In her still-dark bedroom, Alice stared at the ceiling and listened to Ray's soft, steady breathing. His naked body was warm and hairy. She was glad she'd asked him to stay the night. It felt so wonderful to have a man to snuggle up to again. Mike was away so often, he'd taken to sleeping in the spare bedroom, to avoid disturbing Alice. More likely a convenient way for him to avoid getting intimate. She squinted at the illuminated green numbers on the bedside clock. Five-thirty. Outside, the birds had started their dawn chorus.
The early morning was quiet. The rain had stopped, and the sky was no longer shaken by thunder. Occasionally, wind brushed across the roof and sighed wearily at the windows, but the fury had gone out of it. Alice teetered pleasantly on the edge of sleep. She was a bit light-headed from the whiskey she had been slowly sipping throughout the evening, not to mention the intense sex she and Ray had engaged in.
Falling off the edge, dropping into a well of sleep, she had the ugly, unwelcome thought she had resisted so strenuously on many occasions. The thought that God had punished her for wanting a baby. Because of something she did in her past. She'd never been able to have children. Now, at forty-three and with perimenopause creeping ever closer, she could feel that dream slipping away, like sand in an hourglass.
Then she was in a strange, smoky place where there was not much light, where something glinted just out of sight. The nightmare unfolded with the sound of loud, nerve-jarring pipe organ music. This is more than just a dream, she thought desperately. Much more than that. This is a memory, a prophecy, a warning.
Suddenly, she was running down a church aisle. On the altar stood a bloody, severed head. The head of Reverend Hosking. As Alice stood transfixed by that grisly sight, the dead eyes rolled in their sockets and focused on her. The cold lips twisted into icy smile.
With a gasp, she drew back the covers and swung her bare legs out of bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, hugging herself.
Ray was still asleep, snoring softly. Alice knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep after that nightmare. Like it or not, she was up for the day. Light seeped in around the curtains; it was too dim to reveal the details of the furniture, but it was just bright enough to deepen the shadows and distort the shapes of everything, so that the room seemed like a dreamscape. Shuddering, she headed off to the bathroom. In the shower, Alice thought about the nightmare, which had been considerably more vivid than any dream she'd ever had before. The organ music that had been playing in it was a hauntingly familiar hymn. Try as she might, she couldn't recall its title, despite having played it many times.
After her shower, she headed back into the bedroom and tried to dress herself as quietly as possible.
"Wow, someone's up with the lark!"
Alice spun round. "Oh, sorry if I disturbed you, Ray. I...couldn't sleep."
Sensing tension in her hesitation, Ray said, "What's wrong?"
"Well..." She cleared her throat nervously. "Might sound corny, but I had this most horrific nightmare. It was gruesome. I've never experienced anything like it. I woke up in a cold sweat and my heart was pounding."
"You're not feeling guilty over last night are you?" He said, sliding out of bed and putting his glasses on.
"No, not at all Ray. It's nothing to do with that."
He embraced her. "Alice, you're trembling. Whatever was it?"
"Seeing as we've become so well-acquainted now, I feel the need to tell you something. A secret. A secret I've kept hidden for a long time."
She was deadly serious, and the normally-jovial curate sensed her desperate need to unburden herself to a sincere listener.
"Whatever it is, Alice. I'm here for you and anything you tell me, will be in confidence. You have my solemn word."
She nodded and sat down on the bed, her hands in his.
"Ray, as a man of God, tell me. Can anything be forgiven?"
He took a deep breath and thought carefully before replying. "Yes. But the person seeking forgiveness has to truly want to be forgiven." Secretly, his heart lurched. He prayed that this gorgeous woman he was falling for hadn't committed some brutal, cold-blooded murder in her past.
Alice continued. "Growing up, I was a mess, I was in a bad place." Ray listened intently as she gradually revealed the horrendous story of her monstrous childhood. Her alcoholic mother who'd died when she was fourteen, her violent drug-addict father who'd beaten her, ended up in jail for downloading child abuse images -- and when she was sixteen, he'd been beaten to death in jail.
I ran away from home, lived with an aunt for a bit, but my behaviour was so damn bad, she threw me out. I started drinking. Got in with a bad crowd. At eighteen, I got myself pregnant. The father was a lad called Jordan. As soon as I told him, he fucked off. Didn't want to know. A few weeks later he was killed in a motorbike accident.
I considered an abortion but I just couldn't bring myself to do that. The birth was traumatic though. I put the baby up for adoption, Ray. There was no reasonable alternative. I simply hadn't been financially or emotionally or mentally capable of providing for her. I sorted my life out, got a job, rented a flat. Got involved in a church. Started learning to play the organ. Had a few relationships, but they didn't work out. I tended to push men away. Ten years ago, I met Mike. He seemed safe. He was thrilling at first. Hard to believe, I know. We were happy. We relocated from Coventry to up here. But he became obsessed with work after we kept trying -- and failing to have a child together. I never told him about the baby I gave up. He wouldn't understand."
