5: Variation 15 - Tom

Tom Gray was regarded as an oddity. He sat at his computer all day with his head down. He was in his thirties and still lived with his widowed mother Audrey. He showed no interest in the unattached office girls several of whom showed an interest in him. Like Simon Tom was very attractive. He was tall, slim and fair-haired with the wistful look of a romantic poet. His father Reg who’d died from a heart attack when Tom was a child had asked to be buried along with his parents. For years Tom and his mother travelled the forty miles or so to attend to the grave at St. Andrew’s Church, Compton Bishop, a hamlet cradled beneath the slopes of Wavering Down and Crook Peak at the western end of the Mendip Hills. When Tom spoke to anyone it was usually about his mother and their visits to Compton tending the grave. After they’d finished cutting the grass and replacing the flowers Tom would leave his mother in the car and climb to the summit of Crook Peak to enjoy views of the churchyard below, the Somerset levels and hills of Wales across the Bristol Channel. He always spoke of the place with affection and hoped to retire there.

Apart from his mother the only other person Tom spoke of was Mrs. Kandinsky, a Russian immigrant now in her nineties, his next door neighbour whose hold on Tom was unusually strong thanks to her interest in the occult which he also shared. He occasionally told his colleagues about her predictions which few believed and most found amusing. And so it was Tom’s only topics of conversation were of his mother, his father’s grave and Mrs. Kandinsky.

On one such visit to Compton climbing Crook Peak he passed a low cliff which he’d never before explored. Compelled for no obvious reason to take a look, he scrambled down over the rocks and on reaching the bottom discovered a shallow cave. Stepping inside he felt an immediate sense of déjà vu and was convinced that the cave had some special significance just for him. He felt as though he belonged there, that he’d found a place he’d always unconsciously known about, a haven of safety, a sense of being truly at home. For several minutes he sat inside on a rock trying to understand its peculiar magnetism.

Back at the car he wanted to tell his mother about the cave but didn’t. Audrey would have shrugged it off as nonsense suspecting Mrs. Kandinsky’s influence. She’d never approved of her power over Tom and had more than once tried to stop him from seeing the woman. Their bond she hoped was a passing phase. Tom on the other hand knew it wasn’t. He cared for his mother and did what he could to support her but his need of Mrs. Kandinsky was stronger. She understood him in ways his mother never could. His deepest beliefs chimed exactly with Mrs Kandinsky’s. They were soulmates, both of one mind sharing insights nobody else would understand. On the drive home he talked about mundane matters but his thoughts were fixed on the strange experience in the cave and what it might mean.

Tom, who rarely left his computer, was eating his sandwiches at his desk as he always did. It being Friday the younger employees were at the pub, the lads hugging the bar and the girls sitting around a table exchanging the latest office gossip. The girls were intrigued by Tom. None disputed his good looks but they laughed at his odd ways and none of them took him seriously apart from Emma who always stood up for him. On this particular Friday Emma was challenged to date him. Her friends agreed to contribute a pound. If successful the cash would be hers. Emma reacted angrily. ‘You can keep the cash,’ she said. ‘but I’ll accept the challenge. Give me a week and we’ll see what happens.’

In the days that followed Emma was often at his desk listening to the latest news about his mother and Mrs. Kandinsky. As the week progressed their conversations increased in length making some of the lads quite jealous of Tom. Emma, a brown-eyed brunet, short but shapely was their idea of the perfect catch. Tom appreciated Emma’s interest in his mother and Mrs. Kandinsky and asked if she’d like to meet them.

‘I love to,’ said Emma. ‘When?’

Tom disliked making firm arrangements other than those connected with work. Mrs. Kandinsky wouldn’t mind. She loved nothing better than people to talk to. But he wasn’t sure how his mother would take to sharing her son with another person. He thought for while then said, ‘Come this weekend if you like. Perhaps it would be best if you met my mother first. She isn’t too fond of Mrs. Kandinsky but that doesn’t matter.’

‘Shall we say tomorrow?’ said Emma. ‘I’m free all weekend.’

‘I don’t see why not. Would two o’clock be all right?’

‘Perfect. I’ll come to the house. Where do you live?’

Tom wrote his address on a scrap of paper. Back at her desk Emma was immediately surrounded by the girls eager to know what had happened. Tom meanwhile went on with his work and thought no more about it until he was walking home. Audrey was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. After they’d talked about each other’s day he broke the news. ‘I hope you won’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked a friend over to meet you this weekend.’

‘How nice,’ said Audrey, ‘what’s his name?’

‘Emma, she’s one of the girls at work.’ He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d get and was pleasantly surprised when his mother’s face lit up.

‘A girl, how lovely,’ she beamed. ‘Emma you say. Well I can’t wait to meet her.’ Audrey had longed for a grandchild but had given up hope of Tom ever finding a girlfriend. ‘This is a surprise. How long have you been together?’

‘Well we’re not exactly together. She’s just a friend but she wants to know more about you and Mrs. Kandinsky.’ He knew as soon as the words were out that he shouldn’t have mentioned Mrs. Kandinsky. ‘But that can wait,’ he added. ‘It’s you she really wants to meet. She was fascinated with Compton Bishop. I said we’d take her to see it one day.’

He’d saved the situation. ‘That would be lovely,’ Audrey said, ‘but first things first. I take it she’ll be staying for tea. I’ll bake something special. Is there anything she can’t eat? You’ll have to ask her and let me know.’

‘I can’t. She’s coming tomorrow’.

‘Couldn’t you ring her?’

‘I could if I knew the number or even her surname. But don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll eat anything.’

Audrey couldn’t help thinking what a strange relationship it must be but knowing her son she wasn’t altogether surprised. He lived for his work and probably had no idea how to relate to girls. As far as she knew Emma was the first one he’d ever taken to. ‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a sponge and some cup cakes and hope for the best.’

On the following day at precisely two o’clock Emma arrived. It was Audrey who answered the door. Tom was lost in a book about runes which Mrs. Kandinsky had lent him. Emma dressed in a purple top and plain white skirt stood on the doorstep smiling. ‘Mrs, Gray? I’m Emma.’

‘Come in,’ said Tom’s mother taking her into the lounge, ‘and do call me Audrey. Tom, Emma’s here.’

Tom finished the paragraph before looking up. ‘Emma,’ he said, with a look of bewilderment as though he’d forgotten she was coming.

Emma bent towards him expecting a peck on the cheek which was not forthcoming. Tom carried on reading. Audrey had set about making tea and was pleased when Emma offered to join her in the kitchen. The rapport between them was relaxed from the start. Tom needn’t have been there. The two of them talked together like mother and daughter. By the time the sponge and cake cups were eaten Audrey had learned all about Emma and Emma all about Audrey. ‘Tom suggested you might like to come with us to Compton Bishop one day,’ Audrey said in one of few references made to her son all afternoon.

‘I’d love to. It sounds idyllic. When will you be going?’

‘We were planning to go next Sunday. Isn’t that right Tom?’ Tom nodded without looking up. ‘Would you like us to collect you?’

‘Yes if isn’t too much trouble.’

‘No trouble at all,’ said Audrey without asking Tom.

‘Then I’ll see you next Sunday,’ said Emma making ready to leave and giving Audrey a hug and a kiss. Tom, prompted by his mother, took her as far as the gate but refrained from offering to walk her home.

‘Your mother’s a lovely woman,’ said Emma.

‘I thought you’d like her but wait till you meet Mrs. Kandinsky. I’ll be seeing her on Wednesday. You can come if you like.’

