Knowing Anna

by Sarah Meyrick

  ‘Sorry, Tom. It’s been fun getting to know you, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my hands pretty full with the little bloke. I’m not up for a relationship right now and I don’t do casual.’

  And Tom, to his credit, had taken it fine. He hadn’t pushed it. Or maybe that wasn’t to his credit? Maybe it just proved that he was only ever after an opportunistic shag. Or had she just become horribly cynical? Bloody hell! She had to remember that not all men were monsters. They weren’t all like Frankie. Look at William. He was a true gent, old school. Surely some of that would have rubbed off on Tom? Anyway, she wasn’t interested, she was clear about that. It would take someone pretty special to risk jeopardizing the security she’d worked so hard to create since her return to Britain.

  ‘Hey, Milo!’ she called. ‘Where’s your Aussie pride, doll?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The ball game. Not playing?’

  ‘I kept dropping the ball!’

  ‘I could see that. You just need a bit of practice. Can’t have you letting the side down!’

  ‘If you’re so good at catch, you show me, Mum,’ said Milo crossly.

  ‘Well, I might just do that. But I can’t quite see how we’ll manage that with Smith and those walking poles.’

  ‘We can take Smith, if you like,’ said Beth.

  ‘Or I could give Milo some catching practice,’ Matt added. Bless!

  ‘Good bloke!’ said Tamsin and winked at Beth, who grinned from ear to ear and blushed a furious pink. Tamsin handed Smith’s lead to Beth and took the walking poles from Milo. She retrieved an old tennis ball from her backpack. An old hand with both boy and dog, it was a case of have ball, will travel.

  Now she knelt down so that she was eye level with Milo. ‘Remember, mate, national pride is at stake here,’ she said with a wink. ‘You get to work on that hand–eye coordination and then you can knock the socks off the Poms!’

  ‘So, Tamsin, I thought you were supposed to be, like, a Pom yourself?’ said Beth, as Milo and Matt set to work.

  ‘Only when it suits me!’ she said. ‘That’s the joy of dual nationality. Now then. Far more important. All well with you and Mr K, do I take it?’

  A pause in the ball game became necessary as the party passed through another village. The first sign of civilization was a pub. Tamsin and Tom exchanged a rueful glance (well, that’s what she would call it) and a friendly bit of banter as Father Stephen hurried them past.

  ‘They even do a Pilgrims’ Lunch special,’ protested Tom.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more – it looks very appealing,’ said Father Stephen. ‘But trust me, there are plenty more pubs in Canterbury. You’ll have to take my word for that. We do need to press on, because we’re going to be met when we get there. We’re really not far off now.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see the Cathedral,’ said Tamsin to William. ‘Talk about ancient history!’

  ‘One of the wonders of England,’ said William. ‘But if it’s history you’re after, look over to your right for a moment.’

  ‘Up the hill?’

  ‘Yes. Bigbury Fort. Iron Age.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Well, the Iron Age traditionally begins in around 800 bc, when we started using iron instead of bronze to make weapons. But rather later than that, when old Julius Caesar invaded Kent in 54 bc, the ancient Brits holed up at Bigbury. You can see the walls.’

  ‘And how did that turn out? Not well, if I know the Romans.’

  ‘Spot on. Two days later, the Brits were comprehensively routed. At which point half of them retreated north to lick their wounds and regroup. And the other half saw which side their bread was buttered and decided it was less trouble to throw in their lot with the Romans. Not the end of the story, though. Old Julius Caesar had other things on his plate.’

  ‘Hear that, Milo? Was that in The Rotten Romans? He’s slightly obsessed,’ she added to William.

  ‘I came, I saw, I conquered . . . but only for the weekend!’ said Milo. ‘That’s what Julius Caesar said.’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’ said William. ‘Well, it took another century or so before the Romans really got us in order. Good to think our ancestors put up a struggle.’

  ‘Rule Britannia?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said William with a smile.

  Half an hour later, they were on the outskirts of the city, and in another twenty minutes, approaching a flint church with a tall, square tower. Ruth was standing outside.

