The Fool - Chapter Fourteen =========================== I - I wake to the sound of bells. There is a church in the same road as the house my bedsit is in, and sometimes, on Saturdays, when they have weddings in there, they go a bit bezerk with the bells. Like right now. Each peal feels like a hammer blow to my skull, but I dare not move from the hangover, and I lie there, gritting my teeth as the ringing goes on. The vibrations of the bells seem to permeate my entire body. It would almost be like a massage if I wasn't feeling so unpleasantly hungover and achey. It takes me some time to realise that the bells have stopped ringing. They have beaten their rhythms into me and continue to echo around my head long after all the wedding guests have departed and the bellringers gone home. When the phone rings, it takes a while until I can actually hear it properly, by which time I've missed the call. As I am boiling the kettle, I hear the phone beep, and find I have an answerphone message. I sip my tea and listen to the message. "Hello, Peter Chapman here. Sorry to call you on a weekend like this, Adam, but it is quite urgent. Could you give me a call on 0208-321-0402 when you get this message. Thanks. Bye." Peter Chapman? What on earth does he want? II -- I am in no hurry to get back to him, it being Saturday, so I wash, and do some yoga, with the full intention of ringing him afterwards. The instant that I come out of the yoga, however, the phone rings, and I find myself answering it in a sudden rush of hope that it might be Beth. Of course it isn't Beth. "Hello Adam," says Peter Chapman. "Sorry to ring you at home like this. There's a couple of things I need to talk to you about." "That's ok," I say. "Firstly, just to confirm that you're ok for Monday. You'll be reporting to me again, to start with, so just come in as before. You should have got an email from the agency confirming the details. If you haven't, you'll get it today. I'd be grateful if you could just send a reply confirming you've got it, and copying me." "Wha..." I tell him, but he carries straight on. "Secondly, I don't know if you heard the news about that couple found dead in a car in Brighton, but it turns out they were both members of the Society of Mysteries, and that might be even worse news for us, so to speak. So we're having a meeting this evening at Mystery Hall, at six, and we'd be very glad to see you there. Very glad indeed. Do you think you'll be able to make it?" "Er..." I mumble meaninglessly. "I do understand that it's short notice, Adam, but I'm worried that we might have a little trouble with the press, and so on, so really please do make it if you can. It's pretty important." "Ok," I say, eventually, unable to think of any other response. "Great," he says. "I'll see you later then, at six. Bye now." He hangs up. III --- The afternoon passes by in a complete haze. I briefly contemplate ringing a couple of old friends, but realise that I don't really want to talk to anyone right now, which ringing people would probably require. I certainly don't want to drink anything. Ever again. As long as I live. Not another drop. Not for now, at least, and not tonight, either, with any luck. I'm drinking way too much as it is. I take a deliberately circuitous route to the Mystery Hall, taking three buses instead of two, but I have plenty of time to spare, and the rhythm of the buses lulls me into a pleasant stupor. My headache begins to fade a little. I arrive at Mystery Hall at about quarter to six, but it is already open, and I go up the stairs to find the whole place full of subdued shy-seeming people I do not recognise, milling around. Two of the rooms on this floor seem to be open today - the room the study group was in and another room. Two other doors remain closed. IV -- As I am standing hesitantly at the top of the stairs, Peter Chapman emerges from one of the two closed doors and comes over to welcome me with an outstretched hand. "Glad you could make it Adam, thanks for coming," he says shaking my hand and eyeing me carefully. "Do you want a drink? That's through here." He indicates the second of the two open rooms. "We'll be starting in about fifteen minutes," he continues. "Oh Lily, hi." This last is addressed to a spot directly above and behind my right shoulder, and I turn to see Lily standing behind me, looking as if she has been crying a lot. "Oh Peter," she says, stepping forward to meet him, "it's so horrible," and they hug in one natural motion. I decide now is not the greatest of times to say hello to Lily and thread my way through the hall and the room where the drinks are, hoping that 'drinks' includes 'coffee'. It does. Joy. There is an urn marked 'Coffee', and a pile of cups and saucers. There are even biscuits. I sip the coffee. Damn, it's good. I wasn't expecting that. A slow smile spreads across my face, and I momentarily catch the eye of a woman across the other side of the room. Her eyes twinkle behind rimless glasses and she smiles back at me. "I should hope so," she seems to be saying. V - "You seem very relaxed," says Lily, out of the blue. She is leaning against table just beside me, a full cup of steaming coffee in her hand. "The coffee is good," I say, feeling the absurdity of it as I hear the words out loud. She laughs. "Well yes," she tells me. "It's specially brewed by the Inner Adepti themselves, you know." "They're certainly doing something right, anyway," I say, but she cuts across me. "How's Beth?" she asks. "Ah." My face falls through the floor, through the next floor, and down into the disused cellar of the shop below. "Oh," says Lily. "Something happen?" "Well," I say. "Yes. No. Yes. I mean, we're not seeing each other at the moment." "Oh," says Lily. "Well you were seeing her the last time I spoke to you, so something must have happened." "You're a treasure, Lily," I say to her. "I want to thank you for talking this through with me." She smiles at me oddly. "I heard she got signed," she says. "Yeah, that's right. Signed. She did." "Wow." Our conversation is cut short by a general wave of people sitting down and ushering each other to sit down, which seems to take ages, but eventually we are all sat, facing a row