Knowing Anna

by Sarah Meyrick

  Father Stephen had suggested a pause at the top of the hill.

  ‘It’s what I call a breathtaking view,’ he said, panting slightly. He looked round. ‘Bethany – a quick word?’ He led her a few metres away from the group.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ he said quietly.

  ‘For, like, what?’

  ‘For standing up for Adam. For helping to tell his story. Honouring his humanity.’

  ‘’S’OK,’ she muttered, with a slight nod. ‘Oh God, I sound like him, now, don’t I?’

  ‘I think you’ve a way to go yet,’ said Father Stephen. ‘But well done. Not always easy to stand up for the oddball. Especially against adults.’

  ‘You do it, though. All the time. Look out for oddballs, I mean.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Father Stephen with a grimace. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Give house room to strangers, and just occasionally you find yourself entertaining angels.’

  ‘And it’s Beth. Please. No one calls me Bethany.’

  ‘Noted. I stand corrected. Shall we join the others?’

  The rest of the group had now reached the clearing at the top of the hill. ‘Now, friends,’ said Father Stephen. ‘Thank you for your flexibility today, and thank you, Tamsin, for looking after that little media moment for us. I thought we might begin our silent hour now, as we head into the woods. I must say I can see why pilgrims found this a daunting spot. It’s very scenic, but it seems to go on for miles. Like something out of Sleeping Beauty. What have we got here, Theo?’

  ‘Beech, Corsican pine and Douglas fir, at a glance. And sweet chestnut galore,’ said Theo. ‘Managed by the Forestry Commission, I think. There’s a sculpture trail buried somewhere in the depths. As well as Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, for all I know.’ Good for Dad! thought Beth. He really knew his onions. Would she learn all this stuff about the natural world, if she went to work for him?

  ‘I think that might have to wait for another day,’ said Father Stephen. ‘I really don’t want to lose anyone. Or wear you out more than necessary. Though we haven’t got very many more miles to go today. Somewhere along this woodland path you should find a milestone that tells us it’s only another ten miles to Canterbury.

  ‘But back to our silence. Earlier I suggested we might think about letting go today. I’d like to add another thought that struck me this afternoon. I talked about letting go of our burdens. But I think sometimes we also have to let go of our preconceived ideas. Be open to the fact that we might have misjudged things.

  ‘It’s so easy to leap to judgement. I know I do it. I suspect that some of us may have misjudged our friend Adam. Thanks to Beth, we’ve discovered something important about him that none of us knew before.’ Beth could feel her cheeks burning. At least he’d called her Beth. She stared at her feet. Mum’s walking boots. The dusty forest track.

  ‘So can I suggest we all do a bit of soul-searching? Ask ourselves if there’s anything any of us need to let go of today?’

  Letting go . . . where to begin, wondered Beth. That really did seem to be the, like, wallpaper for today. There was Grandpa suggesting that she should be letting go of her worries about Sam and Dad. Then Dad came along with the idea that she let go of her studies for a while. And now Father Stephen was going on about it, too.

  She felt knocked sideways by Dad’s proposal. At one level, the thought, the thought of someone pretty much saying no need to worry about your GCSEs any more made her feel light-headed with relief. But what if she did as he suggested and went to work at Greene Fingers? Number one, what if it was a nightmare? She knew next to nothing about plants and gardening. It was so not her thing. Would she make a total idiot of herself? Would the customers walk out, disgusted, because she was so pig-ignorant? Would the other staff laugh at her for being stupid, or resent her because she was the boss’s daughter? Suddenly it seemed impossibly high risk, for Dad as well as for her. What if she let him down?

  Objection number two. Would it be like what Catherine said at lunchtime? That it sometimes feels almost worse if you take a break from something, because starting up again is such a shock to the system? Would she ever be able to get back to her studies? Because you kind of had to get exams and grades and stuff if you were going to get anywhere in life. Deep down, she knew that, even if she had cocked up spectacularly this year.