  ‘St Dunstan’s, friends,’ announced Father Stephen. ‘Are they expecting us, Ruth?’

  ‘All ready and waiting.’

  ‘Excellent. Come in, everyone. They’ve kindly opened up, especially for us.’

  Inside the church was uncluttered and simple. A large, rough-hewn wooden cross hung over the main altar. Tamsin, casting around for Milo and Sam, caught sight of Ruth approaching her with a determined look on her face. What the heck did she want? At the same moment, William appeared behind Ruth, carrying a large terracotta bowl and a white towel.

  ‘Where would you like me to put it, dear heart?’ he said. For no reason that she could quite put her finger on, Tamsin took advantage of Ruth’s momentary distraction to slip outside again in the guise of giving Smith a drink of water. Whatever Ruth wanted would just have to wait.

  She put off coming back into the church until everyone else was inside and she was as sure as she could be that Father Stephen was ready to begin the reflection in the small side chapel. She sat near the back where Milo, bless him, had saved her a seat.

  ‘Well,’ said Father Stephen, beaming. ‘Here we all are! One hundred and three and a bit miles after setting out. Marvellous! I know that not everyone has walked every single mile but what an achievement! I hope you’re all pleased.’

  ‘Pleased and relieved!’ said Catherine.

  ‘As I said this morning, this is our last gathering on our own. Because we’re going to attend Evensong later, I thought we’d do without formal liturgy here. Instead, there are three other things I want to do. First, I thought this might be a chance to share with each other what you’ve got out of this week.’

  ‘Tired legs!’ said Milo.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not the only one,’ said Father Stephen as everyone laughed. ‘The good news is that tonight we can all put our feet up back home. Second, although it’s less than a mile to the Cathedral, I thought we might do that in silence. I’ll come on to the third thing in a minute. But let’s start by talking about what this week has meant. Apart from tired legs, that is. Perhaps there’s something you’ve enjoyed or discovered. A memory you’ll treasure. One small thing you might try and do differently when you get home. No pressure, but if there’s anything you’d like to say, now’s a good time.’

  There was a pause, quite a long one. People were shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Funny how everyone had been chatting so easily earlier, and now appeared to be struck dumb. Well, I’ve always been gobby, thought Tamsin. Better help him out and go first.

  ‘Well, I—’ she said at the precise moment that Father Stephen began to speak.

  ‘After you, mate,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll begin, then,’ said Father Stephen. ‘I’ve found myself thinking about all sorts of odd things this week. Some I suppose I knew I was bringing with me. Others have just bubbled up along the way. I’ve found myself thinking a lot about Anna, as I’m sure you all have. And in particular, that when she came back from Spain, she embarked on a whole new career. That must have been a big decision, and a brave one, because she had a lot on her plate already. I’m not planning on a new career. But I have made a decision about something in my personal life. A change I want to make, that will take some courage. I won’t say any more now, because there are private conversations I need to have. But that’s something I’m taking home with me.’

  ‘Follow that!’ said Tamsin. ‘All I was going to say was that Milo and I’ve really enjoyed being part of th
e gang. It’s been a whole lot of fun. Cheers to Anna for a great idea!’

  ‘I was really nervous about the walking,’ said Catherine. ‘But I’ve surprised myself! The thing I’m going to try and do at home is go for regular walks.’

  ‘I’ve valued the quiet,’ said Mary Anne. ‘My life’s pretty hectic. Well, I’m sure we all have a lot on, back home. You know, busy working mum of teenagers, the lot. If I’m honest, I rush about like a scalded cat sometimes. Even when I’m supposedly relaxing I’m listening to music. I’m going to try to find more silence in my life.’

  Bit of a turn-up for the books, thought Tamsin. I’d have had Mary Anne down as listening to classical music on the treadmill and learning Mandarin in her sleep. All organized on a colour-coded spreadsheet. Good on her.

  Tom spoke. ‘I thought I knew all about Anna. After all, she was my sister. But by spending time with you guys . . . I’ve seen a whole new side to her. That’s been great.’

