Inside Down Cathedral in Downpatrick, they walked slowly through the entrance under the tower, past the tourist shop and through the great wooden screen into the choir. There were a few other visitors, the echoing nave magnifying each quiet conversation. David opened a door to one of the dark pews at the back and they sat together in the quietness, looking towards the sanctuary and up at the great east window.
After a moment she glanced round. He had his eyes closed. She stayed quiet until he said, “I love places like this.”
“So do I. That notice on the door on the way in – did you see it? It hoped visitors would find a sense of eternity in time.”
He took a deep slow breath and looked high up to the branching ribs of the vaulted ceiling. “Eternity in time. People have been worshipping on this site for hundreds of years. Eternity meets time. And creates places like this.”
They were silent again.
“David?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Are all your family Christians?”
“Most of them.”
“It must be great to be so certain of things.”
“Some things. But…” He stopped.
“But what?”
“I think there are more things I’m not certain about.”
She thought for a minute. “But the bit you are certain about is the bit that matters.”
“Exactly.”
She leaned forward and put her chin on the back of the pew in front. “Some religious people are hypocritical bastards.”
“I know.” She looked round, surprised. She had expected him to be defensive. He asked: “Where did you meet yours?”
“I’m related to a few.”
“So being a bastard is in the genes then?”
“Doesn’t it show?”
“Only when you’re cross.”
While they had been in the cathedral, the sky had darkened and a thunder storm had broken. They waited in the porch of the tower. The light had shaded to steel. The storm passed directly overhead. Lightening ripped across the sky, followed by great rumbling crashes of thunder.
“There goes the wardrobe,” said Robyn.
“Come again?”
“It’s what my mother used to tell me when I was frightened during a storm. It’s just furniture tumbling down the stairs.”
He was looking at an illuminated display board on the wall, reading the history of the Cathedral Hill. He must have sensed something in her voice for he turned. There was another massive rumble and a crash that reverberated through the building. She was standing near the wooden door, looking out, and couldn’t help a little jump of fright. He was beside her in two strides, his arms going round her gently, one hand stroking her hair, his chin resting on her head.
“It’s OK,” he murmured. “It’ll be over soon.”
When the last spatters splashed on the flooded car park and a beam of sunshine broke through the trees over the grave of St Patrick, he pulled his head back to look down at her face. She knew he would see the tears pooling in her eyes. His hand cupped the side of her head and she felt his thumb move lightly across her cheekbone.
“Hey, look at that.” he whispered. “The ice is melting.”
“Your mobile hasn’t rung once this afternoon,” she remarked.
It began to ring.
“You had to say that, didn’t you?” he said, reaching for it. He checked the caller and a look of annoyance crossed his face. He swung away across the car park.
Robyn leaned her folded arms on the roof of the car and watched the steam rising from the tarmac and from the trees and grass and buttercups. In the strong heat after the thunder, the roof of the car was already dry. The day was blanketed in fragrance: wet earth, warm damp leaves, the scent of meadowsweet. All of this was mixed with a chorus of birdsong and the hum of insects. It was early evening and all the other visitors had gone, leaving the Cathedral Hill quiet and serene.
She heard David’s voice and looked round. He was over by the cathedral wall, pacing in uneven circles, phone to his ear and gesturing angrily. She heard the word ‘no’ repeated with emphasis. She looked away. When she glanced again, he was phoning someone else. He caught her eye and winked, turning away again when his call was answered.
She had gone along the path to the great granite boulder marking the grave of St Patrick when he came to find her.
“Everything all right? Not your Dad?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine.” He walked away a few paces and came back. “Do you have to be back for anything?”
“No.”
“Are you hungry?”
She put her head on one side and considered. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Let’s eat.”
“But look at the time. Don’t you have commitments on a Sunday night?”
“Usually. But someone else can take over for once. In fact, I’ve just checked out for the evening.”
Sitting on a bench seat with tubs of chicken wings and chips, David pulled out a small guidebook that he had bought in the cathedral shop.
“Did you ever hear the word ‘narthex’?”
She licked sauce off her fingers. “Don’t think so.”
“Apparently we were in one today.”
Robyn bit a piece of chicken. Flicking her hair over her shoulder she half-turned to study him as he read and chewed. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow; his lashes moved slightly as his eyes scanned the page. Suddenly, his mouth full of chicken, he turned his head to catch her watching him. His voice muffled, he said “What?”
She bit a chip and felt a smile growing, spreading, a recklessly happy grin.
“I was just thinking of my last meal out.”
He swallowed. “I hope this day won’t end like that one.”
Suddenly serious, she said, “This day has been ten times better than that one. And this meal is a banquet.”
He closed the booklet and sat back. She felt his arm slip round her shoulders, his hand come gently round to her cheek. His fingers burrowed through her hair and traced the edge of her ear. That was all. Yet a sudden sensation arrowed through her, sliced down like the lightening had sliced from the sky. It settled somewhere deep within her. And slowly faded. She had never felt anything like it before.
