‘Feeling any better?’ he asked. She nodded stupidly. ‘I’ve just been up to your room. Listen, Mara, we need to talk.’ She nodded again. He seemed horribly grown-up all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the tie?
‘Um . . . now? We could . . .’ She made a flapping gesture up towards her room. Why wasn’t he embarrassed too, for God’s sake?
‘Sorry, can’t. I’m just off to church, then I’ve got to see someone after the service. It’ll have to be later.’
‘Fine.’ She aimed for a brisk mature tone like his. ‘When?’
‘About nine? We could go for a walk.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll meet you back here, then.’ He grinned at her and raced off, taking the stairs two at a time. Her dying blush surged back at the suspicion that he only wanted to meet her in the hallway because he didn’t trust her in a bedroom.
She stumbled upstairs and sat on her bed. This is awful! I know exactly what it’s going to be like. He’ll be sensible. ‘I think we both know it shouldn’t have happened, Mara,’ he’d say. Kind, but firm. ‘It’s probably better if we just forget all about it.’ But I don’t want to forget, she sobbed to herself. Oh, I’m going to look so stupid and undignified. There must be some kind of civilized fornicators’ etiquette. Well, ahem, we seem to have got a little carried away. No hard feelings, I hope? And then a well-bred silence, or a tolerant grin in passing.
She went across and sat at the open window. I’ll be sensible, she resolved. I won’t burst into tears. The shadows lengthened. All the students had gone from the lawn back to their revision. Or to church, Jesus College being the devout place it was. She watched the dark wine-coloured leaves of the copper beech and felt a twist of heartache for lost summer evensongs. Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night. Maybe I’ll go back, she thought. Not here, though. In Oxford. She had an unexpected image of herself kneeling in a dim church and of Andrew sliding into the pew beside her. She saw his expression clearly: ‘Well?’ Defying her to look surprised. Was he on his way back to God, too? Our hearts are restless till they find their rest in thee.
Johnny. Maybe his heart was at rest again now. She pictured him as she had first seen him, kneeling in the cathedral in a shaft of sunlight. She was just a part of his restlessness, like his drinking and bad language. Childish things that had to be put away. He’d be a better man for it. But not her man. She wouldn’t ever lie with him in her arms feeling his heartbeat. Maybe it was all for the best. She would be in Oxford and he would still be up here in the north-east in his parish. It wouldn’t work out. Their paths were always going to diverge. This year was just an accident.
She sat willing the time on towards nine o’clock so that she could get it over with. The bells chimed the slow quarters and she waited and waited.
It was four minutes past nine and she was in the hallway. From time to time she heard footsteps in the corridor or outside on the street and her heart squeezed tight with dread. She looked at her watch. Still only four minutes past nine. He’d forgotten. But then she heard feet leaping up the steps and knew it was him. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. The door opened. He had changed back into casual clothes, but she could see that he was still wearing his grown-up manner.
‘Ready?’ She nodded. ‘Where shall we go? To the river?’
‘Fine,’ she said. They set off down the street towards the old bridge. She reminded herself to be sensible. ‘How was your service?’
‘All right, thanks.’
‘Were you preaching?’
‘No.’
An awful silence.
‘I went to see the Bishop afterwards,’ Johnny said at last. She glanced at him and he grinned. ‘I told him a good friend had managed to talk some sense into me, and that if he’d still have me, I wanted to get ordained.’ She had been right. She tried in vain to feel some kind of satisfaction.
‘What did he say?’ Her heart was racing and making the blood pound painfully in her head.
‘He was delighted. “I’m sure you’re making the right decision, John.” Mind you,’ he lapsed back into his own voice, ‘he’d have to think that. I was turned down by the selectors three years ago and he overruled them. It’s good to have someone who believes in you.’ He fell silent. She knew she should say something affirming. ‘Look, thanks for saying what you said, Mara. Sorry I bawled you out like that. I knew all along you were right.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said unhappily. They skirted past a group of students having a noisy water fight and passed under the archway. It was a beautiful evening. As they walked down to the bridge, Mara saw the bats twisting and flickering against the sky. She could just catch their high-pitched cries. The shouting and splashing continued in the distance.