  Thinking about it, depending on the hours she had to work, she could probably keep some subjects ticking over. Maybe do a couple of retakes if she needed to. Which she would. Probably. No, definitely. And she wouldn’t want to give up her music, either. Argh! Saxophone lessons outside school might be possible, but would Mr Shepherd let her play in Big Band? Was that even allowed? The head teacher would probably say it was against some law or something. Oh shit! The one person who could probably answer that question – whether they’d let her leave school but keep one foot in the door on her own terms – was bloody Mary Anne, and Beth had the nasty feeling she’d been a bit rude to her earlier. Not that she wasn’t fully justified in what she’d said. But Mary Anne might not see it that way.

  Mind you, if Matt wasn’t there any more, would she still love Big Band so much? Actually, yes, she would. She’d miss him when he went to university, but Big Band wasn’t only about Matt. OMG! He’ll be here in, I don’t know, an hour? Two?

  Beth’s heart began to race. Her mouth was dry. Oh God, what was it going to be like when he arrived? Calm, calm, calm. Long deep breaths. Breaths! Arg! she rummaged in her backpack to find some chewing gum. She so couldn’t afford to have bad breath when Matt arrived. Briefly she contemplated turning round, and heading as fast as possible in the opposite direction. But no. That was ridonc. She was not letting go of Matt, thank you very much. The thought of Molly O’Riordan’s cheesy grin was enough to put a big fat lid on that idea. Actually, thinking about it, if she was working for her dad, she’d have a salary, wouldn’t she? Even if it was minimum wage? And he might not be quite that stingy. That would mean she could afford to go and visit Matt for weekends and stuff at uni. Maybe even, I don’t know, go Interrailing next summer or whatever. If they were together. If, if, if.

  But the best thing about working for a bit was that it really did, as Dad said, buy her some time to think about her future. This year had been so topsy-turvy, when you stopped to think about it, so fucking awful with Mum being sick and everything, that she really was all over the place. Some time out might be, well, good. Better than rushing into the wrong A-levels and finding herself on the fast track to nowhere. A year out would actually give her time to think what she wanted for a change. Not what other people thought you should do. The trouble was that school was like some fucking conveyor belt sometimes. You got on and kept going until the system spat you out the other end, and as long as you got the stupid results everyone wanted for their flipping league tables, no one asked too many questions. Like whether you were actually happy or doing the right thing for your life. Maybe she didn’t even have to stick with school. She could go to college, or something. When she was ready.

  Now, the other part of letting go. Grandpa had really unsettled her with his red alert comment. Worrying about Sam, especially, and more recently about Dad, seemed as natural as breathing. It was like having red hair or blue eyes. Something she didn’t know you even had any, like, choice over. Although if you thought about it, that was a silly comparison, because you could dye your hair. Or wear coloured contact lenses. Was the red alert thing something you could change, too?

  But actually. Actually . . . Grandpa was kind of right. Sam was, like, doing OK. She looked ahead to where he and Milo were walking together, Smith between them. They were doing a sort of funny slouchy walk, dragging their feet theatrically as if they were wading through mud, and trying to make each other laugh. Honestly, they couldn’t seem to take this silence thing seriously. They were so . . . silly . . . sometimes, so immature. All of a sudden she laughed out loud. Of course they were: they were children! But Grandpa had a point. Sam was to all intents and
purposes a healthy, happy boy.

  And Dad? He was beside himself, howling with agony at the loss of Mum. Obviously. But really? He seemed to have loosened up, somehow, this week. Look at the banter with Tamsin earlier. As Grandpa said, what did worrying achieve anyway? Mind you, that just made her feel cross. If she knew how to turn off the worry tap, just like that, she would. Fuck’s sake. But maybe, just maybe, it was progress that she was even contemplating the possibility of letting some of this stuff go.

  Oh, Mum, I wish you were here. You’d tell me how to do this! What would Mum say? ‘Let it go’ was actually one of her, like, stock pieces of advice. If Beth fell out with her school friends – remember that horrible time with Jade? – Mum would listen, and give her a hug, and say, ‘Just let it go, Beth. Life’s too short to hold grudges.’ Perhaps she could adopt that as her own catchphrase. Let it go, let it go, let it go. Now she sounded like flipping Queen Elsa out of Frozen. Oh, shit!

  So deep in thought was Beth that she failed to see a figure ahead on the path. By the time she spotted Matt sitting on a low wall at a break in the line of trees they were almost upon him. Behind him stretched a grassy slope, a rare glimpse of open countryside. Luckily, she was at the front of the group, with only William for company.

