out of its mouth and out of its bottom. It was going to die if he didn’t do something, but if he went away some other animal might find it and kill it. A fox maybe, or a crow. He had to be quick. Mum…? Dad…?
Richard appeared in the hallway. What’s the matter, young man?
I…The words got jumbled in his mouth.
OK. Slow down and tell me. I’m sure we can sort the problem out.
He didn’t like being upset in front of someone who wasn’t proper family but Richard made him feel safe, like a good teacher. There’s an animal. An animal in the shed.
What kind of animal? Richard assumed it would be an errant cow or somesuch.
I don’t know, said Benjy, calmer now that an adult was sharing the responsibility. It’s like a mouse.
And you’re scared of it? He nearly laughed but there was something desperate about Benjamin’s reaction that warned him off.
It’s really ill.
Come on, then. He patted his nephew’s shoulder and they headed outside, and his sorrow at never having been a father was briefly equal to Benjy’s sorrow for the shrew. They had reached the woodshed. You show me.
Benjy was afraid of getting close this time. The fact that Richard was a doctor made him think of rabies. Richard squatted by the little body. It was still moving. Richard took a piece of kindling from the woodpile and poked the creature. Benjy wanted to say, Don’t hurt it, please, but you weren’t allowed to tell a doctor what to do.
Rat poison, said Richard, standing. Internal bleeding. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for the little chap now.
Benjy felt dizzy. He couldn’t see where it had come from but there was suddenly a spade in Richard’s hands. Benjy tried to shout No! but it was like being in space or underwater. Richard held the spade above the animal, aiming carefully. Benjy shut his eyes and Richard brought it down as hard as he could. There was a smacking crunch as the spade dug into the gravelly earth of the shed floor. Benjy opened his eyes, he couldn’t stop himself. The animal was in two bloody halves and its insides were leaking out. Blood and tiny broken purple bags.
Richard scooped everything up on the spade and said, Let’s give this little man a proper burial.
But there were tears streaming down Benjamin’s face and he was running away, weeping.
Benjamin…?
♦
A car was pulling up outside the house. Dominic had started to worry about Daisy and for the few seconds it took to get to the window he wondered if it was the police with bad news, but it was a green Renault and Daisy was getting out of the passenger door. He stepped outside to see the car turning and driving away.
Daisy? Her trousers were crusty with dry mud.
She looked at him. Had Melissa said anything?
Are you all right?
He didn’t know, did he. She was safe for the moment. I got lost. A white lie and therefore not a real lie. This man and woman gave me a lift. They were really kind.
You look freezing.
I lost my coat. I’m sorry. Because they’d have to pay for another.
Let’s get you inside.
The truth was that they had given her more than a lift, though precisely what she didn’t know, something between helping her to her feet and saving her life. There was a blankness, like having a general anaesthetic, coming round with no sense of time having passed. She thought for a second or two that she was holding an elderly man’s hand to stop him falling, then she realised that it was the other way round.
They paused in the hallway. Where was Melissa? I need to be on my own for a bit.
Can I bring you anything?
I’ll be fine.
Daisy?
She paused and turned and almost broke.
I’m glad you’re safe, said Dominic. Don’t worry about the coat.
Thanks. She turned and carried on up to the landing.
But he knew somehow that she was neither back nor safe. He wondered whether to tell Angela but didn’t quite trust her. He’d keep it a secret, just Daisy and him. He’d go up later and check how she was.
♦
Angela poured boiling water over the dried mushrooms. A smell like unwashed bodies she always thought, but it was the simplest vegetarian recipe she knew. Made her want to roast a pig’s head for Melissa, all glossy crackling and an apple in the mouth. Make Benjy sad, though. Earlier she had told Dominic that she wanted to go home, and thought for a moment that he might actually agree but he had slipped into the grating paternal role he’d been adopting more and more over the last few days. You’ll regret it…insult to Richard…hang on in there…Him being right made it worse, of course. Sherry, tomato purée. Risotto Londis.
Louisa came into the kitchen, placed a glass of red wine in front of her and retreated to the window seat. Some change in her aura that Angela couldn’t pinpoint. Sorry about last night.
Last night? Angela had suppressed the memory so well that it took a few seconds to unearth. I think it’s me who should apologise.
Or how about neither of us apologises?