of seven empty chairs on a raised platform at one side of the room. VI -- A bell rings, and a door opens, and seven people in white cowls, their hoods up, walk across to take their chairs. When they are all sat, the one sitting in the middle looks across at the others, then stands up and throws back her cowl. It is Dora. She seems immensely calm, but her eyes glint with a thorough determination. "Good evening," she says. Then she says something unintelligible for a while. I have no idea what she is saying, but everyone else seems to understand, and interject once or twice with more words that are unintelligible. The last one sounds a little like 'Amen', but I can't be sure. All at once she has switched back to English. "It's been a long time since we've had to call a meeting like this," says Dora, "and I want to thank all of you who have been able to manage to come at such short notice. "What I want to say to you is this. Most of you will probably have heard the tragic news about Jason and Annie, the two young members of our Order who were found dead in Brighton. "We've been advised by the police that they don't currently think it has anything to do with us, they think it was probably to do with drugs that Jason and Annie were taking, and they know that we have nothing to do with that kind of thing. "As far as we know, the press have not yet got hold of the information that Jason and Annie were members of the Order, but the police have also advised us that they are likely to get hold of that information pretty soon, at which point, depending on how desperate they get for a story, there's a tiny chance that any one of you might be approached. "What we are asking you do to is to remember the oaths you have taken, and to politely but firmly refer any press inquiries to us." VII --- "Are there any questions?" A young man with a long black ponytail stands up lazily. "Yeah," he says. "I've got a question." "Go on, Dave," says Dora. "Where's your daughter? Where's Beth?" There is a harsh agression in his voice, but Dora handles it with aplomb, waving him to sit with a languid motion of her hand. "I'm afraid I don't know Dave, any more than you do," she tells him, in a hypnotically mollifying tone. "I agree, it's a shame that she's not here this evening. On the other hand, there were many people that weren't able to make it this evening. While I'm talking about them, could I ask you all to tell anyone you know who wasn't here tonight what you just heard from me. That way, we'll be sure we don't have any more... nasty surprises." VIII ---- Dave seems unconvinced by this answer, and there is a hubbub of muttering from the group of people sitting around him. Dora reduces them to silence with another wave of her hand. "Are there any... other... questions?" she asks. No-one says a word. "Thankyou," she says, and launches into the nonsense syllables again for a sentence or so. This time everyone does seem to chime in with 'Amen' at the end, whereupon the other six cowled people on the platform rise and disappear through the door by the platform, closing it behind them as they leave. There is an instant hubbub of conversation around me, and people start rising, collecting their coats and one another, and milling around once again. I decide to have another coffee before attempting anything reckless like walking down stairs, and am about to fill my cup when I feel a tap on my shoulder and a voice says "Hey." I turn to find Dave standing there with a not particularly friendly look. "You're a friend of Beth's aren't you," he says. IX -- "I am?" I tell him. "News to me." I turn back to my coffee cup and fill it. "Hey," he says again, more insistently. "I saw you. I saw you with her. In Brighton, last week. Last Saturday. Remember?" "Oh that," I say. "Yeah. That. That happened." "At the club, right?" "Club?" I can feel my headache coming back. "Yeah. What's it called - Escape from Suburbia or something. Anyway. You were there. With Beth. And with..." His voice tails off, and I shake my head. "Look man," I say, "Yeah, I was in Brighton with Beth last week, but I was totally out of it that night and really don't remember much, but anyway I really don't see what business of yours any of that might be. I really don't want to talk about it right now. Is that alright with you?" He stares me levelly in the eyes. "No," he says. "That's not alright with me." he says. "You don't have to talk to me about it. But you might have to talk to the police about it." I stare back at him, equally levelly. "What are you saying?" I ask. He says nothing. We glaring at one another in silence for a while, unconsciously squaring off. Lily comes over and throws her arms around Dave. "Da-ave," she says nuzzling his neck despite his increasingly feeble attempts to push her away, "leave Adam alone and take me home, won't you?" She turns to me. "Bye Adam," she says. "Yeah. Bye Lily," I say. "Bye Dave." X - As I am leaving I am stopped in the hallway by Dora. "Oh Adam," she gushes, "I'm so glad you could make it. Thank you for coming today. Did you get the book?" "I did, yes," I tell her. "Thank you for that." "Oh, it's my pleasure," she replies. "Send my love to Beth, won't you. Are you seeing her tonight?" "No," I say. "Not tonight." I haven't the heart to tell her any more, and wishing her goodbye, I leave Mystery Hall, feeling tired and battered. I go home via the shop on the corner, but only buy cigarettes, because I really don't want to drink again tonight, and I am also no longer feeling angry and depressed enough to consider instant noodle mix 'food', though I am not far from it, and I consider it for a while. Instead I go home and order a pizza delivery. I am feeling very fragile and melancholy. I miss Beth. I try to put her out of my mind, and struggle with the opening chapters of the Secrets of the Society of Mysteries, as written by her mother. When the pizza arrives, it is unusally perfect. I wash it down with a large glass of fresh tap water. I read a little longer, and get to bed before midnight, by which time I am weeping silently and uncontrollably. I briefly try and restrain the weeping, then think, no, I should let it go. I weep myself to sleep in silence.