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  Marshall reached up and removed his sunglasses, revealing for the first time the dark circles around eyes that shone with a startling intensity. Around him I felt the crowd stirring, drawing closer.

  ‘And so, my friend, the time has come for questions. And I’m sure you have many. But first of all, I’d like to ask you one.’

  He leant forward, so close that our foreheads touched and his eyes became one giant black hole in the centre of his face, a bottomless pit from which no light could escape.

  ‘Will you join us, Adam?’

  I stared back into that single black eye, and felt something inside me shift. I thought about Lydia, waking up alone in our bed. The panic she must have felt. The confusion and dread. And then there were the kids. Had she told them the truth? That she simply didn’t know where I was? Or was she more brutal? Sorry, darlings, but Daddy didn’t love you enough to stick around. Daddy was an addict and a liar and a thief. Christ, even my old man had the courage to be there while I was growing up, even though it drove us, and most likely him, halfway round the bend most of the time.

  ‘Will you join us?’

  The question burrowed deep down through my flesh, dislodging the layers of ice that had hardened within me over the days and months and years even. The men drew their breath. In the silence I imagined I could hear a creaking as my defences began to thaw. Then suddenly I cracked, sending everything I’d sought to conceal and control surging towards the surface. I attempted to speak and discovered I was crying.

  ‘Yes… Yes…’

  I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder as Rusty took a step forwards to reassure me. ‘It’s alright, sonny. Everythin’s gonna be alright now.’

  I stifled another sob as Marshall pulled me closer to him, as if trying to absorb me. More hands reached out, the circle collapsing in on itself as they fought to get nearer, drumming their support along my spine. I felt Marshall’s grip slacken as he guided my head down towards his chest, his powerful arms embracing me.

  A cheer went up from the crowd as the circle stooped as one to catch me, grabbing me by arms and legs and hoisting me skywards.

  And then they were carrying me, back up the steep banks of the pit and through the wood, the trees shaking as if offering their applause as I was thrust ever forwards. Carried on a sea of love.

  *

  Eventually we came to a stop next to the lake where I had stood days earlier – another lifetime ago. It still felt late. The sky above me was already blistering pink and purple, the sun preparing itself to set on yet another day. I swayed uneasily on the platform of hands, the men evidently tired of carrying me, though not one of them said a word. It seemed they were waiting for something.

  Somewhere below me there was a thrashing of water, and I managed to turn my head just enough to glimpse Marshall wading into the lake, closely followed by Bruno and Tyrus. There was a beating of wings as across the lake a pair of swans darted for safety, a disgruntled blur of white against the turbid black murk.

  Marshall raised his arms to speak, his booming voice ringing out around the park. ‘Gentlemen. We gather here today to welcome Brother Adam into our fold. We are here to give him a second chance, another shot at the life he has so wantonly destroyed. We are here to offer redemption…’

  As Marshall spoke, the hands that held me began to sway to and fro, almost imperceptibly at first, but gathering pace, as if mirroring the rhythm of Marshall’s words.

  ‘Just as the body is purified by water, so then the soul is purified by this blessed act, allowing Brother Adam to be reborn into the world…’

  ‘No!’ I managed to shout out as I realised too late what was about to happen.

  ‘I call on him to banish all darkness from his heart and to step out into the light…’

  ‘No!’ I cried again, helpless as the men continued to swing me higher and higher in an ever-widening arc.

  ‘To repent to whatever-the-fuck higher power he deems worthy and to rejoice in the knowledge he is free from the burdens of the past. A-fucking-men!’

  There was a lurch and I was free. For a moment I hung suspended in mid-air, neither flying nor falling as the early evening sun emerged from behind a cloud, momentarily dazzling the world white.

  And then I plummeted, hitting the surface of the lake with a colossal splash. And instantly sinking to the bottom. The water was so cold I felt scalded. I scrambled to get my head above the surface, my feet slithering in the sludge of the lakebed until eventually I was sitting upright.

