rather
old-fashioned microcosm, a world unto itself that was both attractive in its sedate Victorian values, and repellent in its sealed-off smugness.
When she saw Elinor’s house, she couldn’t help feeling envious: it was a white-fronted building with an elegant porch and arched windows overlooking an expansive front garden shaded
by a large tree. There was a high, clipped hedge all the way around the garden, and a black iron gate leading into it. From where she stood, she could see that the stone path that led to the front
door also ran round the sides of the house to the back, and that there was more garden behind the house.
She turned and crossed the road, walking down the steps to the cathedral. As she did, she saw a man come up to the gate of the house, open it, and go down the path. He was tall and
broad-shouldered with dark hair. His collar was up, and he looked slightly surreptitious, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him. She only caught a glimpse of his face, but she saw that he
wore a frown, as if concentrating on some serious purpose. He didn’t notice her, intent as he was on his own business. She wondered who he was, and what he was doing. He didn’t look as
if he was on a social call; rather, he had the air of a man on a mission. She turned away, aware that she had no business to be snooping, and cross with herself that she hadn’t understood her
unconscious motive for coming here to the green.
She went on towards the cathedral, stopping for a moment to look up at the high steeple before she went down the steps to enter it. It always made her dizzy looking up at the weather-vane on the
top, silhouetted against the sky. Today, there was a ladder attached to the side of the tiles – They must be repairing it, she thought – which added to the sense of vertigo. Crows flew
in and out of the flying buttresses and in between the gargoyles at the top of the roof, cawing loudly as they went. She couldn’t imagine climbing up there. Or rather, she could, and it made
her feel sick to think of it.
She glanced back at Elinor’s house. Only the top of the house was visible from where she stood. She saw a figure come to an upstairs window and close the curtain. She couldn’t be
sure who it was, but it looked, from a distance, like the man she’d just seen at the gate. She wondered what he was doing drawing the curtains – it wasn’t dark yet. But she
didn’t want to pry, so she walked on.
She entered the doorway of the cathedral, nodded at the old lady sitting by the postcard shop, walked down the aisle, and took a seat near the altar. There was nothing going on at present, she
was relieved to find. She gazed upwards at the Jacob Epstein, the strangely elongated figure of Christ with its placid visage, suspended over the massive concrete arch erected in the sixties as
part of the restoration of the building after the war that, for all its majesty, reminded her of a motorway bridge. She couldn’t get much sense of grace from either of them, so she closed her
eyes.
There was no sound, except the soft echo of footfalls as a curate, or some such, moved around the choristers’ pews, engaged in an arcane ritual of preparation for a service. For a moment,
the world seemed to slow down.
She whispered a prayer, to a God she didn’t believe in. She prayed that Bob would still remain close to the girls, would still be their father. She prayed that one day her sadness over the
failure of her marriage would pass, that she would find someone else, or perhaps begin to savour life on her own, without the responsibility of a partner. She gave thanks that she still had her
daughters to love, her patients to attend to, and good friends and family. That she was well established here, in this small, warm community. That she was important to people, and they were
important to her. And she prayed that, for the time being at least, all this would be enough.
5
Jess was waiting for Elinor to arrive
old-fashioned microcosm, a world unto itself that was both attractive in its sedate Victorian values, and repellent in its sealed-off smugness.
When she saw Elinor’s house, she couldn’t help feeling envious: it was a white-fronted building with an elegant porch and arched windows overlooking an expansive front garden shaded
by a large tree. There was a high, clipped hedge all the way around the garden, and a black iron gate leading into it. From where she stood, she could see that the stone path that led to the front
door also ran round the sides of the house to the back, and that there was more garden behind the house.
She turned and crossed the road, walking down the steps to the cathedral. As she did, she saw a man come up to the gate of the house, open it, and go down the path. He was tall and
broad-shouldered with dark hair. His collar was up, and he looked slightly surreptitious, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him. She only caught a glimpse of his face, but she saw that he
wore a frown, as if concentrating on some serious purpose. He didn’t notice her, intent as he was on his own business. She wondered who he was, and what he was doing. He didn’t look as
if he was on a social call; rather, he had the air of a man on a mission. She turned away, aware that she had no business to be snooping, and cross with herself that she hadn’t understood her
unconscious motive for coming here to the green.
She went on towards the cathedral, stopping for a moment to look up at the high steeple before she went down the steps to enter it. It always made her dizzy looking up at the weather-vane on the
top, silhouetted against the sky. Today, there was a ladder attached to the side of the tiles – They must be repairing it, she thought – which added to the sense of vertigo. Crows flew
in and out of the flying buttresses and in between the gargoyles at the top of the roof, cawing loudly as they went. She couldn’t imagine climbing up there. Or rather, she could, and it made
her feel sick to think of it.
She glanced back at Elinor’s house. Only the top of the house was visible from where she stood. She saw a figure come to an upstairs window and close the curtain. She couldn’t be
sure who it was, but it looked, from a distance, like the man she’d just seen at the gate. She wondered what he was doing drawing the curtains – it wasn’t dark yet. But she
didn’t want to pry, so she walked on.
She entered the doorway of the cathedral, nodded at the old lady sitting by the postcard shop, walked down the aisle, and took a seat near the altar. There was nothing going on at present, she
was relieved to find. She gazed upwards at the Jacob Epstein, the strangely elongated figure of Christ with its placid visage, suspended over the massive concrete arch erected in the sixties as
part of the restoration of the building after the war that, for all its majesty, reminded her of a motorway bridge. She couldn’t get much sense of grace from either of them, so she closed her
eyes.
There was no sound, except the soft echo of footfalls as a curate, or some such, moved around the choristers’ pews, engaged in an arcane ritual of preparation for a service. For a moment,
the world seemed to slow down.
She whispered a prayer, to a God she didn’t believe in. She prayed that Bob would still remain close to the girls, would still be their father. She prayed that one day her sadness over the
failure of her marriage would pass, that she would find someone else, or perhaps begin to savour life on her own, without the responsibility of a partner. She gave thanks that she still had her
daughters to love, her patients to attend to, and good friends and family. That she was well established here, in this small, warm community. That she was important to people, and they were
important to her. And she prayed that, for the time being at least, all this would be enough.
5
Jess was waiting for Elinor to arrive
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