by Bowes, K T
The Strait opened out before them, increasing in gradient and the children skipped ahead as though it was nothing. The little family turned left into a quaint, old fashioned sweetie shop and Jayden ploughed on, opening her coat against the rising heat inside. She found this part of the city beautiful. The cobbles were more ridged here and she moved up onto the smooth flags of the pavement to gain more traction under her boots. At the junction with Dane’s Terrace, Steep Hill rose above her, taking Jayden north. It was one of those hills that could be powered up without stopping, reaching its crest a sweating, puffing mess, or take slowly with long laboured steps, trying to enjoy the scenery whilst sweating and puffing. It was the kind of hill best enjoyed whilst clinging onto someone else’s arm and letting them do all the work.
The houses on Steep Hill were smaller and much older. Pale grey and sand coloured stone intermingled with red-bricked dwellings; some turned into shops and others with gleaming front doors into a residential home. Jayden thought it must be like living in a zoo, the constant stream of people nosing into your lounge window as they huffed past or taking photos that would appear on blogs or social media. It would feel like a massive invasion of privacy. Jayden knew that Raff struggled with it sometimes. Only the other week, a woman had shouted crossly at him for emerging from his own front door in a pair of running shorts, just as she had taken what she hoped would be a beautiful photograph of the frontage of his house. “What can you say,” he had laughed to Jayden later, “to people like that, when they believe that they have the right to appropriate everything their eyes see?”
Raff, as usual had been highly inappropriate, wrenching his shorts down to reveal his shapely muscular behind and then gone off for his run. He was fortunate not to have incurred a charge of indecent exposure, but he seemed to get away with most things. A tourist family somewhere on the planet would get a shock, scrolling through their digital snaps with friends and neighbours. A conversation about ‘what is the world coming to?’ would surely begin over the Italian’s delightful buttocks.
Jayden continued upwards, enjoying the sunshine on the top of her head. It was uncharacteristically warm for January. Not warm enough to strip off to her tee shirt but enough to lose the outer layer. As the green railings began and the gradient extended its reach skyward, Jayden stopped and turned to face downhill. She slipped off her jacket and tied the arms around her waist, gazing down at the street below. The city itself was obscured by the twists and turns of the hill and the red-bricked houses which dominated her eye line. Ashamed that she was finding excuses to stop walking and catch her breath, Jayden turned and pushed on.
The street became narrower and the cobbles more uneven. Suddenly the steps up into the gathered houses seemed awkwardly placed and in the way, the front doors oppressively leaning over the pavement, making it feel crowded and far too personal. The pavement was narrow and Jayden saw a slender, red-haired woman making her way down the hill pushing a pram out in front of her. She moved rapidly, her legs shuddering with the impact of the hill as she powered down, holding onto her baby’s carriage with white knuckles. Her face was fixed and her mind elsewhere as she wheeled on regardless, an accident waiting to happen to a tortoise-paced-tourist bracing the hill. Everything about her screamed local. It was her hill and she was using it. Jayden smiled, feeling solidarity with her, taking a backward glance into the pram as the mother juddered by. A little red-headed baby peered out at her, catching her eye and Jayden smiled before shutting off the answering connection in her heart. A life of marriage and motherhood is not for you, she told herself firmly.
More architecture laid itself out for admiration in the upper part of the street; Jews House and Norman House thought to date back as far as the late twelfth century. The half-timbered Tudor looking buildings gave another excuse to stand and stare or employ one’s camera if the lungs were threatening to pack up, but Jayden pressed on, used to the incline from her forays up and down to Raff’s house at the very top. The cobbled road was by now only just wide enough to fit one car width between the curb edges either side and could become congested with walkers at the wrong time of day, especially in the summer. Jayden enjoyed herself, walking straight up the centre, savouring the link with the millions of historical feet that had trodden them over the centuries.
The tiny street made the buildings hang over her, a patchwork of ancients touting their wares; designer chocolates, mulled wine, antiques, a veritable feast for tourists. The welcome tea rooms at the top promised a cold drink and a sit down for brave adventurers.