  The water was shallower than I’d expected, only reaching my shoulders. I gasped for air, gradually aware of the crowd that had formed around me. A hand reached out from the haze and pulled me to my feet. It was Marshall. He was smiling. He pulled me closer to him and grabbed my head, landing a single, tender kiss on my forehead.

  ‘You made it,’ he said. ‘You’re home.’

  SUMMER

  TEN

  The first day was the hardest of my life.

  After my impromptu baptism in the boating lake, I was led to yet another section of woodland, where a ragtag assortment of shelters was scattered among the trees, resembling a sort of rustic shanty town. Unlike Rusty’s tent, which I later learnt was usually only used to store supplies, each dwelling was wide enough to accommodate at least three or four standing adults – though each man appeared to have his own home. They were haphazard affairs, constructed from large strips of weather-worn canvas strung between trees and weighed down with rocks and boulders. Most looked like they’d been extended multiple times, with long branches propping up porches and awnings, their modest boundaries marked out with wooden stakes and chicken wire fencing.

  Dotted between the tents were larger communal areas covered by marquees. In one, several splintering fence panels had been balanced on a base of grey milk crates to create a table, its surface strewn with the detritus from an earlier meal. Elsewhere an improvised punchbag dangled from a tall branch, stiff needles of straw protruding from its tattered corners. There was also a rudimentary football pitch with a set of traffic cones for goal posts, and even a ping-pong table, its green playing top warped and blistered with age.

  In the very centre of the camp stood an enormous gnarled oak tree, at the top of which sat something that looked like a cross between a tree house and a bird’s nest, a dense knot of reeds, twigs and wire that was so well-hidden it might have gone unnoticed were it not for the rope ladder snaking down the nearest side of the trunk.

  ‘Who sleeps there?’ I asked Rusty.

  ‘That’s the gaffer’s place,’ he said. ‘But nobody goes there. At least they don’t if they know what’s good for ’em! Right-o, this one’s yours,’ he said, gesturing towards a teepee-like shelter, which consisted of little more than a blue sheet of tarpaulin lashed to a tripod of branches.

  ‘It’s not much to look at, but it’ll keep you dry and warm for now. Just make sure you get out of those wet things before you catch a cold.’

  I nodded my thanks as I slithered into the dim shelter, using the last of my energy to shoo out Bruno before peeling off my damp clothes and collapsing into the soft pile of bedding that lay on the floor. Though not yet fully dark outside, I craved sleep, both my body and mind too exhausted to process everything that had happened to me.

  ‘So I’ll be seein’ you in a bit,’ Rusty called from outside. ‘My place is the green one on the other side of the tree. Just yell if you need anythin’!’

  I grunted my response, my eyes already fluttering shut. And then I was gone, plummeting into a darkness so absolute that it felt like death, the tarpaulin above my head the lining of my sarcophagus, quivering gently in the breeze.

  *

  I woke to the sound of thunder. I opened my eyes. It was still dark. I pulled the covers over my head. The thunder sounded again, closer this time. I sat up. My mouth was dry and my head was still throbbing, the last traces of alcohol in my bloodstream still potent enough to make my stomach clench. Then it happened. The entire structure
of my tent began to shake with such force that for a moment I feared it might become untethered from the earth. I thought back to my nightmare the previous night, but before I could react, a familiar gruff voice rang out.

  ‘Right then, you good-for-nothing maggots! Time to rise and shine!’

  I poked my head out of the tent and squinted. I was just able to make out Marshall’s silhouette as he marched towards the next tent, banging a saucepan with a wooden spoon. As I groped around for my clothes, I was amazed to find my wet things gone, replaced instead by a fresh vest, fleece, trousers, along with a pair of boots and a bottle of water. I took a long draught and splashed a little on my face before I reached for the clothes. Although clean, there was nevertheless a smell to them, a bitter mustiness that led me to suspect they might once have belonged to Rusty. Too cold to care, I quickly dressed, then hurried out into the night, stumbling in the direction of Marshall’s cries.

  ‘I see you decided to grace us with your presence?’

  The men were already stood in a line before Marshall, who was wearing a stained string vest and shorts, his sunglasses still clamped firmly to his face, despite the poor light. Nearby, Tyrus lay chained to a tree. He sniffed the air menacingly as I arrived.

