In the Light of Madness (30 page)

Lennox tried to engage the boys in conversation about school and football. Wednesday found it painful to witness, and her irritation with Archie was mounting as he persistently pushed his foot into the back of her chair. She could see Lennox gripping the steering wheel. She wanted to reach out and touch him on the arm; only that would be misconstrued by everyone.

Lennox had hardly stopped the car, when both boys jumped out and made their way into the bowling alley.

“I’m sorry,” said Lennox, pulling on the handbrake.

“No worries. I remember being a teenager . . . But you owe me.” She smiled to reassure him, even though she meant the owing part.

Before she knew it, she was standing alone with the younger boy whilst Lennox took Archie off to buy the drinks.

“So, are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

“No, we just work together.”

“I don’t know why you’re here then,” he replied, looking at her with his inquisitive hazel eyes, which were a brighter, livelier version of his father’s.

“I don’t quite know myself. Shall we set up the game?” she asked, hoping to distract him until the others returned.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lennox returning with a tray of drinks in tall plastic containers with fluorescent straws. Archie was looking very red in the face and gesticulating wildly with his arms.

“You have no right to tell me how to behave. You left us. Is that how to behave?”

“Don’t be so rude.”

“There you go again, telling me what to do. We hardly see you and when we do, you think you’re in charge.”

Wednesday and Alfie watched Archie spew his bitterness over his father.

“Look son, I’m just worried about you, and so is your mum.”

“Don’t bring her into it. I hate you,” he threw his large carton of Coke on the floor and stormed towards the exit.

“Watch him,” said Lennox, indicating with his head in Alfie’s direction as he dashed after Archie.

Wednesday turned towards Alfie who stood open mouthed as his father disappeared through the crowd.

“Shall we play?” she asked half-heartedly.

He shrugged and turned away from her before slumping into a seat. He repeatedly rammed the toe of his trainer into the table leg, with his head hung so low Wednesday could no longer see his face under his floppy fringe.

Five minutes later, Lennox returned with Archie and announced that they were leaving. His news was met with a mixture of sighs and drooping shoulders. But Wednesday was relieved that the nightmare evening was almost over.

Throughout the return journey, Archie continued to push his foot into the back of Wednesday’s seat. She fumbled with the packet of cigarettes in her pocket, longing to draw one out and light it. Lennox had given up on small talk, so the subdued atmosphere lasted until they arrived back at the boys’ home.

Once again, Wednesday could not see the front door clearly, but she heard raised voices and then heard the door slam as Lennox returned to the car. She held out her packet of cigarettes as he clicked his seatbelt into position.

“Sorry about this evening,” he said before lighting up. “My plan didn’t pan out. Sorry you had to witness my crash and burn.”

“No worries.”

Small talk was off the agenda again and as he pulled up outside her house, he let her out before driving off revving his engine briefly.

On entering the hallway, Wednesday heard voices coming from the lounge. Standing in the doorway, she was surprised, and not too happy, to see Vera Olong standing in front of the fireplace, talking to Scarlett.

“DI Wednesday, what a surprise. Is this your home?” She was composed as she spoke, her face the same paleness as always, contrasted against her raven hair. Wednesday suspected she dyed it.

Wednesday nodded and sat on the couch, awaiting an explanation.

“I was asking Miss Willow if she could cease writing inflammatory articles about my husband and whether we have a cult festering away in our community.”

“I see. How did you know where she lives?” said Wednesday, leaning forward in her seat.

“A friend told me. Look, George is getting quite depressed over recent events, and I feel these articles are fuelling the gossip. You know how small-minded people can be.”

“I’ve already told Mrs Olong that I will tone down focusing on the reverend, but the cult issue is big news. I can’t stop that,” piped up Scarlett.

“Listen DI Wednesday, I’m worried that someone is trying to implicate my husband in the recent deaths by planting evidence at the vicarage. It needs to stop before it tips him over the edge.”

“I’m not in charge of Scarlett. You’ve taken it up with her, so if you’re not satisfied, I suggest you see the editor of the paper. I would prefer it if you didn’t call here again, but go to her office instead.”

“I’m sorry, I was hoping to be less formal, appeal to her human nature rather than go the formal route via her boss.”

Wednesday rose and Vera took the hint. As they reached the front door, she turned and looked at Wednesday. “Do you believe my husband is guilty in some way?”

Wednesday frowned. “I can’t discuss ongoing cases with you, Mrs Olong. We are still investigating many leads and suspects.”

“One of which is my husband.”

Wednesday pursed her lips and opened the front door. “Goodbye Mrs Olong,” she said before quietly closing the door.

Wednesday headed straight for the kitchen and reached for the open bottle of wine in the fridge. She poured herself a large glass then sat in the carver chair at the head of the table. She rubbed the back of her neck and closed her eyes, letting the memories of the day wash around her mind. She opened her eyes on hearing Scarlett enter the room.