Shaken, she looked up at him quickly, her head resting on his shoulder. He wasn’t smiling. He was gazing at her with great concentration, his brown eyes become almost black. The panic began to gather, to rise to her throat. She saw a great shadow come at her, making her want to scream, to beat it away. Her hands became fists and she twisted to push David’s chest as hard as she could. Instantly, he moved away. Her breathing was coming in gasps.
“Robyn, what is it?”
She was fighting it, forcing it down. She put her hands over her face, control returning slowly. “It’s not you.”
Her eyes wide, she stretched out and, just as he had done to her in the cathedral, put her hand to his face. It felt slightly rough to her palm. He stayed motionless as her fingers touched the short black curls at the nape of his neck. She traced the side of his nose; on down past the corner of his mouth.
Her voice was a whisper. “This has to stop, David. For all sorts of reasons this has to stop.”
It was summer-dark when he pulled up at her door. She said all the right things and left the car quickly. She turned to the steps, her key already in her hand. To her surprise, he arrived beside her.
His voice strained he said: “I just want to make sure you get in safely.”
“I’m fine. Look.” She pointed. “Door. Key. Me.”
It lightened things a bit. He watched until the door slammed and she was gone. Then he turned on his heel and, ignoring his car, walked rapidly back up the street. In a shadowy doorway, a figure lounged against the wall, the street lamp shining on the tips of his shoes.
David took the steps in one leap and stopped a few inches from him. Angus shifted himself upright.
“Ah! It’s Holy
Joe. I thought she might be with you.” His lip curled. “Have you been showing her heaven then?”
Angus wasn’t short, but he was slight compared to the youthful power bunched in David’s tense frame. David raised a hand, finger a centimetre from Fraser’s nose. His deep eyes pinned him to the wall. His voice was low, threatening.
“If you touch so much as a hair on her head, I’ll show you what hell’s like, Fraser.”
“Threatening me, are you?”
“Crawl back under your rock.” He raised his voice. “Now!”
Angus moved slowly round him, and went down the steps. He walked backwards for a few paces, keeping David in sight, and then went towards his car, further up the street.
“Oh, Fraser,” David called. Fraser turned warily in the lamplight. “How are your balls today?”
When Fraser’s car turned out of the street, David went back to his own and settled down to wait. After a moment, he phoned home. His mother answered.
“Mum. I’ll be home soon. So stop worrying.”
She hadn’t said she was, but she didn’t have to. After keeping watch for half an hour, David eased the car out from the footpath.
It was going to be a sleepless night.
20
AT ONE O’CLOCK in the morning David pushed the quilt back and slid out of bed to sit at his desk looking out at the moonlit garden. The flowers and leaves were garnished with silver, a faint breeze stirring the lilac and the tall fronds of the pampas grass. There was a movement at the hedge next the road. A fox emerged and snuffled silently along the flower bed, stopping now and then to capture a titbit, to push under leaves, to lift her head to listen intently, her paw frozen in mid-air. She trotted to the pampas grass, her luxurious brush slicked with moonlight.
David watched, fascinated. She circled the clump of pampas and then stopped again. She looked to left and right, then her head turned and she looked straight up at David’s window. He felt her meet his eyes. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then the fox dropped her head and disappeared the way she had come, like a beautiful ghost.
Tiredness, concern and the night were doing funny things to his brain. He leaned on his elbows and put his hands over his face. He tried to pray but no words would come. It didn’t worry him. He let his feelings speak instead, letting them swirl from him in an inarticulate tide.
When he opened his eyes again, he knew he was not going to let this person go. He didn’t understand what was wrong with her. He just knew all that was right with her.
The pictures almost completely covered two walls. Angus lay on his bed and pondered the framed print of a rustic bridge and apple trees on the third wall. Who had given him that rubbish? It would go in the bin and leave the entire expanse beside the window free for the next pictures.
He held up the latest photograph he had printed. It was one he had taken at Groomsport, just before David had seen him. Shaw’s arm was around Robyn, his expression calm but otherwise unreadable as she leaned against him, her feet tucked under her and her eyes closed. Around them, the sights of the seaside in summer had been frozen in the moment.
If she spoke to the headmaster about what had happened, it was her word against his. And this photograph could be very useful. He smiled. He wasn’t going to go near her for a while. Just let her relax. He would be the soul of civility.
On Thursday, Robyn saw a notice in the window of a charity shop. She walked in and volunteered to work two mornings a week till the third week in August to help out when the regular volunteers took their holidays.
On Thursday night David phoned.
She talked to him briefly, pleasantly, telling him about the shop. He sounded pleased. After a minute or two, he went quiet. Then: “Robyn, what’s changed? I know something happened, but I don’t know what. Tell me.”
“How’s your Dad keeping.”
“He’s going for a check-up tomorrow. Don’t change the subject.”
“I really must go. I hope your Dad gets a good report tomorrow.”
She hung up. Sitting on the edge of her couch, she waited. It was stupid, but she waited. And yet, knowing him so well, she knew he wouldn’t ring back. That night, she started sleeping in a tight ball again.
