by Clare Ashton
Maggie laughed. “That’s more what I imagined.”
“Of course you did.” Juliette grinned.
Juliette gazed around the courtyard. “This is empty? Unused?”
“Not for long,” Maggie said, annoyance fraying her mood. “The whole site is up for sale.”
“Non,” Juliette said with the full vigour of an incensed French woman.
“Don’t get me started.”
“Surely this site can’t be developed. It must be protected?”
“Grade two listed no doubt, but the likely buyer plans to convert it into a luxury house and perhaps the same with the church.”
“Dommage,” Juliette said, shaking her head.
They wandered back towards the church and followed Selene and Eli inside, the sound reverberating around the aisles as the door shut behind them. Maggie never failed to look up when she entered the building, impossible when the nave was so high, surpassed only by the tower midway which brought visitors to a standstill as they admired the stained glass windows.
Eli’s footsteps echoed as he ran along the empty nave. He peeked over his shoulder with a cheeky grin then skipped up the steps to the pulpit that perched beneath the towering pipes of the organ above.
Maggie rolled her eyes expecting Eli to announce something vulgar and blasphemous. He took a deep breath and with the gentlest rising voice sounded out a perfect note.
She stopped and gazed in awe, her hand clutched to her heart. How did such a naughty boy still have the voice of an angel? His alto resonated with seductive melancholy in the empty church, and Maggie closed her eyes, moved by the ancient chant in this oldest of churches.
She sat down on the pew and looked to the heavens as Eli’s ethereal psalm floated through the nave, the echoes lending the rendition a depth and a haunting quality. And she hung on every word right through to the last note which seemed to fade imperceptibly into every nook of the church.
A single burst of applause broke the reverie.
“Well. It’s the Goodmans.” A smiling vicar emerged from the chapel. The short woman walked down the nave, her gown billowing behind. “Good morning, Mrs Goodman. And what use will you make of my church today?”
Maggie twitched, regretting telling the vicar about her teenage proclivities on altars.
“Good morning, vicar,” she replied hastily. “We’re here only to admire and show Eli’s fiancée and her mother the highlights of the town.”
The vicar greeted Juliette and Selene with a warm handshake for both, and Eli crept down from the pulpit with an air of contrition. He giggled as he took Selene’s hand and swept her away, no doubt to show her something rude.
“Appreciate it while you may.” The vicar sighed. “Preparations are underway for the sale and the townsfolk will no longer have access.”
The nugget of vexation which always burned in the pit of Maggie’s stomach started to smoulder.
“The luxury development?”
“The very same.”
“It’s such a beautiful building,” Maggie said, shaking her head, “built in the heart of the town by the people of the town.” She looked to the vicar, “You know I follow no religion, but I respect many principles of those with faith. If the heart of the town is no longer to be filled by principle, must it be replaced by a monument to money?”
“My feelings exactly.”
“And the same for the courtyard?”
“Another development for a couple.”
“Jesus Christ,” Maggie snapped, and her blasphemy echoed around the church. “That building could house ten, twenty, more, and when you see people living on the street and struggling to pay rent in some crappy single room because of unscrupulous developers and landlords, it’s fucking immoral that the heart of the town be snatched away from the many for the few.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, although I would have omitted the expletive.”
Maggie heard Juliette snigger. “Is this what you do Maggie?” she said coming closer. “Is this what you’ve become? An angry middle-aged woman raging at the world and raising frilly knickers up the flagpole in protest.”
How dare she? Maggie rounded on her. “At least I vote for people who aren’t cruel. I religiously donate to the food bank even though I find it obscene and archaic that they exist.” Then she stopped. It had been a long time since she’d done much else. What did she do? Despair when others didn’t vote the way she wanted. Rage at inequality. But what else? Fuck Juliette. She had a point.
“You used to be so active.” Juliette’s eyes narrowed with challenge. “You were insatiable with your demands for rights and equality. What happened, Maggie?”
She got tired. That’s what happened. Tired and lost faith in people. She didn’t want to admit any of that to Juliette though. Damn her. Maggie wanted to prove she was still as vital as ever. But what could she do?
“This site must cost a fortune,” Maggie said.
“So?” Juliette shrugged. It couldn’t have been more Gallic.
“There’ll only be a handful of interested parties in a site like this.”
“It’s true,” the vicar chipped in. “Development is restricted to the two existing buildings. It’s not an attractive proposition for most developers.”
“Then who?” Juliette pushed. “Who should live here?”
“Everyone,” Maggie said exasperated. “Kids I taught who still want to live in their home town. The Mrs Maladys of the world who need affordable rooves over their heads, not a crippling walk to the amenities. The care home staff who look after Celia, who can only afford the city and use all their income on transport to work. Everyone.”
“Then perhaps they should buy it.”
Maggie was about to dismiss Juliette’s suggestion as ridiculous, when the penny dropped. “A co-operative?”
“Why not.”
Maggie laughed. She was reminded of her university days and dreams of a commune when the eighties boom pushed everything beyond their reach.
“If the space is needed by the people, then perhaps the people should take it back,” Maggie muttered. “But these are some of the poorest in town. They can’t afford to pool any kind of finance.”