“Did you know,” Raff once joked, “that it’s possible to eat and drink your way up the hill from bottom to top?” It was a slight exaggeration, but Jayden could see his sentiment. Calling from the top of the rise was the beautiful black and white Tudor building, turned into luxury holiday apartments.
Feeling the cobbles under the soles of her boots, Jayden turned right at the top and strolled towards the imposing gothic cathedral, feeling as though she had all the time in the world. It was the nicest sensation.
After paying her entry fee at the cathedral doors, Jayden peered up at a small stone imp tucked away in the ‘v’ joint of the vaulted ceiling.
“Do you want me to show you where he is?” an elderly volunteer asked. She had sparkling blue eyes and a kind face, her back misshapen and bent with age.
“Oh, I know where he’ll be, thanks,” Jayden smiled down at her, turning her head to fix her eyes on the sullen, stone figure above their heads. The lady patted Jayden’s forearm and shuffled away to help someone else.
The imp looked so tiny from down below that he could easily be mistaken for just another decorative carving, left by a skilled and inspirational craftsman. The presence of the ‘Lincoln Imp’ was portrayed on postcards, souvenirs, jewellery and crockery, all helpfully stocked in the cathedral shop and selected stores down in the city. He was the town mascot, the ‘thing’ that united locals and even graced the name of the city’s football team, ‘The Imps.’ The presence of the creature was massive, given personality and character by the use of his small grimacing face to give a rural town a visible, marketable edge.
The rigidified demon returned Jayden’s curious gaze through his passive blank stone eyes; his rugby ball shaped head dipped towards the ground and his little horns on obvious show. The up-lights gave the imp a sinister air, darkening his eye sockets in strong shadows and casting a black line across his chest. Tiny hands with stumpy fingers rested on a leg that was bent across in front of his body, one cloven foot resting on the knee of the other as he slouched casually. The stone was sandy, yellowed with age and atmospheric pollutants which floated around unseen, slowly degrading everything. Yet the cathedral had stood through centuries and survived the continual molestation of more pressing threats.
Jayden kept her face upturned, mulling through the folklore that accounted for the creature’s existence. His life story bedecked the brochures and pamphlets at the entrance to the cathedral and in a hundred places elsewhere in the city. Only he knew the truth. Was he the devilish outpouring of a stonemason’s chisel or the legendary demon of the local stories? Would Satan, the father of lies, really take the trouble to send a tiny demon to Lincoln Cathedral simply to cause trouble? Legend stared in the face of logic and cried, ‘Yes!’ So there he sat, frozen rigidly in position for more than six hundred years.
“I can’t see it,” came the voices, suddenly close to Jayden as she looked at the source of all the curiosity. The cathedral contained many beautiful features including a library designed by Sir Christopher Wren and an original of the four remaining copies of the Magna Carta. Instead, tourists chose to look upwards with cricks in their necks to see a tiny imp in the rafters that was not much bigger than a coin from the stone flagged floor below. Jayden found herself crowded by the tourists, who had been frog-marched to the spot by their eager guide. They milled around impatiently, catching sight of their quarry one by one and marvelling at detail they could only see in the brochures
clutched in their expectant hands.
Jayden sighed and moved away, seating herself quietly in one of the chairs behind them. She loved to ‘people-watch,’ allowing herself to believe that she was involved with their lives purely from the looking, spared the chaos and potential problems which real interaction brought with it. The little family from Steep Hill was among the throng, the children whispering loudly that they couldn’t see the imp. “It’s not there,” the boy complained.
Their father lifted them one at a time, brightly coloured sneakers dangling from stick-thin ragdoll legs, bouncing harmlessly against his thighs. The Trojan effort was not in the lifting of four little individuals, but in his belief that the extra six feet nearer the ceiling it put them, would help them to spot the miniature trouble maker. Jayden smiled as each child squealed with glee and pointed, claiming to have spotted the naughty impish face. The Lincoln Imp continued to grin widely, his sharp stone teeth barely visible from the floor as he kept the secret of a multitude of beaming tourists. To many he was simply invisible and they had to pretend.