‘What time?’

‘Eight o’clock?’

‘Shall I call at your place?’

‘No. Best if we meet at Mrs. Kandinsky’s.’ He pointed to the house next door. ‘I’ll wait for you at the gate.’ He gave her an awkward look and turned about which she took to be his way of saying goodbye.

‘Right,’ she called after him, ‘I’ll see you at work.’

‘What a pleasant girl,’ said Audrey when Tom came back. ‘If you don’t want to lose her you’ll need to be more attentive.’ Tom had no idea what she meant.

On the following Monday, already glued to his computer, Tom was unaware of Emma’s arrival and the girls gathered around her asking questions. Emma’s answers were non-committal. She’d thought a lot about Tom over the weekend. She was pleased he wasn’t like most men only interested in one thing. He was different, distant and wary of physical contact but that could change. Perhaps he was shy or mistrustful of women. His relationship with Audrey intrigued her. She’d quickly grown fond of Audrey yet Tom showed her little affection. Why did he care more for Mrs. Kandinsky than his mother? Was Mrs. Kandinsky less of a threat? Was he frightened of close relationships? Perhaps being an only child was a factor. Emma was an only child but having two parents made her feel part of a family. What was it like for a boy to lose his father and have to rely only on his mother? In Tom’s eyes they might be so close that he needed to push her away along with other females who came too near. Though Tom was an enigma she was growing to like him. He reminded her of a tortoise at home inside his protective shell. Her challenge would be to entice him out and discover the creature inside. She kept these thoughts to herself but told the other girls they’d be meeting again on Wednesday.

Tom was standing at Mrs. Kandinsky’s gate when Emma turned up. In contrast to the rest of the street her house looked run down and squalid. The gate needed a lick of paint. It was tied with string where one of the hinges had come adrift. The small patch of grass hadn’t been mown in months and the surrounding flower borders were choked with weeds. Behind the drawn curtains a faint light glimmered. Without knocking Tom pushed against the door which gave way with force. There was no hallway. The door opened straight into a dimly lit room where Mrs. Kandinsky sat in a shabby arm chair with a black cat on her lap.

‘Come in dear,’ she said in a croaky voice with the faintest hint of a Russian accent. ‘Bring your friend with you. Did you remember the book?’

‘I did,’ said Tom holding up the book of runes.

‘Well done dear. Put it back where it came from. What did you make of it?’

‘Complicated,’ said Tom easing his way to the bookcase and squeezing it into a space on the topmost shelf, ‘complicated but fascinating.’ The bookcase took up the whole of one wall and was crammed full of esoteric volumes.

It was ten o’clock when they left. Mrs. Kandinsky had been keen to impart her knowledge and Emma’s head was reeling with information on Tarot cards, I Ching, astrology, runes and a host other essential aides to the understanding of life and the different directions a person could take. But most of the time was spent on Clairvoyance, Mrs. Kandinsky’s special gift which revealed not only the present but also the future. She asked if Emma would like to know what her future held. Emma was tempted but declined the offer.

‘What did you think?’ asked Tom as they stood at the gate.

‘Different,’ said Emma,

‘She is,’ he agreed. ‘Well you’d better be off. It’s late.’ Emma hoped he’d offer to take her home but he didn’t.

On the following night Tom was back with his neighbour but now without Emma. His mother had received a message from Mrs. Kandinsky requesting an urgent meeting with Tom which she’d passed on.

‘Come in Tom,’ his neighbour said as he once again forced his way in through the door. ‘I’ve something important to tell you.’ She seemed anxious and agitated.

‘What is it?’

‘If only I’d made a mistake and misread the signs but I’ve checked and rechecked all of the charts. I’ve gone over the date a hundred times but the answer is always the same. Everything points to February the twenty ninth. There’s no mistake.’

‘That’s next year, a leap year,’ said Tom. He was worried wondering if she’d foreseen the day of her death or something equally dreadful. ‘What did you see?’

‘Only the date until...’ She took a breath. ‘Only the date and knowledge of something cataclysmic happening that almost nobody will escape.’

‘Did you see what would happen?’

‘Yes. In a trance after I’d checked the charts.’ She was too distressed to describe what she’d seen.

Tom knew not to press her. She’d tell him all in her own good time. He changed tact. ‘You said almost nobody will escape. What did you mean by almost?’

‘I meant that only you Tom and anybody you choose to be with you will survive. I also saw the place where you’ll have to be.’

She told him all she’d seen and where he must go to escape. She described the cave exactly as Tom remembered it. ‘But what about you, what will happen to you?’ he said.

‘Me? Oh there’s no need to worry about me. I’ve had a long life and a good one. It’s you I’m concerned for. You’re young. You’ve your whole life ahead of you. Just promise me you’ll do what I’ve told you to do.’

Tom promised he would though he knew that the promise would alter the course of his life. He thought of his mother and Emma. Could they survive with him? They could but he’d have to convince them that Mrs. Kandinsky’s predictions were right which wouldn’t be easy. February the twenty ninth was still months away. There was time to plan. Rather than making hasty decisions he needed to think things through. In bed that night he considered his moves. He’d have to resign, convince his mother to move and somehow persuade Emma to leave her job and her parents and join them.

At work next day Tom left his computer on several occasions and made his way over to Emma’s desk on the pretext of needing information. Emma, aware of everyone watching, attempted to hide her embarrassment at the personal nature of Tom’s questions. He asked if she was happy at work and if she’d ever thought about moving on. He asked how she’d feel about leaving home and living in a different place. She answered his questions honestly and breathed a sigh of relief when he went back to his desk. There were more questions as the week passed which made her wonder if it could be Tom’s awkward way of asking her to live with him. At this stage she’d no intention of moving away from home or giving up her job. She didn’t know what Tom was up to and she certainly wasn’t going to rush into anything.

‘Have you met her parents yet?’ Audrey asked as they set out on Sunday for Compton Bishop.

‘No,’ Tom replied pulling up outside Emma’s house. Without turning off the engine he sounded the horn.

‘Aren’t you going to knock the door?’

‘No need. I told her I’d beep when we picked her up.’

Audrey noticed the curtains twitch as Emma came running down the path. If Tom showed no interest in Emma’s parents they were obviously interested in him. Audrey wound down the window. ‘Would you like to sit next to Tom dear? I don’t mind moving.’

‘Thanks but I’ll be fine,’ said Emma climbing into the rear seat. After Tom’s intrusive interrogations earlier that week she was happy to sit in the back in case he began asking more questions. She needn’t have worried. For most of the journey Tom said nothing while Audrey talked almost non-stop. Tom was unusually preoccupied and had other things on his mind.

‘Look! There’s St Andrew’s,’ Audrey exclaimed as they drove up a narrow lane towards the church.

‘And that’s Crook Peak,’ added Tom, ‘behind the tower, do you see?’

Surprised to hear his voice after he’d said nothing for most of the journey, Emma looked at the hills wrapped like a protecting arm around the village and church. Spotting the peak she said, ‘I can see where it gets its name.’

‘Unusual isn’t it?’ said Tom. ‘Looks like the tip of a Mr Whippy ice cream curled over at the top. When you get there it’s just a pile of rocks. But wait till you see the view!’

Audrey took this as her cue to rein in her son. ‘I’m not sure Emma will want to climb to the top. She might prefer to wait in the car with me if you must go up there again.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Tom, ‘after we’ve been to the grave.’ Emma kept quiet sensing a tricky dilemma ahead.