In the next fortnight, she saw him only once. On the way back from the shop one lunchtime, she bought a sandwich and took it into the park. Walking to her favourite spot in front of the Palm House, she stopped suddenly. On the bench where she had once sat with him, he was with a girl. It was Penny Woodford. Her knees showed through slashed jeans and the roots of her purple hair were showing. David was frowning; Penny was chewing vigorously and seemed to be arguing with him.
Robyn took a different path, away from them. But although she hadn’t noticed Manna, Manna had seen her. After a few steps, his body brushed her leg as he misjudged the final bound he made to reach her. A rush of affection came over her when she recognised him. Out of sight of his master, she dropped onto the grass and let him bounce joyfully round her. She squeezed his cheeks into creases; rubbed his ears. When he rolled over, she scratched his creamy tummy until his panting tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and touched the grass. Even upside down, his body wagged from the waist down.
He ate one cheese and tomato sandwich, and she ate the other. She pulled it into pieces for him and then had to help him locate the bits. She expected him to go back to find David again, but he stayed beside her. She finished her own sandwich and then reached sideways to circle the warm barrel of his body with her arms. She put her cheek to his plump side and held him tightly. He gave a slight whimper.
David was looking down at them, his feet planted solidly apart, his fingers pushed into the pockets of his jeans. He was alone. Robyn looked up the length of him and thought that, even in denims, he looked like he came from the Malone Road.
“At least you’re still speaking to my dog,” he said.
She stood up, rubbing grass and hairs off her hands. “Well, you can’t hang up on a dog, I suppose.”
It was a poor response and she knew it. He’d had his hair cut.
“I’m leaving for Florida next week.” He didn’t change his stance. Just stood solidly in front of her. “I would really like to see you properly before I go.” He looked away. Back again. “In fact, I need to.”
His cheekbones had got the sun. “You don’t mean that…” she began.
“Don’t tell me what I mean!” he flashed, making her blink in surprise. “You said I was a friend. Do you treat all your friends like this? Is this how you treated that other guy, the one who made you so angry you nearly hit me?”
“I don’t have many friends…” As soon as it was out she regretted it.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” The scorn in his voice was unexpected, cutting. He clicked his fingers and Manna trotted to him.
Temper etched across his face. She scuffed the grass with her foot and then looked up. “What day do you leave?”
“Early Saturday.”
She took a deep breath. “Friday then maybe? I’m in the shop in the morning.”
“Right, I’ll call there at one,” he said and walked away.
She gathered up her sandwich wrapper carefully, her fingers feeling weak as she crushed the paper.
Not knowing what to expect when she first volunteered, she found herself enjoying the work. It was so different from school. The other volunteers accepted her without question, and she had begun to look forward to the variety of people who entered the shop, and to discovering the variety of reasons for them being there.
At one o’clock exactly, the bell on the door chimed and David walked in. The other volunteer on duty nudged Robyn.
“Hey,” she said under her breath, “toss you for that.”
Robyn arched her eyebrows. “Sorry. He’s booked for today.”
She was still enjoying the memory as David set their tray down on a table in a café at the side of the City Hall. He sat opposite her. She opened her salad roll.
&nb
sp; “Not risking mustard today, I see,” he said.
“No way. Loads of mayo, though.”
“You like mayo?”
“As much as I hate mustard.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s a ‘yes’ then.”
She watched his fingers as they curled round the wrapper on his own roll and tugged it apart. He lifted the teaspoon and stirred his cappuccino slightly. She watched him lick the spoon and set it in the saucer again. His left hand rested on the table between them.
Robyn felt as if time had slowed down and she was in a film being played at half speed. The fine hairs on the back of his hand were pale, but darkened and lengthened towards his wrist. His fingers were long and fine. His middle finger was quite a bit longer than the others. His thumb was slightly turned under his hand as it rested on the table. At its base there was the faint mark of an old cut. The tips of his fingers were oval, the nails cut short. Her eyes moved on to examine his wrist where the hairs became darkest just as his skin disappeared into his cuff, the silver edges of the links on his watch strap just visible. His hand moved slightly, just a little shift as he lifted his cup with the other hand.
Without warning, she felt the arrow hit her again as it had the day they visited the cathedral, a sharp stab that quivered, settled deep inside. She looked down quickly, not knowing what it was. He was looking at her as he set down his cup, saying nothing. A slight cream of froth fringed his upper lip. His tongue darted out to flick it away.
“So,” she said suddenly, “I’m sure you’re looking forward to America. Not long now.”
“Do you have a chain on the door of your flat? I mean the door onto the landing of the house.”
“What?”
He repeated patiently: “Do you have a security chain on the door of your flat?”
“I don’t.”
“I think you should. Is the door wooden?”
“Yes.”
“Would you let me fit one?”
“What for? The door to the street is locked at night…”
“But not during the day. When the dentist’s is open. Right?”
Healer of My Heart Page 16
