‘jumping into bed with the first man to show me a scrap of kindness. But don’t tar the whole pilgrimage with the same brush!’
‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’ He gives me such an affectionate look that, for a horrible moment, I am afraid I may burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. That was crass of me. I’m sure your mother-in-law is utterly sincere. Where would the world be without its charitable ladies?’
‘No, it’s me. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m a little overwrought.’
‘Only a little?’ he asks, smiling. ‘Then you’re doing better than me. Let’s spend the afternoon together.’
‘There’s mass in the Notre Dame chapel.’
‘Aren’t you massed out?’
‘Don’t you have to film it?’
‘I refer you to my previous question. There’s a limit to the viewing public’s appetite for Father Humphrey’s quivering jowls.’
‘I suppose there’s not much point in my going since I can’t take communion.’
‘Why not?’
‘Not without going to confession first.’
‘So you believe that sleeping with me is sinful?’ he asks, wincing.
‘Don’t take it personally.’
‘Oh I’m sorry, I thought what we did was personal. Despite what you seem to think, you weren’t just an anonymous fuck.’
‘Don’t be angry. I didn’t say I regretted it. That’s the problem; I’m revelling in it. I’m walking down this street, but my head – no, not only my head, my whole body – is back in your room … in your bed … in your arms. I said I’m not a hypocrite. How can I stand before the altar when I don’t repent what we did? On the contrary, I want to repeat it.’
‘That can be easily arranged.’
‘I’m being serious!’
‘So am I. Why do you have to go back for lunch? Richard is among friends.’ Peering forwards, I see to my relief that the handmaiden has been joined by three young brancardiers. ‘Let’s go for a picnic. A Pic-du-Jer-nic.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a mountain on the other side of town. We can take the funicular railway to the top. Didn’t you see? There’s a poster for it back at the Bates motel.’
‘It’s very tempting.’
‘Is that mouth-wateringly tempting or Get thee behind me, Satan?’
‘Probably both, but I’ll opt for the former. After all, I’ll only draw attention to myself stuck in my pew when everyone else goes up to the altar. But where will we find the food?’
‘Leave that to me. This is your respite. The government has promised a better deal for carers and I’m here to deliver.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. It’s Satan all the way.’
‘That’s more like it. What time does your watch say? Ten past twelve. Meet me at St Joseph’s Gate at one.’
The matter settled, he breaks away from the group and walks back towards the cachot . I press forward to find Richard, eager to make up for my imminent neglect. Tenderness mingles with apprehension as I see him chatting genially with two of the younghandmaidens, Jenny and, I think, Eileen, their smiling faces a testament to his distinctive little boy/big man charm. His hands hovering above the smalls of their backs may appear innocent to Sheila Clunes, whose wheelchair is directly behind them, but my more practised eye detects danger. I sweep up and loop my arm through his, receiving a look of pure malice which, as ever, I try not to take to heart.
I occupy the walk back with descriptive chatter, designed to distract myself as much as Richard. At the Acceuil, I deliver him into Maggie’s charge, explaining that I plan to slip away for an afternoon’s sightseeing.
‘Good idea! You deserve a break. Don’t worry about Richard. He’ll be fine.’
‘What about mass?’ I am confronted by Patricia who is dispensing handwash at the dining-room door.
‘I’ve been every day this week. Surely I can miss one afternoon?’ Her expression leaves no doubt as to whom she will blame should the long prayed-for miracle fail to occur.
‘Are you going alone?’ she asks
‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’ He gives me such an affectionate look that, for a horrible moment, I am afraid I may burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. That was crass of me. I’m sure your mother-in-law is utterly sincere. Where would the world be without its charitable ladies?’
‘No, it’s me. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m a little overwrought.’
‘Only a little?’ he asks, smiling. ‘Then you’re doing better than me. Let’s spend the afternoon together.’
‘There’s mass in the Notre Dame chapel.’
‘Aren’t you massed out?’
‘Don’t you have to film it?’
‘I refer you to my previous question. There’s a limit to the viewing public’s appetite for Father Humphrey’s quivering jowls.’
‘I suppose there’s not much point in my going since I can’t take communion.’
‘Why not?’
‘Not without going to confession first.’
‘So you believe that sleeping with me is sinful?’ he asks, wincing.
‘Don’t take it personally.’
‘Oh I’m sorry, I thought what we did was personal. Despite what you seem to think, you weren’t just an anonymous fuck.’
‘Don’t be angry. I didn’t say I regretted it. That’s the problem; I’m revelling in it. I’m walking down this street, but my head – no, not only my head, my whole body – is back in your room … in your bed … in your arms. I said I’m not a hypocrite. How can I stand before the altar when I don’t repent what we did? On the contrary, I want to repeat it.’
‘That can be easily arranged.’
‘I’m being serious!’
‘So am I. Why do you have to go back for lunch? Richard is among friends.’ Peering forwards, I see to my relief that the handmaiden has been joined by three young brancardiers. ‘Let’s go for a picnic. A Pic-du-Jer-nic.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a mountain on the other side of town. We can take the funicular railway to the top. Didn’t you see? There’s a poster for it back at the Bates motel.’
‘It’s very tempting.’
‘Is that mouth-wateringly tempting or Get thee behind me, Satan?’
‘Probably both, but I’ll opt for the former. After all, I’ll only draw attention to myself stuck in my pew when everyone else goes up to the altar. But where will we find the food?’
‘Leave that to me. This is your respite. The government has promised a better deal for carers and I’m here to deliver.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. It’s Satan all the way.’
‘That’s more like it. What time does your watch say? Ten past twelve. Meet me at St Joseph’s Gate at one.’
The matter settled, he breaks away from the group and walks back towards the cachot . I press forward to find Richard, eager to make up for my imminent neglect. Tenderness mingles with apprehension as I see him chatting genially with two of the younghandmaidens, Jenny and, I think, Eileen, their smiling faces a testament to his distinctive little boy/big man charm. His hands hovering above the smalls of their backs may appear innocent to Sheila Clunes, whose wheelchair is directly behind them, but my more practised eye detects danger. I sweep up and loop my arm through his, receiving a look of pure malice which, as ever, I try not to take to heart.
I occupy the walk back with descriptive chatter, designed to distract myself as much as Richard. At the Acceuil, I deliver him into Maggie’s charge, explaining that I plan to slip away for an afternoon’s sightseeing.
‘Good idea! You deserve a break. Don’t worry about Richard. He’ll be fine.’
‘What about mass?’ I am confronted by Patricia who is dispensing handwash at the dining-room door.
‘I’ve been every day this week. Surely I can miss one afternoon?’ Her expression leaves no doubt as to whom she will blame should the long prayed-for miracle fail to occur.
‘Are you going alone?’ she asks
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