Saturday 9th December 2023
Alice
Alice grips the sides of the lectern and looks out over the rows of familiar, expectant faces. She feels that burn in her belly again, that pulse right through her core. There is total silence. She catches Ben’s eye at the back of the room, the dark-haired male detective standing next to him, before focusing on a random spot of sunlight in the centre of the aisle.
Time for the truth, says a voice at the back of her head. But even as she opens her mouth, she isn’t sure which of her truths she wants to tell. Which she can tell.
‘I appreciate you all being here,’ she says, and pauses, wondering if even this is true. Realising, actually, that it is. Gossips and cliques aside, her neighbours have all turned out for her son today. They’re looking up at her with soft, sad faces and they’re her people, whether they drive her mad sometimes or not.
She takes a deep breath. ‘But the awful truth is … I don’t feel Robbie’s presence here today.’ At this she catches Georgie’s eye, sees displeasure flash across her face. ‘All I feel … all I can think about … is Leo Dean.’
A ripple goes through the crowd, though surely they can’t be surprised. She notices Marianne bowing her head and pressing the bridge of her nose. Sees the detective straightening up, Ben shifting his weight, and she falters, wondering if she’s making a mistake being this honest, this public, especially with Peter acting strangely and Ben giving cryptic warnings about investigations. They should know, though, how she feels. That she won’t apologise for it. This has nothing to do with Peter. Besides, he isn’t here, is he? He isn’t here. She realises she’s more angry about this than she even knew.
‘We were all so worried about Leo coming back to Cromley,’ she continues, swallowing. ‘I know I was. I was horrified, furious, sick with it, as soon as Probation Services told me he’d be allowed back. I’d tried so hard to hold on to the things I used to love about this village – that Robbie used to love – and to take control of the things that got taken from me that night. The night that he …’ Her voice breaks and she flattens her palms on the lectern, leaning against it. ‘So to think of Leo Dean back here, free to go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted … it was devastating. Terrifying.’
Through a veil of tears she sees some people nodding, some people looking down at their laps, some fidgeting as if unsure how to respond. She presses on. She needs to say it all out loud and then she needs to get the hell out of here.
‘But this … this limbo … It’s even worse. Where is he? What’s his plan? Strange things have been happening … appearing … Like messages, or …’ She trails off, taking in her audience again. Marianne has lifted her head and is watching her intently. Georgie is on the edge of her seat, wide-eyed, as if poised to intervene. The detective writes something discreetly in his notebook.
‘All I’m saying is …’ What are you saying, Alice? What are you doing? Her confidence starts to die but she seeks out the people who are still nodding supportively, feeling another squeeze of gratitude amid all the bitterness. ‘I want to remember Robbie. Talk about him. Of course I do. But I can’t do that while …’ She turns her head towards the window just as the light shifts across the square and suddenly, like something looming out from behind a cloud, she sees it. Beady eyes. Black wings. Like a mirage floating in mid-air.
She freezes completely, staring out at it. There is some shuffling in the crowd as people lean forward to try to see what’s diverted her. Alice opens her mouth, but nothing more comes out. She steps down from the lectern and runs out of the church.
As she strides across the square towards the pub, she glances back and sees that almost everybody is following her. The cliques move together and the people who no longer live in the village are on the edges, all murmuring worriedly. The police are there too, the flash of Ben’s jacket somewhere towards the rear.
‘Alice?’ she hears Georgie calling. ‘Alice! What’s wrong?’
Alice comes to a stop in front of the pub, feels the energy of the crowd surging up behind her.
She raises her hand. ‘What the …?’
Georgie finally clocks what she’s pointing at, and lets out a small, surprised noise.
‘Why is the sign back up?’ Alice breathes.
She’d sawed it off herself, as soon as the pub became hers: her first small, defiant act after taking control. But now the raven is back in place. It even looks as if it’s had a fresh paint job: its eyes seem sharper, its wings a deeper black; the pub’s former name blares in yellow letters underneath. The bird stares down at Alice, as if to say, you can’t change anything, really. You can’t fight back. You can try, but you won’t succeed.
‘Did you put it back up?’ she demands of Georgie.
‘No.’ Georgie sounds bewildered. ‘No, I don’t …’
‘Jack?’ Alice seeks him out in the crowd. ‘Ellen?’
Heads shake. Other people move in closer, trying to understand. Alice imagines the painted raven flapping its wings, hard enough to rise out of the skip and fly to its previous perch. But a more realistic scenario elbows that one aside: Chrissy, or even Leo, creeping around the garden of the pub, pulling it out of the trash, hanging it back up like a reassertion, or a threat.
Rage floods into every part of her. She turns and peers through the crowd to where Ben and the detective are hovering.
‘Excuse me!’ she says breathlessly, and begins to push her way towards them, not caring, anymore, what they might think or ask or infer. She hears Marianne’s voice, and Georgie’s, urging her to slow down, take a moment, but she blocks them all out, seeing only the initials in the wall, the brightened eyes of that horrible bird, the red blaze of her own anger.
She won’t let Robbie’s memory be trolled. The pub is her battleground, now, and she’ll fight for her son, who can no longer fight back himself. She won’t let the blows keep coming, over and over again.