“Nina!” Bryn calls his wife’s name.
After a minute or two, Nina appears. She looks bored. I don’t like that look. Boredom is one of the most dangerous moods that can take a woman or a man, but especially a woman. Women do not like ruts. We enjoy them, as a general rule. Same thing day after day, never changing, that sounds fine to me. But Nina is almost twenty-one, and once she gets over her many traumas, she will be looking for adventure. Or worse — babies.
“Yeah?” Nina’s American slang could be construed as disrespectful if one wanted to construe it that way. I do, but Bryn gives her leeway. A lot of leeway.
“Do you have any loose fit clothing that will fit the girl who stole Thor’s hammer?”
Nina’s eyes brighten. “I don’t know. I think I have a track suit? Or maybe some of Jonah’s old things if she doesn't mind smelling of boy?”
“Give it to Thor; he can go dress the prisoner.”
“You’re keeping someone prisoner? Why?” Nina is immediately curious.
“No reason,” I say, thinking the topic hardly suitable for Nina.
“She brained someone with a hammer,” Bryn says.
“Wow.”
Wow indeed. Wow. Wow. Wow.
“I’ll get the tracksuit,” she says. “It’s very 2008, which I guess makes now two thousand and late, but I was going through a stage and I think it’ll fit.”
“I got you some clothes,” I tell Anita. My shirt is fine for eating in the kitchen with Crocombe, but not suitable for an audience with the Brotherhood. I don’t know that what I have in hand will be any better, but it is pink and soft. I’m given to understand girls generally like that sort of thing, but perhaps not this girl. Her typical clothes are all black with shiny bits, studs and things. I’m sure she’s going to scoff at…
Her eyes light up unexpectedly. “Is that velour?”
“I believe so.”
“Wow.”
The abbey has a new word of the day, and apparently that is it.
She takes it and does that thing women do when they hold clothing to their body rather than just put it on. I’m not sure what purpose that serves, but it seems to please her. “This is nice. Soft! Thank you!”
“You can thank Nina. She's lent it to you.”
“Who is Nina?”
“Bryn’s wife?”
“That cunt is married?”
I find myself laughing at her bluntness before I can regroup. “Put it on,” I say. “Before you get yourself into any more trouble.”
She dresses in the kitchen. The tracksuit does look a little odd with her boots, but she doesn’t seem to care about that. It’s also a bit long and snug in the places she is more generously built, but it works. Overall, the tracksuit looks like an older item of clothing, well worn. Nice of Nina to share it. My knowledge of women tells me that it is either a favorite, or something she’d not be seen dead in.
Anita cranes her head over her shoulder. “Why does my ass say ‘juicy’ right now?”
“You should be glad that’s all your ass says,” I growl. “Come with me. You have some explaining to do.”
"To who?”
“To Bryn and another priest named Steven.”
Anita
“Why do I give a fuck what they think? You want to take me to the police, fine. I don't give a toss about these wankers in dresses.”
Food has renewed my energy and my lip. Yes, I still physically ache, but I’m willing to give them some shit anyway. Thor doesn't own me, even if he thinks he does.
“Because you are trouble, and Direview is home to us all. They need to know what kind of dilemma you are going to pose. I need to know what happened too. It’s best we all discover that together.”
“Fine. Not like I have any choice, do I?”
“No. You do not.”
I walk my aptly described rear into the drawing room he guides me into where the priests are waiting. I really don't care about this particular interlude. I am not religious and I do not answer to them.
“This is Father Bryn; you’ve met him before. The older gentleman is Steven. Gentlemen, this is Anita.”
I don’t say hello. It’s not that kind of meeting. This is a hostile room. I've been in plenty of those before. Thor is behind me, so I can’t look to him for hints and direction. I keep my eyes on Bryn.
“How did you know Craig?” Father Bryn asks the question. He’s sitting in a very big ornate chair with twiddly bits on the top. He looks very much in command, which I suppose is the point of big ornate chairs with twiddly bits. He doesn’t need the chair. He and Thor have a similar air of natural authority. Even now, faced with Bryn, most of my attention is on Thor behind me, and I can’t see him at all — except in my mind’s eye.