Jayden glanced around her, sensing the calm and drawing it into herself. The cavernousness of the building tended itself to silent prayer and meditation. Visitors naturally hushed their voices reverently and moved around in quiet groups. It wasn’t just respect that caused them to do this but the tumultuous echo which copied each and every loud noise, repeating it over and over about the lofty heights and embarrassing the maker for moments at a time.
Shifting her jacket over her knees, Jayden spotted a man sat at the other end of her row of chairs. He bowed forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clasped firmly in front of him. A chunky knitted grey pullover graced his strong looking body; a large collar folded up to protect him against the sunless interior of the stone building. His hair was dark and tousled and his fringe hung in front of an olive-skinned face, hidden from her by the angle at which he sat. Jayden crushed her rising, impolite interest and sat back against her chair, closing her eyes against distractions.
The peace of the familiar building washed over her, the breath of its former inhabitants wafting her in waves of unique air, trapped inside the ancient structure. The smell of aged stone was more comforting than unpleasant. Behind closed eyelids, Jayden pushed through her worries and concerns, handing them over to her maker with relief. She didn’t pick through them one at a time, lacking the energy to revisit the myriad niggling thoughts. It was like trying to contain spiders in a matchbox. Even the tiniest chink would encourage first a spidery leg of worry to emerge, quickly followed by the whole damn pile, entertaining pre-empted scenarios through which to wander aimlessly and get largely nowhere. Jayden mentally took the box and plonked it squarely at the feet of Jesus, knowing that he had the ability to sort through and order it all. The trick was just to leave it all there though and resist the urge to take parts back.
Temporarily satisfied with the relief that prayerfulness inevitably induced, Jayden gathered her jacket towards her breast and stood up. Another knot of tourists were grouped to her left, blocking her exit as they stared up into the rafters seeking the tiny creature responsible for all the fuss. It forced Jayden to move to the other end of the chairs, realising too late that the dark haired man still occupied the end seat. She stood deliberating for a moment. No matter, it wouldn’t be a difficult manoeuvre to shift the centre chair and move it back. Unfortunately on closer inspection, it was found to be joined on either side by a selection of clips that held it firmly in place. Climb over then.
As Jayden stood reflecting on the possibility of a clown-like exercise, whereby she attempted to clamber over the back of the plastic chair and ended up on her face amidst a clatter of plastic and metal, the man at the end of the row stood up. Jayden’s hair, hanging loose around her shoulders and spine in a riot of bouncing curls, swished uncontrollably around her face as she jumped at his sudden movement. Emerald green eyes focussed quickly in his direction.
Raff’s older brother looked back at her, clear blue eyes in his peaceful face. A protrusion of light stubble betrayed a habitual Saturday neglect, but it sat well on his dark looks. The tentative smile was sincere as he opened his right hand and offered Jayden safe passage from the seating area. Thanking him she sidled past, trying not to brush against his body in the small gap and wishing that he would step out into the aisle. He didn’t. Presuming that Ed intended to sit and resume his quiet time, Jayden nodded to him and began to move away, surprised by the rough sensation of a masculine hand grasping hers.
Jayden reacted as though she had been stung, withdrawing her hand instantly and gripping it in her other one, almost in an enforced count of her fingers. Her jacket fluttered to the floor and Ed watched her curiously before bending to retrieve it. “Sorry,” he said shaking his head in annoyance at himself. “I didn’t want to speak too loudly in here, but I wondered if you knew exactly where the Lincoln Imp was. Everyone is looking up there, but I haven’t been able to spot it yet.”
Feeling foolish, Jayden accepted her jacket from his outstretched hand, careful not to touch his long, dark fingers. Her smile failed to make the distance to her eyes and she nodded as pleasantly as she could muster. It would be a task of a few minutes and then she could escape, back into the peace and quiet of her deliberately lazy weekend.
