Angels in the Architecture (35 page)

‘What
do
you think about ordination then?’ Loraine asked.

‘Why would we not?’

‘Thought you’d say something like that. Have we got everything in off the dining table? No more glasses?’

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Rose replied.

‘Good.’ Loraine pulled the plug from the sink. ‘Do you have any idea what Phipps thinks?’

‘No
, perhaps we’d better find out.’

‘Perhaps we’d better.’

‘Do you feel you need to?’ Rose asked.

‘Become a priest? No, not necessarily. I don’t need the recognition or the status. And I’m not of the view, in reality, that it puts me any closer
to God.’

‘So you wouldn’t do it anyway?’

‘Didn’t say that. I’d need to be clear about my reasons,’ replied Loraine..

‘Career options?’ Rose suggested.

‘Rather simplified, don’t you think? It’s not about a career.’

‘Of course it’s about a career. You’ve chosen a career in
the Church,’ Rose stated.

‘I’ve chosen a
life
in the Church, and I have that,’ replied Loraine.

‘Then how about simply
because we can
?’

‘Now there’s a good reason!’ Loraine laughed.

Rose laughed too. ‘Well, I’ll make sure I bump into Phipps tomorrow then, shall I?’

‘Good idea. Tea?’

‘Lovely, thank you.’

Alicia turned out of the university on
to Brayford Way, heading for the short drive along the A15, before she broke off on to the long Lincoln Road to Nocton. It was two or three in the morning – she wasn’t sure precisely. After a surprising several more rounds with Gerry on the floor and the sofa in her office, he had ventured out to find an off-licence and come back with a bottle of Famous Grouse, a jar of pickles, a large wedge of Stilton, and a box of Carr’s water crackers. She’d thought fish and chips would have gone a treat but hadn’t said so. They’d tucked into their small feast and made a significant attempt at emptying the Grouse.

Alicia had wondered if after marathon sex they’d actually have anything at all to say to each other. They’d talked
non-stop for hours, about their work, colleagues, England, America, students, and Lincoln pubs. There’d been no mention of spouses or families, nor any discussion about tomorrow or the next day. Alicia had figured, since she wore a wedding ring, her situation was obvious. Gerry’s wasn’t clear, and she hadn’t asked. She’d assumed he was single. She didn’t much care.

Eventually
, she’d had some sense that it was well past any reasonable time at which she ought to be going home. Gerry had walked her down to her car, kissing her passionately in the darkness. It had seemed he would likely accept an invitation to the back seat if she’d let him, but she’d thought anymore and she might not be able to sit down in the car to drive home.

Now
taking the on-ramp to the motorway she was leaning forward slightly and forcing her eyes wide open. There was no traffic and it was a clear night. Her mind whirled through the various excuses she’d been thinking she could give Pete depending on whether he woke up when she came in or not. She knew she’d have to have a shower as soon as she got in and that might wake him. If it didn’t, then she figured she could fudge the whole thing more or less. Any other analysis of the evening would have to wait till tomorrow.

God, it
is
tomorrow!

Alicia wasn’t sure what would happen next
with Gerry and she didn’t want to think about it now. She wanted to sleep more than anything else.

1
6

... there were Angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity ...

Paul Simon, ‘
You can call me Al’, from the album ‘Graceland’
(1986)

Giles poured two more short glasses of Laphroaig. The chess players had unexpectedly changed their drink today; it appeared they were celebrating, and their chessboard was absent as well. Giles didn’t mind a Scotch himself now and again, but he’d never stomached this strongest and smokiest of drops. He thought it tasted like floor polish, but these fellows clearly appreciated it; their first hadn’t touched the sides, and they’d sent him off again straight away for another.

‘May I ask what’s your celebration then, gentlemen?’ Giles placed their drams in front of them.

‘We have saved the World, sir,’ the older man declared, and both raised their glasses to Giles, although each just took a sip this time from his glass.

‘Well
,
that’s
good news. Congratulations!’

‘And what better way to celebrate than with
your
national drink, young man?’

‘Oh aye, it’s no’ so much
my
national drink, sir. I’m more for a glass a’ milk most often myself.’ Giles’s big frame shook with his jocular laugh. ‘But I’ll be happy to keep those poison swords coming your way though.’

‘You are too kind.’

Giles smiled, tucked his tray under his arm, and turned back to the bar.

So he did it then?

The younger one. Yes. Well, he had set himself a challenge. And he’s had some help of course. But quite remarkable, just the same.

And the father has understood something too.

Yes.

And the future is altered inexorably
.

Hopefully.

And the mother?

That’s up to her.

What about the older one? He doesn’t have the same support.

Yes
, I know you think that’s what it’s about, but it’s not so simple. We still have a job to do, but those were difficult times.

The Bishop
sees.

Perhaps.

And the Mother.

Yes.

Although she’s powerless.

Haven’t you learnt anything?

What can she do?

She can move the world. The same as any other being. Pope or pauper. It doesn’t matter.

But she doesn’t understand the need. The Bishop at least sees some connection.

She sees her son. That is enough.

But
...

She loves him. That is enough.

To change the world.

To change the world.

... thought passes back and forth between people

in a process by which thought evolved from ancient times.

