Barb woke up hung over and feeling as if she hadn't really slept at all. Before she was completely conscious, she sensed the warmth and weight of an unfamiliar body near her and bolted upright with a stomach-dropping sense of dread - what had she been doing, and with whom? Then she saw Alison curled up beside her, sound asleep, still wearing the old jeans and cardigan she'd had on the night before. Rainy grey light filtered through the gaps in the hotel curtains. The other bed stood untouched, its puffy white duvet smooth and pristine.
Oh thank goodness. Barb subsided onto her pillow and waited with eyes closed for her heart to stop racing. She'd forgot entirely where she was for a moment. She'd been dreaming about Paul; they'd been walking in her garden on a bleak winter's day, and he'd been explaining how she could make her roses blossom whenever she liked. She'd said It can't be that easy, and he'd laughed and said It is, though, and just then all the bare rose bushes had burst into bloom at once, filling the air with drifting pink petals and heady, voluptuous scent. It made her giddy just to think about it, or perhaps that was the hangover.
Alison murmured something in her sleep and rolled onto her other side, and taking this as an opportunity to get up without disturbing her, Barb eased her legs off the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, assessing her condition. Head, a bit sore; stomach, not bad; overall condition, wobbly but serviceable. All right. To the bathroom. Slowly.
Her face in the bathroom mirror was pale, with bruised-looking circles under the eyes, and her hair was in a terrible state: after all the repeated wetting and drying out, it had frizzed so thoroughly she couldn't even pull her fingers through it. But she was upright and mobile and functioning, and considering what the last two days had been like, she couldn't ask for much more than that.
As she began peeling off her grubby, slept-in clothes, she wondered whether Alison would be in any better state when she woke up, and then, abruptly, why Alison had been sleeping in her bed in the first place. She'd been so relieved not to find a stranger there, the result of some awful lapse in judgment on her part, that she hadn't thought about it until now. Alison had been wide-awake when they'd been talking about good and evil, she was sure of it, so how had Alison ended up where she was? Frowning, she turned on the shower and got in, hoping it would all make more sense afterward.
---
On the other side of the bathroom door, Alison lay staring up at the blank hotel ceiling. She had drunk more than she'd meant to the previous night, certainly more than her self-imposed programme of restraint called for, but nowhere near enough to cause any ill effects. She wasn't happy about the slip, though. For her, it would always be a perilously short distance from having an extra glass or two with a friend to sitting at her window all afternoon, watching the world go by as she pissed her life away one sip at a time.
Sorry, Robert, she thought. I'll do better next time, I swear.
Before she could motivate herself to get up, Barbara emerged from the bathroom, dressed in loose dark trousers and a long-sleeved brown top, and clearly having made an attempt to hide some of the previous day's excesses with make-up. She spotted Alison and came to a sudden halt in the doorway.
"Oh, you're awake."
Alison raised her eyebrows. "Good morning to you too."
It was dim in the room, but even through the gloom she could see Barbara go red. "Sorry. Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
"Fantastic," Alison said. "You?"
"Fine, thanks," said Barbara, giving her a strange look. Alison could see the question burning in her mind - but why were we doing it together? - and decided to let her wonder about that for a bit. The truth was that when Barbara had fallen asleep in the midst of their conversation, she'd realised that she was exhausted as well, and had lain down right where she was, not wanting to bother with getting undressed and crawling into the other bed. Barbara was much warmer and softer than she looked, and it had been rather nice to have a sleeping companion for a change; except for a single regrettable experience three years ago, she hadn't shared a bed with anyone for any reason in a long time. The closest she had come was the night Robert had stayed with her in Sandra Petch's flat.
Barbara held out a moment longer, but when no explanation was forthcoming, let it go and went to peer into the mirror above the room's glossy black chest of drawers.
"Anyway, I've been thinking," she said, gathering her hair up tidily at the back. "You wanted to do research, and I think we'll have better luck here than in Bristol -- the local university will have heaps of data on the town's history, including burial records if there are any." She twisted an elastic round the ponytail she'd made and smoothed down a few stray curling wisps at the sides. "As it happens, I know someone there who should be able to get us access to anything we need."
