Knowing Anna

by Sarah Meyrick

  Scattering, thought Tamsin. Her thoughts were certainly scattering. She was all over the place. Needed to pull herself together, get a grip. She wasn’t at all sure what had gone on back there at the church. She wasn’t someone who cried, let alone prayed. Safer to put a lid on things and get on with the task in hand, whatever that was. Yet there she was, saying Hail Mary. Sister Bridget would be turning in her grave.

  Music could do that, though. That’s why soldiers marched into battle to the sound of pipes and drums. You could whip up a mood with music. Or was it the other way round? She suddenly remembered a quotation Anna had taped to the fridge in their London flat. ‘Music is an outburst of the soul. Delius.’ Tamsin had remarked on it the day she moved in, but Anna just laughed and said, ‘Pretentious? Moi?’ Not long afterwards a tidy-up consigned the yellowing scrap of paper to the bin, but Tamsin had never forgotten it.

  Smith was tugging at his lead. Probably couldn’t understand why they were walking at a snail’s pace. And now they’d practically ground to a halt. Beside her, Father Stephen was looking anxiously ahead. But no: there was no problem. Sam, flanked by William and Ruth, had simply reached what looked like the vast gate to a castle and they were navigating their way carefully through the narrow passage around it.

  ‘Halfway there,’ murmured Father Stephen. ‘The next bit should be easier because it’s pedestrianized.’

  She nodded, and tried to return to silent contemplation. Hopeless! She was bombarded by distractions. Sounds, smells, sights. Perhaps she should give in to them. Use her senses to experience the moment, to identify with pilgrims from the past. The hubbub of the city. Shops, tourist tat. Presumably traders had always done well out of the sea of visitors. Smells of food and drink to tempt the passing pilgrim. She could detect a whiff of coffee, hot pastries, the ubiquitous reek of fast food, cooking oil. The sound of conversation. Someone yelling into a mobile phone. A street musician, singing rather badly to his own guitar accompaniment. The bustle, the press of people was quite overwhelming. Was that because she was worried that a heavy boot might land on her bare feet? Or just the contrast with the past eight days which had been spent largely in peaceful countryside? How quickly you got used to a different pace of life. That rhythm . . . she was going to miss the rhythm of the days. And the silence – she should treasure it while she could. Tomorrow she would be back in the relentless routine: get Milo up and off to school, go to work, dash to pick him up, cook dinner, do the chores, collapse into bed. Where was the space for silence there? Note to self: Find more space in my life. Another chore for the list.

  At last, it seemed, they were in the heart of the city, surrounded by ancient buildings. God, it was so easy to take all this history for granted if you grew up with it, thought Tamsin. But you only had to raise your eyes from street level to see the most amazing architecture. She wished she could ask Father Stephen to give her a guided tour. Explain what was what, and when was when, for that matter. They turned down a narrow lane into the Butter Market towards another great gate. Above them towered the Cathedral. Their little group clustered to one side of the gate into the Precincts, jostled by tour groups. A cacophony of different languages assaulted Tamsin’s ears. Father Stephen, meanwhile, made his way to the front of the group, and after a word with the man on the gate, shepherded them through the entrance.

  ‘Come through, everyone, this way,’ he said. ‘As pilgrims we enter as guests. Well done, everyone, over here.’ He steered them to the right, away from the crowd, towards the Welcome Centre where a grey-haired priest was waiting.

  ‘Stephen! Welcome! How very good to see you again,’ she said, kissing him on both cheeks. ‘Pilgrims, you’re all very welcome here at Canterbury after your long journey. Many congratulations!’

  Stephen’s face lit up. ‘Everyone, meet my good friend, Jane. We were at college together, many years ago. Now, we have a choice. It’s an hour or so before Evensong. Jane has kindly offered to take us down to the Crypt, to offer prayers for our safe arrival. Others of you, I know, prefer to mark the moment with a pint of beer. So that’s another option. Or you might just want to enjoy your picnics here in the Precincts. Can I suggest we gather again at about three o’clock?’

  Tamsin looked round for Milo. He and Sam had collapsed onto the grass with Matt, Beth and Chloe, and were digging into their backpacks to find their sandwiches.

  ‘Pint, Tamsin?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Ah, think not, thanks, mate,’ she said. ‘Reckon the kids have got the right idea. I’ll stay here with them. The others might, though.’

  ‘Tamsin,’ said Ruth. ‘That conversation. If you please.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ said Tamsin. ‘You and William going to the Crypt? Because I’m not sure I can really sneak Smith in.’

  ‘William will want to go, I’m sure. And if everyone else is going to the pub, I suggest we ask Beth to take responsibility for Smith and the boys. Because you and I are going into that café over there for a cup of tea,’ she said firmly. ‘I need to take the weight off my feet.’

