The Wise Friend, page 17
The slope led down to a skein of six roads, some of which passed beneath the motorway. The ramp and the motorway, along with the opposite incline, were supported by so many hulking concrete columns that the area underneath resembled a cage. The nearest road was shut in by warehouses as windowless as walls of rock. Although I couldn’t see beyond them, I suspected I’d reached what locals called the uptown cross, since Monks Cross was the junction itself.
As I parked on a deserted stretch of cobblestones by the nearest warehouse, the radio presenter told me I was listening to the Fred Russell show. I eased the car backwards to make sure it wasn’t visible from Monks Cross, and was switching off the radio when I heard a caller describe the site as somewhere uptowners doss. I tramped to the junction, hoping to be met just by the sounds of the motorway – by no kind of presence.
The roar of traffic grew in my ears as I ventured under the ramp. Beyond the first of the wide square pillars I saw signs of the homeless, sleeping bags and huddled blankets, hidden from the road. All the makeshift beds were deserted, and nothing like a face had started to creep out of a bag in the shadow of a column before it was snatched back like a creature surprised in its lair. Regardless of the August sultriness, someone appeared to have set about building a fire beneath the motorway, and I couldn’t avoid noticing how much the wooden structure resembled an inverted cross.
I’d pieced together the history of the site from the occult atlas and a page for the town the junction served. It had originally been named for a stone cross, a monument erected at a crossroads to commemorate a monastery blessed by a mediaeval saint. According to legend, if only to that, the cross had repeatedly been found turned upside down despite its massiveness, on nights that bore a magical significance. Eventually it had been destroyed, perhaps by people who blamed the cross itself for its antics. Even the fragments were disposed of, and nobody had tried to reconstruct it or erect a substitute. By the time the motorway was built, the source of the name of the site was virtually forgotten. I’d found the mundane information on the local page, and the rest embedded in the occult map, which tagged the place with the name of a practitioner – Crux Inverso, which it translated as Upturned Cross.
I might have liked not to recollect all this. I could easily have fancied that the rush of traffic overhead had begun to shape the Latin syllables, especially once the swish and echo of wheels seemed to grow louder with each pass. As I made to retreat from the onslaught of sound, I saw I was surrounded by graffiti. They were confined to the inner sides of the pillars, and the distorted faces peering out of tangles of unrecognisable symbols might all have been bids to depict the same swollen contemptuous face. I didn’t want to find it reminiscent of any I’d recently seen, and was even less eager to see anything similar begin to protrude from a sleeping bag or a heap of blankets. I was still under the motorway when it fell abruptly silent. There must be a gap in the traffic, but the pause felt like a held breath, and it let me hear a voice I knew. “There it is, Bell.”
Roy was somewhere near my car. I was afraid he’d noticed it until Bella said “Look for cracks. They’re how we’ll get to the earth.”
More than one column hid me from her and my son, but I didn’t know how much longer they would. I retreated under the far ramp to lurk behind a pillar. The noise from the motorway was no less overwhelming here, and sounded increasingly repetitive – a prolonged utterance of “Crux” followed by “Inverso” shaped by the wheels of the next vehicle. Surely it was common enough to imagine that wordless noises contained words, and they were distracting me from listening for Roy and Bella. I had so little sense of where my son and his companion might be that I risked a glance around the column. They were approaching beneath the other ramp, examining the concrete floor, and I hid before I could be seen. I heard no more from them until Roy spoke, sounding close to awe, which I didn’t like at all. “Are those his face?”
“They will be,” Bella said.
“And there’s his name.”
“You’ll hear that. Him and his kind, they try to cling to life however they can.”
Her comment revived the syllables up above, which I’d been managing to ignore. As I strove to concentrate on her and Roy he said “Look, there’s a crack by that thing like a cross.”
“That’s what it’s meant to be, a cross. Here, hold my bag.”
Unseen vehicles raced past, trailing syllables, and then Roy protested “Be careful, Bell. Do you want me to try?”
“Don’t underrate me, Roy. I’m getting my strength back.”
I heard a crunching thud – the fall of a chunk of concrete. “Open the jar,” Bella said, and moments later “Wipe my hands for me.” I strained to hear more, but when neither of them had spoken for at least a minute I inched around the column. They had their backs to me and were already on the road.
As I followed, using pillars for concealment, I saw a jagged lump of concrete lying beside the rickety cruciform construction. It was at least two feet across at its widest point, and dauntingly thick. I would have needed both hands and a considerable effort to lift it, and how would I have dislodged it with my bare hands in the first place? I was staring at the patch of earth it had exposed, a handful of which had been scooped up – I was imagining how many insects it might have roused to scramble back into the soil, a thought that produced the unwelcome illusion that the faces on the columns all around me had begun in some way to swarm as though they were about to hatch – when I heard Roy say “That’s never…”
I felt robbed of breath until he spoke again. “It fucking is. It’s my dad’s fucking car.”