"Who?" Alison asked, sitting up.
"Just an old friend," Barbara said.
---
The university's library was a modern, glass-fronted building set in a sweeping expanse of grass, which Alison thought would likely be full of lounging people in nice weather. On this soggy Saturday morning, it was mostly empty under the heavily clouded sky, with only a few intrepid students making their way toward the library doors, and one older man who was waiting to greet them.
"Barb!"
"Hello, Neil," Barbara said, stretching up to put a kiss on his cheek. Neil was very tall and very thin, with brown hair greying at the temples and a short, neatly kept beard. He had on a smart shirt and tie under a navy mac, and he was smiling with real pleasure, obviously glad to see Barbara and anyone else she might have brought along.
"You should have said you were coming, we would have had you round for dinner," he said, returning her kiss. "Although it's a bit thick with bunnies at home just now. The girls each got rabbits last summer, and we didn't find out until later that they were a male and a female instead of two males. You can't imagine what a mess eight rabbits make in the house."
"Probably not," said Barbara. "You could have given some of them away, couldn't you?"
"Not without a pair of hysterical thirteen-year-olds making a scene," said Neil. "I'd rather live with the rabbits." He looked kindly and rather quizzically down at Alison. "I don't think we've met, have we?"
"Oh, sorry," Barbara said. "Alison Mundy, this is Neil Allingham, he's vice-chancellor for research at this university, as well as a professor of psychology specialising in cognitive theory. Neil, this is Alison, she's -- she's a friend."
"How do you do," said Alison, wondering whether, if they were going to be comparing qualifications, she ought to add 'Bachelor of Nursing (Hons)' on to Barbara's description of her. She put out her hand, and Neil shook it and said how nice it was to meet her.
"So you're doing a bit of genealogical research, then?" he asked. Alison, who had been in the shower when Barbara phoned to arrange this meeting, looked at her for help.
"Yes," Barbara said smoothly. "I've been helping Alison trace some of her family, and it turns out she has a few ancestors here, seventeenth century we think, or possibly before. She wanted to have a look round the graveyard, and as my brother's buried there too, I thought I would come along. We found some interesting stones, and now here we are to learn more about them."
"Of course," Neil said. "Well, the printed materials in the library are open to visitors, and I've arranged for you to have access to all the electronic records as well; the systems work the same way the ones at Bristol do, so you should have no trouble. You can use my login for anything restricted, and my staff card if you need to make photocopies." He handed a stiff plastic card and a slip of paper over to Barbara, who tucked them into the pocket of her new coat. "I'll be away part of the day - the girls are going ice-skating and Will has a birthday party - but I should be back by two. If you finish before then, just pop the card under my office door. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I think you've covered it all pretty thoroughly," said Barbara, smiling. "Now go enjoy your skating and birthdays; we'll just get on with things here, won't we, Alison?"
"Yes, thanks very much," said Alison, and with a little wave, Neil departed, head down against the rain that had just started again.
"He's quite nice," Alison said, watching him go. "How do you know each other?"
"We used to be married," Barbara said.
"What? Really?" Alison was stunned. Barbara seemed so self-contained, living alone in her magazine-perfect house with only the cat for company, that she couldn't imagine her ever having been married to anyone. She tried to picture Barbara and Neil doing married sorts of things - having breakfast together, watching the news, hanging up curtains, making love - but it gave her a very odd feeling, so she stopped.
"Yes, really," Barbara said. "Not for very long, though. Postgraduate students shouldn't be allowed to marry each other; it never lasts. He's been with someone else for fifteen years now - they've got twin daughters and a little boy. I get cards every Christmas with their photos in."
"Sorry about that," said Alison, thinking of her own nightmare of a marriage and divorce. Christmas cards and dinner invitations seemed very civilised in comparison. She hadn't seen her former husband in a long time, but she was quite sure he would still rather greet her by blacking her eye than kissing her cheek.