The peak had disappeared behind the brow of the hill when they reached the church. Tom removed the flowers and a pair of shears from the boot and they walked through the wrought iron gate and along the path in the shadow of a yew. ‘The grave’s round the back,’ he said leading them over the uneven grass to the tree-covered patch of land behind the church. On their way around he lifted a wooden hatch concealing a well set in the ground. He filled a container with water for the flowers. Emma stood back and watched as Audrey put the flowers into a pot while Tom clipped away at the overgrown grass surrounding the grave. With the footstone revealed Emma read the inscription embossed on its surface: Here lie the bodies of George Gray and his wife, Lily. R.I.P. Also of Reginald, their son was added below. Apart from that the dates were all that remained of the three lives unknown to Emma. When all was done they went into the church. Audrey commented on the organ which once had been pumped by Tom’s grandfather George. She skimmed through the leaflets and notices and signed the visitor’s book.

They returned to the car for the short drive around the hill to the car park perched at the side of the road overlooking the River Axe and the Somerset levels. It was time for Emma to make up her mind. Would she climb the hill with Tom or stay in the car with Audrey? In the end she reached a compromise which appeared to satisfy both. ‘I’ll walk some of the way with Tom,’ she said, ‘then come back to wait with you while Tom carries on to the peak.’

‘Don’t feel you have to rush,’ said Audrey settling back into her seat and closing her eyes.

Though Tom would have liked her to see the view from the top of the hill, what he really wanted to show her was less than halfway up. At first the path appeared to be going away from the peak on a gentle rise but after a while it turned back on itself and grew steadily steeper until it reached the brow of the hill. Later Tom would walk on to the peak over springy grass cropped short by sheep but not until after he shown Emma the cave. ‘There’s something I’d like you to see,’ he said standing by the rock face and pointing to the bottom. ‘It’s a bit of a scramble but I’ll go first and help you down.’

Emma went to the edge and looked. ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘It’s perfectly safe. I’ve been there before.’ He began climbing down and held out his hand for Emma. She gladly took it and liked the touch of his skin against hers. Perhaps it would be the start of something more intimate. Noticing Emma’s reluctance to take the short jump at the bottom he took hold of her waist and lifted her down. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked.

‘It’s very secluded. Is this what you wanted to show me?’

‘No, look there!’ He pointed towards the cave and took her inside. ‘Do feel anything? I love it. It’s so warm and homely. How would you feel about spending a day and a night here with me?’

Shocked by the question Emma wondered where it was leading. ‘I can think of nicer places,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it time we moved? Your mother will be wondering where we are.’

Her reaction disappointed Tom but there was time for her to change her mind. He’d taken the first step and shown her the place where they’d be saved. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we’d better be going. If I leave you back on the path can you find your way down?’ Telling him she’d be fine they climbed back up to the path and separated.

‘Did you have a good time?’ Audrey asked when she returned.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful. Did you and Reginald live here?’ She wasn’t going to mention the cave.

‘No but his father did,’ Audrey explained before going on to give an exhaustive account of the family history which lasted until Tom returned.

On their way home Tom made an unexpected stop in Wells. Promising not to be long he dashed up the street and returned with a handful of house particulars.

‘What are they for?’ Audrey asked.

‘Just some designs for work.’

Audrey believed him but Emma didn’t. Tom as one of the senior architects had grander things to work on than house designs.

From Wells Audrey slept and Emma sat in the back saying nothing. Tom concentrated on driving. When they reached Emma’s house she invited them in but Tom made some excuse about needing to get his mother home. Audrey wanted to meet Emma’s parents but she didn’t argue. ‘Did you enjoy your walk?’ she asked later that night as they sat eating supper. ‘How far did you take her?’

‘Just to the brow of the hill.’

‘Did you talk about much?’

‘Not much.’

‘Have you planned to meet again?’

‘No.’

‘Are you fond of her?’

‘I like her.’

‘Good because I think she’s fond of you and if you want to keep her you’ll have to be a little more thoughtful. It was rude to drive off when she invited us in.’

‘She was only being polite.’

‘I don’t think so but have it your way. I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late. It’s Monday tomorrow.’

On Monday all eyes were fixed on Tom as he tapped on Mr. Dyer’s door and disappeared into his office. Watching them talk behind the glass partition everyone wanted to know what was being said. The exchange lasted for ages. Every now again Mr. Dyer threw up his hands while Tom seemed perfectly calm and relaxed. When the meeting ended Tom walked out of the office and carried on with his work as though nothing had happened.

‘What was all that about?’ said one of the girls to Emma.

‘How should I know?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘Maybe later.’ Emma pretended not to be interested but after a short time she went over to ask Tom what the meeting had been about.

‘I’ve resigned,’ said Tom, ‘well, given a month’s notice.’

‘You’ve what?’ Emma looked astounded. ‘Why?’

‘I’ll explain later.’

Audrey was as shocked as Emma to hear of Tom’s resignation but after he’d explained his supposed reasons for wanting a change she began to warm to the idea.

His real reasons he kept to himself. What mattered was to set things in motion. The truth could be revealed when the necessary moves had been made. He convinced Audrey he’d saved enough to keep them until he found a new job. As both of them had always dreamed of moving to Compton there was nothing to stop them. They’d sell their house and look for a cottage as soon as possible. That, he explained, was why he’d collected the house particulars in Wells. After they’d settled he’d find a less stressful job that gave him more time to be with her and she could visit the grave whenever she wanted without the onerous business of having to make long journeys.

‘What about Emma?’ Audrey asked.

‘I’ll ask her to join us.’

It never occurred to Audrey that Emma might have other ideas. She was thrilled at the thought of settling with both of them in the place she’d always wanted to live. ‘When do we start looking for somewhere?’

‘As soon as you like. We could begin this Saturday. I’ll ask Emma if she’d like to come.’

Tom gave Emma the same reasons for wanting to move as he’d given to his mother but didn’t mention the possibility of her living with them. He asked if she’d like to come house hunting with them on Saturday and she said she would. If nothing else she’d be interested to see where they’d be living and although she had no intention of giving up her own job or moving anywhere she wanted to keep in touch even if a romantic relationship with Tom was beginning to seem increasingly unlikely.

They left as arranged on the following Saturday and stopped at Wells for a break before beginning on the house-hunting. Audrey was keen to show Emma the market place. After they’d seen it she’d take her to the Cathedral restaurant for coffee. The two women sauntered around the market stalls while Tom sat patiently under the Penniless Porch, an ancient stone archway where vagrants once sat and begged. Now and again he caught sight of them fingering materials and inspecting trinkets that held no interest for him. After circling the entire market they rejoined him with their carrier bags full of what Tom regarded as meaningless trash.

Coffee was a prolonged affair not helped by Audrey’s insistence on spending time in the Cathedral shop were she added to her collection of purchases with bookmarks bearing platitudes and packs of Somerset fudge. When the shopping was done Tom took them into the Cathedral and led them up the nave to the scissor arch and into the north transept. ‘There are two things I’d like you to see,’ he said, ‘the fruit stealer’s pillar and the Chapter House.’ Audrey had seen both on countless occasions.

***

‘Hold on,’ I said, ‘Haven’t we covered this ground already with Simon and Matthew?’

‘Briefly,’ said Howard, ‘but on that occasion Matthew was in a truculent mood and dismissive of all he saw. This was different. Tom was enthusiastic. He was on an important mission. The pillar and the steps to the Chapter House were part of his step by step plan if you’ll pardon the pun of preparing his mother and Emma for what was to come. He was sowing the seeds for a revelation which he would later reveal in its entirety.’