‘Well, anyway, I’m grateful, sweetie. There aren’t many women who stand up to me and tell me when I’m wrong.’ They stopped on the bridge and leant against the parapet. He sighed. ‘You have no idea how much better I feel. You know that bit in the Bible about the man who finds treasure buried in a field? That’s what it’s like. A lucky break, when I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Sort of,’ she mumbled.
‘Or like I’m doing what I was created to do. Getting ordained, I mean. Until I was converted I always felt a bit . . . I don’t know, like a runaway train, or a mad bull, or something. All this energy, and no purpose, nothing to use it on.’ He grinned. ‘Well, nothing you could put on your CV, anyway. I must have reverted, this term. I’m sorry you got the brunt of it.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘But now I feel . . .’ He paused. ‘I feel God laughing. Do you know what I mean?’ he asked again. ‘And everything inside me thinks yes! I know I’m not making a good job of it, but I want you to know how I feel.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you OK, Mara? I hope I wasn’t the cause of this migraine.’
‘No. It wasn’t you.’
‘Andrew?’ She made no reply. ‘Yeah. I thought he’d give you a hard time. I’m sorry.’ She still said nothing. ‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’
‘No.’ She stared down at a willow leaf as it floated towards the bridge.
They were silent again. The leaf passed under the arch. At last he drew breath. Here it comes.
‘Listen, pet. Would you like to come to my ordination?’
‘Your – but I . . .’ She was too taken aback to respond.
‘On the 28th,’ he went on. ‘It’d mean a lot to me if you did.’
‘The 28th?’ she repeated, grasping hold of the date in desperation. ‘But I’m going home on the 24th. My mother’s driving up to collect me. It’s all arranged.’
‘Well, couldn’t you unarrange it? Or come back, even?’
‘It’s all settled,’ she said, but seeing his hurt surprise she blurted out, ‘I never go to church. I just couldn’t bear it.’
‘OK.’
‘I just don’t believe any more.’
‘OK,’ he said again, but she couldn’t tell how he was reacting. She flung out one last attempt.
‘It’s not personal.’
‘No.’ They began to walk again, crossing to the far side and turning down the path which led to the bank. What was he thinking? She stole a glance and saw he was frowning. They walked on under the trees in the green garlicky gloom. Johnny led her to a bench under a vast beech tree and they sat. The bells chimed. Oh no, this really is it.
‘Mara, I think we’ve got some talking to do.’
‘I know.’ Her voice sounded high and tight, not sensible; but she hurried on so that she wouldn’t have to hear him say it. ‘I think we’d better forget it ever happened.’
He looked bewildered. ‘Why?’
‘I think we both know we shouldn’t have done it.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘I know you’ll have to be celibate again.’
‘True, but that doesn’t mean I wa
nt to forget about what happened.’ Something had gone wrong. They were saying one another’s lines. ‘Whyever would I want to forget, flower?’ She saw a sudden look of dismay on his face. Was he blushing? ‘I wasn’t too rough for you, was I? Did I scare you again? Mara –’
‘No,’ she cut him off, blushing too. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . Oh, I don’t know. It just makes it all so confusing.’
‘Confusing?’
She could feel she was painting herself into a corner, but somehow she couldn’t stop. ‘I mean, you’re going to be ordained. I’m moving to Oxford, and –’
‘You’re doing what?’ he broke in.
‘Moving to Oxford,’ she repeated.
‘You’re not! But you’ve got two more years of research here.’
‘I’m giving it up. I’m going to paint.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I knew I’d seen you drawing. Why wouldn’t you show me? What’s the big secret?’ She mumbled something. ‘Is this what you really want to do, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s great. Why can’t you do it here, though?’
‘Because I’m going to Oxford,’ she repeated stubbornly. ‘I’m sharing a flat with Andrew.’