  Tamsin, comprehensively cornered, submitted as graciously as she felt able and allowed Ruth to steer her into a tea shop. As she stood in line to order the drinks at the counter, she watched Ruth purloin the last remaining free table from a couple of Japanese tourists, by playing the fragile old lady card. You had to admire the woman. She got what she wanted. She wondered uneasily what Ruth wanted from her.

  ‘There!’ said Tamsin, feeling the need to reassert herself as she put down the tray. ‘Earl Grey for two, with a choice of milk or lemon. D’you need sugar?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Ruth. ‘Would you pour, please?’

  ‘Sure thing. Now, what’s up? How can I help?’

  Ruth took a sip from her tea, found it too hot, and put the cup carefully back on its saucer. After all that, she seemed reluctant to begin. ‘I’ve been wondering about your ex-husband,’ she said at last. ‘Are you still in touch?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your ex-husband. You never mention him. Nor does Milo.’

  ‘Strewth, Ruth! Where the heck’s this come from?’

  ‘Bringing up a child on your own can’t be easy,’ said Ruth, gazing into the middle distance. ‘Now that my grandchildren have lost their mother, I’m more aware of that than ever. So naturally, I found myself wondering what part Milo’s father plays in his life.’

  ‘None at all,’ said Tamsin shortly. ‘And he was never my husband, as it goes. One thing I did get right.’

  ‘Is that entirely fair on Milo? Have you thought about the long-term impact on him?’

  Tamsin felt her temper flare. ‘Have I thought about it? Good grief, Ruth! Milo’s well-being is my first and last thought, morning, noon and night. If you must know, that’s the whole reason I left Frankie!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I reckoned that if Frankie was prepared to beat the living daylights out of me it wouldn’t be long before he raised his hand against Milo. That wasn’t a risk I was prepared to take.’ She was shaking now, and realized that she was almost shouting. But how dare Ruth question her care of Milo? What did she know about anything?

  ‘I apologize,’ said Ruth, fiddling with a teaspoon. ‘I had no idea about any of that. It sounds . . . ghastly.’ She took another, longer sip of tea. ‘I suppose . . . well, I have a more general concern. About the bringing up of boys, I mean. I think, on balance, that it’s good for boys to know their fathers. And that fathers deserve to know their sons. Even if the circumstances are . . . less than ideal.’ She looked directly at Tamsin for the first time since they had sat at the table. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Tamsin?’

  Tamsin felt the blood drain away from her face. She felt suddenly, violently sick. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up so abruptly that her chair fell backwards to the floor with a crash. Blindly, she barged her way through the crowded tea room towards the Ladies, shoved open the door and retched. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! How the fuck had she ended up in t
his mess? Mind you, that was a pretty stupid question. It was no big mystery. The usual story of one stupid, stupid mistake and the regret that she’d live with for the rest of her life. Except how could she possibly regret having Milo in her life? Trouble was, she’d spent so long letting it be understood that Frankie was Milo’s father that she’d practically convinced herself it was true. Allowed herself to believe her own story.

  Well, it was bound to happen at some point. She’d become gradually more uneasy about the physical likeness between the two boys recently, more so than ever this week. Seeing them on the bench together next to Brother Percival! They were like peas in a pod. In her heart of hearts, she knew the facade was becoming increasingly fragile. But did it have to come out now? In a twee English tea shop? Today? What was she going to do? Would she and Milo have to move away, start all over again? And Ruth, of all people. Anna’s mother! Oh God, what must she think of her? Tamsin leaned over the basin and splashed her face with cold water. There was a small window, just big enough to climb through. Tamsin allowed herself a brief fantasy of clambering out, scooping up Milo from the Precincts, running for the airport, fleeing the country. Again. But how the heck would that help anything? She needed to speak to Ruth, find out what she planned to do with her knowledge.

  Reluctantly, then, Tamsin made her way back to the table by the door where Ruth sat waiting, with every appearance of tranquillity. Tamsin brushed off the concerned enquiry of the waitress with a rueful wave – let them think she was mad, or, heaven help her, pregnant – and sat down. For a minute or two, neither spoke.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ said Tamsin eventually.

  ‘And how, exactly, do you know what I think?’ Ruth tone was icy.

  ‘Well, of course I don’t. But you probably hate me. I would in your shoes.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s quite the language I’d choose.’

  ‘Look, all I mean is . . . it wasn’t an affair, or anything.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No. I’d never . . .’

  ‘But you did.’

  Tamsin sighed. ‘Yeah. I did,’ she said flatly. ‘We did. Both of us. Once. One bloody idiotic mistake.’

  ‘And?’

