Angels and Men (23 page)

‘Yes,' she said after a moment's thought. ‘Why?'

He nodded slightly, as if this answered some private debate he had been having with himself. ‘So what were her faults?'

‘What's murder got to do with anything?'

He blew a cloud of smoke away from her. ‘You're middle-class.' He grinned again at her bewilderment. ‘My definition: more likely to commit murder than drop litter. But carry on. Tell me about her faults.'

‘Well . . .' What had she been going to say? He had made her lose a grip on her thoughts. ‘She was too trusting.' There was a pause.

‘That's it?'

She was beginning to feel like a fruit machine played by someone on a lucky streak. He was cranking her arm with questions and the words kept tumbling out.

‘It's hard to live with someone who wants you to be happy the whole time. She was . . . There were some things you couldn't tell her, because she would always be trying to understand and make everything better. She was like my mother. It was easier to say nothing. She always believed people were what they said they were. You couldn't say . . . Oh, I don't know, something like, well, so-and-so's a poisonous trouble-maker, because she would just listen with big eyes, trying to work out what was making you say that. You know – is she upset? What has she got against her? How can I make her feel happier about her? All that stuff. She'd never think anyone might actually
be
a poisonous trouble-maker. Or if they were, it wasn't their fault. Nobody had ever really listened to them.' She stopped.

‘We're talking about someone in particular here, aren't we?' he asked after a moment.

‘Yes,' she whispered.

‘Someone in that sect?'

‘Yes.' Leah. Turning Hester into her lackey. Shackling Hester to her with the threat of suicide. ‘Nobody else understands me, Hester.' And trying to convince her that I was a child of Satan.

‘Are you going to tell me about it?'

‘Oh, it was just this other girl. She latched on to Hester. They used to pray for me. That I would be delivered from demons.'

‘Sounds like Joanna.' She said nothing. ‘Wasn't your sister on your side?'

‘Of course she was! We loved each other. It wasn't her fault. I told you she was too trusting.' I can't bear it. He's making me betray her. ‘But she was good. Don't you laugh at me! You never knew her, so you can't judge. There really are people like that,' she sobbed.

He put his arm round her again. ‘I know. But don't you sometimes hate them for it?'

She jerked away from him. ‘I loved her!'

‘Yes.'

But had she? Hadn't Hester always used up all the air and sunshine and left Mara with nothing to grow on? A pale lanky weed beside a beautiful flower.

‘I did!' She cried huge gulping sobs. Her face felt bloated and ugly. She couldn't stop herself blurting out more: ‘She didn't lose her temper like I did. I was always in trouble.' She sensed him trying not to laugh again.

‘Sorry,' he said, catching sight of her expression. ‘I'm not mocking you. It just reminds me of my brother and me. Strict demarcation. He was the good one. I was the bad lad. He left me with no option, you see.' He knows what it's like, she thought. Her tears gradually subsided. ‘I suppose that makes him the bad one, now I'm going into the Church. Now I'm so superhumanly good.' He finished his cigarette and threw the end in the stream. Was that bitterness in his voice? She watched the cigarette-end float away, thinking how little she really knew about him or his family.

‘Could you imagine murdering anyone?' she asked.

‘No. Not in cold blood. Manslaughter, maybe. If I caught my wife in bed with another man, or something.'

‘You don't have a wife.'

‘True. Not any more.'

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You mean . . .' She groped for words. ‘What happened?'

‘I caught her in bed with another man.' Her heart lurched. His tone was so casual. ‘What's wrong? Ah.' He laughed. ‘No – my brother and the pub darts team all pinned me down and sat on me while she climbed out of the back window. I never laid a hand on her.'

Her lips felt cold and stiff. ‘Sorry.'

‘Don't be. I was glad to see the back of her, to be honest.' There was a silence. She listened to the hissing of the wind through the pine branches, wondering, reassessing. ‘So now you know. That's why I'm celibate, of course. If I remarried I couldn't be ordained.' He picked up the crumpled cigarette packet and began tossing it from hand to hand.

Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it? But celibacy? That seemed a bit extreme. She suspected a lot of clergy were less scrupulous.

‘So you don't believe in sex outside marriage?'

‘Oh, I
believe
in it,' he said. ‘I just don't agree with it. Unless she's very attractive. Or I'm very drunk.' She despaired of getting a sensible answer out of him. ‘Or
she's
very drunk, and I'm feeling sorry for myself. Or –'

‘Look,' she broke in, ‘I just meant the Church doesn't require you to be celibate, does it?'

‘Ah, you mean, screw around all week, then preach about sin on Sundays? There's a thought.' He considered it, still flipping the cigarette packet to and fro. ‘Yes, I rather like that.'

‘You seem to think screwing around is the only alternative to celibacy!'

‘Well, isn't it? Oh, I see – one of those “serious committed relationships” I keep hearing about.'

She snatched the cigarette packet from him. ‘Will you stop doing that! Why do you have to be so flippant the whole time? You must have had at least one serious relationship.'

‘Why must I?'

‘Well, you've been married, for God's sake.' He raised an eyebrow, and suddenly she felt very naive. Her face burned. ‘You must have been serious about her at the time,' she persisted.

‘Must I?'

‘Or why did you marry her?' He gave her a look, and she knew she should back off. She felt her fingers crushing the cigarette packet tightly. He picked up a handful of stones and began throwing them one by one into the stream.

‘I married her because she told me she was pregnant,' he said without looking at her.

‘But that's Victorian!' She saw him tense, and cursed herself. ‘I mean, I'd never marry someone just because I was pregnant.'

‘I'm sure you wouldn't, pet.' He continued flicking stones into the water. ‘But to quote you, you can't judge, because you don't know my family. Or my town, for that matter.' He still had not looked at her.

‘You mean, you'd have been ostracized?'

‘Possibly,' he said, eyeing her cautiously. She had seen him do this to Maddy on more than one occasion: pretend not to understand polysyllabic words.

‘Can't you be serious for one minute?' He grinned at her. ‘And stop throwing stones!' she wanted to shout. ‘So you've got a child?'

‘No. She was lying.' He turned away again, and she watched his profile, trying to gauge how much more she dared ask.

‘How long did the marriage last?'

‘Before she ran off? About two months. Let's talk about something else, shall we?'

‘You never loved her?' He said nothing, and although she knew she was pushing him too far, she could not stop herself. ‘Why did you sleep with her, then?'

He rounded on her. ‘Because she was my brother's girl. It was a little hobby of mine – trying to fuck any woman my brother fancied. Is that serious enough for you?'

She shrank back. ‘But why?'

‘Because I could. Because, my God, there was always one thing I was better at than him. You don't like that, do you? You'd rather I was perfect.'

‘No.' She watched her fingers trembling as they tried to uncrumple the cigarette packet. There was a taut silence. Why did I do that? Make him say what he hates to admit, and what I hate to hear.

‘Sorry,' he said shortly.

‘It's OK.'

She felt herself wobbling on the brink of tears again. He sighed and she looked up to see him opening a new packet of cigarettes. He caught himself in the act of throwing the cellophane away, and glanced at her. She saw the glimmer of amusement with relief. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The trees creaked in the wind and he lay back, seeming to watch the branches moving against the sky.

‘The Church says I'm fit to be ordained even though I'm divorced. I've been forgiven, you see. But not if I get married again.' She looked down at him. He seemed to find the whole thing amusing. ‘And then when I'm priested, it's OK again. I can get married. But not in church, of course.' He was smoking calmly, watching the treetops. ‘In theory, a bishop who was divorced and remarried could refuse to ordain me if I got married again. Good, isn't it? I like being an Anglican.'

‘You're angry,' she said, suddenly realizing.

‘All the time, Princess.'

‘But you're always joking.'

‘Just my way. You're always fighting.'

Maybe his way was better. She was tired of fighting.

‘You could live in sin, of course,' she said, thinking aloud. ‘If you were very discreet. The Church would turn a blind eye.' The good old C of E. He sat up, and she saw too late what she had laid herself open to.

