The Unbearable Lightness of Being in Aberystwyth (30 page)

‘Anyway, I refused. I said I wanted nothing to do with it. I sent him packing.’

‘How noble. It’s never too late, I suppose.’

‘Yes, you can sneer. I know everyone thinks I’m just some dried-up, mean, scornful old woman with no more charity in her heart than … than … a crow … yes … not like her, not like Miss Sweetness and Light, she can do no wrong can she, the little hussy. Think what you like. See if I care.’

‘Where’s Frankie?’

‘I told you, he’s gone. And I wouldn’t be in a hurry to find him if I were you. He’s furious because he found out he’s been double-crossed. He said he was going to do Mooncalf and then the guy with the monkey. And a lot else besides. He always did have a temper.’

‘Who has double-crossed him?’

‘I don’t know. Everyone, I suppose. It was because of what I said. He was telling me about this ridiculous scheme and saying how they did it last week and I said, it doesn’t make sense to me, someone must have got the dates wrong. And he says it all makes perfect sense. And I said, so you say, but I know for a fact that the girl is two months gone. And he looked a bit taken aback to hear that and said that was impossible they only did it last week. And I said well you can say what you like but she’s missed twice now and he called me a stupid old lying bitch and I said yes I may be stupid and dumb and anything else you care to call me but there are a few things that I do know about and I’m telling you Seren is two months gone. And he looked really angry now and asked how such a thing could have happened. And I said,
she probably did it the same way everybody else does it, no need for Divine intervention, it’s quite a popular pastime in Borth, so I’m told. And then he demanded to know who the father was. And I said how should I know. And he said he ’d kill whoever did it. So I told him, you’ll have a long list of people to kill. Who did it? he asked. And I said I really had no idea, she doesn’t tell me anything, but judging from the way she puts herself about it could be anyone, it could be the postman for all I know. Of course the fools from the village are all saying it is Meredith—’

And as she said the word her hand shot up to her mouth and she said, ‘Oh my God!’

‘In such a night as this …’ said Llunos.

We walked along the ridge of a scree of stones beneath a sky of violet stained glass. Away to our left, the lights of Aberdovey scintillated on the dark waters of the estuary. Somewhere there, too, was a beach which we couldn’t see. But it had to be there. It was yesterday.

‘When the sweet wind did gently kiss …’

The stones gave way in a noisy cascade and the movement impelled us down to the sand and the invisible sea that never stopped sucking the detritus off the beach. A meteor fizzed like a fairy’s wand across the night sky. We walked along the water’s edge.

‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ said Llunos.

‘Oh yes?’

‘You remember those guys who took you to the engine sheds to give you a message from Ll and hit you on the head with a shovel?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ever wondered who Ll was?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘It’s short for Llunos.’

‘Funny, that’s your name.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. They were working for me. I told them to put a fright into you, not knock you unconscious with a shovel.’

‘Since it’s the night for confession, would you care to tell me why you did such a strange thing?’

‘I wanted Calamity to stop investigating the Nanteos case.’

‘Did the reputation of your great-grandfather really mean so much?’

‘Actually, I didn’t give a damn about him.’

‘So why did I get a sore head?’

‘It was because of my mam. You’ve met my mam?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘She’s a good sort. Getting on a bit, but a heart of gold. Never says a bad word about anyone. That’s rare round here.’

‘Rare anywhere.’

‘She’s never really had much out of life. Doesn’t complain about it but, you know, she’s never really had much. She doesn’t have any fancy things, or anything like that, you know.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘Except one. It’s a … it’s a … it’s a necklace.’

‘Oh really?’

‘She adores it, only nice thing she’s got. It’s a bit of a family heirloom.’

‘Oval, flat-cut garnets set in gold with close-backed foil collets, concealed clasp and pear-shaped garnet drop?’

‘Yeah, something like that. A beauty it is. I’d hate to have to ask her to give it back.’

I laughed. And then he began quoting again.

‘In such a night
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.’

Across the dark water the car headlamps flashed in Aberdovey and an answering voice came from the blackness that was the sea.

‘I would out-night you, did no body come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man …’

It was a boy’s voice. Coming from the direction of the water. We stopped and peered into the darkness. Llunos took out a flashlight and wafted the beam across the surface of the water. The shaft of light picked out a dark shape that shouldn’t have been there. It moved.

‘Louie,’ a voice said. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’

It was Dai Brainbocs wearing a thick fisherman’s jacket, up to his chest in the water.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Dying.’

‘Where’s your wheelchair?’

‘I’m sitting on it.’

‘Is Frankie Mephisto here?’

‘I saw him about two hours ago. With a shotgun. I’d steer clear of him if I were you, he’s not in one of his best moods. Who’s that with you?’

‘Llunos.’

‘Good evening, Llunos,’ said Brainbocs.

‘I’ll go and get help.’

‘No point, Louie. The chair has sunk into the quicksand up to my waist.’

‘We could get a boat.’

‘There isn’t time.’

The water had reached just below his shoulders and as we spoke there was a black invisible surge that took it to just under his chin.

‘But you’ll drown.’

‘I hope so.’

‘You’ve caused a lot of trouble, you have,’ said Llunos.

‘It’s no use you trying to throw a guilt-trip on me, what was
I supposed to do? Frankie Mephisto was going to make me someone’s girlfriend.’

‘But what about the poor girl, Seren?’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Mooncalf says the doctor from the clinic refused to have anything to do with the plan. He said it was against every imaginable ethical and moral principle. Mooncalf killed him and fed the DNA mixture to that feral donkey that’s been hanging around. The one with a missing ear.’

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘There’s a deputy on guard outside Meredith’s cottage – he can radio the coastguard.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourselves, Louie. I don’t want to be saved. I want to die and join Myfanwy.’