"Oh Alice," Ray said, tears pricking his eyes.
"And now, twenty-five years on, the guilt I feel with every passing year gnaws at me like a starving dog with a bone. On each anniversary of my daughter's birth. I often wonder what she's doing with her life."
"Have you ever tried to find out?" He asked softly. "There are ways and means. If you'd like, I'll gladly make some enquiries."
"I haven't. Been too afraid at re-opening old wounds. But I'd dearly love to know. I need closure."
Ray nodded and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Alice, you're a stronger person than I can ever be. I want you know how much I admire you."
"Thanks so much for understanding. I feel like a lead weight has been lifted off my shoulders."
He felt strangely humbled. "I want to help you in any way I can."
"By the way, how are your two kids?"
"Oh Laura and Ben are doing great. Laura's just turned twenty and is at Salford uni, studying engineering. Ben's seventeen and doing an apprenticeship. Wants to be an electrician. I see them when I can. We have a good relationship. I'm lucky, I'm on good terms with both my exes, despite me cheating. They've remarried anyway."
"That's good. Glad you all get along."
The day was ashen, chilly, forbidding. Wind pressed on the glass, and howled softly round the eaves of the house.
"Fancy a cuppa?" Ray said, pulling on his underpants. "I think we need one after everything you've told me."
"Absolutely. I'm gagging for one."
"By the way, about that nightmare you had. What was it about? Was it...about your baby?"
Alice fastened her dressing gown. "Oh no, nothing like that. It'll sound stupid, but it was horrid and gory. I dreamt I was in the church...and the vicar's severed head was on the altar."
"Bloody hell," Ray chuckled. "Poor Reverend Graham! Did Quentin Tarantino write that nightmare?"
She laughed back. "Who knows? I've never watched horror movies. Had to give up on Game of Thrones because I found it too violent. I have no idea how such a horrific image entered my mind."
"Well his sermons aren't that bad!" Ray continued. "The Devil obviously makes work for sleeping minds as well as idle hands. Perhaps reading a passage from the Book of Revelation will cast out any future nocturnal demons?"
"Good idea. You...don't think it's a warning of some sort do you? I don't want to think that the vicar's in real danger."
"Not at all. It was just a bad dream. It doesn't mean anything. The human mind is a fascinating thing, and still not fully understood. Don't worry. Probably best not to mention it to the vicar though. Doubt he'd see the funny side!"
Alice walked through the lounge and lifted the lid on the old upright piano that stood in the corner. The instrument was shabby and had seen better days, but it served its purpose for practising on, on the rare occasions she couldn't use the church organ. She played a few notes. The piano was badly in need of retuning. "There was organ music playing in my dream," she said. "This hymn. I know the tune so well, yet I can't remember the name. What's it called?"
Ray recognised it at once. "That's Hills of the North Rejoice. The tune's the Little Cornard one. One of my favourite hymns. It's an advent one, but I wish it could be played all year round. It's very powerful. And we are surrounded by hills of the north aren't we?" He looked out of the patio doors. In the distance, like a spectre, Pendle Hill loomed over the landscape.
The Sunday Eucharist was well-attended, much to Reverend Hosking's delight. He was half-way through his sermon, when he noticed a face in the congregation that made him momentarily stumble over his words. She was here. The beautiful woman who he'd almost knocked down the other day, was sat on the front row pew.
She was listening carefully, and her lovely smile immediately made him feel strangely warmed all over. He simply had to get to know her.
After the service, he did his usual shaking of hands at the door, and the young woman was one of the last to leave the church.
"Ah...good morning, and nice to see you again, er..."
"Emily," came her reply.
"Emily! Yes, well, I assume this is your first visit to St. Peter's?"
"I came here when I was little," she said. "Used to attend regularly with my parents. But I lost my faith as I grew up. Dad died in 2020 during the height of the pandemic. Mum never got over it. She died a year later. That's when I regained my faith. I decided to move. Back to Clitheroe. The town where I grew up."
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Reverend Hosking said. How sad that this woman was orphaned in her twenties. "Do you have siblings?"
"No, I'm an only child," Emily continued. "I find myself all alone in the world. So...I turned back to God."
"No-one is ever alone if they have God in their life," the vicar replied, his voice a little shaky. He was desperate for this conversation to continue, even though he was supposed to be joining his loyal flock for tea and biscuits in the church hall. "Perhaps you would like to talk in confidence if you're not sure where you stand with God? I run a relaxed and informal Christianity course once a week at the vicarage. It's a small group of people, all different ages. Alice, our church organist attends, along with..."
"I would much prefer to talk to you alone, Reverend," Emily said.
His stomach lurched. In the spring sunshine, the floaty, white dress she was wearing gave her the aura of a mirage. As crisp, beautiful and radiant as an angel.
"I see. Well, you are most welcome to call round at the vicarage this evening if you'd like to discuss something in private. If you need to report a safeguarding issue, I can help you with that."
