Angels and Men (44 page)

‘Hah! So we're out in the open, at last.'

‘Yes. I had some vague intention of being generous about it; but let's face it, darling, generosity is so bland compared with revenge.'

She reddened in anger. ‘Well, I hope last night made you feel better.'

‘No. It didn't. And now I can't decide who I hate more: you, or him, or myself.' The kettle boiled.

‘But that sounds like remorse,' she said.

‘Mmm. I thought I dimly recognized the feeling.'

‘You know something, Andrew, for a hardened hedonistic atheist you've got a pretty sensitive conscience.'

‘Vestigial.'

‘I think you've got an ethical code after all.' He shrugged again. ‘So why don't you just give in and admit you believe in God?'

‘Because God hates gays.' Her eyes widened. ‘It was a joke, Mara.' No it wasn't, she thought. ‘Oh, don't take everything so seriously, for Christ's sake. You're so bloody demanding, Princess. You either idealize people or write them off. You're such hard work.' She knew she was. No wonder people tired of her. ‘I don't want to be your honorary angel.'

‘Sorry.' He grinned, and she realized he had tricked her into accepting the blame again. Good God – if he wrote off someone's car he'd get them apologizing for lending it to him in the first place.

‘This bodes well for our co-habitation,' he said. ‘You can be the one who wears the hair-shirt in our relationship.'

‘And what will you wear?' she asked, itching to slap his smug face. ‘The cat's pyjamas?'

‘The trousers, Mara. The trousers.'

They went down for college tea arm in arm. Mara's ears were ringing from too many aspirins. Her legs felt weak. It was over twenty-four hours since she had eaten anything, and she could feel Andrew watching her as she collected a plate of bread and salad. They went out through the French windows and joined the other students on the lawn in the late afternoon sun.

After a while May appeared. ‘Only two to go. Shakespeare and sociolinguistics,' she announced, bolting down her Scotch-egg salad and fantasizing about all the things they would do once exams were over. Mara listened to her rattling on about picnics and punting.

‘Where's Maddy?' she asked when a long enough pause occurred.

‘Oh, crying in our room, probably,' said May. ‘I don't
mean
to be horrible, but she's been going on and on about it, and nothing I say makes any difference. It's her performance exam tomorrow. The accompanist keeps letting her down – not turning up for rehearsals, or arriving late and buggering off early. “Find someone else,” I say. “There
isn't
anyone,” she says. “I'm going to
fail
.” ' May flushed at the heartlessness of her impersonation. ‘Well, I'm sorry, but she's been going on about it all week. Cuchulain's completely useless. He just strokes her hair.' I could stand that type of uselessness, thought Mara.

‘Go and tell her I'll do it,' said Andrew. They both stared at him in surprise.

‘You're going to do something
nice
?' asked May reverently. ‘Aren't you worried your image will suffer?' This brought no response other than a raised eyebrow, so May got to her feet. ‘Well, I'll go and tell her the wonderful news.'

‘Do that, little one.' He smiled up at her and she coloured.

‘You realize, of course, that if you weren't such a shit she'd probably have dared to ask you.' With this she walked off.

‘True,' said Andrew. The students around talked and clattered their cutlery. Mara looked at him. He had his head tilted back and he seemed to be watching the flight of the swifts high above. Was he unhappy? He always seemed so self-sufficient. No one would dare to assume he was feeling lost and small and in need of comfort.

He turned and met her eye with a questioning look, and she heard herself saying, ‘I just want you to know I think the world of you.' It sounded wooden. There was a burst of laughter from a group near by, as though they had heard what she said. She waited for his blighting response, but he only leant and kissed her cheek.

‘Thanks,' he said.

I can't help him, she thought. But instantly she was ashamed of herself for being more absorbed by her inability to comfort him than by the fact that he was suffering.

A moment later he roused himself and stood up. ‘Ah, well. I suppose I'd better go and be wept over.'

She got to her feet too, and they went back into the building. He waved idly and disappeared as she began to climb the stairs. Halfway up the first flight she was forced to stop, her head throbbing. She looked up to the top and saw Johnny there in a jacket and tie. Her face burned as he ran down to meet her.

‘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
un
arrange 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 want 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?'