Angels and Men (42 page)

‘Oh!' The whole City lay spread out around them. She forgot what she had come for.

‘I thought you'd like it,' he said. ‘Like walking on the ice.' The asphalt was warm under her bare feet and she felt the summer air on her cheeks. We're on top of the world. Trees, riverbanks, rooftops, the cathedral rearing up over them, then off in the haze, hills and yellow rape fields. She looked down dizzily on to the college lawns below. Students sunbathing and playing croquet. ‘They haven't seen us,' she whispered.

‘Aye. They won't. People don't look up this high.'

‘I do.'

‘You're different.'

What a world! I can fly across it. She walked swiftly to the edge which dropped down to the street four storeys below, but before she could look over, Johnny seized her arm and jerked her back.

‘Jesus Christ! Don't do that!'

‘Do what?'

She tried to pull away, but he gripped her all the harder, dragging her towards him. Suddenly she thought, What am I doing up here alone with him? I walked straight into a trap!

‘Let me go. Please.'

‘You just don't think, do you?'

‘I didn't realize. I don't want to. I'm saying no!' she cried.

He let go of her arm and said contemptuously, ‘No one's asking you, Mara, actually. Just keep back from the edge.'

She flushed scarlet with mortification. ‘Sorry.' She watched as he got out a cigarette and lit it.

‘For once in my life it hadn't crossed my mind. I just wanted you to see.' He gestured around him. ‘Would you rather go down?'

‘No. It's OK.' She couldn't meet his gaze.

After a while he said, ‘Well, thanks for coming. I just wanted to explain.' She glanced at him. He was looking away, smoking nervously. All his gestures seemed angular. She had never seen him stripped of his flippant manner like this. ‘This term. It's just . . . Look, if I'd had my way, I wouldn't even have been here. It's the Bishop. I told him I wanted to leave. Mara, I'm not cut out for this. I don't fit in here, and I never will. But the Bishop wouldn't hear of it. Told me to finish my training, and that he'd talk to me again afterwards. I guess I came back at the start of term thinking well, sod you, Bishop.'

Her temper flared suddenly. ‘So that's all I am – proof to the Bishop that you're not fit to be ordained?'

He flushed. ‘Don't be daft. Look, OK, I went to your room that night feeling sorry for myself, mad about everything. I just wanted to talk, or go for a drink, or whatever. But there you were, looking so . . . I'm not trying to excuse myself, but bloody hell, Mara. I kept thinking, You ought to go, man. To be honest I was expecting to get my face slapped, not – mmm. Yes, well. There you go.' He stubbed his cigarette out and shrugged. ‘Sorry. I did warn you.' His eyes followed the path of a pigeon as it sailed past them. ‘And then there was the added incentive of buggering up Rupert's chances.'

‘But he's your friend!' He flushed again and lit another cigarette.

‘Not right now, he isn't. Did you have to tell him?'

‘I didn't! He . . . he must have guessed.'

‘Hah.' She quailed at the idea of what he would say if he knew she had told Andrew. ‘Look, I'm not proud of myself, Mara, but I tell you – it wasn't easy just standing back watching him and knowing I wasn't in a position to do anything about it.' What was he saying? That he loved her?

‘Why did you have to pick on me?' she burst out.

‘
Pick on you?
Oh, great. I think I could be forgiven for assuming you didn't mind. At least to begin with.'

‘I'm sorry.' He made a visible effort to control his temper.

‘Yes. Well, you don't have to be. You're allowed to say no.'

‘You're angry.'

‘I've got no right to be, have I?' he said tightly. There was a pause.

‘But you are.'

‘Yes, I bloody well am,' he snapped at last. ‘Just give me a break, Mara. I'm doing my best. It's bad enough being turned down like that without having to apologize as well. Jesus. No, don't cry, please, sweetie. I'm sorry. It's OK to say no. You might work on your timing a bit, that's all.'

‘I was thinking of you!' she sobbed. ‘I knew you'd feel terrible afterwards.'

‘Nice of you. Another time leave the decision to me. It's my conscience.'

‘I was scared.' There. It was out.

