He began to laugh uncontrollably and so did Kyle and Robin.
Over the next half hour, more and more people entered the room in a similar condition of near hysterical laughter. Walter Fernsby came in, a little tottery and shaken, followed immediately by Penny Brown, whose green hair was plastered around her face like algae. Marion Huxley appeared, shivering, apparently disorientated, but also inclined to giggle. Soon the changing room was packed with people excitedly discussing the materialisation of Daiyu in the basement, and their own pride at having joined the church.
Then came ten minutes when nobody else appeared. After taking a quick, silent headcount, Robin estimated that there were half a dozen hold-outs, including the girl with the heart-shaped face who’d refused to criticise her family to Fire Group, and Penny’s blonde friend. Indeed, Penny was looking around anxiously, no longer laughing. A further ten minutes passed, and then a door to the outside was opened by Will Edensor.
‘This way,’ he said, and he led the new church members out of the temple and towards the dining hall.
It was dark now and gooseflesh crept up Robin’s body and under her still-wet hair. Penny Brown was still looking around anxiously for the friend who’d come with her to Chapman Farm.
The newly joined church members entered the dining room to a standing ovation from the church members who’d left the temple ahead of them. Evidently there’d been a lot of activity during the hours the recruits had been shut way in the basement beneath the farmhouse, because scarlet and gold paper lanterns of the kind that swung in the breeze in Wardour Street had been strung from the rafters and an appetising smell of cooked meat filled the air. Kitchen workers were already moving between the tables, wheeling their enormous metal vats.
Robin dropped into the nearest free seat and gulped down some of the tap water already poured in a plastic cup in front of her.
‘Congratulations,’ said a quiet voice behind her, and she saw shaven-headed Louise, who was pushing along a vat of what smelled like chicken curry, which she now ladled onto Robin’s tin plate, adding a couple of spoonfuls of rice.
‘Thank you,’ said Robin gratefully. Louise smiled weakly, then moved away.
Although it wasn’t the best curry in the world, this was certainly the most appetising and filling meal Robin had been given since her arrival at Chapman Farm, and contained by far the most protein. She was eating fast, so desperate for calories she couldn’t pace herself. Once the curry was finished she was given a bowl of yoghurt mixed with honey, which was the best thing she’d tasted all week.
An air of festivity filled the hall. There was far more laughter than usual and Robin guessed that this comparative feast was the reason. Robin now noticed that Noli Seymour had joined the top table, dressed in orange robes, and for the first time Robin realised that the actress must be a church Principal. Beside Noli sat two middle-aged men, also in orange robes. Upon enquiry, the young man sitting beside Robin told her that one was a multi-millionaire who’d made his fortune in packaging, and the other was an MP. Robin stored up both men’s names for her letter to Strike.
Jonathan and Mazu Wace entered the dining hall to renewed cheers after most people had finished eating. There was no sign of the girl with the heart-shaped face, or the other recruits who hadn’t entered the pool, and Robin wondered where they’d gone, whether they were being held somewhere without food, and whether the Waces’ prolonged absence had been due to a last attempt at persuasion.
She dreaded the prospect of another Wace speech, but instead music started up out of loudspeakers again as the Waces took their seats, and with a wave of his hand, Wace seemed to indicate that informality was now permitted, that the party should begin. An old REM song blasted across the dining hall, and some church members, now full of meat for the first time in who knew how long, got up to dance.
The party had been going on for at least two hours. Jonathan Wace had descended from the top table to screams of excitement, and begun to dance with some of the teenage girls. The packaging millionaire also got up to dance, moving like somebody whose joints needed oiling, and inserting himself into the group around Wace. Robin remained sitting on her wooden bench, forcing a smile but wanting nothing more than to get back to the dormitory. The ingestion of a proper meal after her fast, the loud music, the ache of her muscles after a long day sitting on the hard floor: all were exacerbating her exhaustion.