  ‘So I’m going to, like, come back to choir, maybe?’ said Beth unexpectedly. ‘If that’s cool with you?’ she added to Father Stephen.

  ‘Of course. Anyone else?’

  ‘I’ll remember the orchids,’ said Sam. ‘And Milo falling in the water!’ The two of them guffawed. Tamsin exchanged a despairing look with Theo.

  ‘My journey hasn’t been quite the same as yours,’ said Ruth. ‘I’ve had to dip in and out, as you know.’

  ‘We couldn’t have managed without you,’ said William loyally.

  ‘Thank you, darling. But what I wanted to say is that I’ve been thinking about St Christopher.’ She said nothing for a moment or two, and then carried on. ‘I looked him up the other evening, and like many of the saints, St Christopher’s story is a bit hazy. Legend has it that he carried an unknown child across a river on his back. Only afterwards did he discover that the child was Jesus. It all sounds a bit nonsensical to me. I think it was probably an ancient Greek myth that was appropriated by Christians for their own nefarious ends.’

  She gave Father Stephen a beady look and then smiled. ‘But the point is that because of this he became a patron saint of travellers. Like your St Botolph. Because he carried a child on a hazardous journey. The reason for my particular interest is that St Christopher is also associated with the hospice movement. You’ve probably heard of St Christopher’s Hospice in London, founded by Dame Cicely Saunders, who was a pioneer in the hospice movement. Interestingly, even the word “hospice” dates back to the days when the early Christian monastic orders welcomed the sick and needy. And travellers and pilgrims.’

  ‘All the same word,’ said William. ‘Hospes in Latin means guest, host or stranger.’

  ‘Thank you again, darling. I suspect I’m rambling somewhat. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’ve been reminded this week that we all need a bit of accompaniment on life’s journey. Sometimes, like St Christopher, we carry others. And sometimes we need carrying ourselves. That’s not always easy to admit. And I suppose I’d just add that there are all sorts of different ways of . . . of being of service to other people.’

  Tamsin watched as William took Ruth’s hand in his and patted it. At the same time, Ruth exchanged a look with Father Stephen in which Tamsin read – what? Respect? Understanding?

  ‘Thank you, Ruth,’ said Father Stephen with a little bow. He glanced in Theo’s direction. ‘Anyone else, before we move on?’

  Theo twisted slightly in his seat. But then he cleared his throat and spoke. ‘I’d just like to add . . . Well, thanks for coming. I wish Anna had been here . . .’ He let out a slightly strangled laugh, then rallied. ‘Of course I wish Anna was here. More than I can possibly express. What I’m trying to say is that she’d have been touched . . . I’m touched . . . that you’ve all given up this week to do this for her. It’s been a memorable . . . no, a good week.’

  ‘Too right,’ said Tamsin, meeting his gaze with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Theo smiled briefly, and sank into his seat, as if exhausted by the exertion of speaking. Which he probably was, she thought. Not a man who found it easy to talk about his emotions. But actually, he looked better. Or better than when they’d set out, at least. Less crushed.

  ‘Thank you, everyone,’ said Father Stephen. ‘Now, our final collective silence. Strangely, one of the things that can be difficult at the end of a pilgrimage is going home. It’s an adjustment, getting back to the everyday. Before we know it, we’ll find ourselves swept up in the ordinary busy-ness of life. We’ve been a group and now we’re going our separate ways. So, there’s our word: “scattering”. The opposite of gathering. The other bookend to our week of themes, if you like. Also chosen because at the end of the day, the immediate family are going to scatter Anna’s ashes.

  ‘So. It’s a short silence, just the time it takes from here to the Cathedral. Perhaps while we walk we might think a bit more about what we’re going to take home as we scatter.

  ‘Now, for the third thing I mentioned. Ruth’s just reminded us of the long history of hospitality to pilgrims. One of the kindnesses that those early hospices offered travellers was the washing of their feet. That’s a lovely thing to do for anyone. There’s the straightforward, practical reason that walking long distances takes a toll on the feet. But it’s also offered as an act of Christian service, in imitation of Jesus. You’ll remember that he washed the disciples’ feet before the Last Supper. I thought we’d do that here. Obviously, we’re not quite at our destination yet, but it might be rather more difficult to manage at the Cathedral. Has anyone thought about walking barefoot?’