Sister Cunégonde beat us to Meredith’s cottage. We saw her disappearing through the front door when we arrived. The light was on in the kitchen but there was no sign of the deputy. I knocked on the door and a voice shouted from within.

‘Yes?’

‘We need to use the phone, there’s someone in trouble – in the water.’

The voice said, ‘come in’ and we pushed the door open and walked in.

Meredith was sitting on the floor of his cottage with his back pressed against the wall. The coarse grey plaster above his head was smeared with his blood. It began midway up in a blob and then slalomed down in a wide, drunken stain, as if someone had thrown a flan against the wall and it had slithered to the floor. ‘Welcome to the party,’ said Frankie, cradling a pump action shotgun in his lap like a favourite kitten. He jerked the shotgun to indicate that we should walk over to join Sister Cunégonde at the table. One of the tough guys I’d seen on the platform at Shrewsbury stood next to Frankie, also holding a shotgun.

‘Need to use the phone did you say? Who’s in trouble?’

‘Brainbocs,’ I said stupidly.

Frankie aimed the gun casually at the phone and pulled the trigger. It was one of those old-fashioned phones with a dial and a braided black cord. It disintegrated in a shower of bakelite fragments.

‘We’ve been trying to work out who got the girl up the duff,’ said Frankie. ‘This chap says it wasn’t him.’

Meredith made no acknowledgement but there was still a gleam in his eyes, the last embers of consciousness or maybe just the torch of the caretaker locking up as he left. Frankie looked accusingly at Sister Cunégonde.

‘I never told you it was him.’

‘You never told me it wasn’t either, did you, you stupid bitch?’

He walked over to Meredith, hefted the shotgun, looked inquiringly at Sister Cunégonde and said, ‘So who was it?’ He rammed the butt of the gun down into the side of Meredith’s head. He let out a soft groan. Sister Cunégonde jumped up and ran at Frankie Mephisto and he casually swung the gun round and caught her on the ear with the end of the barrel. She stopped in her tracks and fell to the floor and then started crawling towards Meredith. Frankie put the sole of his foot on her and shoved her across the room.

‘So who?’ he said again.

‘Does it matter?’ asked Llunos.

A spasm flashed in the muscles of Frankie’s face. He turned a gaze of withering intensity on Llunos and whispered, ‘Don’t you tempt me, copper.’

‘No one knows who the father is,’ said Sister Cunégonde. ‘Only Seren.’ There was a deep gash above her ear and the side of her head glistened wet in the dimly lit kitchen.

‘That’s a lie for a start. Even I know it takes two.’ He kicked Meredith in the chest wound where the shotgun discharge was concentrated. Everyone in the room winced. Frankie chuckled. ‘Give us a clue, Cunybongy.’

‘I swear on everything that’s holy—’

This time he stamped. Meredith let out a low agonised howl like a bull sinking beneath the lances of the toreador. ‘Swear on something you care about. I know what. Swear on the pond!’ He laughed.

‘We know all about it, Frankie,’ said Llunos. ‘Your little tricks won’t work.’

Frankie looked puzzled for a second. ‘All about what?’

‘The book by Ulricus. Pope Gregory and the skulls. It’s ancient history, nothing to do with her nor anyone else. All forgotten long ago.’

The look of bafflement hovered over Frankie’s features, the look of a man trying to make sense of a puzzle. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Is that what she told you? Is it? Said she was ashamed of all those old skulls left in the pond?’

‘You shut your wicked mouth, Frankie Mephisto!’ Sister Cunégonde hissed.

He laughed again. ‘Oh no, it wasn’t ancient history she was afraid of, was it?’

Cunégonde picked up a garden fork and lunged at Frankie Mephisto. He stepped out of the way and cuffed her again with the gun and swung it round to train on me and Llunos. The whole movement was done with the easy grace and fluidity of a ballet dancer. It looked as if he’d been born holding that shotgun, or had played out scenes like this a thousand times before. You could see he was enjoying it. He laughed again. ‘Why don’t you tell everybody the truth? Why don’t you tell them what you were really ashamed of?’

The kitchen door banged open and we all looked across. Mrs Prestatyn stood framed in the doorway. She was wearing one of those transparent plastic coats that fold up into a purse but which always look crumpled. Her hair was tied up in a headscarf and in her hands was a shotgun. She looked like she’d received the news midway through doing the washing up. ‘Stick ’em up!’ she said.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ said Frankie.

‘Drop the guns,’ she said uncertainly.

Frankie laughed. ‘What if I don’t?’

‘I’ll shoot you.’

‘Which one, me or him?’

‘I mean it!’

‘Sure you do. I’ll make you a deal. You shoot me and Brother Grimm here will shoot everybody else.’

There was a pause. Mrs Prestatyn kept the shotgun trained on Frankie but the barrel was wavering, hands trembling.

‘You don’t impress me, Frankie Mephisto.’

‘I’m not trying to. Who the fuck are you anyway?’

‘And we’ll have less of the profanities if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh!’ said Frankie. ‘Frightfully sorry. Have we been introduced?’

‘My name’s Gaynor Prestatyn.’

‘Did we go out together or something?’

‘You killed my girl.’

The light of understanding crept over Frankie’s face, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting. ‘You should thank me – you’ve been dining out on that for twenty-five years.’

‘I’m going to shoot.’

‘Well, get it over with then.’

‘Don’t think I won’t. You killed my girl.’

Mrs Prestatyn stood as someone facing a chasm too broad for leaping. In the stricken look on her face I knew she would never pull the trigger. Not even to save her own life.

‘Shoot him, you stupid bitch,’ said Sister Cunégonde.