“Others can,” Juliette replied.
“It’s true.”
Maggie swivelled round. It was Eli who’d spoken.
“You wouldn’t believe how many are searching for somewhere to live,” he continued. “At the engagement party, I spoke to several mates all desperate to stay here. They’ve saved deposits, but housing in Ludbury is too expensive.”
“And would they be interested in this kind of development?” Maggie asked, not sure whether to give the idea credit.
“Absolutely. So it’s not a house, but everyone needs a roof over their head.”
Maggie looked to the heavens as if for inspiration. “It could be a brilliant site.” She smiled at her vision. “The courtyard could house several families with plenty of room for affordable housing for people like Mrs Malady.” She laughed. “They could even feed themselves by resurrecting the kitchen gardens and orchard. Does that sound fanciful?”
She turned expecting them to baulk with incredulity, but not one did. Eli sloped away to join Selene and the vicar stepped forward.
“Those sound like achievable aims for the courtyard,” the vicar said. “But I wish something could be done with this building too. You know,” she came closer, “we’ve all lost our way recently, the country divided in more ways than ever. We’ve forgotten we’re all human living on the same patch of Earth. This church could be converted into a community space. Perhaps even, you will laugh at this, a multi-faith centre to encourage debate and exchange of ideas. Some in the church would disapprove, but I would invite humanists too. I’m a strong believer in following a good life more than a doctrine, and I support anyone pursuing that goal.”
“Actually, vicar,” Maggie said. “I approve.”
Juliette looked amused.
“Well,�
�� Maggie snapped, “great things can come of different religions talking to each other, as well you know.”
“Indeed,” Juliette countered, the amusement still fresh on her face. “The Cathars for instance.”
“Exactly,” Maggie said, and she turned to the vicar. “We can thank the medieval Roman Catholics engaging the Cathars for the foundations of science. They wanted to persuade them to rejoin the Catholic Church and had to decipher the ancient Greek texts to argue against the logic of the Cathar religion.”
“That’s true to an extent,” Juliette chipped in. It was her subject after all.
“The Catholics just killed them all in the end,” Maggie acknowledged. “But still.”
Juliette grinned, and there was a spark in her eyes. Maggie felt a warmth in her belly – the excitement of student days when they sparred in tutorials. Maggie turned away and cleared her throat. “So, yes, vicar.”
The vicar was staring at her, to Juliette, and back again.
“What?” Maggie asked.
“That is between you and God.” The vicar smiled. “But I have a suggestion. You know who would be good to talk to, if you wanted to pursue the idea.”
“Yes?”
“If you wanted to go ahead, she’d be very useful because of her town planning experience.”
“Who?”
“Caroline Argent.”
Maggie’s face dropped. Well of course it would be frigging Caroline. Just to make Maggie’s life that bit more vexing. Just to add to the pissing humiliation.
“I’m not sure the Tory council woman would have time for me.”
“Really? I find her most approachable,” the vicar replied.
“You’re a politically neutral party, but we come in very different colours.”
The vicar tilted her head. “Remember though, great things can come from the meeting of different faiths.”
Oh the gall. Throwing her words back at her.
The vicar chuckled. “Excuse me, Mrs Goodman. I have a sermon to prepare. Keep me appraised of your ‘fanciful idea’.”
Maggie watched the clergywoman retreat to the chapel and when she turned back Juliette’s face was full of concern.
“Oh, Maggie.” Juliette sighed.
Maggie crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong with talking to a Tory?”
Well apart from the fact Caroline was fucking her husband. But that seemed to have lost its potency recently.
“It’s a miracle you talk to anyone,” Juliette said exasperated. “Wrong opinions. Wrong political party. And these days the wrong sexuality too for poor Abby.”
“You know damn well why that is.” The rage filled Maggie in an instant, so powerfully it almost knocked her back. “I can see now that you were hurt too, but that only adds to my conviction. That kind of life cripples people. I will never wish it upon Abby.”
And they were back to arguing.
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Juliette replied, fiery colour in her cheeks.
“It’s hard enough for young people these days, left behind by society and unable to afford a home, without the added pressure of bigotry from this fucking country.”
“You cannot deny people love. They will fight for it, every step of the way.”
“Really?” Maggie’s hands knuckled into her hips. “Is that what you did?”
“Did you?”
And they stared at each other with anger.
“Zut alors, Maggie. Can’t you get along with me for a few minutes? Our children are getting married.”
“It will be over soon enough. They will live somewhere far, far away. Then we will never have to see each other again.”
“Good,” Juliette snapped.
“At least that’s something we can agree on.”
Maggie would be relieved indeed when the wedding was over and they no longer needed to even attempt cordiality. She turned her back on Juliette, her final word on the matter, and found Eli and Selene approaching, hand in hand, rather meekly.
“Mum?” Eli said.
For a moment Maggie feared they’d heard their argument and her history of passion with Juliette had been revealed, but it was much worse.
“Selene and I,” he gazed at his fiancée with a silly look of affection. “We want to move to Ludbury.” He was grinning. Constantly. Perhaps he was expecting some reaction, but Maggie was catatonic with surprise.