‘I see,’ I said. I was suffering from indigestion after eating too much bread with my soup but I let Howard go on.

***

Pointing to the four carved scenes encircling the top of the pillar Tom gave a brief description of each: the man and boy stealing fruit, the farmer being told of the theft, the farmer grabbing the thief by the ear and the farmer thumping their heads with a stout stick. ‘What do you think it means?’ he asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Emma. ‘Two people scrumping get their comeuppance.’

‘But are they stealing apples or are they grapes? Could it be that the carvings represent the grapes of wrath or the forbidden fruit?’

Audrey had lost interest. She wandered off to look at the wall plaques. Emma indulged him. ‘How do you mean?’ she asked.

‘Could it be that the man who sculpted the scenes had some foreknowledge of the future and was warning us of things to come?’

‘What kind of things?’ Emma was beginning to sense Mrs. Kandinsky was behind all this but she let Tom carry on with his exposition.

‘Say for instance that the thieves represent mankind, you, me and everybody. Like the fruit thieves we’re all guilty of plundering the earth and robbing its resources - minerals, timber, all sorts of things. We’ve been doing it since the beginning of time. Even the sculptor was using stone quarried from the hills so we shouldn’t be surprised if we have to suffer for it in the end.’

‘How, by being walloped by a farmer?’

‘Not just walloped, killed, finished. Look how stout the stick is! Perhaps that’s what the sculptor was saying. Think of the punishment the thieves get! Nobody would survive a blow to the head like that, would they? Perhaps he foresaw a universal disaster and was warning us of how final and sudden the end would be.’

‘Like someone coming and bashing in our heads in one by one?’

‘Not one by one but all at once, maybe by a large meteorite wiping out everything or perhaps by atomic or germ warfare. Nobody knows how or when it will happen.’

‘I don’t think a medieval workman would have known much about meteorites, or atomic warfare.’

‘I’m not saying he did. It’s just that I think the carving is a metaphor and that the carver was trying to a warn us of some future catastrophe.’

Emma was convinced by now that Mrs. Kandinsky was the instigator of this nonsense but before she could say anything Audrey reappeared. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘if you must show Emma the Chapter House we’d better get a move on.’

There was nothing else Tom wanted to say. He’d raised the subject, planted the thought in Emma’s mind. She would think about it and not be surprised when he finally spelled out the day the end would come and what he intended to do about it.

As soon as they reached the Chapter House Tom drew their attention to the alcoves with their stone seats set into the circular wall, one for each parish. He pointed to the one marked Compton Bishop. ‘The church at Compton Bishop,’ he said, ‘comes under the care of the Bishop of Bath and Wells. Strange he should care for such an insignificant village don’t you think?’

‘Is it?’ said Audrey admiring the fan vaulting. Emma said nothing wondering what bizarre thoughts he was entertaining now.

‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘it’s as though there might be some special reason for one of the smallest places in the county coming under the church’s protection.’ He said no more having made his point. Emma commented on the worn steps as they made their way down from the Chapter House. ‘Worn by countless feet over the centuries,’ said Tom, ‘but not for centuries to come. If I’m right they’ll be gone in a few months.’

‘What on earth are you on about?’ scoffed Audrey. ‘You do talk nonsense at times.’ Without saying so Emma agreed though she wondered why Tom was talking in riddles.

None of the houses they saw that day or on their subsequent visits was right for Audrey or Tom. It was not until their fifth attempt that they finally found what they were looking for. The whitewashed cottage at Compton Bishop stood in the lane leading up to the church and commanded views of St. Andrew’s tower against the backdrop of Crook Peak. The garden was small but neatly laid out and large enough for Audrey to manage. The north-facing wall overlooking Wavering Down was without a window. ‘We’ll put one in,’ Tom promised. ‘Views like that are not to be missed.’

After a brief inspection Tom took Emma into the garden while Audrey revisited every room deciding what would go where and what needed changing, ‘So,’ said Emma, ‘you really are set on moving aren’t you? I’ll miss your mother.’

‘You could always join us,’ Tom was assuming she’d miss him too. ‘There are three bedrooms.’

Mentioning three bedrooms suggested he’d no intention of sleeping with her.

She wondered again what Tom wanted from her. Shivering at the thought she remembered the cave. How could he think she’d want to spend a night with him there? There were other questions. Why had he acted so strangely at Wells Cathedral with his talk of disaster and everything ending? He was holding something back. ‘You know I can’t join you when you move don’t you?’ she said. ‘I enjoy my work, I like my friends and I don’t want to leave home until...’

‘Until you find someone to marry?’ he said as a matter of fact. ‘Would you come for weekends if I came down to fetched you?’

‘Not every weekend but I’d come now and again. I’d want to know how you and Audrey were getting on.’

‘Fine, that’s what I wanted to know. Let’s see what mother’s been up to.’

For Emma the matter was far from fine. Back at work she was bombarded with questions about how often she’d see him after he’d moved and what long-term plans they had. She said they’d be keeping in touch but when she insisted they were just good friends no one believed her. The only unanswered question in Emma’s and everyone’s mind was why she wanted to stay in touch with Tom. Was she still hoping for something more? Emma remembered the warmth of his hand when they went to the cave and the thrill of him lifting her down when they reached the bottom. Apart from Tom she was fond of Audrey who was like a second mother without the expectations of her real mother. Audrey liked her unconditionally which was reason enough for her wanting to stay in touch.

The process of selling and buying was completed with surprising ease. It was late at night in mid-December, a month before they were due to move, that Tom and his mother were startled by a sudden flash of winter lighting so bright it was visible through the drawn curtains. The strike was followed by a deafening crack of thunder which rumbled on for more than a minute, sufficiently long and loud to unsettle Audrey. Heavy rain had been falling all day and seemed as though it would never stop. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Tom, ‘it’s only the clearing-up storm. It often happens at this time of year.’

‘Well it doesn’t seem to be clearing up. Look at the lightning!’

Tom looked. ‘That’s not lightning,’ he said jumping out of his chair and darting across to the window where a pulsing blue light was flashing. Opening the curtains he peered through the rain beating against the glass. ‘My God,’ he cried, ‘it’s an ambulance outside Mrs. Kandinsky’s house.’ He threw on a coat and ran out into the rain. Two paramedics, a man and a woman, were struggling with the door.

‘Can I help?’ Tom asked. ‘I’m her neighbour.’

‘Only if you have a key,’ said the male paramedic. ‘The door’s locked.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Tom. ‘Leave it to me.’ He pushed on the spot where it always jammed and followed the paramedics into the room. Mrs Kandinsky was slumped in her chair with her eyes wide open and her mouth gaping. The black cat ran from the room as soon as they entered. Dangling on its cord the telephone hung at her side with the ring tone still buzzing. A ball tipped pen lay at her feet and a sheet of paper was sitting on her lap.

The paramedics did what they could before turning to Tom. ‘I’m sorry,’ they said, ‘she’s dead.’

Tom stared in disbelief. ‘She can’t be dead. I was with her today.’

‘Were you close?’ asked the female paramedic.

‘Very close.’

‘I’m sorry. Is there anything we can do?’

‘Can I read the note?’

‘I’m afraid we can’t touch it. It’s a matter for the police.’ The note was facing upwards on her lap and was clearly addressed, Dear Tom.

