A Finer End

but my knowledge of the Abbey is no more than you’d expect from anyone who grew up here. I’m not particularly religious. I’ve never had any interest in spiritualism — or otherworldly things of any sort, for that matter.’
    Nick pondered this for a moment. ‘I doubt these things are random. Maybe you have some connection to the Abbey that you’re not consciously aware of.’
    ‘That’s a big help,’ Montfort said, but there was a gleam of humour in his bright blue eyes. ‘So how do I find out what it is, and why this is happening to me?’
    ‘Maybe I could help. You know it wasn’t Bond who did the actual writing, but his friend, John Bartlett. Bond guided him by asking questions.’
    ‘You want to play Bond to my Bartlett, then?’
    ‘You said you came from Glastonbury. That seems as good a place to start as any.’
    ‘My father’s family’s been in Glastonbury and round about for aeons, I should think. He was a solicitor. A large, serious man, very sure of where he stood in the world.’ Montfort took a sip of his beer and his voice softened as he continued. ‘Now, my mother, she was a different sort altogether. She loved stories, loved to play make-believe with us when we were children.’
    ‘Us?’
    ‘My cousins and I. Duncan and Juliet. My aunt and uncle had a penchant for Shakespeare. We always visited them in Cheshire on our holidays. It was a different world. The canals, and then the hills of Wales rising in the distance...’
    Once more he fell silent, his eyes half closed. Nick was about to prompt him again, when, without warning, Montfort grasped the pen. His hand began to move steadily across the paper.
    Nick translated the Latin as the words began to form. Deo juvante... With God’s help... you shall make it right... Did that, he wondered, apply to him as well? Could he somehow set right what he had done?
    In that instant, Nick knew why he had come to Glastonbury, and he knew why he had stayed.
     
    *
     
    Faith Wills rested her forehead against the cool plastic of the toilet seat, panting, her eyes swimming with the tears brought on by retching. She had nothing left to throw up but the lining of her stomach, yet somehow she was going to have to pull herself together, go out, and face the smell of her mother’s breakfast.
    It was a bacon-and-egg morning — her mum believed all children should go off to school well fortified for the day. They alternated cooked eggs, or porridge, or brown toast and marmite; and on this Thursday morning in March, Faith had struck the worst possible option.
    A whiff of bacon crept into the bathroom. Her stomach heaved treacherously just as her younger brother, Jonathan, pounded on the door. ‘You think you’re effing Madonna in there or something? Hurry bloody up, Faith!’
    Without raising her head, Faith said, ‘Shut up,’ but it came out a whisper.
    Then her mother’s voice — ‘Jonathan, you watch your language,’ and the crisp rap of knuckles on the door. ‘Faith, whatever’s the matter with you? You’re going to be late, and make Jon and Meredith late as well.’
    ‘Coming.’ Unsteadily, Faith pushed herself up, flushed the toilet, then blew her nose on a piece of toilet tissue. Easing the door open, she found her mum waiting, hands on hips, and beyond her, Jon, and her sister, Meredith, all three faces set in varying degrees of irritation. ‘What is this, a committee?’ she asked, trying for a bit of attitude.
    Her mother ignored her, taking her chin in firm fingers and turning her face towards the wan light filtering in from the sitting room. ‘You’re white as a sheet,’ she pronounced. ‘Are you ill?’
    Faith swallowed convulsively against the kitchen smells, then managed to croak, ‘I’m okay. Just exam nerves.’
    Her dad emerged from the bedroom, tying his tie. ‘How many times have I told you not to leave studying until the last minute? And you know how important your A levels—’
    ‘Just let me get my books, okay?’
    ‘Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.’ Her dad jerked tight the knot of his tie and reached for her. His fingertips dug into the flesh of her bare arm.
    ‘Sorry,’ Faith mumbled, not meeting his eyes. TUgging free, she escaped to the room she shared with her sister and, once inside, leaned against the door, praying for a moment’s peace before Meredith came back. It was a child’s room, she thought, seeing it suddenly anew. The walls were covered with posters of rock stars, the