David Bohm, physicist (1917
–
1992)

Hugh had made Peter ready his carriage from Lincoln and travel with him. It was a long journey and Hugh, feeling less charitable on an unbearably hot day, could not hold to the usual protocol of having the local priest accompany him. It was not that Hugh found him offensive, but on this day, Father Taylor’s particular sycophancy was not best suited to Hugh’s designs. Hugh’s vision to serve even those he led was of greater difficult than normal with one so lacking in any active virtue, and the priest’s habit of constantly ennobling his Bishop did not aid the imperatives of humility and emptiness needed for the task Hugh set himself this day..

Peter on the other hand
went about his servitude to the Bishop more invisibly, without ambition certainly, but nor was he too begrudging of his status, so Hugh did not have to function within any immediate context of some other’s sourness. Indeed Peter lacked much outward show of emotion and not having this to swarm about in his thoughts made Hugh’s travelling reverie tolerable, and gave his mind and body a decent pause to rest from the litany of his own duties.

A warm souther
ly wind teased the hot dusty travellers with an idea of coolness that had no such reality and only made for shorter tempers than usual, particularly whipping up the road’s grit and earth as it did, which got into the folds and creases of a horse’s eyes and mouth and nose, and every part of a person. Hugh knew his drivers would curse even him, alongside their animals and carriage, each other, and anyone really that they came across. He imagined he would need to reward them with a little ale at their destination and a lot of ale upon their return. There was a demon to ale that Hugh had seen on occasion bring a hell to men, and a great misery to their women and children. The pleasures of common folk though were few, and he was keen to reward those who served him with that which might reasonably bring their continuing support to his household needs. It gave him respite from the consideration of such, albeit that that reality seemed nefarious.

Hugh puzzled still
along their thirsty route. And as his discomfort grew with the heat, so too did his doubt and his sense of his own foolishness. And then he’d equally scold himself for a lack of Faith. And then the combination of his swaying thoughts, undulating beliefs, and the blistering day escalated the effects of all three further, until eventually Hugh tried to ignore every element and stare blankly at the passing countryside, which availed him of some brief peace from his own restlessness. As the carriage neared its destination, Hugh wondered what on earth he intended to do and say when he got there.

Thomas heard a voice inside him that he knew he must follow. The sound of the voice was golden light
, and Thomas had seen this same light before and remembered snow-white wings and kind red-brown eyes.

There were not many things that sent light to him, one person mainly. But now he had seen another with good light that came firmly to him
, and it felt like a very beautiful and good thing. He saw a web of connectedness between a white-clothed creature and a black-clothed man and some task to make clear for the world.

He sat
with his mother, placing his pebbles carefully in an ever-widening spiral. When his pebbles were used up, he took the ones from the centre, one by one, and continued to place them end to end. His circle grew larger and larger. When it was bigger than any circle he had made before, he stopped taking the pebbles from the inside and moving them to the outer circle. He looked at the pattern on the ground. It pointed away, in a direction, and Thomas looked away towards the woods where the pebbles pointed. He tilted his head and puzzled.

Alice sat at her usual seat, peelings fallen to her lap and the ground about her feet. The stranger’s visit the day before had not unnerved her, as perhaps it ought, and even the news
of Thurstan’s death left her unchanged from the day before she’d heard this. She’d known her boys were gone and had already rent her dusty smock from that parting. She fathomed at her own absence of feeling for a lost child, for he was just a child to her still. Had she reached the boundaries of what was bearable to her soul? Even more peculiar to her, she felt some queer thrill in her heart that could only be happiness, and this both troubled her and it didn’t. She looked down at Thomas. He looked to any as a normal child, happy and babbling even to himself. There were changes in him of late that pleased her. Had the Lord answered her prayers for her youngest? There was no mistaking the touch of God on their small lives; at least Alice herself never mistook this.

She stood,
letting scraps in her lap fall to the dust, and went inside. Depositing the roots and vegetables into a pot of boiling water over the fire, she brushed some grime from her apron and set to finding a brush to sweep the day’s dust, already thick, from her door.

Thomas clambered awkwardly to his feet, bare and
dirt-stained and warm on the clay ground. He stared briefly towards the sun and then looked away to the woods where his stones pointed on the ground, fine glowing spots before his eyes from the sun. Following a silent message to his light head, he sauntered off in a straight line to a special destination. He knew the straight line was important to follow, and he clambered over a small stone wall not far from where he’d sat. He felt the coolness reach out from the edge of the woods and that seemed a pleasant treasure to find on a dry and burning day. The coolness was also a darkness, but there was some light somewhere among the trees and he would find it. Thomas knew he was very good at finding light, and he was also enjoying having a job to do.

When
the Thane’s men dumped the swan in the centre of the village, they looked threateningly as they could, which was not difficult for them, to as many as they saw.

It was
the Thane himself who had instructed them to do so and to place some fear in the villagers; since he had no care for them anyway, he had no knowledge particularly of the fear already there, and even what threat that may be to him.

As it was, already fearful, most
that saw this were simply confused. Their world was turning on its head and for some this meant they should keep low and invisible; for others, there was much to occupy their loose tongues; and for others, who felt the need of some certainty in uncertain times, it gave the spur and a hunger towards violence, and it would be the tattle of others would give that tendency direction..