‘I’m Tom,’ he explained, kneeling down at her side. ‘Can I read it as long as I don’t touch it?’

The paramedics looked at each other. ‘Make sure you don’t,’ said the female. The words on the note were scrawled but legible. Tom bent his head as close to the note as he could and read, Dear Tom, After you left this afternoon I saw it all again only this time clearer than before. I saw every detail. It was terrifying, truly horrendous, but you, you Tom, WILL be safe if you do exactly as I told you. When I see you tomorrow I shall...

Slowly Tom rose to his feet. ‘There won’t be any tomorrow will there?’ he murmured to himself.

‘Will you be all right?’ asked the female paramedic. ‘Would you like us to see you home?’

Tom walked blindly towards the door. ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

Audrey was in her dressing gown when Tom came back soaked. ‘Here let me take your jacket. What’s happened?’ she asked.

Tom’s face was expressionless. ‘Mrs. Kandinsky’s dead.’

‘Dead? She can’t be. Surely the ambulance men...’

‘They were too late. She must have phoned just before she died.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Audrey comforting him as best she could in spite of her mixed feelings for Mrs. Kandinsky. ‘At least she had a good innings.’

Tom ignored the cliché. ‘It’s probably as well,’ he said. ‘She only had a couple of months to live anyway. It will save her from what’s to come.’

‘What do mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Forget it. You’ll soon know, everyone will.’

Audrey had no idea what he was talking about. ‘You’re not thinking straight, you’re in shock. Come on. Get out of those wet clothes. I’ll make you a hot drink.’

Tom did as she said. They talked for a while then went to bed.

More than a week later after several restless nights, Tom had finally fallen asleep in the early hours when he was woken by his mother. ‘It’s ten o’clock but there’s no need to rush,’ she said, ‘I’ll make some toast when you come down.’

Tom lay in bed reliving the night of Mrs. Kandinsky’s death. He wandered downstairs and was still in his dressing gown when the doorbell rang. He opened the door to a dull, grey morning and two plainclothes police officers holding out warrant cards. The tall woman spoke first. ‘DI Potter,’ she said, ‘and this is DC Grant.’ She glanced at the shorter man standing beside her. Tom noticed his shoulders were covered in dandruff. ‘Can we come in?’ They were in before Tom could answer.

‘Mrs. Kandinsky was your neighbour I understand,’ said the inspector. ‘We believe you were the recipient of this.’ She held out the bagged note bearing his name. ‘You were with the paramedics when they found the deceased.’

‘Who’s that Tom?’ called Audrey rushing in from the kitchen with a plate of buttered toast.

DI Potter introduced herself. ‘And you are?’

‘I’m Tom’s mother. Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing to worry about madam. We wanted to talk to your son about a note your neighbour wrote before her death.’

She handed Tom the note and he read it as though for the first time. Not wanting his mother or the police to know what Mrs. Kandinsky had meant by the message he did his best to explain it away. ‘She was always anxious about dying,’ he said. ‘When she mentions the horror of seeing it all again she was probably imagining how she would die.’

‘That’s true,’ said Audrey, butting in. ‘I’m afraid our neighbour had a rather morbid imagination.’

‘And what would she have meant by saying you would be all right if you did exactly as she told you?’ asked DC Grant looking directly at Tom.

‘I suppose she meant I’d be all right if I looked after myself. She was always telling me to take care.’

Audrey again sprang to his defence. ‘She was very fond of Tom.’

‘I see,’ said DI Potter, ‘and there’s nothing more you can tell us?’

‘Not that I can think of.’

‘She was in her nineties you know,’ said Audrey. ‘I expect she had a heart attack.’

The detective made no comment. ‘Well, thank you for your time. We may have more questions for you later. Will you be here for the foreseeable future?’

‘Over Christmas we shall,’ said Tom, ‘but we’ll be moving soon after.’ DC Grant made a note of the new address and left in the wake of his superior.

Christmas came and went. On the day after Boxing Day Tom began packing. Ever since Mrs Kandinsky’s death he’d been restless, unable to settle to anything. The packing came as a welcome distraction and within a week was completed. There were no further calls from the police. On the day before they were due to leave Tom called at the local station and asked to see DI Potter. The duty sergeant pointed to a seat and after a long wait DC Grant appeared from a side-door and invited him into an interview room. Tom explained that they’d be leaving on the following day and confirmed their new address. His real reason for the visit was to ask if there’d been any further developments. He was told that Mrs Kandinsky appeared to have died from natural causes and that in all probability there would be no need for him to be contacted again. He was told that the body would be released within the next few days to the local Funeral Director and that he could obtain the funeral arrangements from them in due course. Tom thanked him and left. He would ring the funeral directors from their new home. If there were no other family members the burial arrangements would fall to him in which case he would ensure that her ashes were taken to Compton Bishop and interred in the family grave which would be of some comfort to him.

On the day of the move Tom and his mother left at the same time as the removal van and arrived at Compton nearly an hour before the van caught up with them. It was a cold, miserable morning. ‘I don’t remember it being so dark or so musty,’ said Audrey as they entered the lounge and looked around at the bare walls and the empty space. ‘Even my voice echoes. It feels more like being in a cave than a cottage.’

Tom was tempted to say that she’d better get used to being in a cave. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The echo will vanish as soon as we get the furniture in and the curtains are up. I’ll light a fire later. That should get rid of the damp. There isn’t much we can do at the moment. Why don’t we go for a stroll up the lane?’

There was no one about in the lane leading up to the church. ‘I hope it isn’t always as deserted as this,’ said Audrey. ‘I won’t be making many friends if it is.’

Tom noticed a flicker of fear in her eyes and hoped she wasn’t already regretting the move. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘The church will probably run all kinds of groups, Mother’s Union, Knit and Natter, lunch clubs and so on. You’ll make plenty of friends.’ He knew she wouldn’t. Apart from their brief visits to St. Andrew’s when they came to tend the grave Audrey kept well away from church. The last time she’d been to a service was when his father was buried. They never discussed religion. He sensed that as far as she was concerned the subject was taboo. As for joining clubs and meeting people, the only people she spoke to back at home were the local shopkeepers. Now there’d be no more shopping trips unless they travelled to Bristol or Wells. But what did it matter? By the end of February there wouldn’t be any shops or shopkeepers.

They walked as far as the corner and were just yards from the church when they decided to turn back in case the van had arrived. It hadn’t. ‘What do we do now?’ Audrey said.

‘We’ll go inside and have a nice cup of tea. I brought all we’d need in the car.’ He unloaded everything, put some cold food in the fridge and was just about to boil the kettle when the van arrived. ‘There’s nowhere to park,’ the driver complained, ‘We’ll be blocking the road.’ He called to the young lad sitting in the lorry reading the paper. ‘Come on Bobby, get a move on!’

For the next hour they traipsed in and out with their awkward cargos while Audrey issued instructions. Unlike their previous house the doors here were narrower and the staircase steeper which made things difficult. When the work was finished the men drove off leaving Audrey and Tom to sort things out before bedtime.

After a good night’s sleep Tom woke first. One day more and one day less was the first thought that came to mind as he climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. As yet the telephone line hadn’t been reconnected. Never having bought a mobile phone his first problem was how to get in touch with the funeral directors. There was no telephone kiosk in the village. He would have to discover the whereabouts of the nearest one. He was already dressed and downstairs when Audrey appeared. After breakfast her mind turned to the practical problem of shopping. ‘Where will the nearest shops be?’ she asked.