Julia and I had seldom heard him use such language, and I had a sense of encountering an aspect of him I was unaware of. What others should we know about? “Where are you, dad?” he was shouting like somebody more savage than I recognised. “We know you’re here.”
There was no point in hiding further, and I was glad to leave the blurred voice of the motorway behind along with the graffiti, even if a glance reassured me that the reiterations of a face didn’t appear to have stirred. As I emerged under the ramp Roy folded his arms, not by any means unlike a parent preparing to deliver a reproof, while Bella crossed her hands on her breasts, a gesture that looked placatory and yet oddly secretive. Roy didn’t speak until I was almost within arm’s length, alongside the car. “What do you think you’re doing, dad?”
He might have inherited Julia’s weariness with my behaviour. “Something like you are,” I said.
“I don’t see where you’ve got a specimen.”
“Not that. Just exploring, the way we did before, forgive me, before you met Bella.”
“So why are you still doing it?”
I aimed my question at them both. “Is there any reason you wouldn’t want me to?”
“We said we didn’t need a lift.”
“I don’t believe I gave you one.”
As Roy looked tricked rather than defeated Bella said “Patrick learned where the places were before you did. He had Thelma’s journal.”
“He didn’t have to come to this one now. He only knew we were because you told him.”
With a portion of the truth I said “I wanted to find out what you might be subjecting yourself to.”
“Me and Bell, you mean.” When I mutely allowed that she could be included Roy said “So did you?”
“I think it’s a thoroughly unpleasant place, and I wouldn’t want any part of it.”
“But your aunt did, Patrick.”
“It didn’t do her any good, did it? I can’t recall a painting of anywhere like it.”
“I know which one it must have been, dad. Where all the sleeping bags are dancing in the street at night.”
“They weren’t here then, Roy,” Bella said. “How about her painting where the cars on the motorway are escaping the traffic jam by driving into the sky?”
“I don’t see much of a connection,” I said.
“Perhaps that’s because you’re not an artist, Patrick.”
“You’re saying you are.”
“No, I’m—” She closed her eyes while she shook her head. “You’ve already heard me say what I am.”
Some of Roy’s resentment might have been provoked by how I’d apparently inhibited her. “Are you giving us a lift, dad?”
“I thought you didn’t want one.”
“You can as long as you’re around.” With no increase of enthusiasm he said “Unless you want to leave us here.”
“Let’s get away by all means,” I said.
I started the car as soon as the doors were locked, while my passengers were fastening their seat belts. I was driving under the motorway when the radio let out a mutter. Had I left it on or switched it on without realising? “Cross,” it mumbled, unless this was a distorted fragment of the presenter’s name, and I could have fancied that it added “Inadvertent,” not a welcome comment just now. As I made sure the radio was turned off, a face whose outline swarmed with symbols peered at me from beneath the motorway, and then it did so from a second pillar. I felt not just watched but threatened with some hindrance all the way to the homeward ramp. I sped onto the motorway, wishing the traffic would let me go faster. We’d travelled less than a mile when Roy said “Can we have some music on for Bell?”
I felt uneasy as I poked the button. I’d had enough of several words, and wasn’t anxious to revive them. The strains of an opera came as a considerable relief. “It’s Orpheus,” Bella said at once. “Even older than Handel.”
“How old’s that?” Roy said, which I thought was a bid to contribute.
“Nearly as old as anyone here,” Bella said with a laugh and a nudge. “Listen and you’ll hear her brought back from the dead.”
We did while Monks Cross fell behind, despite a sluggish tailback that made me wish we could take off like the vehicles in Thelma’s painting. By the time we picked up speed Orfeo had looked back, inadvertently returning Euridice to the underworld. I would have been happier with the distance I was putting between us and Monks Cross if the mirror hadn’t kept reminding me of Bella’s relic, even though it was hidden in her bag. Shades from Hades brought the act to an end with a chorus, declaring that virtue was immune from the passage of time, and Bella caught me glancing at the bag. “Would you like to have it by you, Patrick?”
“I’d rather not have it anywhere.”
She’d provoked a response I should have known Roy wouldn’t like. Orfeo reappeared to perform a lament answered by an echo – a bid to borrow aspects of the human – before Apollo raised him to the stars to be rewarded for his sufferings, though only with an image of his lost love in the sky. “We never really go away,” Bella told Roy. “There’s always a trace if you search.”
Since he didn’t answer I said “You’re talking about the likes of Monks Cross.”
“What else could I be, Patrick?”
I heard a question, not the confirmation Roy plainly took it for. I was overtaking a parade of elongated lorries while outdistancing an impatient truck three times the height of the car, and couldn’t risk meeting her eyes in the mirror. Some Mickey Mouse music by Dukas struck up as I managed to return to the inner lane. Bella was looking somnolently innocent, even more so when I held her gaze. “Did you want to ask me something?” she said.
A shiver seemed to waken Roy from dozing. “Like what, Bell?”
“I know you don’t. I was asking Patrick.”