  ‘Me!’ said Milo. ‘It’ll be cool. Can I, Mum?’

  ‘Don’t see why not,’ said Tamsin. ‘Is anyone else?’ As she spoke she caught sight of Beth’s face, which was clouded by anxiety.

  ‘Is it hygienic?’ asked Mary Anne. ‘There could be dog mess. Broken glass. Anything . . .’

  ‘Then we just need to watch where we walk,’ said Tamsin. ‘Should be easier in silence. But each to their own. No worries.’

  ‘I’m up for it,’ said Matt. ‘If that means I’ll qualify as a fully fledged pilgrim. Otherwise I feel a bit of a lightweight, only doing the last few miles. What about you, Beth?’

  ‘Um, like, OK?’ said Beth, looking uneasily at Sam. ‘But . . .’

  A penny dropped noisily in Tamsin’s brain. ‘Theo? You OK with this? We can call a collective halt if you like. But that should be now, I reckon. Before we all get caught up in the idea.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Theo. ‘I think—’

  ‘I want to do it,’ blurted out Sam, before his father could finish his sentence. ‘Only . . .’

  ‘Only what?’ asked Theo gently.

  ‘Can we walk slowly, please?’

  ‘In that case, might we hobble along together, Sam-I-Am?’ asked Ruth. ‘We can always go at the back.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Father Stephen, ‘I think it would be preferable if you led the way, Sam. Set the pace for us, and we’ll follow.’

  ‘And a child shall lead them,’ said William quietly.

  ‘If you like,’ said Father Stephen. ‘Now, can I suggest we begin our silence? If you plan to walk barefoot, now’s the time to take off your shoes and socks. If you’d like to have your feet washed, come up one at a time. If that doesn’t feel comfortable, you might like a prayer of blessing. Or simply stay quietly in your seats. When we’re ready, Ruth and Sam will lead the way and I’ll bring up the rear.’

  Tamsin watched as Father Stephen poured water from a thermos into the bowl, and placed a chair in front of him. William went first. He looked oddly vulnerable as he walked barefoot towards the altar. As Father Stephen knelt before him, Tamsin had to look away. It felt too intimate. She concentrated instead on Ruth, who after a momentary hesitation edged out of the pew and followed him, still wearing her shoes. She stood by the chair, and inclined her head for a blessing.

  As first Catherine, then Matt and Beth got up from their seats to take their turn, William moved to the pia
no and began to play softly. Tamsin had no idea what he was playing – she didn’t have a musical bone in her body – but the notes seemed to flow as effortlessly as the babble of a stream. The sound washed over her in a beguiling wave of emotion. As she bent to undo her laces she realized that her face was wet with tears. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. The words came into her mind unbidden. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

  Everyone, she thought, went up to present either feet or bowed head to Father Stephen. Tamsin was the last, and waited just behind the boys. At the last minute, Sam pushed Milo in front of him. His feet washed, Milo walked back to his seat with a cheeky grin in her direction. Then it was Sam’s turn. She watched as he half slumped onto the chair, looking intently at Father Stephen as if daring him to flinch. Father Stephen smiled reassuringly, and then took Sam’s feet tenderly in his hands, one at a time. He poured water over them and gently patted them dry. As she took the seat herself, Tamsin’s vision blurred with a fresh flow of tears. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death.

  They must have looked a strange sight, reflected Tamsin as the silent procession wound its way slowly through the streets. They were almost all barefoot, carrying their walking boots: only Mary Anne and Ruth had resisted the invitation. Mary Anne looked more self-conscious than the rest of them, as if she was walking fully clothed through a nudist colony. But a glance around suggested that by and large no one was giving them a second look. Well, if Father Stephen was right and this was traditional practice for pilgrims, maybe the people of Canterbury had seen it all before.