‘Mm-mm-mm. Yes
please
.' His eyes seemed to linger on her lips. ‘On second thoughts, discretion has never been my strong point. We'd better not risk it, Mara.' She turned away, her face on fire. ‘I couldn't live a double life, flower,' he said. She looked back swiftly, but in another instant the flicker of seriousness was gone. ‘Here.' He put his cigarette between her lips as he had done once before. ‘Much safer than living in sin. You'll probably die of lung cancer, but at least you won't burn in hell.' She threw the cigarette into the stream. He laughed, lit another one and lay back again, shutting his eyes.

For the first time she was able to study his face properly. She let her eyes learn the way his hair grew from his forehead, the shape of his eyelids, the dark fringe of lashes, and the laughter lines still there although his face was relaxed. Her mind traced for itself the outline of his mouth, committing it to memory. Suddenly he spoke, and her eyes darted away guiltily.

‘You know, if you subject a structure to enough pressure it'll give way at its weakest point.' She looked back, heart pounding, but his eyes were still closed. ‘Obvious, I suppose. The same goes for people.' He put the cigarette to his lips. Was he trying to tell her something?

‘What's your weak point, then?' she asked.

He opened an eye. ‘You don't need me to tell you that, surely?' Was he talking about sex again? She blushed.

‘No.'

‘I thought not.'

He closed his eye and continued smoking. She watched him furtively, and then another thought struck her. What if he had been talking instead about his quick temper? She blushed again. After all, he had just told her he could imagine killing someone.

‘I suppose I'm just trying to say I'm under a lot of pressure at the moment.' He had been talking about anger, then.

‘Yes.'

‘I try to keep a tight rein on myself, but . . . Well, it's the old story. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.' He grinned. ‘Or vice versa, in my case.' Suddenly it sounded like sex again. He opened his eyes and looked at her, waiting for some response.

‘All right,' she muttered. ‘I know what you're saying.' She stared at the stream. But did she know? Was he warning her that one day, in a fit of self-pity, he might try to seduce her? Or that if she pushed him too far, he might throttle her and throw her body into the river? But having said she understood, she could not now ask for clarification. He reached out and put a hand briefly on her arm.

‘Thanks,' he said, ‘I'm just mad at the whole world at the minute.' She continued to stare miserably at the water. After a moment he stretched and stood up. ‘I'm going to have to go. Walk back to the car with me?'

They climbed against the wind, making their way up the steep field above the woods. The house appeared over the brow of the hill. She didn't want him to go. Tears began welling up, but she clung to her last scrap of pride.

‘Sorry I'm so wound up,' he said unexpectedly. ‘I'm preaching in college chapel tonight, and I've got cold feet about my sermon.'

‘What's it on?'

‘Oh, Jeremiah sounding off about something.' He ran his hand over his face, then shook his head. ‘It's all about doubt and vocation, which I can do without, quite frankly, at the moment.' He flung his arms wide. ‘ “O Lord, thou hast deceived me and I was deceived. Thou art stronger than I and thou hast prevailed.” As far as I can make out, it means, “God, you used me and dumped me. You're stronger than me, and you raped me.” Not very Anglican.' She saw his flippant manner reasserting itself, and found she was laughing against her will as he unlocked the car. ‘Have you thought how long you'll stay here?' She said nothing. ‘Well, give me a ring when you want to come back, and I'll pick you up.' He gave her a quick hug. She willed her hands not to clutch at him.

‘Thanks,' she said as he got into the car, and she cast about for one last thing to say to him. ‘Did you get into trouble for bringing me here?'

He paused. ‘With Rupert? There was a full and frank exchange of opinions.' She saw she would get no more out of him. ‘Give me a ring, sometime. You're missed, sweetie.'

As he drove off, grief closed in on her again. His presence had been keeping it at bay, and now it flooded her, bringing with it a cold tide of guilt that she should have forgotten Hester even for a short while. She turned abruptly into the woods which surrounded the car park and stumbled through the undergrowth, half blinded by tears.