there’s a feeling amongst people that they’re rats leaving a sinking ship.’ Walter shook his head unhappily. ‘It’s been very difficult trying to run this place whilst you’ve been ill. People haven’t really taken to the idea of me being in charge. I’ve had Alice mouthing off all sorts of things about me . . . about you, too. And then, I think we’ve also got a problem with Mr Latoc.’
For a moment the name meant nothing to her. Vaguely familiar, that’s all.
‘The Belgian man? Valérie Latoc? We might have a problem with him.’
Then it came back to her. She’d forgotten completely about him. ‘He’s still here?’
‘He’s still officially on probation, but it’s been, what? six weeks since he arrived?’
More woolly memories came back to her. She remembered confiding in Martha, having her hair cut, wanting to look good. And she’d looked so much better, so much younger, for all of five minutes. Jenny had caught sight of her reflection yesterday and could have cried. Her hair was gone on the right side of her head, as if someone had taken clippers to her and walked away leaving the job half done. A fine pale fuzz was already growing back, but there was no knowing how it would look; it could end up as patchy, pitiful tufts that she’d forever more feel self-conscious about, cover with scarves or some floppy cap.
Her skin, livid red and as raw as tenderised meat all the way down one side of her face, down her neck and across her shoulder, would always be scarred, criss-crossed with starbursts of pale ribbed flesh.
‘Jenny, Valérie Latoc, it appears, is some sort of faith preacher.’
She looked back at Walter. ‘Preaching what, exactly?’
‘Well, from the bits I’ve overheard, it’s a jumble of things; part Christian, part Islamic, mostly mumbo-jumbo. Dr Gupta tells me that he’s started holding prayer meetings in the evenings in the mess.’
‘What?’
‘And his people now hold some sort of blessing before each meal. It’s getting—’
‘His people? For fuck’s sake, Walter!’ she snapped. Her face and neck stabbed her in retaliation for moving. ‘Walter, what’s going on?’
He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t really stop it, Jenny. There’s so many of them who want to do it now. I can’t just order them to stop it.’
‘How many?’
‘I’d say thirty, maybe forty of them.’
Jenny cursed silently. She guessed she might have had a problem with Alice spreading mischief in her absence. There were quite a number of people who actually bothered to listen to her griping and agreed with her that the community was large enough that it was time to think about whether its leader should be democratically selected. But this bubbling undercurrent of dissent had been, at least before the explosion, something Jenny had been able to keep a lid on. Alice might have been voicing aloud an opinion that was beginning to gain traction, but she was also her own worst enemy, unpopular because all she seemed to do was bitch and moan and make catty asides that seemed to get under everyone’s skin.
But Latoc . . . she hadn’t thought for one moment the softly-spoken man she’d interviewed - what seemed like a lifetime ago now - was going to be a problem. And he certainly hadn’t come across as some sort of firebrand.
‘Mealtime blessings?’ she uttered. ‘You let him start doing that? Did you explain it was one of our rules?’
‘I . . . I spoke to him about it.’
‘And?’
‘He said it was not for us to make those kind of rules. You know, Jenny, do you remember? I thought he was trouble.’
She sighed. She remembered, but then she’d put it down to the old boy being a little jealous. ‘Right,’ she winced as she shifted position again, ‘well, I think I need to have a chat with him, and soon.’
Walter nodded. ‘Be careful.’
Jenny studied him for a moment. ‘Why? What about?’
‘He’s become quite popular. Everyone seems to like him.’ There was a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘We really ought to get rid of him.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with him being liked, Walter. I can’t . . . I won’t, send someone off these rigs because they’re popular. That’s just, you know, life. Some people make friends more easily than—’
‘But what if—’ Walter clamped his mouth shut, perhaps realising he sounded churlish and paranoid.
‘But what?’
‘What if people here decide they want him to be in charge?’
She tried a smile. The scabs on her cheek crackled and split like brittle parchment. It hurt. ‘Well