was gone. I couldn’t believe it, I called out for her, and then to the gods who’d tricked me, I dropped to my knees and clawed the grass, searching for what I knew I must eventually find. And there it was, gleaming in the sunshine, the little key.”
He falls silent and Jessie feels the grave-like stillness of the moonlit night, the desolation of solitude. Her dull and dirty town is reborn, crystalline, hard yet fragile as the ice in her blood. “If you wish, you may kiss me now.”
His lips burn against hers. This was what Yvette refused to wait for, this new life of faith he discovered in himself, this animal breath and bitter tang of tobacco, this rub of stubble and rising excitement – his fingers searching for her.
“Stop.” She pulls away.
“Forgive me.”
“It’s not your fault, only we don’t do that here.” There is a void of cold air between them. She wants him to hold her hand but is unable to reach for his. “Did you ever see her again?”
“Her message was clear. I never wrote or contacted her. My old life was finished and I had to begin a new one. So I came to Britain, then the war started.”
“John told me you were interned. How sad you must have felt in prison, how desperately lonely. I imagine you thought of her every day.”
“I decided not to.”
“Was it really so easy?”
“No, but it was possible. I knew that whatever I did must be right, somehow. Even if it didn’t appear that way at the time. Jessie, I want to kiss you again, properly.”
“Not now.”
“You make me so glad I lost Yvette.”
She can’t tell if it’s blushes or tears she feels rushing to her face. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“But it’s true. You’re a sweet and beautiful girl.” He reaches for her hand and she cradles his fingers on her lap.
“I would have waited.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“The way you told me about Yvette, and what you said at the meeting – you’re so honest and open. You truly believe in people, that’s what I feel. You believe in them because you believe in yourself. But you can get hurt that way, like with Yvette, aren’t you worried it might happen again? With the workers’ campaign, for instance. You could get into trouble for what you said.”
“I don’t care.”
“Even if you finished up back in gaol?”
“That can’t happen.”
“The man you mentioned in your speech, the rebel, he spent most of his life in prison. You surely don’t want that.”
“Blanqui never feared the consequences of adhering to his principles, I admire that.”
“He hardly saw his wife and son, how must it have been for them?”
“You’re right, it might have been kinder had he never married.” He looks back along the path as if expecting to see someone, but it remains quiet. “The meeting will soon be over.”
“We should return.”
“Or we could walk a little further. I could even take you home.”
“John will be wondering where we are. Let’s go as far as the monument, then turn back.”
They walk hand in hand, Jessie’s fingers immobile and stiffening. Soon they reach the granite obelisk that is like a polished tomb; Pierre tries to see its inscription in the weak light. “I’ve passed this before but I’ve never read what’s on it.”
Jessie knows and can decipher it for him. “ On 31st December 1860, during severe flooding, James Deuchar, 20, a divinity student at Glasgow University, leapt into the river near this spot in an attempt to rescue George Laidlaw, 5, and Mary Laidlaw, 7, who had fallen in. Having saved the younger child, Mr Deuchar returned to search for the girl, who was washed up alive further downstream. Mr Deuchar, however, perished in his noble endeavour. This monument to his heroism was erected by public subscription, 3rd January 1863.”
“Nearly sixty years ago,” Pierre calculates.
“He could still have been alive, an old man now.”
“Better that he died doing good. Think of all those men buried beneath the
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