Barbara shrugged. "It's for the best. We get on wonderfully now that we only see each other once every few years. When we lived together I wanted to throttle him at least twice a week." She looked at her watch. "Anyway, it's all ancient history. And speaking of history, you and I have got a lot to do. Come on."
---
After a morning and early afternoon spent in the comforting familiarity of the library, Barb felt calmer than she had done since Thursday, before this whole mad dream had begun. They had stopped on the way to the university and bought notepads and pencils and highlighters, and she had arranged all these things on a table in an out-of-the-way corner, along with her laptop and the rubbing they had made at the graveyard, to create a little oasis of reason and order. It was probably the academic version of an expecting mother's nesting instinct, she thought wryly, but it had helped. If only the paracetamol she'd taken would do something about her headache, everything would be perfect.
Alison, for her part, had been working steadily away, going through the books they had pulled from the shelves. Barb hadn't been sure how much help she could expect from Alison, but she'd been pleasantly surprised to find that Alison was quite a competent researcher, patient and focused. She'd been sat in her chair for hours, one foot tucked up underneath her and the other bent round the chair's leg, turning pages and occasionally noting the title of another book to check. Meanwhile, Barb had been logged onto the university's network with Neil's password, combing through databases and scanned documents and trying not to think too much about why she was doing it. The research was a pleasant challenge, but once they found what they were looking for, they were going to have to do something with the information, and that would not be pleasant at all. It was easy, in this safe and isolated place, to pretend that the horrible things that had happened at home hadn't been real, but they had been. If she'd had any doubt, the conversation she'd had with the vet earlier, when she'd phoned to check on Alec, would have removed it. The vet had said that Alec's hypothermia indicated he had been exposed to temperatures below freezing, far colder than it ever got in Bristol, much less on a rainy afternoon in November; after they had left, she had even discovered minor frostbite on his forepaws and the tip of his tail. She and everyone else at the surgery had been baffled. Barb had thanked her for looking after Alec so well, then ended the call and wept, both for what had happened and what could have.
"Barbara." Alison's sudden whisper jarred her out of her thoughts. "Look at this - I think I've found something."
Barb slid over into the chair next to Alison and leant close to see the page she was indicating, in a book called Witchcraft in England: 1560-1660.
John Collyer or Collier was a man whom all did fear, for that he was thought to be in league with the Devil, who had given him divers magickal powers. When asked if this were true he said that it was, and that he had sold his immortal soul in exchange for such, and laughed until those around him were right afraid for their lives.
Right afraid for their lives, Barb thought. That sounds about right. She read on.
Though the magistrates wished to have the said John taken up for the many crimes of which he was accused, none dared enter his house to capture him, nor would any lay hands upon him in the street. He continued in his vile and unholy ways until men of the town, thinking to take him by surprise, did lie in wait for him in the dark beyond the river bridge, and strike a blow to his head that rendered him senseless. When he awoke he refused to demonstrate any of his arts, or to confess to his crimes, though methods both licit and illicit were employed to draw out the truth. This went on for days and weeks, until at last he could withstand no more, and he died cursing his captors, defiant to the end. His body was burnt on a pyre, though to do so was unlawful, and the bones that remained buried outside the sacred ground of the churchyard.
"Dear God," she said. "But no one who was accused of witchcraft during that time really was a witch, everyone knows that - I mean, people did confess, but it was out of fear of torture, or as a result of it. The few who truly believed they were witches were most likely suffering from a grandiose delusional disorder, or bipolar schizoaffective, if they thought they could see or hear the Devil speaking to them ..." She trailed off, thinking of the Paul-voice she had heard the previous day. No doubt other psychologists would diagnose her as blithely as she had just labelled those long-ago people, but would they be right? Was she?
"Maybe John Collier was the only real witch in the lot," Alison said, staring down at the page.
"If he was a real witch, then he ought to have been able to stop them torturing him," Barb pointed out. "Why didn't he?"
"I suppose we'll have to ask him," Alison said. "That is, I will." Her voice was weary and resigned, and glancing at her face, Barb found it drawn in grim lines of dread.