  ‘You’re just in time to welcome in the morning with us,’ Marshall continued, gesturing up towards the night sky.

  ‘Yoga,’ Rusty hissed. Like Marshall, he’d swapped his jacket for a vest, though thankfully he was still wearing his cargo trousers. ‘The boss is mad for it, rain or shine. Now, you just do what I do and you’ll be right – ain’t nothin’ to it but a bit of stretchin’!’

  At this, the men began to spread themselves apart, unravelling small patches of tatty-looking carpet and kicking off their shoes.

  ‘Remember men, bendiness is next to godliness,’ Marshall said, aiming a sharp slap between my shoulder blades as he passed me a roll of carpet of my own.

  I got in line as he raised his palms and addressed the group. ‘Now, seeing as we’ve got a guest today I want you all to show him a good example. I don’t want to hear any excuses from anyone, else you’ll have Tyrus to answer to. Understood? And breathe, two, three, four…’

  *

  By the time we’d finished, the first rays of sunlight had slashed the sky red, banishing all but the brightest stars. I lay on my back and gasped for breath as I stared up at the bloodshot dawn. My entire body ached from an hour or so of punishing contortions. While I’d recognised many of the moves from years of Lydia ‘downward dogging’ in my peripheral vision, in Marshall’s hands the practice was twisted into a relentless drill of squats, lunges and high kicks. Now, it more closely resembled a martial art than meditation, a masochistic assault on my knees, spine and hamstrings. Gone were Lydia’s placid mumbles about chakras and energy, replaced by a constant refrain to ‘Put your fucking arse into it!’ If it was possible for yoga to be violent, this was a case in point.

  ‘Enjoy that, did ya?’ Rusty asked, appearing above me.

  I groaned, unable to muster a response.

  He reached down and grabbed me by my fleece, dragging me to my feet. I felt clammy and sick, uncertain of whether my legs would hold without his support. Around me men were rolling up their mats and slipping on their boots as they disappeared into the woods.

  ‘Good,’ Rusty said. ‘Cos that was just the warm up!’

  Before I could reply, Marshall plucked me from Rusty’s grasp. By his side stood Tyrus, now freed from the tree and straining against his master’s muscular grip. ‘And how’s the new recruit doing?’ he said, beaming at me from behind his mirrored sunglasses.

  I eyed Tyrus warily. ‘Okay, I guess. I mean, I’m a little tired.’

  ‘Nonsense! Like Rusty here just told you that was just a little morning stretch. Now, you’d better get a move on, else you’ll never catch them up.’

  ‘Catch them up?’ I said. ‘But where are they going?’

  Marshall grinned. ‘Why, for a little jog of course.’

  *

  To my surprise, Rusty quickly sped ahead, leaving me at the back of the pack, flanked by Marshall and Tyrus. While the dog growled and snapped at my every juddering misstep, Marshall seemed oblivious to my discomfort, cheerfully pointing out features along the route as I struggled to suck enough air into my lungs to remain conscious.

  ‘I think we’ll just stick to one lap this morning. It’s six and a half kilometres around the perimeter – or four miles in old money. And oh, did you see that? The little fellow with the black feathers and the white belly? That’s a house martin. First I’ve seen this year.’

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. As we continued on our tour of the park – past the old marl pit, down through the farm and out into the playing field – all of my focus was on putting one foot in front of the other. I hadn’t run since my school days, where the miserable weekly ritual of a compulsory, all-weather cross-country run had been enough to ensure I’d never take part in any kind of competitive sporting event again. Now, as then, my legs cramped and my muscles screamed. There was a stitch in my chest so severe that I was convinced one of my ribs had punctured the skin. And yet I kept going, the ever-threatening presence of Marshall – or more specifically, Tyrus – providing enough motivation to keep putting one leg in front of another.

  After running for what felt like hours, I spotted someone sitting on a bench up ahead. As we got closer I saw it was Hopper. He had one leg up and appeared to be battling with his prosthesis.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he called. ‘You look worse than me – and I’ve only got one foot! Jesus, are you okay?’