He stared in surprise. ‘Scared? Why?'

‘I don't know.'

‘But what of? Of me?'

‘No. Of – I hate it. I've only done it twice. It was horrible both times.'

‘Oh, God.' He looked appalled. ‘Why didn't you say, sweetie? I'd never . . .'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Stop saying that! I'm the one who should be sorry.' He seemed close to tears himself. They stood looking at one another helplessly. Mara heard laughter from the lawn far below. ‘Well, so much for salvation,' he said savagely. ‘So much for the grace of God. You'd think some of it would've rubbed off on me after all these years, wouldn't you? You were drunk. Terrified. Begging me not to. And does that stop me? No. All I care about is whether I score or not.'

‘But you did stop!' She couldn't bear the bitterness in his voice.

He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his foot. ‘Yeah. I could hear Andrew next door.'

‘But – you would have done, anyway?' She was almost pleading. There was a horrible silence.

‘I hope so.'

‘I know you would,' she protested.

‘You don't know anything about me, Mara.' He sniffed back the tears and wiped his hand across his eyes. ‘God, I'm a mess, aren't I? I'm crying. I never cry. My whole life's a mess.'

‘What will you do?'

‘God knows. Go back and work for my father. Like the bloody prodigal son. Except he won't welcome me with open arms, that's for sure.'

It's wicked, she thought suddenly. He only wanted to tell people the good news. And he'd have been better at it than half of the self-righteous gits the Church ordains without a murmur. She thought of the college chapel full of people who never went to church, all listening as he talked about the lost son and the grace of God. Why has he been made to feel so worthless?

‘You're sure you're doing the right thing?'

‘Don't start. I've had the Bishop, the Principal, Rupert, everyone all trying to convince me.'

‘What will your family say?'

‘ “Well, our John, we told you. You – a priest? Never. You'll never change. You'll never make anything of yourself. Why can't you be more like your brother?”' She watched his profile. ‘I should have listened.'

‘You're scared,' she said suddenly.

‘
What
?'

‘You're scared of failing, so you're wimping out. You're just using sex and drink as an excuse.'

He stared at her, his astonishment rapidly giving way to anger. ‘You take that back right now!'

‘No. You've got no balls, that's your problem. No moral stamina. When have you ever seen something through to the bitter end just because it was
right
, not because you enjoyed doing it?'

They squared off. She had never seen him so angry.

‘You're going to apologize for that!'

‘If I'm wrong, why are you so mad about it?'

‘Don't you get clever with me! I'm mad because it's not true.'

‘You're a quitter.' She turned and started back across the roof.

‘Don't you dare walk out on me!' But she swung herself over the edge and slithered down the slates. He was coming after her. ‘Fuck you! You take that back.' She didn't answer, just put her shoes back on and slithered through the window while he swore and raged at her to apologize. She was back in the corridor. He stuck his head through the window.

‘If I were you, Mara, I wouldn't stand there preaching moral stamina to me. It didn't take much to get you on your back.' She flushed scarlet and turned to run. ‘No, wait. Mara, I'm sorry.' He came through the window and caught hold of her arm. She burst into tears. ‘Don't cry, flower. Please.' He took her in his arms, and in another second they were kissing, gripped by a desolate, starving lust. Her knees were shaking. Do it. Just do it. Don't ask me. Their breathing filled the corridor. His mouth was burning at her throat, hands sliding up her thighs under her dress.

‘Oh, Johnny.' He picked her up and carried her into his room, closing the door after them. They were on the bed. I don't care. Don't let me think. He had her dress undone and was pulling her knickers off, kissing her again and again, as if they both knew that one word, one moment's thought, and they would realize what they were doing. She tugged at his belt.

‘Wait, Mara.' He crossed the room swiftly, opened a drawer and came back. He keeps condoms in his room! He was quick, but it took too long. Her lust vanished.

‘Are you sure about this, sweetie?'

‘Yes.'

‘You don't have to, you know. I won't be mad.'

‘I want to.'

