“Like as not.” Brenda sighed. “Him neither.”
“Oh, you was hoping, was you? Thought there was no interest.”
“Nah, he’s a lanky streak. I prefer my men with a bit of meat on them. Muscle for preference, but I’ll settle for lard at my time of. Summit to grab hold of, at least…Oh, drat, I’ve missed the heel. I knew I’d bitten off more than I could chew wi’ little booties.”
“I still don’t know what possessed ye. Her, I get. Him?”
“Dunno, really. He was just, kinda, there. Right after I’d told her. It seemed honest, like. The right thing to do, you know. Oh, hark at me. I’ve reached that age where I turn in ta someone’s fairy godmother.”
“Ye want to drive to somewhere a bit more populated while there still half a chance of some?”
Brenda paused her attempted unravelling. “Nah, twice in as many nights? I know ye think I’m insatiable, but I’m not that insatiable. Tonight was only on because it had a chance of being special like. Besides, let’s get ye ta bed. You miss out on any more of your beauty sleep and in the morning you’ll be joining up Mrs Morgan’s washing machine wi’ the lavvy outflow and then where will we be?”
“Alright, let me just head behind a bush for a tic and we can go.”
Ted got out of the van. A second later he was back.
“That were quick.”
“Nah, turn the stereo off. Listen and tell me if you can hear anything.”
Brenda leant over and turned the volume down. “What?”
“Do you hear summit? Music like?”
Brenda listened. Then she got out of the car to hear better. “Over that way? Another rave, maybe? Thought they were cracking down on those hard.”
“Nah, this is summit else, I reckon. Want to take a look?”
In answer, Brenda set off in the direction the music was coming from. Ted reaching into the glovebox to pull out a torch and then set off after her. A couple of hundred yards later, he stopped and relieved himself behind a tree and they continued. As they reached the edge of the small group of trees that counted more as ‘cover’ than an actual wood, Ted pointed up towards Linton Peak. On a sunny day, you could see nearly the whole of Yorkshire from its bare top. It was only about 400 meters away. And about 200 meters further up. The wind was fair wuthering for the height they were already, but that was definitely where the noise that might be music was coming from.
“Fancy a climb? I think there’s some kind of light shining up there.”
Brenda looked at it in dismay. She’d have skipped up it in her youth. At forty-five, it looked like a hell of a climb. Her husband was right though: there was something going on up top. She’d come out tonight hoping for the unexpected. It seemed ungrateful to turn it down just because it might involve a bit of a puff.
“Can do. But if that’s a drug-deal and we end up on the ‘Where are They Now’ section of next week’s CrimeWatch, I’m holding you to account.”
Instead of heading straight up, they headed round for a while. It was a bit of hill that needed a strategic approach. They decided the western side was the easier and they set off upwards. As they climbed, Brenda found she was enjoying it, much to her surprise. Hell, if she had a bit of excitement and a bit of exercise like this every night, maybe she wouldn’t need burn off some much energy sucking guys off in the back of her husband’s van. She resolved, if this turned out to be nothing, to jump her husband’s bones once they got to the top – once they’d both gotten their breath back, obviously.
Whatever masochistic enjoyment she was getting from it, it was slow going and they both nearly slipped a couple of times. To her great satisfaction, it was Ted who cracked and asked for a sit down half-way up. They rested and, while Brenda cursed at having left their thermos in the van, after a few minutes they were somewhat rested and ready to head off.
As they neared the top the noises resolved more and more into actual discernible music: orchestra, will a low flute or maybe a bassoon playing a dissonant tune over a crazy rhythm of drums and piercing strings.
“What’s is that racket?” complained Brenda.
“Stravinsky,” said Ted promptly. “Rite o’ Spring, I reckon.”
Brenda looked at her husband with new found admiration. He wasn’t exactly a classically-trained plumber, but he had fallen into the habit of having ClassicFM on during his house calls. He said if customers had had an hour or two of Stephen Fry, they tended to react marginally better when he told them he’d have to come back Friday week once the appropriate ball-cock was in stock.
“Spring, eh. It’s middle of summer,” she said as if blaming him for the inappropriateness of the music.
“True enough. Come to think of it, it’s the Summer Solstice tonight. Trust you to pick shortest night of the year for us nocturnal activities. Still, I guess it’s the ambience they’re after more than anything. Lark Ascending wouldn’t have quite the same vibe. Does indicate that it’s probably not drug dealers.”
“Aye, well, you say that — there’s always that Russian mafia we keep reading about in papers.” Brenda didn’t really want to be murdered, but she’d happily continue to entertain the possibility if it stopped her husband being right twice in a row.
They finally and with some great sighs of relief, crested the hill. The peak was a mostly flat and rocky underfoot about the size of a basketball court. A figured stood in the middle, looking out over the valley, clocked from head to ankles in a robe.
“You came. I summoned you and you came,” said a female voice.
Only once she had finished speaking did the figure turn around. Whatever sense of drama she was intending to create was largely lost because, before she had even finished drawing back the hood, Brenda stepped forward and said, “Ey up, Emily luv. Nice night for it.”
Instead of answering, the girl let the full robe fall from off her. She stood naked at the summit – lithe and proud, in the full flush of youth. She seemed taller and fuller of figure when taken out of the society she struggled so much with. She wore no make-up; neither on her lips or nails or face. Her hair was long and naturally straight, reaching down to the start of her waist.
The music was interrupted by a sudden beeping. Brenda looked over and saw the girl’s phone propped up against a small Bluetooth speaker and a rucksack. Behind the bag, her two dogs were sleeping. Naked, the girl went over to her phone, and, on the second attempt, successfully swiped the alarm away. She then fiddled with the music player until the music restarted, the same track. Returning to the centre of the natural platform she attempted to regain her pose.
“It is midnight. The ritual can begin.”
She began to dance, it took her three refrains of the opening theme to get back in the centre and into a starting pose, but the music built slowly, so she hadn’t missed much. Her dance began with just the arms and neck, twisting and angular, trying to match the strange sounds of the piece. She crumpled down into a foetal ball and then raised her hands up to her face, clutching it as if weeping, but he arms parted to show her face was emotionless and focused.