Tom had no idea but the answer came from a woman who was arranging flowers in the church when they visited during the morning. They were told that Wells and Weston-Super-Mare were the nearest places for a proper shop but that Cheddar had a Tesco Express which kept most things for emergencies.

‘We’re miles from anywhere,’ Audrey moaned as they drove to Cheddar later that morning.

‘It’s not that far,’ said Tom. ‘Cheddar will do for the essentials and we can always stock up once a week from one of the other places. It’s a small price to pay for living in the country.’

On their way back to the cottage they passed the New Inn at Cross where Tom suggested they should stop for a drink.

‘Doesn’t look very new to me,’ said Audrey as they entered the bar.

‘What would like?’ Tom asked knowing in advance what she’d say. Having received the answer he expected he went to bar to order a glass of white wine for his mother and, after studying the range of beers, a half of Potholer Ale for himself. ‘I don’t suppose you could tell me where the nearest telephone box is could you?’ he asked the landlord. ‘We’ve only recently moved into the area and we’re waiting to be connected.’

‘No problem. You can use ours anytime.’

Tom thanked him and was tempted to ring then and there but decided he’d come back later. He hadn’t mentioned Mrs. Kandinsky’s funeral to his mother or his plans for the ashes. Knowing she’d disapprove it was wiser to say nothing. They had their drink and returned to the cottage. After lunch Audrey took herself off to bed for her afternoon nap. Tom pretended he needed petrol and drove back to the inn to use the phone.

The funeral he discovered would be at the town’s crematorium on the following Monday at 11 o’clock. The directors said they’d be happy for Tom to have Mrs Kandinsky’s ashes if no one else claimed them.

His next call was to Hoskins, Dyer and Blake. ‘It’s Tom Gray,’ he said to the girl who answered. ‘Can I speak to Emma?’ After a short wait Emma came to the phone.

‘Tom? Is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine. We’re settling in. Mother sends her love and wonders if you’d like to come and stay this weekend. I could pick you up on Saturday and get you back in time for work on Monday morning.’

There was a long pause. ‘Monday? Why not Sunday night?’

‘It’s just that I need to be there on Monday. It’s Mrs. Kandinsky’s funeral and I’d like to be at the crematorium. I’ll probably be the only one there apart from the priest.’

‘Tom, that’s awful. Would you like me to come with you? I’ve got time owing. I could easily take the day off.’

‘Yes, that would be good but...’

‘But?’

‘Well you know how my mother feels about Mrs. Kandinsky. I don’t really want her to know about the funeral. Would you mind if we kept it to ourselves?’

In spite of her misgivings Emma agreed and the Saturday pick-up time was arranged. Tom replaced the handset and left a generous contribution by the telephone to cover the cost of the call. He thanked the landlord and left.

His mother was up reading a magazine she’d bought in Cheddar when he arrived back at the cottage. ‘Did you get the petrol?’ she asked.

‘I did. By the way, before we moved I arranged for Emma to come this Saturday for the weekend. Will that be all right?’

Audrey’s face lit up immediately. ‘Of course it will. I can’t wait to see her but we’ll have to go for a proper shop. Can we go to Weston? I haven’t seen the place for years.’

Tom was pleased to see his mother smile for the first time since they’d moved and promised she could go wherever she wanted and buy as much as she liked. His plans were beginning to take shape. All he had to do was to find the right moment to explain the true reason for the move to Compton Bishop and convince both his mother and Emma that they’d have to spend the last day of February with him in the cave if they wanted to survive.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Audrey spent her time knitting, reading and watching day-time television while Tom went out walking. Each day he took the same circular route climbing to the peak, striding over the ridge to Wavering Down and returning to the village by way of a steep track leading down from the hill. He usually called at St. Andrew’s to look at the churchyard. He intended to bury Mrs. Kandinsky’s ashes in the family grave and wondered about asking the vicar for permission but decided against it in case he refused. He would bury the ashes when no was about. On Friday they shopped at Weston as he’d promised. What he didn’t expect was his mother’s insistence on coming with him to fetch Emma on the Saturday but he was happy to oblige. It would save him from having to think of things to say to Emma on the journey.

The weekend was a success especially for Audrey who enjoyed having someone to talk to. Emma made use of her machine-sewing skills and took up the curtains from their last house to fit the considerably smaller cottage windows. On the Saturday afternoon they went again to Weston where she and Emma looked in shops while Tom sat in the gardens considering if this weekend might be the time to reveal his intentions. After some thought he decided that nearer the day might be better. The imminence of the event might convince them to believe him.

On Sunday Tom suggested a trip to Burrington Combe. He remembered the place from childhood trips with his father who, unlike his mother, had vague religious beliefs and liked the hymn Rock of Ages. On arriving there was no escaping the café which Audrey spotted immediately. She insisted on treating them all to tea and scones. They sat at a window overlooking the rock and as soon as they’d finished eating Tom took Emma across the road for a closer inspection.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ he said gazing up at the grey rock with its slanting fissures gaping like wide open wounds rising up from the base. ‘Come on! Let’s climb up.’ Just as he had on Crook Peak, he once again took hold of Emma’s hand to help her up the shallow bank and she felt the same burning excitement when they touched. They reached the rock and squeezed together into the cleft with their bodies pressed tightly against each other. Emma wondered if this were the only way he felt able to get close to her. If only he knew how much she wanted to hold him at that moment. She looked up hoping to make eye contact but he was staring upwards. ‘Do you know the story of the rock?’ he said easing her out of the cleft back on to the bank and letting go of her hand.

‘What story?’

‘Why it’s called the Rock of Ages.’ He related the tale of how the Reverend Toplady caught in a storm was said to have sheltered where they’d been standing. Seeing the cleft as a symbol of God’s protection he’d written the hymn, Rock of Ages. ‘It’s strange how rocks can protect isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Or kill, Emma thought. She was suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He was talking as he had at Wells and in the cave. Why was he obsessed with rocks and protection? Only moments before she’d longed to be close to him. Now the distance between them felt unbridgeable and she was glad to get back to the car.

Their journey to Yeovil early on the following Monday passed in awkward silence. The downpour started soon after they left and it was still pouring when they arrived at Emma’s house. ‘I’m just popping in to change,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in? Mum and dad are always asking about you.’

‘No, I’ll wait in the car.’

Emma pulled her coat around her and disappeared into the house. After a short time she reappeared at the door with her mother standing beside her. After kissing Emma her mother looked directly at Tom and gave him a smile and a wave. Not sure how to react Tom gave her a half-hearted smile in return and sped off as soon as Emma was in the car.

They arrived at the crematorium twenty minutes early and waited outside under the covered entrance. The rain showed no signs of clearing. If anything it was getting worse. A long line of mourners emerged from the previous service and strolled in silence around the side of the building to gaze solemnly at the wreaths and flowers laid out along the cloistered corridor. Soon afterwards the hearse bearing Mrs. Kandinsky’s coffin drew up. As the occupants climbed out a white-haired priest appeared and walked over to Tom and Emma. He introduced himself as the Reverend Porter and asked if they were Mr. and Mrs. Gray. Emma blushed. Tom didn’t bother to correct him. He decided the vicar was only there to supplement his paltry pension and would have no more interest in them or Mrs. Kandinsky than a duty solicitor would have for his unfortunate client.