  ‘Matt!’ she said, her nerves suddenly melting away. It was just, like, Matt. Gorgeous Matt, with his easy smile, looking all studious with a book in his hand. ‘You’re earlier than I expected!’

  ‘Hey, Em,’ he said, and gave her a big, friendly bear-hug. ‘I thought I’d walk up from the station and surprise you. Guess what? Jane Austen’s brother used to live in a big house, somewhere over there. She even wrote some of her books when she was on a sleepover.’ He turned to William and held out his hand in greeting. ‘How do you do? I’m Matt,’ he said.

  Beth felt the joy spread across her face like a shaft of sunlight. How could she have been dreading this moment? Nothing awkward about it. He was, like, awesome. Most definitely pleased to see her, but super-polite to Grandpa, too. He’d called her Em. Their secret. And he was here.

  7 miles

  Tamsin

  Tamsin stretched. She’d be glad to be back in her own bed tonight and no mistake. Although she generally slept like a log wherever she fetched up, bunking down in a different bed each night was beginning to take its toll. Bloody hell! She must be getting old. It was the kind of thing people’s parents said.

  It would be good, not living out of a backpack. But, hey! That meant the end of the journey. Canterbury here we come, she thought. Not sure I really believed we’d make it. Hadn’t the boys been total stars? Good for Milo. He’d come up trumps. And so had Sam, feet and all. Fair play to him. How many other kids their age would have plodded on, day after day, without complaint? They’d even gone along with the silences.

  She checked her watch: 7.30! She really ought to make sure that Father Stephen was up and ready for his radio interview. On the other hand, he was an early riser. Reliable. And if anyone was used to getting up on Sunday mornings, it was Father Steve. Not likely to forget . . . surely? Strewth, she couldn’t risk it. The final hurdle, media-wise, and her reputation on the line if she didn’t deliver. Reluctantly she dragged herself out of bed and off to the shower.

  Interview over – and Father Steve was a pro, the real deal – Tamsin went in search of Milo and breakfast. She found both in the foyer of the camping barn where they’d eaten supper the night before. Milo had piled a bowl high with cereal, while Sam was about to tackle a mountain of toast. Smith was sitting under the table at Milo’s feet, gently wagging his tail. Matt and Beth were just slightly removed from the rest of the group and, if Tamsin wasn’t much mistaken, holding hands under the table. There was a detectable buzz of conversation around the room.

  ‘Demob happy, d’you reckon?’ she said to Father Stephen.

  ‘There’s certainly something in the air,’ he said.

  ‘Relief that we’ve just about made it, I’d say! And by the way, great job back there,’ she added. ‘Some great storytelling and just the right tone. Beaut! Wish all the interviewees I had on my show were that well versed.’

  ‘Thank you!’ he said, visibly pleased. She found herself wondering how often people paid him a compliment. Maybe his was the kind of job where the only kind of feedback you ever got was when you messed up.

  ‘Let’s hope that gives the fundraising a good final boost,’ he added, helping himself to cereal and fruit. ‘I’m assuming you’re off the hook now? Allowed a break from media duties?’

  ‘Time off for good behaviour, you mean? Yeah. Reckon I’ve done my bit. Almost fifteen grand raised! The station have been really good, but I don’t think I can push my luck after today. Now, what’s our schedule?’

  ‘A laid-back breakfast,’ he said, with pleasure. ‘I’m relying on Mary Anne to have worked her magic and produced something approaching drinkable coffee.’

  ‘Friends, this really is the final leg of our journey,’ Father Stephen announced. ‘Just seven miles today. A week ago perhaps even that distance sounded daunting, but now – well, it’s a stroll in the park, to coin a phrase! The route’s all reasonably easy, too. We’ll be in Canterbury in time for a late lunch.

  ‘My intention is to hold our final reflection at St Dunstan’s church, within the city. It’s a traditional point for pilgrims to pause, ever since King Henry II stopped there to pray on his way to the Cathedral. While he was here, he stripped off his finery, put on a hair shirt, and walked on to the Cathedral in bare feet in penance for the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket. So a tradition grew up that pilgrims walk the last half-mile into the city barefoot. It’s not quite such a penance these days as we have pavements and clean streets, but on the other hand our feet tend to be pretty soft. I don’t know whether that’s something any of you want to do? Have a think. Entirely optional, of course.’