“I heard you telling Roy about Monks Cross,” I said.
“You mean you were spying on us,” Roy objected.
“Was there anything to spy on?” When nobody answered I said “You seemed to know a lot about it, Bella.”
“She read about it in the library.”
“Didn’t you as well, Roy? Why would you need to be told?”
“Because Bell read more than me. She went back.”
I remembered hearing her return when I’d phoned him at the library the day my parents died. I felt as if my attempt to trip her up had sent me sprawling instead, but there was more I ought to question. “Bella, you said I knew about places like Monks Cross before Roy did.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? You had Thelma’s journal.”
“No, I mean you didn’t say I’d known before you did.”
“She meant us both, dad.”
“That’s how I think of us. I didn’t think I had to specify myself.”
They were staring at me in the mirror as if I’d been at the very least unreasonable, and Roy took a firmer grip on her hand. I had one last dogged point to raise. “You said there were no homeless at Monks Cross when Thelma was there. How could you know that?”
“Do you really think they were there back then, Patrick?”
“Not those in particular. I’m saying—”
“Any, dad,” Roy said, using Bella’s hand to point at me. “They didn’t live under motorways then.”
I had no idea whether this was true, but if he believed it, mightn’t Bella? I’d run out of questions and of conversation, or rather any that felt advisable to risk. Seeing my doubts had antagonised Roy, I let a concert on the radio take the place of dialogue. We were leaving the motorway when Bella said “Could you drop me by the house, Patrick?”
“I’ll drive you to your front door by all means.”
“Honestly, no need. Just take me where you did last time.”
I stopped opposite the gap in the wall undermined by trees, and Bella squeezed Roy’s hand before retrieving her bag. “Are we waiting again,” I said, “or are you inviting us in?”
“Neither, Patrick. I’ll come to yours tomorrow, Roy. Now I’ll leave you in case you need to talk.”
We palpably did, but when I made to begin Roy gave me a shake of the head, so violent it resembled a shiver. I was parking outside Julia’s when he spoke. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to Bell and me,” he said, “but you can stay away from her till you’ve given up.” He let himself into the house without looking back, and I remembered Bella’s triumphant expression last time the door had shut. I had the idea, surely close to deranged, that she’d planted doubts in my mind today so that I’d sound irrational when I voiced them. That would mean she’d known I was eavesdropping, which left me feeling as foolish as my son must believe I was. As I drove away I was struggling to think what else to do – how much further I might have to go to learn the truth.
Chapter Twenty
The Contents of the Bed
“Archives.”
I was sure Julia would have gone home by now, and this wasn’t her voice. “I’m hoping you can help me,” I said.
“If we can we will.”
“I had a book out from you the other day. I read it there, I mean.”
“I see.”
I was glad she couldn’t, not least my grimace at the difficulties I might be destined to encounter. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the title,” I said.
“What can you tell me about it?”
“I believe it’s in your witchcraft archive.”
“The Sutton Collection. Is the book rare, do you happen to know?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the only copy.”
“Then that’s certainly where we would keep it.”
“And it’s supposed to be somebody’s diary.”
“I see.” This time I hoped it might be so, but she said “I should think we can find it for you. May I have your name?”
Posing as my son didn’t mean I had to lie. “Semple,” I said.
“That’s a coincidence.”
Although I knew, I had to say “What is?”
“There’s someone here who used to have that name.”
“There,” I said so cautiously I was afraid it might sound suspicious.
“Yes, working in the archive.”
Even more warily I said “They’re with you now.”
“No, she’s finished for the day. Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t.” In haste, and hoping this would distract the woman from my unnecessarily nervous denial, I said “As you say, it’s a coincidence. Will my name help?”
“Let me ask.” Her voice had started to recede when it came back. “Well, here’s another coincidence. She’s here now.”
I suppressed a gasp and wished I’d been able to do that to my name. “I’ve got someone on the phone, Julia,” the woman said.
“Is it for me?” Julia said altogether too close.
“No, it’s just—”
“Is it anything I need to deal with immediately?”
“It’s nothing you need to deal with at all. I only—”
“Then will you excuse me if I scoot, Hannah? Otherwise I’ll be stuck in even more of a jam.”
“You shoot off.” All the same, Hannah added “It was just this reader had a name you’d know.”
I was afraid this might bring Julia back, and Hannah’s next remark fell short of reassurance. “Sorry about that, Mr Semple. I’ll ask for you now.”
I heard her murmur away from the phone, which sounded partly covered by a hand, and an answering voice. I had to strain my ear until that side of my head began to ache before I was convinced her colleague was a man. Her hand left the mouthpiece as she said “We’re looking for you, Mr Semple.”
Surely Julia had left by now, but held breaths had my lungs competing with my ear for aches by the time Hannah spoke again. “We’ve located your request. It was for Lumen Scientiae.”
“That sounds like him.” In a bid to appear more informed I said “It means light of science, doesn’t it?”
