Jubilate (42 page)

The basilica bells chime noon. In an hour we will be boarding the coach and, in two or three, the plane. I need to know that Gillian has not lost heart: that the intimacy of the bedroom was not washed away at the baths. Images of the service are seared on my brain. All the hope that I took from her smile was dashed when she went up for communion. How can she have welcomed today what she was so adamant about refusing yesterday? Did last night’s lovemaking wipe out every notion of sin or, on the contrary, has she confessed and been absolved? Has she chosen the bloodless body of Christ over mine? I stride towards the Acceuil. The time for discretion is over. I shall confront her before the entire pilgrimage if need be. What was
it Louisa said about the things that we do to one another in Lourdes being our gift to God? I gave her my love. If she wants to throw it back at me, then let her do so to my face.

‘Vincent!’ The voice is so vital to my happiness that I need a moment to adjust. ‘Vincent!’ She crosses the bridge. ‘Richard told me I’d find you here.’

‘Richard?’

‘He said you were lighting a candle.’

‘For my mother.’

‘Oh, for a moment I thought … never mind! I had to go back and finish packing. I was afraid I’d miss you at the airport. Hospital pilgrims have a separate lounge.’

‘I know. We’re filming them.’

‘Of course. Then I needn’t have worried.’

‘Did you go to the baths?’

‘Yes, it was incredibly moving.’

‘So when did you find time to go to confession?’

‘I didn’t.’ She looks at me in surprise.

‘But you took communion. What happened to mortal sin?’

‘I’ve seen it in a new light.’

We are no longer in public view but alone in my hotel room. I take her in my arms and kiss her. ‘Thank you. Thank you, so much.’

‘It’s not me you should thank but Patricia.’

‘What?’

‘Come over here,’ she says, slipping out of my grasp but still holding my hand. ‘This is the Gave, not the Seine. People are watching.’

‘Let them!’

‘Please.’ She leads me into the square. ‘What a day!’ she says. ‘No, it’s scarcely twelve o’clock. What a morning!’

‘The morning after the night before?’

‘There is that.’ She smiles. ‘When I got back to the Acceuil, I heard that Richard had been causing trouble and I thought that’s it – there’s no way I can leave him now.’

‘I’m not asking you to,’ I say, feeling my heart rip from my chest.

‘Please, let me finish! I came to the baths and, in the queue, I met a woman who’s been looking after her daughter – a daughter as damaged as Pyotr – for sixteen years.’

‘Perhaps she has support? A husband? A lover?’

‘No, no husband. No lover. Just love. I realised that my prime – my only – responsibility was to Richard.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Wait, just wait. I stepped into the bath and I made my intentions. I saw that I was praying for a miracle when one had already
happened
. You.’

‘Yes!’ I punch the air. A young boy, walking past with his parents, laughs. Gillian pulls me into the shadow of the colonnade.

‘But there are some miracles you have to give up, when you know that they’re not meant for you. Like finding a wallet in the street.’

‘But even if you don’t keep it, you get a reward, don’t you? Or is your reward to be in heaven?’

‘Are you always going to interrupt? You’re worse than Richard.’ I fall silent, clinging to the
always
like a drowning man. ‘I’d settled
everything
in my mind, then I came out and met Patricia. She said she needed to talk to me straight away, that it couldn’t wait till we were back home. She led me along the riverbank and told me she owed me an apology. “What for?” I asked. “The last eighteen years” she said. “Don’t you mean twelve?” I asked. “No,” she said, “eighteen.” For the first time she seemed to have some inkling of what I’d been through. She said I had the right to some happiness in life. Or else it was like giving me a present and insisting I could only use it her way.’

‘She said what?’

‘Yes, I know it’s strange, a very un-Patricia sort of phrase. I’ve no idea what got into her. The only thing I can think of is the crystal angel.’ I look at her, more baffled than before. ‘The one you gave me last night. She saw it and assumed I’d bought it for her. I’m really sorry. But she was so grateful, there was no way I could tell her truth.’

‘Don’t apologise! If I thought that was all it took, I’d buy her the whole celestial choir.’

‘Fool! I promised her I’d never leave Richard. She offered to have him live with her, though, frankly, they wouldn’t last a day. I explained that nothing was fixed, but we’d find a way to make it work. In London, in Dorking, in-between. Richard likes you.’

‘And against the odds, I like him. We live in an age of step-
families
. Maybe I could be a step-husband?’

‘Be serious!’ She laughs. ‘Anyway, it’s nonsense to worry about the small print. We’ve only known each other a week. Whatever you think, this place has mysterious powers. Away from it, we may feel quite different.’