  ‘You said it’s our last reflection, but I thought we were going to a service in the Cathedral?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘Quite right,’ replied Father Stephen. ‘There’s Evensong at three-fifteen. But while I’m sure we’ll be made very welcome, there’ll doubtless be lots of other people there. Locals, visitors from all over the globe, maybe other pilgrims too. Which is symbolic of our return into the world, back to our everyday lives, of course. But St Dunstan’s will be our last gathering as a group.’

  ‘When do you think we’ll be away?’ asked Mary Anne. ‘It’s back to work for most of us tomorrow. I need to work out what train to catch.’

  ‘If you’re staying for the service, soon after four, I’d say.’ Father Stephen glanced in Theo’s direction. ‘Some of us have one last engagement before we head for home, but that’s the general idea. Now, half an hour till the off, everyone?’

  There were murmurs of assent. Time to check that she and Milo had everything. At that moment she saw Ruth crossing the room towards her. She and William had stayed with friends just outside Canterbury for the final night to avoid yet another long journey to and from Aston. Luckily the barn had been dog-friendly.

  ‘Morning, Ruth!’ she said. ‘Good night? Survived without Smith?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Very comfortable. But Tamsin – may I have a word?’

  ‘Sure, but can it wait? I need to round up the troops. Sort my stuff. That OK?’

  Ruth appeared to consider for a moment. ‘I suppose it will keep.’

  ‘Catch you later, then,’ said Tamsin.

  The day, as Father Stephen had promised, was a gentle one as far as the terrain was concerned. They left the chocolate-box village of Chilham, with its historic castle – actually a stately home – and church, crossed a busy road, and took a tarmac lane up the hill towards the next village. Once through the village, they headed out into open countryside.

  Tamsin felt her heart lift. The sun was out, the end was in sight and there was a festive atmosphere among the group. Conversation and laughter rippled along the line of walkers as they passed through a great swathe of apple
orchards. William and Tom were at the head of the group. Not far behind them, Beth and Matt were walking side by side. Matt was singing ‘Climb Every Mountain’ in a funny falsetto voice and Beth was joshing him playfully. No worries there. Theo was playing catch with Sam, chucking a tennis ball between the two of them, aided and abetted by an overexcited Smith. Milo, whose catching skills were not quite up to the mark, had seized the opportunity to use Sam’s walking poles and was milking the moment to great success. Catherine and Mary Anne were deep in conversation and Chloe was talking earnestly to Father Stephen.

  It was odd that they were all so cheerful, because the end of the day meant the end of the pilgrimage. They’d all be going their separate ways. Well, kind of; of course, their lives were all intertwined, but there had been something uniquely bonding about the walk. It had been special. Healing, somehow? Knew what you were about, huh, Anna? Good thinking, Batman.

  She was surprised to realize how much she was going to miss everyone after today. Not to mention the routine, where you just got up and got going. Partly that was about being surrounded by other adults. Good to share the load. Tamsin sighed. It was great that single parenthood no longer carried the stigma it once did, but she missed being part of a family unit. It wasn’t just the companionship, but the sense of solidarity that gave you. You and me against the world, and all that. But better by far to be on her own than with the wrong man.

  She’d had a pretty awkward encounter with Tom that morning. What was it with Anna’s family? First Ruth, then Tom, coming over all serious and wanting a word with her. In his case, there was no avoiding a conversation. He caught her just as she was stowing her luggage in the boot of the car, but before anyone else was ready. And, just as she feared he might, he asked her out. True, the invitation was couched in slightly vague terms about meeting for a drink in London, but one thing that recent history had taught Tamsin was to listen to any alarm bells that took the trouble to ring. And bells had been clanging like billy-o around Tom ever since he’d turned up in the car park a week ago. All very charming and handsome, but your classic commitment-phobe. Probably thought he was doing her a favour, imagining she’d jump at any sign of male attention, just because she was single. One thing when you were footloose and fancy free to have a bit of fun, but she knew where her duty lay and that was with Milo.