Ignoring Emma the priest spoke quietly and apologetically to Tom. ‘I’m afraid I know very little about the departed,’ he confided. ‘Is there anything in particular you would like me to say about her?’ Having been told there wasn’t he led them into the crematorium. Tom scanned the empty rows of seats and chose to sit at the front with Emma at his side. As soon as they’d settled the subdued notes of a pipe organ recording sounded from the speakers. The bearers carried the coffin to the front of the chapel and left discreetly. When they’d gone the Reverend Porter began chanting the words of the service. Tom wondered how he’d react if he’d known that within a short time everyone would be dying with no one to bury them.

When he’d finished the priest explained that as there was no one to speak about the life of the departed he would proceed directly to the Commendation and Committal. At that point Tom stood up and announced in loud voice that he did have something to say after all. Looking confused the priest stepped aside as Tom marched to the front and turned to face the empty room as though he were about to address a packed congregation. Emma sank into her seat feeling as embarrassed as Tom was confident.

‘Mrs. Kandinsky,’ he said, ‘was more than a friend to me. She was my soulmate and in many ways more precious to me than...’ He paused and fought back a wave of intense grief, the first time Emma had ever seen him act with any sign of emotion. Regaining his composure he drew himself up and continued with the eulogy, ‘... more precious to me than even my own mother. We have heard,’ he said, now getting into his stride and looking around the room as if he were speaking to an enthralled assembly eager to hear his every word, ‘we have heard from the priest many wise words but nothing to match the wisdom and knowledge that came from Mrs. Kandinsky’s lips. She could see into the deepest secrets of the cosmos. Blessed with the gifts of divination and prophesy she could look into the heart of the universe and understand its workings and meanings. And I was a witness to her incredible insights and revelations, the only one with whom she could share what she saw, indeed the only witness she ever had. Before she died,’ and here again he paused to hold back tears, ‘before she died she told me something I’ve never shared but which in all to too short a time will be known to all. I can hear her now...’

What happened next astonished both the priest and Emma. Tom suddenly stopped and stared towards the back of the chapel for what seemed like several minutes. His face shone with an expression of wonderment and his eyes were wide open in utter amazement as if entranced by a vision of pure delight. When the moment passed he said no more but returned to his seat as though he’d never stood up to speak. The priest waited until he was sure Tom had finished before rising and rushing through the rest of the service. As soon as it was over he disappeared without waiting for Emma and Tom to leave.

‘What on earth happened?’ asked Emma as they made their way through the rain back to the car.

‘You won’t believe me if I tell you but she was there, Emma, she was there at the back of the chapel. She was looking at me with her index finger raised to her lips just as I was about to tell everyone what she’d told me days before she died.’

‘What do you mean, everyone?’

‘Didn’t you see them? The chapel was packed when I stood to speak.’

‘‘No I didn’t see them. I was looking at you all the time though I don’t doubt you believe you saw them.’

The only thing Emma didn’t doubt was that Tom had imagined it all. Not wanting to believe he was mad she put it down to grief. As to whatever Tom was about to share with his non-existent audience she didn’t ask. All she wanted was to be taken home as soon as possible. When or if she would see him again she didn’t know and didn’t much care.

As soon as he’d dropped her off Tom drove to the Funeral Directors to arrange for the ashes to be sent to the New Inn at Cross where he could collect them without his mother knowing. Having settled the bill for the funeral and pre-paid the postage for the ashes he set off for home. The rain had stopped by the time he reached Cross where he called at the New Inn. He explained to the landlord that he was expecting a parcel, a birthday gift for his mother which he wanted to keep as a surprise in case it arrived before her birthday. The landlord agreed to accept the parcel and Tom returned to the cottage.

There were many more walks in the days that followed. Apart from Saturday’s when they went to Weston for the week’s shopping Tom’s time was his own. In the mornings he took his usual walk and in the afternoons went the mile or so down the lane to see if the ashes had arrived. After several days of disappointment they finally came.

‘That’s a sizeable birthday gift,’ said the landlord handing the parcel to Tom. ‘Something special for your mother, is it?’

‘Nothing exciting, just a vase she saw at Wells and liked.’

‘Well wish her a happy birthday from me when it comes.’

‘I will.’

With the parcel tucked under his arm he walked back to the village. Instead of taking the road to the cottage and risk being seen by his mother he took a different route to St. Andrew’s. There appeared to be no one about. To be sure he was on his own he popped his head inside the door. Finding the church empty he crept around to his father’s grave. Fortunately the rain had softened the soil. With a sharp-edged stone and a stout stick he lifted a sod and scooped out sufficient soil to make a hole large enough to accommodate the ashes. He then removed the plastic urn from the parcel, unscrewed the lid and tipped the remains of Mrs Kandinsky into the hole. Staring down at the grey grit he muttered a few appropriate words and replaced the sod treading it firmly into position with the sole of his foot. After ditching the urn in a hedge he strolled back to the cottage.

‘You’ve been a long time,’ Audrey said. ‘It’s already dark.’

‘Yes it is dark, very dark,’ Tom replied.

‘Since you’ve been gone they’ve got the telephone working. You’ll be able to phone Emma won’t you?’

‘Yes I will.’

February arrived bringing with it a bitterly cold spell. The days were dry but overcast. For most of the month the lights in the cottage were permanently switched on. As luck would have it the twenty ninth would fall on a Saturday. If Emma could be persuaded to come that weekend he would have the chance to convince both her and his mother that Saturday really would be their last and only chance to save themselves. He would tell them in detail what Mrs. Kandinsky had foreseen and implore them to join him in the cave where they’d be spared from the coming catastrophe. The only detail Mrs. Kandinsky had kept from him was the time of day the event would occur. To be safe they would have to be in the cave from Friday midnight until midnight on Saturday. On the first of March they would need no further proof of Mrs. Kandinsky’s prophesy. Whatever bleakness they faced after that they could face together.

On the weekend before the twenty ninth he went to the New Inn and phoned Emma. Her response was distinctly cool. ‘I don’t think I can make it,’ she said.

‘But you haven’t been for ages.’

‘I know. It’s been hectic at work and weekends are the only time I get to myself.’

Tom was prepared for this and played his trump card. ‘It’s my mother you see. She made me swear not to tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’ sighed Emma sounding more exasperated than concerned.

‘That she doesn’t have long to live.’

There was a long silence. ‘Are you telling me the truth Tom?’

‘I am and she’s desperate to see you before it happens.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘She won’t say but she is dying Emma. She doesn’t have long and she’s asking to see you.’

‘All right I’ll come. Can you pick me up on Saturday?’

‘Saturday might be too late. Is there any chance of you getting Friday afternoon off? I could pick you up at about two.’

‘Is it really that imminent?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Tom knowing that for once he was being completely truthful.

‘All right. There shouldn’t be any trouble getting time off. I’ll see you on Friday at two o’clock.’

Tom thanked her and hung up. Everything was going to plan.

On the Friday before the event Tom collected her. There were lots of questions from Emma on the journey. Had Tom guessed what was wrong with his mother? Had she lost weight? Was she in pain? Was it cancer or something to do with her heart? Exactly how long did she have to live? What was Tom going to do when she died? Would he still live in the cottage or move away?

Tom’s answers were vague. He told her she hadn’t lost weight and wasn’t showing that she was in pain. As to what was wrong she refused to say. All he knew for certain was that she only had days at most and that Emma was not to mention anything about her knowing to Audrey.