‘Do you believe that?’ I ask. She shakes her head. ‘Then why torment yourself?’

‘Insurance? You wouldn’t, not at first but over time … you wouldn’t resent my commitment to Richard?’

‘You’re thirty-nine.’

‘I know – it’s madness. I’m acting like a dizzy schoolgirl!’

‘No, I mean, you’re only thirty-nine. We might both have to share you with someone else.’

She brushes her hand over her stomach and starts to weep. I clutch her to my chest and wipe her tears with my fingers. ‘I never thought I’d be happy again. We will make it work, Gillian. I promise. I can be very resourceful.’

‘I don’t doubt it!’

‘Now we’d better go back to the Acceuil or we’ll miss the coach.’

‘Sure. No, I almost forgot. You go and I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. There’s one last thing I have to do.’

‘If you think I’m leaving you for a single moment …’

‘You’ll make fun of me!’

‘Never!’

‘All right then – promise you won’t say anything.’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘Remember, you promised.’ She drags me across the square towards the statue of the Crowned Virgin.

‘Oh no! You can’t be serious?’

‘You promised! After all, if it hadn’t been for Lourdes, we’d never have met.’

I watch as she stands in front of a large rose bed, its railings
incongruously
strewn with bunches of cut flowers, and bows her head. Meanwhile, Kevin pushes Sheila Clunes in the opposite direction.

‘Been Hailing Mary, Sheila?’

‘No need. Marjorie Plumley’s told me there’s already a bed with my name on for next year.’

‘I’m happy to hear it. How about you, Kevin?’

‘You taking the piss? I wouldn’t come back here if you paid me!’

‘May I borrow Kevin a moment, Sheila?’ Before she can reply, I grab his arm, leading him further into the square and leaving her temporarily stranded. ‘Be honest – it’s not all been that terrible, has it?’

‘Worse, much, much worse. But I’ve been a good boy. The
Führer’s
promised to write me a glowing report. Which means they’ll let me back in school. From now on I’ll keep my head down till I go to college, then I’ll make art that will blow all this sky-high.’

‘I wish you luck. But you’ll find it’s remarkably resilient. Believe me, I know.’

‘Your trouble is you’ve gone soft. Ready to give up everything for a sniff of skirt.’ He nods towards Gillian.

‘Is that so shameful?’ I ask, too euphoric to take offence.

‘It’s pathetic! You’re as bad as Matt: you know, the guy I’ve been hanging out with … at least I did till he met Jenny. He thinks he’s found
lurve
. You should have heard the way they carried on when they thought they weren’t going to see each other for two whole days. Tragic! I kept them sweating, then told her at the Grotto she could have my place in the van.’

‘That’s decent of you.’

‘No skin off my back. Plus it means I’ll be home two days sooner. What I don’t get is how none of you have twigged that all this pairing off is a giant con. Love! It’s just a myth sold to us by the Church, the media and big business, to keep us enslaved.’

‘In which case it’s a pretty far-reaching conspiracy.’

‘And it’s been going on for thousands of years.’

‘Kevin! What you doing?’ Sheila calls. ‘I have a little hole that needs filling.’ He winces.

‘I better go. They’re handing out snacks before the coach.’

‘Sure. I’ll catch up with you at the airport. But you’re wrong about love, Kevin. It’s a miracle. At least it’s the closest that Lourdes – or anywhere else for that matter – can provide.’

He looks at me with a mixture of despair and disgust and returns to Sheila, straining every muscle to push her towards the bridge. Gillian crosses herself and walks over to me.

‘That’s me sorted.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Did you mean what you said before?’

‘I’m sorry. I know I promised not to mock.’

‘I meant about my – our – maybe having a commitment to someone else?’

‘You bet! So long as you promise never to tell her or him or, better still, lots of little thems, where we met.’

‘Just checking.’ She slips her arm through mine.

‘Home?’

‘Home!’

I owe a particular debt of gratitude to the individuals and
organisations
with whom I travelled to Lourdes. The Jubilate is a fictitious pilgrimage, but the people I met in the course of my research have inspired me far beyond the pages of this book.

Rupert Christiansen, Marika Cobbold, Emmanuel Cooper, David Horbury, Liz Jensen, James Kent, Bernard Lynch and Ann
Pennington
gave me valuable help on early drafts of the novel, as did Hilary Sage on the final text.

The Celibate

Pagan and her Parents

Easter

Unity

Good Clean Fun

A Sea Change

The Enemy of the Good