‘Hah. So that’s his game.’
‘Game?’ Her voice rose aggressively. ‘Listen, I like him.’
‘Forget Andrew for a minute. Just tell me again what’s confusing you?’
‘It’s just . . . I don’t know. The distance, and everything. It would all just be too complicated.’ Why am I saying this? I don’t mean it.
‘Well, you’ll come back and visit, won’t you?’
‘I doubt it. It’s usually a mistake.’
He seemed completely dumbfounded. She looked away, unable to bear his expression.
He stood up abruptly. ‘Well, fuck this.’ He set off the way they had come. She hurried after him.
‘Listen, I didn’t mean –’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got the message, Mara.’
She tried to keep pace with him, but she was still too drained after her migraine and began to fall behind. After a moment he relented and waited for her. Oh, what have I done? What would he have said if I’d kept quiet? She kept opening her mouth to explain, then finding no words. Tears started to brim over. They reached the college steps and she turned to face him.
‘Johnny –’
‘It’s OK, Mara. It’s your choice. Just so long as you’ve worked out what that bastard Jacks is playing at.’
‘He’s trying to help me,’ she cried. ‘He’s being kind, for once.’
‘Bullshit, Mara.’
‘You don’t know how much it means to me. The chance to paint, I mean.’
‘Try explaining it some time, then. I’m not a bloody mindreader.’ She bit her lip. When she said nothing, he shrugged. ‘Well, sorry I confused you, Princess.’ He lingered, but she still couldn’t make herself speak. A group of students came out of the door and pushed past them. He turned and left. She watched him walk off down the street. ‘Why can’t you see I love you?’ she wanted to scream. Instead she pushed open the heavy door and went up to her room.
She sat in the dark and wept. What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here just to be near him. It would be too pathetic for words. What if she’d got it all wrong again? Maybe Andrew was trying to scotch the chance of a relationship between her and Johnny? Oh, what chance for God’s sake? Johnny had never once told her he cared for her. I’m not a mindreader, either! she thought. She tried to think of Oxford, her golden city, her new beginning, and found it was becoming just some tedious library-ridden town two hundred and fifty miles too far south.
CHAPTER 26
Exams drew to a close. Whenever Mara went out, she seemed to see students emerging from their last Finals papers to be met by friends and sprayed with champagne. It was like watching the same clip of film over and over again. She had seen it all before at Cambridge.
The glorious weather persisted till the very last paper, then it broke in a spectacular storm. Thunder cracked like gunshots, splitting the sky and rattling the City like a toy drum. Streets turned to rivers, flights of steps to boiling waterfalls. Mara had gone out after lunch in summer clothes and was drenched a few hours later. She crossed the footbridge carrying her shoes and waded up the river that had once been a steep lane. Half a dozen students were dancing in the rain in their underpants outside Jesus College and brandishing bars of soap. Idiots, she thought with a smile as she went past.
How was she going to work in this? Thunder ripped across the City. The power failed the instant she switched on her light, and she got out of her wet clothes in the eerie half-light and wrapped a towel round herself. The storm crashed on overhead now, no breathing space between flash and thunder. Oh, God, if only Johnny were here. On the floor. Wet skin, pounding rain, wild light at the window. And Johnny on top of her, hard and desperate . . . A knock! She flew to the door, but it was one of the field mice.
‘Nigel says college dinner is cancelled tonight. The kitchens are flooded. Sorry to disturb you, only he asked us to let people know . . .’
‘Oh. Thanks.’ The girl retreated, smiling uncertainly. Mara shut the door and stood a moment without moving, then ripped the towel off and began drying herself viciously. Fool. He won’t be back for more. Not after the way you’ve treated him. She pulled on more clothes and tried to work in the gloom.
The rain fell day after day. Mara went back and forth to the libraries checking footnotes and references, blocking out all thoughts of Johnny. She saw him now and then, and he treated her with an amused indifference which cut deep. She tried to believe that he was only doing this to mask his true feelings, but the act was too convincing for that. He’d never cared for her. Forget him. Sod him. The river was high and rain dripped heavily from the leaves. Everything was too green, too grey. Bedraggled bees crept into flowers. The birds sang on in the branches as though they were glorying in the wet.