"You don't want to, do you?" she asked, and knew even as she said it that it was true. She'd been so focused on her own fears and worries that she'd never really considered what it might cost Alison to deal with a spirit - any spirit, but particularly this one.
Alison hesitated, then shook her head. "No. But I have to."
"No, you don't," Barb said. Alison's left hand was still resting on the open book, and impulsively, she reached over and covered it with one of her own. Alison flinched as if startled and began to pull away, but then relaxed and sat still again. "If you think you have to because of Robert, you're wrong. He wouldn't want you to put yourself in a dangerous situation on his account, not after what happened at that seance. He cared about you too much for that. I know he did."
"He cared about you too; he'd want me to help you if I could," Alison said. "But I'm not only doing it for him, Barbara. I was, to start, but now I'm doing it for you as well. I want you to be safe, and you never will be as long as that spirit is in your house. Even if you never went back again, who's to say it couldn't get out and come looking for you? We don't even know what's been keeping it there. Someone has to do something to make certain it goes for good."
"I know," Barb said. She tightened her fingers round Alison's hand. "I owe you a lot already, you know. I don't know how I'm going to repay you when this is all over."
"Worry about that later," Alison said, and unbelievably, managed to smile. "If we don't survive, all debts are cancelled."
"I'll hold you to that," Barb said. The thought of the voice and the radio flitted through her mind again, and she took a deep breath. "Listen - there was something I wanted to tell you -"
"Aha, there you two are." Neil's voice came from behind them, low-pitched for the library's sake, but still light and cheerful. Both of them jumped and turned round, Barb letting go of Alison's hand in the process, and found him standing there with a smile. "How have you been getting on? Finding everything you need?"
"Absolutely," said Barb. "How was the skating? And the party?"
"Cold, wet and noisy, in that order," Neil said. His gaze flicked from her to Alison to the books spread out in front of them. "Alison, would you mind awfully if I borrowed Barbara for just a moment?"
"No, of course not," Alison said. "I'll just carry on with my reading."
Neil inclined his head toward a nearby door, and wondering what this was all about, Barb got up and followed him through it into a small, disused office.
"Is everything all right?" he asked the instant the door closed behind them.
"What? Yes, of course. Why?"
"Why? Well, you're here completely out of the blue, you rang me up on the spur of the moment which you never do, and I don't like to say it, Barb, but you look terrible. Really terrible, as if you haven't eaten or slept in a week. Your friend Alison doesn't look much better, and both of you have this look in your eyes ... if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd seen a ghost."
This was the last thing Barb had expected to hear, and she had to hold back a burst of hysterical laughter at how unwittingly accurate it was. If you only knew! she thought, looking up into his kind, worried, middle-aged face and knowing that she'd never tell him.
"Everything is fine," she said with a conviction she didn't feel. "Really. I'm sorry I haven't got more time to visit at the moment, but next time I'm in the area I promise I'll come and collect on that dinner invitation."
Neil shifted position uncomfortably. "Look, Barb, I know we don't talk very often anymore - it must be a year since the last time - but you do know that if you were in some sort of trouble, I would help, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I asked if you could get me into the library, didn't I? And you did, and it's been a great help. I swear if I need anything else, I'll ask for that too, all right?"
"All right," said Neil at last. "Anything. Really. Even money."
"Yes, okay, even money," said Barb, desperate to get rid of him and get back to Alison. "Thanks."
Neil still looked reluctant, but he opened the door again and let her out, and after she promised to bring back his photocopier card, wandered off toward his office. Feeling shaky, as if she'd just had a near miss with a speeding car, Barb returned to the table where Alison was still sitting with her books.
"Do I look terrible?" she demanded.
Alison surveyed her.
"You look tired," she said at last.
"Well, no bloody wonder, I feel tired," said Barb crossly, and plumped down in her chair.
"Wasn't there something you were going to tell me before Neil came?" Alison asked.
"Never mind, it wasn't important," Barb said. "Let's see what else it says in that book. We've got to get home soon. There isn't much time."