Charlie Williams - Graven Image

I was in the abbey when I realised Id have to burn for my sins.

If you go round the cloisters and have a look at all the stained glass windows, you'll find one of a man being burned to death, and he looks a bit like me, if I was white and had a beard. And even if he didn't look like me, I straight away knew all about him. I didn't know who he was or what he'd done, but I knew he was paying for something hed done, and that hed had no choice but to do that thing. I could see myself going the same way. And soon.

Saying that, I hoped I was wrong.

Getting burned to death seemed a bit harsh.

I turned, spotting someone come round the corner. I knew this was no abbey-going punter. No punter moves with that kind of purpose, eyes burning a hole in your skull from fifty yards. The cloisters are a big, square corridor surrounding a nice garden that you can look at through the windows but not go in, and I was stood halfway along one side. Behind me was the gift shop and the main part of the abbey. Habit had me making a mental note of that in case things turned serious and I needed a way out. But I knew I wouldnt be needing that mental note. I had hope, didnt I? Things could be sorted.

Burnings could be avoided.

Wheres Graven? I said to the oncoming ned with his chin up, arms swinging a foot adrift of his hips, bigging himself up big-time. He was all of five foot five and built like a variety-sized box of cornflakes. Twenty yards shy and he reaches inside his hoodie. Not a good sign.

Things werent just turning serious, they were starting out that way.

House of God and all.

He was five paces away now and I could make out his eyes, but they werent on me like those of a good blade boy should be. Or even a shit one, really. It was around then I came to wonder if I might be wrong, if this one here was nothing to do with Gravens dirty workings. Could be he was Mr Average, headed for the gift shop, after a nice key-ring or an embossed prayer book. Especially with his hand still in his top and not producing the stainless. Mind you, does Mr Average keep his hood up inside the house of God? I dont know, but I had mine up.

I had good reason to.

He pulled alongside, the hand coming out now. This is where it got a bit odd for me. Meaning unusual things started going on up there in my head. I mean, your first instinct is self-preservation, right? Someones about to flash a tool, you either show him your heels or toss him a pre-emptive set of knuckles. This had been my way for as long as I could remember.

But I got a different thing occurring to me this time. It occurred to me - with the sun bursting out behind my head, flashing the colours of that burning man across the neds grey Diesel with a big black 50 across the front - that I could always just take it. I could let him do what hed been sent to do.

Why prolong the inevitable? I mean, what is life, really and truly?

One long trail of shit stretching day to day.

Until you die.

Thats why I closed my eyes. Serious, that is the reason. Bring it on, I was thinking, send me to the big sleep from which no bastard awakes. And when I opened them again I saw an angel approaching, coming down a long tunnel. Or maybe it was a leery-eyed vicar walking down the cloisters in my direction, I realised after blinking a few times. I now had a letter under my arm. A sealed envelope, brown smudges all over one corner and some damp on another. I sniffed it.

Soil.

The ned was nowhere. Common sense said he was in the main abbey, hiking sharpish for the exit after doing his drop-off. Which meant he was actually in the gift shop, because I knew how his sort operated and it wasnt via common sense. I went in there, stuffing the letter down my arse pocket where it belonged. He was browsing your more expensive class of gift down the far aisle, where the old dear at the counter couldnt clock him. I yanked his hood down and swung him back, sending him crashing into a rotating postcard stand. Then I dragged him to the door, all eight stone of him. I was sorry about trashing the shop but there were more pressing matters just now. Before I could get him out he wriggled free of the Diesel and scuttled behind the counter.

The old dear was backed up to the wall, hand on heart.

I apologised to her and grabbed the ned by the ankle, intending to get him away and thereby give her heart a rest. She didnt seem to appreciate my efforts there, looking at her, but thats not what its about, is it? Its about respecting boundaries. Its about making sure your bad shit doesnt hurt innocent people.

Whats this? I said to the ned. I was kneeling on his back. His hoodie was riding up and you could see part of a large koi carp tat on his ribs, outlined and long healed but never coloured in.

What?

This! I was still trying to get the letter out of my pocket.

What?

Shut up a minute!

I finally got it out and shoved it in his face.

This!

I dunno! Im just

Dont you swear in a ladys presence, you little

Youre hurtin me!

I probably was, to be fair. Im no goliath but I do like a pie. And I can handle myself. I got off him. None of this was turning out like Id hoped. Straight away he bolted for the door. I didnt bother going after him. I was knackered, inside and out.

Ill tell you what you are! the ned was shouting from the glass doorway, spit flying. Youre a fuckin spanner!

I shrugged at the old dear and started picking up the rotating postcard display.

QUITS.

Thats what it said on a piece of paper inside that soil-stained envelope, in big block capitals. Im no expert but I thought it might have been written by a female. There was a careful curve to the letters that you saw in Kellys handwriting, although Kelly wrote with a bit more confidence than seen here. Thats all you can give a kid, if you ask me. Confidence. And a surname.

And a big hug every day.

Quits? I said.

I was walking through town, keeping to back streets. Id long since read the letter, such as it was, but it was still messing with my head and making no sense. How could we be quits? Id been waiting for a blade in the guts, back there at the abbey - thats how far in Gravens debt I was. And were not talking loans here. Im on about the currency of grievance, where eyes and teeth are exchanged in violent transactions.

See, Id fucked up. About a week ago, this was, during which time Id been hiding out in the sticks. Id still be there now if I hadnt got that text from Graven. Lets get this sorted, hed suggested. Lifes too short for grudges and contracts on the heads of former friends and loyal compadres, so lets meet up, shout at each other a bit and then have a little hug.

If he thought I was hugging him he could kiss my black arse. And if I thought he wanted to make up, my black arse deserved the kicking it had coming.

So why had I come back? Homesickness? Had exile got me down... all that country air making me hanker for the polluted streets I knew? Bollocks had it.

I missed my daughter.

And that is the only reason.

What it was, just so you know, is that Id gone overboard with my duties and someone had got hurt. Very hurt, if blood and exposed bone is anything to go by. Which wouldnt be a problem on any normal day - people were always getting a bit hurt where my job was concerned, sometimes in life-changing ways. But theyre not normally Gravens VIP guest.

Even if he did have it coming.

So you can see why I was expecting some sort of violent retribution, that being Gravens preferred method of disciplinary procedure. And you can see why I was scratching my head over this QUITS business.