Read Online The Cure of Souls by Phil Rickman - Free Book Online

swiftly have rounded up a dozen people who could have pointed her out.
    ‘I had a call from Canon Beckett, this morning,’ Merrily said. ‘I’m Merrily Watkins. I rang—’
    ‘I know. It wasn’t convenient to talk to you then. I’m sorry.’ Mrs Shelbone spoke briskly, local accent. ‘I was intending to call you back tonight when we could speak freely.’
    Dennis must have told her to expect a call from the Deliverance Consultant, but the girl, Amy, had been in the house, Merrily guessed, at the time she rang. She suddenly felt wrong-footed, because this woman already knew exactly who she was and what she was doing here, and now she was getting that familiar, dismayed look that said:
You’re the wrong sex, you’re too young, you’re too small
.
    She slipped a hand defensively to her scarf. Mrs Hazel Shelbone shifted her shopping basket from one hand to the other. In the basket were two tins of polish and some yellow dusters, neatly folded. No apples, no eggs.
    ‘Well, my dear,’ Mrs Shelbone said, ‘this isn’t really a good place to leave your car. I should take it a little way down that lane over there. Perhaps we could meet in the church in about five minutes?’ She produced a smile that was wry and resigned. ‘The scene of the crime, as it were.’
    In the long church porch with its glassless, iron-barred Gothic windows, Merrily took a few long breaths, whispered a rather feverish prayer.
    Jane had once asked, insouciantly,
So when do they issue you with the black medical bag and the rubber apron for the green bile?
    The truth was that Merrily had never exorcized a person. Deliverance Consultant might be an unsatisfactory title, but it was a more accurate job description than Diocesan Exorcist. Heavy spiritual cleansing had never been more than an infrequent last resort.
    Tell me if it’s real
, Merrily mumbled to God.
Don’t let me get this wrong
.
    It was only a few steps down from the porch, but the body of the church had a subterranean feel – a cool, grey cavern. HazelShelbone was alone there, waiting in a front pew, a few yards from the pulpit and the entrance to the chancel where her daughter had – in the phraseology of Dennis Beckett’s grandson – tossed her cookies.
    She half rose. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Watkins, if I was abrupt. It’s been very difficult.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I… would like you to understand about me from the outset. I am a Christian.
And
a mother.’ She said this almost defiantly, her wide face shining in the white light from the leaded windows.
    Merrily nodded. ‘Me, too.’
    ‘You’ve got children?’
    ‘Just the one. A girl. Sixteen.’
    Mrs Shelbone’s brown eyes widened. ‘A child bride, were you?’
    ‘Sort of. My husband was killed in a car accident. Long time ago.’
    The body of the church seemed fairly colourless. There was no stained glass in the nave, but behind the altar was a crucifixion window with blood-red predominant.
    ‘And you remarried?’
    ‘No, I…’
    ‘Found the Church instead.’ A deep nod of understanding from Mrs Shelbone. ‘It’s important to know where your destiny lies, isn’t it? I knew from a very early age that I was destined to be a mother, that this was to be my
task
in life. My occupation. Do you see?’
    Merrily smiled. Hazel Shelbone’s expression rebuked her.
    ‘But we couldn’t have children, Mrs Watkins! Couldn’t
have
them. Imagine that. It was enough to shatter my faith. How terribly cruel of God, I thought.’
    ‘So—’
    ‘But after a while I began to understand. He intended for me to be a reservoir, do you see? A reservoir of maternal love for little children who were starved of it. When I came to thatunderstanding it was a moment of great joy.’
    ‘So you—’
    ‘Foster parents we were, for a number of years. And then we took on Amy as an infant, and God, in his wisdom, decided that she was to stay and become our daughter. We had a big, decrepit old house, up in Leominster in those days, with lots