Emma’s suspicions aroused by Tom’s evasive answers grew even stronger when Audrey rushed to the door on their arrival looking radiantly happy and as healthy as she’d ever looked. Keeping her promise Emma said nothing about the illness as they sat together and chatted. Uncharacteristically Tom stayed with them and joined in the conversation. He even insisted on making and serving tea and showed no signs of tiring of their company. When it was time to eat he offered to cook the meal. It wasn’t till after they’d eaten that he made the first of the moves he’d planned. Knowing that actions speak louder than words, rather than tell them what he was going to do he would set about doing it. If he told them what he was up to they wouldn’t listen. If he did it without saying anything the questions would come from them. When they asked he would tell them what he was doing and why. After clearing away the dishes he went upstairs to his bedroom without saying a word.

Emma was now more concerned about Tom than she was about Audrey. ‘Is Tom all right?’ she asked.

‘I thought he was,’ said Audrey, ‘but after the way he’s been acting today I’m beginning to wonder.’

Expecting Tom to come down at any moment they changed the subject. It wasn’t until they’d been talking for at least half an hour that Tom’s absence prompted Audrey to call him. ‘Tom, what are you doing up there?’

The first of the questions had come as Tom expected. ‘Nothing,’ he called back, ‘I’ll be down soon. I’ve just got one or two things to finish before I’m ready to leave.’

When he finally appeared he was dressed in a heavy overcoat and carrying a bulging back-pack. ‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘I’ve packed everything we’ll want.’

Audrey looked at him in amazement. ‘Go where? What on earth are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about the earth, or rather its end. I know you won’t want to hear what I have to say but tomorrow is the twenty ninth and something terrible is going to happen. We will survive but only if you do what I tell you. I tried to warn you on several occasions. Even after Mrs. Kandinsky’s undeniable evidence there were other signs - the pillar at Wells, the chapter house with the Compton Bishop seat and the rock at Burrington Coomb. Emma will remember the day when I showed her the cave. I knew it was important the first time I came across it and that was before Mrs. Kandinsky’s revelations. Why do you think I gave up my job and moved? It wasn’t because I wanted to resign. I enjoyed my work. I was happy where we were but I had to come here. Everything Mrs Kandinsky saw pointed to Compton Bishop and the cave as the only place to escape annihilation. I don’t what time it will happen. All I know is that it will be tomorrow and the only way to be saved is to be in the cave by midnight.’

Emma and Audrey sat open-mouthed until Tom had finished. ‘I can see now why you lied to get me here,’ said Emma looking furious.

‘I had to. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.’

Audrey at last found her voice. ‘You’re insane Tom. I knew I should have kept you away from that crazy woman.’

‘Are you going to join me or not?’

‘How do you expect your mother to get down to the cave in the pitch dark?’ said Emma. ‘Get real Tom!’

‘I’ve got a torch. I’ll help both of you down.’ In spite of his entreaties he was getting nowhere. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I have to go’. Unable to bear any final goodbyes he turned his back on them and left.

After he’d gone Emma took hold of Audrey’s hand. ‘Try not to worry,’ she said. ‘It’s probably for the best. When nothing happens he’ll come to his senses and realise how stupid he’s been.’

‘Shouldn’t we try to stop him?’ Audrey was desperate to do something.

‘There’s no point. He wouldn’t listen. I’ll stay with you until he comes back and he will, I promise.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Audrey. ‘If twenty four hours in a freezing cave doesn’t make him see sense nothing will.’

For the first time in weeks the clouds had cleared and the sun was shining when they woke on the following morning. Audrey’s first thoughts were of Tom. She wanted to go to the cave to see if he was all right but Emma dissuaded her. ‘What do you usually do on Saturdays?’ she asked.

‘We normally go to Weston for the shopping.’

‘Then we’ll go there today. We might as well be enjoying ourselves by the sea when the world explodes or whatever it’s going to do.’

Audrey looked doubtful for a moment then burst out laughing. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘shopping it is. Tom will be wanting something to eat when he gets in after midnight won’t he?’

‘He certainly will,’ said Emma, ‘Now where does he keep the car keys? He won’t be needing the car today will he?’

It was already dark when they returned from their day out at Weston. After a meal and a long chat they went to bed expecting Tom to come home soon after midnight or later that morning. Audrey listened in bed for as long as she could stay awake.

As soon as she woke next day Audrey went into Tom’s room expecting to see him laid out on the bed. On finding his room empty she woke Emma who dressed as fast as she could and found Audrey wandering back and forth in the kitchen distraught. After doing her best to calm her down Emma set off for the cave telling Audrey to stay in the cottage in case Tom returned. Running all the way she eventually reached the path to the peak and began climbing. At the spot above the cave she looked over and called out. She called several times and was about to climb down when two joggers came running along the path from the Peak and stopped realising something was wrong.

‘We heard you shouting,’ said one. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

Emma explained that she thought someone might be in trouble and without hesitating they both scrambled down to the cave. When they reached the bottom one of them called back. ‘We can’t get into the entrance. It’s blocked. It looks as though there’s been a rock fall.’

More than three weeks had passed when Emma pulled up at the church and saw Audrey dressed in black standing alone in the porch with an urn in one hand and a trowel in the other. After the embraces and the tears they walked around to the grave where Emma took the trowel and lifted a sod of earth which came away with surprising ease. She dug a hole and taking the urn from Audrey poured Tom’s ashes into the hole.

‘Mrs. Kandinsky was right after all wasn’t she?’ Audrey said as Emma replaced the soil.

‘How do you mean?’

‘The world did come to an end, just as she said it would or, at least, Tom’s world did.’

***

Howard was already lighting the fire when I finally came to after picturing the sorry scene in the graveyard and imagining the horror of being crushed to death under the weight of falling rocks. We neither of us spoke for a while as we sat and watched the fire take hold. We gazed in silence as the initial burst of flames from the tightly-rolled paper ignited the fir cones before spreading up through the carefully criss-crossed sticks and setting the logs alight.

‘Would like a cup of tea?’ Howard asked. ‘I’m afraid I only have green. I’m told it’s better for you.’

‘Green would be fine,’ I said not having tasted it before. Howard left me to sit while he went to the kitchen.

The tea arrived on a silver tray bearing two bone china cups and saucers, a sugar bole complete with tongs, a jug of milk and a plate of assorted biscuits. ‘We’ll have something stronger a little later,’ Howard promised. ‘Help yourself while I play you another tune.’

‘You mean a variation!’ I said with more than a little pride at using the correct terminology. By now I was getting used to the pieces and beginning to like them. I closed my eyes to listen and prepare myself for the inevitable question which I knew would follow.

‘Variation 9,’ said Howard. ‘What did you make of it?’

‘Beautiful,’ I told him and I meant it. It was soft but not particularly slow. The higher notes flowed quietly along in an unobtrusive way while the lower notes sang out here and there with a plaintive, pleading quality. ‘Quite beautiful,’ I repeated, ‘but slightly sad, almost regretful.’

‘An admirable interpretation,’ Howard conceded. ‘I can see you really do have a sensitive ear. Bach is often accused of being mathematical and mechanical but as you’ve discerned, his music is full of emotion and feeling. I have to agree with you that this piece is filled with a longing for what cannot be or as T.S. Eliot put it, regrets for the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened into the rose garden.’

‘Indeed,’ I said, not really wanting to grapple with Eliot as well as Bach.

‘And the music,’ Howard went on, ‘echoes the regrets Trevor felt though not so much for the path he never took but sadly for the path he did take. He told me his story on one of my occasional prison visits. If you’re ready I’ll tell it to you.’

The fire by now was lambent. I was feeling warm and comfortable and ready to listen. ‘Please do.’ I said.