“That was awkward and positively annoying,” said Wednesday. “I don’t like my work life to enter my home via osmosis. It could cause complications.”

“Geez sis, you worry too much. She wasn’t threatening me, just asking me to go easy on the rev.”

“All the same, I don’t feel comfortable with people feeling they can drop in and discuss the cases in any way, shape, or form.”

“All right already; message received.” Scarlett poured herself a glass of wine and was about to leave the kitchen when Wednesday stopped her.

“There’s the discharge planning meeting on Monday to discuss Mum coming home. You should be there.”

The glass hovered at Scarlett’s lips before she took a sip. “You know how I loathe those places.”

“It not the place you loathe, it’s the staff.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re worried that some doctor or nurse will see your own madness. The madness you deny so frequently.”

Scarlett moved closer to Wednesday and slammed her glass on the table, causing droplets of wine to slosh over the table.

“I may be excitable at times, but at least I don’t live my life on the flat level like you.”

“We have insanity in the family. You never seem to worry about that.”

“Why worry? That alone can lead to insanity.”

Wednesday’s head pounded and Scarlett’s raised voice was intolerable. She rubbed her temples contemplating her next move, but before she had a chance to challenge Scarlett’s viewpoint, she’d already left the room and was clomping up the stairs. The slamming of her bedroom door signalled the end of their conversation.

Wednesday was a light sleeper, so when she heard footsteps on the gravel path, in the early hours, she moved quickly to the window and peeked through the curtains. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but they also played tricks with the shadows so she could not be sure about what she was seeing. The security light suddenly lit up, casting a glow over the two cars. Wednesday waited to see any movement and then she saw a cat stroll out from the shadows. She waited some more before returning to bed and pulling the quilt over her head.

The smell of coffee and the chatter on the radio roused her from her slumber. Scarlett was already sitting in the kitchen, reading the Sunday paper.

Wednesday skirted around the table to grab herself a coffee. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Already forgotten, sis.”

“I’ve got to get ready for work, but perhaps we can have a chat later about the meeting tomorrow.”

Scarlett mumbled incoherently as she buried her head in the paper.

“Are you sure you can cope with this morning’s service?” asked Vera, looking at George over the breakfast table.

He sat with his elbows on the table, nursing a mug of steaming tea. “God will give me the strength I need,” he replied.

Vera vigorously tapped the top of her soft boiled egg before decapitating it, freeing the yolk so it oozed down the shell’s exterior. “You could always ask a lay preacher to take over just this once.”

“Then it would look like I have something to hide. People are talking enough as it is.” He drank the last of his tea then excused himself from the table, leaving Vera alone with her thoughts.

“I don’t want to move again,” she called out before hearing his study door close.

As the church bells chimed, George paced up and down in the vestry, wringing his hands and mumbling a prayer to God. He stopped mid-flow as Vera knocked on the door to check that he was okay.

“Of course I am,” he replied before recommencing his pacing routine.

Standing in the pulpit, George was acutely aware of the thinning congregation. Reliable church members such as Emily, and the returning James Dolby, continued to keep their faith in God and in him.

As the opening hymn began, the strength and depth of the voices was noticeably lacking, as one by one, the parents had removed their offspring from the choir, leaving mainly adults such as Colin Pollock to keep it going. Even though Vera was in charge of the choir, it appeared that no one believed her strong enough to protect their loved ones from her husband.

Vera valiantly conducted whilst singing at the top of her soprano voice. She caught her husband’s eye, and he responded with a gentle nod of his head.

After the hymn was over, everyone sat down and waited for him to speak. He opened his sermon by discussing the Ten Commandments; his hands shaking underneath his cassock and his mouth becoming so dry that his lips stuck to his teeth.

“What evil have you brought upon us?” called out a voice from the pews.

The congregation stirred and people turned around to see who had spoken. People began murmuring and twitching nervously, until again, this time in a faltering voice, the question came again.

“What evil have you brought upon us, Reverend?”

George recognised the voice as did the congregation as they shuffled in the pews to gaze at Emily Dolby. The reverend leant on the lectern with his hands clasped together in a prayer-like position.

“Dear Emily, I’m not sure what you mean.”

Emily stood up whilst her husband looked up at her in bewilderment; the colour draining from his face.

“Life around here may have been a tad dull but it was safe. Then you came along, and all these . . .” she paused to swallow hard. “All these deaths have happened to our children. It can only be you.”

She remained standing, gripping onto the pew in front to keep her balance as she swayed back and forth. Colour flooded her face until her cheeks were glowing as though she had been slapped.

Vera had discreetly sidled up to George and whispered something in his ear.

“My dear Emily, I can see you are very troubled. So may I suggest that we discuss your concerns after the service?”

James tugged on his wife’s sleeve, encouraging her to do as he suggested. She finally gave in and sat down.

Unfortunately, her outburst had unsettled the congregation and the reverend struggled to draw them back into the words of God. He indicated to his wife to start the next hymn, which everyone reluctantly joined in with.