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Escape is out of the question.
The I Ching or Book of Changes
The Manifestation of the Drowned Prophet was now imminent, and Robin was instructed to join the group decorating the outside of the temple with long white banners on which stylised, dark blue waves had been printed. This entailed climbing high ladders, and while struggling to affix one of the banners to just beneath the temple roof, Robin thought how easy it would be for somebody below to kick the ladder out from under her: a tragic accident, they’d doubtless call it. However, no such attempt on her life was made, and she returned safely to the ground, castigating herself for her paranoia.
‘Looks cool, doesn’t it?’ said one of the good-looking American youths Wace had brought back from LA, who’d also helped decorate the temple. The banners were fluttering in the breeze, so that the printed waves seemed to be falling down its sides.
‘Yes, it looks great,’ said Robin. ‘D’you know when the Manifestation is?’
She was dreading Daiyu’s reappearance in the temple almost as much as she feared the possibility of being summoned back into the farmhouse to see Jonathan Wace.
‘Week’s time,’ said the American. ‘Man, I can’t wait. I’ve heard so much about it. You guys are blessed, living here, where the church started.’
He looked down at Robin, smiling.
‘Hey, wanna spirit bond?’
‘She can’t.’
It was Shawna who’d spoken. She, too, had been helping decorate the temple, cheerily climbing ladders even though her pregnancy had now given her a definite bump.
‘Huh?’ said the American.
‘Spirit wife,’ said Shawna, smiling broadly before walking away to help Walter, who was struggling to collapse one of the ladders.
‘Oh, man, I didn’t realise,’ the American told Robin, looking scared.
‘It’s fine,’ said Robin, but the young man escaped swiftly from her presence, as though now frightened to be seen talking to her.
Robin was confused and alarmed by what Shawna had said. Surely women didn’t become spirit wives just because Jonathan Wace had sexually assaulted them? She assisted in the carrying of the ladders back to a barn, consumed by fresh fears.
Over the next few days, Robin sensed an undercurrent of gossip swirling around her. It was in the sidelong glances of the women and even some of the men, and especially in the antagonistic looks of Vivienne. Since Shawna had announced it outside the temple, the rumour that Robin was Papa J’s new spirit wife had evidently travelled widely.
As nobody, even the people making sure she went nowhere unaccompanied, had posed a direct question, Robin was in no position to contradict the report; indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure of the facts herself. Perhaps Wace’s mere laying-on of hands was sufficient to create a spirit wife? However, if, as Robin suspected, Shawna had leapt to a false conclusion, Robin was afraid she might be accused of starting the canard herself. In fact, she had a nasty feeling this unsought dilemma might be the thing to finally break her cover, that the little eruption of envy caused by Shawna would lead all who had suspicion of her to pool their knowledge. Robin found herself constantly fantasising about making a break for it and running for the woods, even though there was no doubt an aborted escape attempt would make her situation far worse. The sensible thing to do, she knew, was leave via the perimeter blind spot on Thursday night, when somebody from the agency would be in the vicinity to pick her up. As long as she left then, she’d miss the Manifestation of the Drowned Prophet, which she’d now learned would take place on Friday evening. It was an experience Robin was perfectly happy to forgo, after what had happened during her Revelation session.
Taio had returned to the farm, without Lin. Robin, who’d seen him only from a distance, studiously avoided eye contact. All her efforts now were concentrated on securing a one-to-one conversation with Will Edensor. Finding out how deep his doubts about the church ran would justify everything she’d been through, and she’d leave knowing she’d truly made an advance in the case.
On Tuesday afternoon, Robin was sent to work in the laundry, a utilitarian, concrete-floored building of brick, housing rows of industrial-sized washing machines and drying racks on pulleys, which could be hoisted up to the ceiling. The women who’d escorted Robin to the door left after seeing her inside, clearly feeling there were enough people loading and unloading clothes and sheets to keep an eye on her.
The steady chug and hum of the washing machines necessitated the raising of voices if the workers wanted to make themselves heard. Having received a sack of dirty clothing and instructions as to the correct machine settings, Robin rounded a corner into the second row of washing machines and with a jolt of excitement saw Will kneeling in front of one of them, dragging a mound of wet clothing into a basket. Beside him, entering settings on a second machine, was Marion Huxley, who’d been so obviously infatuated with Jonathan Wace when she’d arrived at the farm, and with whom Robin hadn’t interacted in weeks.
The punishing work regime and commensurate weight loss had had an extremely ageing effect on Marion, whose gaunt face now sagged as it certainly hadn’t when she’d boarded the minibus in London. Her dyed red hair had now grown out to show two inches of silver roots.
Neither Will nor Marion heard Robin’s approach, and only when she’d chosen the washing machine next to Will’s did he glance up at her.
‘Hi,’ said Robin.
‘Hi,’ mumbled Will.
Having unloaded the tangled mass of wet clothes, he picked up the heavy basket and walked away.
Robin began to load her own washing machine. The surrounding noise was such that only when a voice said loudly in her ear, ‘Oi!’ did she realise Marion had been trying to speak to her.
‘Hi,’ said Robin, smiling before she registered that Marion looked livid.
‘I don’t know how you’ve got the gall to be walking around, smirking!’
‘Sorry?’ said Robin, taken aback.
