The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [170]
‘I don’t understand why the location had to be so secret, though,’ I say.
‘The mystique of those parties was that you didn’t know where you were going until you got there. Map references left on answering machines, messages passed via mobile phones–relatively rare, then–convoys of cars driving round the M25 or up and down the M4. But that wasn’t the problem, so much as all the people who would have turned up if Meg had let slip exactly where the party was being held–people who had no concept of paying for anything. The Brew Crew would have insisted on their right to go in free, Louis’s security men would have beaten the crap out of them–there’d have been a riot. So now, far too late, Meg was being careful not to say anything about where or when in the hope Mick and his friends would get fed up and go away eventually’
I always knew when someone was moving in the van at night because the floor creaked and you could feel the bunks move. I came awake suddenly, thinking it must be Keir going for a pee. Mum wasn’t in bed yet; I knew because I’d curled up in her bed instead of my own top bunk. But Keir’s regular, snorty breathing from his sleeping-bag on the blow-up mattress hadn’t altered. Must be Mum then, though that was odd because I thought I could still hear her laugh among the voices outside the van, where she’d been sitting with John and Mick and the others. They’d built the fire far enough away not to keep us awake, but the mutter of voices was a soothing reminder that Keir and I weren’t alone under the trees.
Someone sat down on the end of the bunk. I knew it wasn’t Mum: wrong smell, sour and oily and spoilt-meatish, the smell of someone who hadn’t washed for several days.
‘I know you’re awake,’ said Rissole, very quiet. I’d made the mistake of inching my legs away from the weight pushing down the side of the bed. His fingers stroked my hair, and he leaned down to breathe softly in my ear, ‘Shoulda mentioned it at the time. Seein’ as how I saved you from the Bad Guy in the church.’ His breath smelled garlicky, and the oily stench poured off his tight curls. ‘Wouldn’ look too good now, if you said anythin’ to anyone about me hangin’ round that ol’ church, nor the black fella you might have passed in the porch. Don’t want your mum thinkin’ I took you in there ‘cos then your pal Riz really would be up the fakkin’ creek. So seein’ as we’re mates, thought I’d pop in and remind you. No tellin’. You tell that to Keir, too.’ I could hear something rustling, something he was doing with his other hand. ‘Got a little reminder for you. You put out your hand now.’
‘Riz…’ I was scared, and not so innocent I couldn’t imagine what he might want me to touch.
‘Oh, come on, Indy, whatchoo take me for? We’re mates, right? Here, I’ll tuck it under the blanket.’ He lifted the corner of the coverlet and something crumpled and scratchy brushed my arm. ‘There. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. But you keep your mouth shut, darlin’, or there might be. The Bad Guy with the long white beard don’t like people knowin’ he let a pagan escape.’ He patted my hair, and his weight lifted from the bed, but his mouth came down to my ear again. ‘On thy belly thou shalt go. ‘Magine that, Ind, no legs.’ The van floor creaked again, and he was gone.
The scratchy thing was against my flat little chest. I knew what it was now. The crumpled page Riz had torn out of the Bible in the church.
And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done?
My mouth’s unbearably dry. On the footstool, my mug of tea has gone cold; it