  As we passed level with him, my legs gave way, sending me crashing to the ground. Instantly Hopper was up from the bench, limping towards me with his hand outstretched, before Marshall yelled for him to stop.

  ‘He’ll get up by himself, Private. Every man here needs to stand on his own two feet…’ he paused, throwing a glance towards Hopper’s exposed stump. ‘Or however many feet they have.’

  I looked up at the two men and the dog standing over me. I barely had enough energy to lift my head, let alone start running again. My lungs felt like they were bleeding. My back ached. Everything hurt. I was ready to collapse, to roll over and let them do whatever they would with me, when I happened to glance over at the bench where Hopper had been sitting. It was the same spot where I’d first met Rusty a few days earlier, the ground around it still littered with crystals of shattered glass. It seemed another lifetime ago now. Instinctively I glanced down at my wrist. The bandage was still there; my arm stained orange from where the iodine had run. For some reason, the sight of it stirred something inside me. I’d been on that ground before. I didn’t want to be on it again. I took a deep breath and, drawing on reserves I didn’t know I had, pushed myself into a crouching position.

  And then, I stood up.

  ‘Fair play, mate,’ Hopper said. ‘That looked like a bad one from where I was sitting. I thought for sure you’d broken something.’

  I turned to Marshall.

  He nodded.

  We started to run.

  *

  By the time we made it back to the camp I was drenched in sweat. My eyes felt raw from the salty streaks that ran down my forehead and I was desperately thirsty. So much so, that as we’d passed the boating lake it had taken all of my self-control not to veer away from Marshall and dive open-mouthed into dark water.

  As I came into the home straight, I fantasised about a cold drink in almost pornographic detail: beads of condensation sliding down a frosted glass, ice cubes the size of golf balls chattering against the sides. Yet as I stumbled to a stop among the trees, I saw at once that I had about as much chance of getting one as I did a hot shower.

  The other men were lined up as they had before yoga. Only this time they were each naked and cupping themselves, their clothes stacked in neat piles besides half a dozen plastic buckets. I turned to Marshall, who gestured for me to join the line. I squeezed in next to Rusty, who
was grinning with an unbearable enthusiasm.

  ‘Best bit this,’ he whispered. ‘You’d better get your kecks off quick mind. Here, I’ll give you a hand.’

  Without the slightest hesitation, he reached up and started tugging at my vest, exposing the gnarled slump of his genitals. Too tired to resist, I submitted to his fumbling paws, watching with the detached obedience of a toddler as he slipped off my boots and slid my trousers down my legs.

  He’d just managed to strip me of my damp clothes, when the first bucket was thrown. There was a collective huffing of breath as the men at the other end of the line jumped around on the spot. Marshall staggered towards me, grey water sloshing over the side of a second bucket, a sadistic smile stretched across his face. Even in my exhausted state, I noted he was still wearing his shorts and vest. I took an involuntary gasp, before the cold stole the air from my lungs. Next to me, Rusty squealed with delight, scrubbing at the matted bramble between his armpits and legs before another torrent came crashing down on us.

  I stood shivering while Zebee came walking down the line, handing out the rough strips of cotton towel, along with a dark brown square of what looked like burnt flapjack.

  ‘What are these?’

  ‘Potato fritters,’ he answered with a smile. ‘Rusty cooked them, but they’re my wife’s recipe. Best breakfast a man could ask for!’

  Although I wasn’t hungry, I took one of each, cloaking myself in the towel, grateful for what little warmth it offered.

  ‘Right then!’ Marshall said, still shouting despite being less than six feet from us. ‘Now that you’re all nice and awake, it’s time to hand out today’s rota. Zeb and Al, you’re on maintenance. Hopper, Rusty, you’re on dinner duty. And not another one of your curries, Rust – I’m not spending two hours crouched next to you lot at Squit Creek tomorrow morning. Butcher, you take surveillance with me. Adam – you’re on farming with Ox, Fingers and Sneed.’

  Around me the others began to reach for their clothes, dressing quickly and dispersing in different directions. I took the opportunity to pull Rusty aside.