Dying Fall

Number One. That must be Ruth’s university friend. He’s glad that she’s got some company but he can’t really see what Ruth would have in common with a woman who drives a car like that. They are spending the day at a water park, something else that Cathbad finds quite inexplicable. Why go indoors with artificial rapids and fake waterfalls when you have the sea on your doorstep? Kate will like it, Ruth had said, but Kate had liked playing on the beach with him, building a henge, collecting shells and driftwood, watching the tide retreat so quickly that the sand had glistened like a mirage. She’s not your child, he tells himself, something he finds himself having to do several times a day. She’s Ruth’s daughter, and if Ruth wants to take her to a water park, that’s up to her. After all, isn’t he the one who has said he will take her to Nickelodeon World, that vast plasticpleasure ground? Is he only doing it to be popular with Kate? Of course he is.
    He drives carefully along the dual carriageway, Thing at his side. The solicitor may be surprised at his turning up with a dog in tow but he could hardly leave the animal alone for the day. Besides, he likes Thing’s company. He can see why Pendragon called him his familiar, there is something accepting about a dog that’s very comforting when your thoughts are in turmoil. Cathbad likes cats but they are more judgemental somehow. He imagines that Flint would just tell him to pull himself together and break open the Go-Cat.
    And his thoughts are in turmoil. Pendragon’s face and his ghastly swinging body haunt his dreams (despite the soothing ballet wallpaper). Why did he do it? Why hadn’t he confided in Cathbad? Again and again, Cathbad wonders if he could have been more understanding that day when he visited Pendragon. He’d known his friend was worried about something, why hadn’t he tried harder to find out what it was? Was Pendragon so terrified of the White Hand that he’d killed himself rather than face their vengeance? Cathbad had been shocked at the evidence of Pendragon’s involvement with the Neo-pagan group. He still can’t accept that his gentle friend believed in all that rubbish about the supremacy of the white Norseman. After all, Pendragon had lived in Ireland. He must, surely, have had some sympathy with the Celtic gods too. Cathbad has always believed that one of the good things about being a pagan was that you didn’t haveto settle for one narrow set of beliefs but could choose from a cornucopia of mysteries. But it seems that Pendragon had chosen the narrowest path of all.
    They reach Clitheroe at ten. It’s a bustling market town, built on steep cobbled streets, overlooked by a magnificent castle. On any other occasion Cathbad would have enjoyed strolling around, absorbing the energies of the place. But today he feels that he is on business. He is even wearing what is almost a jacket. He puts the lead on Thing and walks sedately along the high street. It’s almost like working in a
bank
.
    The solicitors, J. Arthur Wagstaff, are housed in a reassuringly uncorporate building, a quaint little house with a bow window like a Victorian sweetshop. Cathbad feels his spirits beginning to rise. The receptionist doesn’t even blanch at Thing (or Cathbad’s jacket). She ushers them into an office and tells them that Stephanie will be with them shortly. For the first time Cathbad realises that the S. Evans mentioned by Pen’s sister is actually a woman. He chastises himself for such sexist assumptions. Ruth would be horrified.
    To complicate matters further, Stephanie Evans is extremely attractive. She has red hair, which gleams seductively against her black dress. She reminds Cathbad of Ruth’s friend Shona. Her accent is pure Lancashire. Cathbad leans forward so as not to miss a word. What she tells him is almost as interesting as the glimpse of cleavage with which he is rewarded. Dame Alice’s cottage was rented but Pendragon has left its contents in theirentirety to Cathbad. He has also left him his savings, a surprisingly healthy sum. Pendragon also asked his friend to care take of his dog.
    ‘I see you’re already doing that,’ says Stephanie warmly.
    ‘It seemed the right thing to do,’ says Cathbad.
    There are a couple of legacies to Pendragon’s sister, Margot, and to local charities. Most interesting of all is a donation to a local neurological centre.
    ‘I understand they were treating him,’ says