Joanna’s little revival vanished as though the rain had dissolved it and washed it away. Joanna disappeared with it, her task fulfilled. God had called her to testify against the satanic nature of academic theology by boycotting her exams, and she had been faithful to that call. The gorilla would be back to re-sit his failed papers, but Mara guessed Joanna would not. God never called people like Joanna to a task as mundane as revision. The prayer meeting was calm again, steadied by the ballast of Coverdale students and members of staff who had started to attend. Armageddon had been averted, but there were still plenty of casualties – May, who had given up prayer; the gorilla, who had looked like a bomb-blast survivor on the last day of term. And the cause of it all, Joanna, walked away without a mark on her. My God, thought Mara, someone somewhere will have to take the rap for this kind of thing. Forgiveness is not enough. There has to be justice.
The rain continued to fall. ‘It’s not fair!’ wailed Maddy and May, lamenting all those parties and picnics and open-air productions. Let it come down, thought Mara. She had nothing to do but slog on with her thesis, trying to do as much as possible before she left the City. She decided to stay up for a couple of weeks after term ended. She could put the finishing touches to it in Oxford.
The days passed. Mara took a break from her work every couple of hours and walked up and down the room. Rain trickled down the window. From time to time her friends tried to coax her out of her room with invitations to go punting or to drive with them to the coast, but she always refused. After their footsteps died away, she cursed herself. Everyone was having fun except her. She missed the comforting sounds of evening study through the wall. Andrew seemed to come back late or drunk or not at all. Where was he going? And who were all those beautiful young men in dinner suits slinking around the corridor? Eventually it dawned on her that they must be the other three-quarters of Andrew’s infamous barber-shop quartet, Parsons’ Pleasure. Their reputation was founded – as far as she could tell – on their nicely judged blend of obscene lyrics and tec
hnical brilliance. They were in constant demand at every ball and party in the university. One night Mara heard them for herself. She woke at two o’clock to the sound of laughter and baying on the terrace below. Drunken voices called her name.
‘What light from yonder window breaks?’ Andrew’s voice floated up above the caterwauling. She pushed the covers back and crossed the room. There was a cheer as she threw the window up. ‘She speaks, yet she says nothing. Like all women.’
‘Piss off the lot of you!’ More laughter.
‘Speak again, bright angel!’ And they began serenading her. She leant on the window sill and listened. Their beautiful voices filled the night. Too drunk to stand, but still in tune. She smiled down at them and could just make out their faces and the white of their dress shirts in the darkness. Then a light came on in a window below her and the concert ended abruptly in a bucket of cold water and a volley of bad language.
‘Why are you hiding in your room like a sulky adolescent?’ Andrew was sitting on her desk in his dressing-gown late the following morning, drinking black coffee.
‘I’m trying to finish my thesis.’
‘But why? You’ve got no deadline.’
‘Because I want to.’
‘What’s wrong, Mara?’
She scowled down into her bibliography. Her hand began to fiddle with her hair.
‘It’s just . . . I don’t know.’
‘Look, it’s Johnny, isn’t it?’ She nodded. I won’t cry. This time I won’t. ‘Jesus, you’re incredible. How can anyone make such a consistent balls-up of their life?’
‘I don’t do it on purpose!’
‘Has it crossed your mind that you could actually tell him how you feel?’
‘He’s not interested. He – ow! Don’t you hit me!’ She ducked, but not fast enough. He slapped her round the head again.
‘Toughen up, Mara. You’re pathetic.’ She was on her feet in an instant, arm raised, determined to land one good slap on that smirking face no matter what. But he was too quick. She stamped and swore as he taunted her, always just out of reach. In the end he wrapped his arms round her and pulled her down on to the bed. She lay beside him half sobbing, half laughing.
Angels and Men Page 43