“We like your idea. The co-operative? We could move here and see each other all the time. The whole family.”
Shit. There was nothing like timing.
“What do you think?” Eli asked.
Maggie spread her lips with an attempt to smile. “Great,” she said though her teeth.
“Formidable,” Juliette said.
Just fucking fantastic.
Chapter 28.
“So much for keeping control,” Abby muttered.
She woke with the sun peeping over the terrace opposite and beaming through the gap in the curtains. It was late Saturday morning. She’d slept well. Very well.
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “I wonder why.”
Indeed, so much for keeping her desires contained. They’d burst out in a fanfare and fireworks last night. Abby slapped her forehead, then realised her hand was still scented from her own fumbling.
If Jude hadn’t suspected her inclination before the tavern then Abby really needed to confess now. She couldn’t go on like this. She was surprised Eli hadn’t announced his suspicions last night after enjoying his little allusions. She cringed at how blatant her reactions to Jude had been and scrunched herself and duvet into a tight ball.
She’d half expected a feline scolding, but there was none. Perhaps she’d finally remembered to close the bathroom window. She peeped from beneath the knot of duvet. The mattress was free of that blasted furball, but a ring of white was curled upon her fireside chair. Two green apertures shot open in the fur and Maximillian squinted disdain from the distant chair, eyeing his customary place on her bed with disgust. How long had he been there? She hoped there hadn’t been any spectators to her solo act last night, not even of the feline kind.
Maximillian’s stare was unrelenting.
“Wow. Way to make a girl feel guilty, Max.”
The disdain turned to venom.
“Sorry, Maximillian.”
And she did feel guilty. So, so, so many broken rules she didn’t want to count them, and thinking them through was always a bad idea.
She swung her legs from the bed and headed for the shower, hoping its soothing waters would wash away her embarrassment. When she returned to dress, she found a message on her phone.
Can I see you? I’ll come round late morning. Jxxx
That soon. Abby slumped on the bed. She’d have to tell Jude today and her whole body felt leaden at the prospect. Why couldn’t she control this ardour?
There would be no more dancing with her friend. No more carefree embraces lest Abby burn with want. It would change everything. Would Jude back away with abhorrence? Abby hoped she knew her friend well enough to predict that wouldn’t happen, but there would be a distance, and that was unbearable.
She let out a long, dawn-out groan and Maximillian twitched his ears.
“Well I’m pissing heartbroken here, so you’re just going to have to lump it.”
His ears snapped to the front.
“OK. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. You can let yourself out today.”
She sloped down the stairs, wondering when she’d switched off the radio and finding the door locked to her relief – it was miracle given her distraction last night. And like every time of stress and when in need of comfort, she did the one thing certain to alleviate it. She baked a cake.
Abby sat on the bar stool by the kitchen island, chocolate cake decorated with swirls of butter icing, and waited in the sunlight that shone in nine beams through the door. She’d dressed in her most comfortable jeans and a T shirt which hung loose around her shoulders, revealing h
er collar bone and a little cleavage. Now that she’d decided to confess, a sense of calm washed over her. This was her, at home, being her most genuine, with nothing to hide. She hoped Jude would find a friend she could still love there.
It wasn’t long before the shadow of Jude’s long locks passed over the door and her face appeared.
“It’s open,” Abby said, and her friend entered.
Jude looked more beautiful than ever. The waves of sun-kissed hair flowed around her cheeks, softening her face and aquiline looks and lending her dusky green eyes a velvety bewitchment. Her complexion was heightened with a hint of rose and her lips rude with health. Abby doubted she’d looked more alluring.
Jude cradled a small bunch of tiny white flowers to her breast, tied in a maroon ribbon, a delicate cloud of blooms. She approached and wordlessly made her offering.
“Hi,” Jude whispered, her eyes so intent Abby thought she might melt under their spell.
“Hi,” Abby murmured.
“I brought you flowers,” Jude said, a coy smile lifting her cheeks.
“I made you a cake.” And a melancholy warmth stirred inside Abby at their quiet intimacy and mutual offerings. They stared at each other a few moments, the shy regard between them palpable.
“Am I disturbing you?” Jude said. “Did you have plans?”
Abby shook her head and smiled sadly. “No. I was going to pay my respects to Mum. That’s all.”
“May I come with you?” Jude asked.
“I’d like that. But,” she lowered her gaze, “I need to tell you something.”
Jude came closer and placed her flowers on the top and held Abby’s hand. The touch was exquisite. It almost made Abby cry.
“Tell me on the way,” Jude said. “I need to talk too, and sometimes it’s easier while we walk.”
Abby nodded, grateful for the reprieve but also aware it prolonged the agony.
Abby threw on a long woollen coat and they walked down the street towards the wooded hillside beyond the river. Jude took her arm, and Abby expected her to loop it over hers, the way they customarily did, but today Jude held her hand and stayed snug beside. Abby looked to her face, trying to ascertain the reason. All she saw was Jude’s warm familiarity and regard, not a hint of reserve.