Ed stood close to Jayden as she pointed upwards at the roof. “There,” she jabbed her finger at the grumpy, vindictive face overhead. The stone pillars arced gracefully downwards from pivotal points on the white plastered ceiling. Despite her outstretched arm indicating the presence of the tiny stone vandal smirking from his vantage point, Ed seemed unable to distinguish him from the other shapes gathered about his tiny body. “Look, he’s lit up,” Jayden pointed for the fourth time as Ed peered fruitlessly upwards. “I don’t know why you can’t see him. He’s got his mouth open and little teeth on show.”
Ed looked exasperated and huffed crossly. “Maybe I need glasses,” he commented wryly and Jayden couldn’t help but smile. “What’s his story anyway?”
Jayden dropped into the role of tourist guide, reciting a tale as familiar as her own assumed name. “Allegedly it was the imp’s attack on the Angel Choir sometime in the fourteenth century which angered an angel. The beautiful winged guardian was pelted with pieces of stone, aimed more at annoying than injuring and in return, the imp was turned to stone for his antics.”
Ed nodded appreciatively at his guide’s enthusiasm and momentarily carried away, Jayden glanced around her, making sure that nobody was in sight before hauling Ed backwards towards the seats. She clambered awkwardly onto one of them and then leaned over Ed’s high shoulder so that she could see from his angle. It was exactly what Dan McGowan had done with his precious Lily so many years before. Her father’s generous nature and good-will washed over her, in a rare comfortable dousing. “Not there!” she exclaimed. “You’re looking at the wrong pillar. He’s up there, look.”
She positioned her fingers on either side of his jaw and tilted his head backwards but at the same time to the left, until she felt his body abruptly still at the sight of the Lincoln Imp. “I thought he was bigger somehow,” Ed breathed in wonder. “Little troublemaker.”
Jayden laughed and climbed down from the chair, aware of an embarrassed flush creeping up her neck to her face. She had made a protective mental decision not ever to have physical contact with any eligible male and yet here she was, laying across Ed’s shoulders like a girlfriend. Or a wife. Shame compounded her difficulties, crippling her with the accusation and squawked rebuke. Nine years of relatively comfortable spinsterhood was being threatened by an oblivious stranger.
Ed’s dark lashes flicked as he kept his eyes fixed on the demon. Threads of grey peppered his sideburns and fringe, making him appear weathered and illustrious. Jayden hovered awkwardly as she waited for dismissal, her mission complete. “Time for coffee,” Ed surprised her, clapping his hands together once in satisfaction. “My treat. I don’t understand why I could
n’t see him; he’s really obvious.”
“Perhaps you’re a closet local,” Jayden smiled kindly. “The guide I came round with the first time said that once you felt as though Lincoln was your home, you were blessed with the ability to just walk in and look up and there he’d be, waiting for you. The imp, not the guide,” she giggled nervously. “Every time I came here for the first year I had to ask someone to point him out but then one day, I walked up the hill and just knew exactly where he would be. I found him the first time and I’ve never struggled since. But before that, it was like he hid from me.” The pretty girl looked wistfully up towards the organ pipes in the distance.
“What was different - about that day?” Ed asked softly and Jayden’s brow knitted in confusion at the question. She took a step back from him as though finding him potentially dangerous.
“Enjoy your coffee,” she said with a false smile and walked back towards the enormous front doors. Ed felt the waves of Fear and Confusion emanate from the young woman, causing him to shiver. She intrigued and perplexed him like something forbidden that must not be touched. The trouble was that it made her even more enticing.
Gazing up to the spot that Jayden had directed his face, Ed was astounded to see a coiled stone shape facing back at him, a carved bauble much like the others on the pillar. His head whipped from side to side like a frustrated tennis spectator, but the imp had obscured himself from view once again. Ed sighed and ran his hand over tired eyes. It would have been almost funny if it didn’t suddenly feel so damned important.