He was on top of her, kissing her, murmuring her name. Oh, get it over with. She waited terrified, eyes shut as his fingers moved gently. Relax, relax. It can't be as bad as an internal examination. He entered her. Horrible, oh horrible. How can anyone say they like it? That ghastly churning feeling. Oh let it finish soon. He stopped.

‘I can't do this to you, flower.' Nothing could be more humiliating than him abandoning the attempt.

‘I want you to.'

‘But you're hating it.'

‘Please.'

He began moving again. She shut her eyes, willing herself to like it. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, kissing her softly. It's not so bad, she told herself. Truly. It's . . . nothing. Just waves sliding in and out on a slightly boring stretch of coast. Gradually she began to relax. What was all the fuss about? Not horrible: neutral. Oh, whatever am I going to say to him? He thinks he's so good at this.

‘You all right, Mara?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘Good. Not hurting?'

‘No.' It reminded her of being crushed up against someone in a crowded train. A spot of conversation to help pass the time, to distance you from such embarrassing bodily contact. There was another lengthy pause.

‘Nothing to write home about, though, is it?'

‘It's . . .' Was there an adjective in the English language which combined truth with tact? She felt him laughing at her, and opened her eyes.

‘You can say it, Mara. I won't be hurt.' She stared, doubting. ‘Trust me – I've not started yet.' Not started? The whole thing had already gone on three times longer than she thought possible.

The fishwife appeared from nowhere: ‘Well, get a move on, then, you lazy bugger.' He grinned, and suddenly, ‘Oh! Oh, God! Johnny!' The bedsprings squealed with every thrust.

‘This hurting?'

‘No, it's –' Oh God, horrible. Her breath came in gasps. Or wonderful.

‘Good, mmm?'

‘I don't know!' Pins and needles down her arms. I must be hyperventilating. ‘Oh, God!' She was losing herself, tumbling into an icy river, rushing downstream headlong over the falls, pounded down and down and down. I'm going to die. ‘No!'

He stopped.

She opened her eyes wide. ‘What?'

‘You said no.'

‘Did I?' They stared at each other.

Then he laughed. ‘Oh, I
see.
We're going to have to work on that timing. I think “yes” is the word you were looking for.'

He was still laughing as he began again, but the moment had escaped her. Now all she was aware of was the bedsprings and the peremptory rapping of the headboard against the wall. And of him, laughing, grunting like a weightlifter. Had he no inhibitions? What if someone came to the door, for God's sake? Would he never finish?

‘Mara. You're too much. This isn't going to –
ah!
. . .' She opened her eyes and saw him like a film of a man shot in the back and dying in slow motion. He collapsed on to her, laughing. ‘. . . last much longer. Sorry. Out of practice.' He buried his wet face in her neck and lay still.

She felt the hammering of his heart. Way down on the street below people were talking. The bells chimed half past. Half-past
four
? How can it be? She lay looking at the ceiling, seeing the cracks feathering out across the plaster. A long-legged fly clung there, motionless. She fitted her breathing to his. They continued to lie. Had he fallen asleep? Her hands crept round him. His shirt was stuck to his back. She could still feel his heart beating against her. The swifts circled and cried in the sky, and she ran her fingers through his damp hair. You're all mine. But even as she thought it, she felt him slipping from her. He pulled away and sat up on the edge of the bed. She watched. He dropped his head into his hands. He's repenting. I knew it. I knew he'd feel bad about it. Why was I such a fool? Then she began to fear that it wasn't just repentance. What if she'd done what the Bishop and the Principal and Rupert couldn't do? She'd called him a coward, slept with him, and now he knew he wanted to be a priest. It was an own goal of spectacular flamboyance. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her. She sat up and began buttoning her dress. In a moment he would start trying to explain. She groped around for her damp knickers and pulled them back on. This is the most undignified moment of my entire life.

‘Mara –'

‘You don't have to say anything. I understand.'

‘No, wait!'

But she left him on the bed and blundered out, hurrying back through the college, holding the tears in till she was safe in her room.

Andrew was waiting for her. His eyes took in her every detail.

‘Shut up,' she said before he could speak. ‘Leave me alone.'