  Head in hands, Tamsin considered how to reply. Beth’s birthday. She’d been away all week, due back on the Saturday morning, but bailed out a day early. She arrived in Farmleigh late on Friday night with her tail between her legs because she’d been turned down for a presenter’s job that she wanted – really wanted, had been led to believe was in the bag, in fact – and fuming because she’d missed out to mediocre Mike. Everyone knew that he wasn’t a patch on Tamsin – absolutely no personality – but the station manager had told her in no uncertain terms that her Aussie accent was too pronounced for BBC local radio. For goodness’ sake! It was jobs for the boys; they’d had it all stitched up before the interviews. Her temporary contract had come to an end and she was high and dry, out of a job. So she’d been sore as anything, and there was Theo, tipsy after a good night out and sweetly affronted on her behalf. They opened his mother’s sloe gin and had a high old time putting the world to rights. And before she knew it, unforgivably, she found herself in bed with her best friend’s husband.

  ‘And I left the bloody country,’ she said. ‘Got on the first plane possible home to Oz. You might just give me credit for that.’

  ‘Did you tell Anna what happened?’

  ‘God, no!’ Tamsin was appalled. ‘I was far too ashamed. And how would it have helped Anna to know? In Theo’s defence . . . I think they’d been going through a very bad patch. I get the impression that when Anna came home from Spain they finally sorted things out. Got back on track.’ Certainly, by the time she and Milo moved back to the UK the whole shameful episode seemed like a bad dream, from another life.

  ‘Does William know?’ asked Tamsin. Ruth shook her head. ‘And now what? What are you going to do?’

  Ruth let out a long deep breath. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think the main question is, does Theo know?’

  ‘Does Theo know what?’ asked Theo, as he and William walked through the door.

  The next couple of hours were a blur. Looking back at the end of the day, Tamsin could remember only jumbled snapshots of the afternoon. For all its splendour, Canterbury Cathedral might as well have been a bus shelter as far as she was concerned. She took in nothing. After a brief but excruciating conversation with Theo, she made her way back to the Precincts, and sent Milo in to Choral Evensong under Matt’s special care on the grounds that Smith wasn’t allowed in, and she was feeling crook.

  She watched Ruth – who looked smaller, somehow – make her way unevenly across the green to the Cathedral doors, leaning heavily on William’s arm. Theo looked simply shell-shocked. Everyone else – remarkably – seemed to have hung onto the morning’s good cheer, oblivious of the bomb that had just been detonated.

  ‘You do look peaky,’ said Mary Anne with a frown. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I’m good!’ she said with false cheer. ‘Think maybe I ate something. I’ll stay in the fresh air and meet you guys later. No worries!’

  She did remember walking round and round the perimeter of the Cathedral, with a slightly bewildered Smith. She could just make out the sound of singing. Briefly, she tried to picture their group inside. Would Theo be looking askance at Milo? Would the others notice? Her head began to swim again. Nothing seemed to make sense any more.

  When they emerged, one small group among a crowd of visitors, Milo came running up. ‘Hey, Mum, they read out our names. All of us, even Smith!’

  ‘That’s great, doll. Shame I missed it! You behave yourself?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ said Milo indignantly. ‘I was as good as gold. Wasn’t I, Matt?’

  ‘Top marks,’ said Matt.

  By half past four, Tamsin and Milo were in the back of the school minibus with Beth and Smith. Father Stephen sat in the front, chatting animatedly to David. Theo and Sam were travelling with Ruth and William. There’d been a round of affectionate goodbyes to the others who were heading for the station and home.

  ‘You must promise to let me know what you think of my Red Velvet cake,’ said David to Mary Anne as he pressed a cake tin into her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I adore baking with vegetables, but beetroot? Really?’

  ‘Must you go?’ Ruth asked Tom.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, but yes. I’ll ring you.’ He kissed his mother and turned to Tamsin.

  ‘You’ve got my number if you ever want that drink,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Tamsin distractedly. ‘Matt not joining us?’ she added to Beth.

  ‘So he offered to come,’ she said unhappily. ‘But I put him off. It felt . . . like, too much, too soon?’

  Now Milo was sulking because she wouldn’t let him ride with Sam, but Tamsin had put her foot down. ‘Give them some space, mate,’ she said. ‘And look, when we get there, you and I stay in the background. This is a family matter.’ Oh God, the irony!

  ‘Then why are we even going?’

  ‘Because there’s something I’ve got to do. Something for Anna.’

  Once they’d cleared the city, it was only another twenty minutes’ drive to the coast. David pulled into the car park, next to Ruth’s Volvo.

  Theo took Tamsin’s elbow, and steered her away from the family. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said with a frown. ‘I’m struggling to get my head round this. I still can’t quite believe it.’

  ‘I know,’ said Tamsin, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘I’ve had nine years to get used to the idea and it still seems pretty unlikely.’

  ‘But you’re quite sure?’

  ‘Look, mate, I’m sure. And even if I had any doubt at all . . . well, there’s the evidence . . .’ She inclined her head towards Milo, taking turns with Sam to throw a stick for Smith. Theo shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Look, Theo. I’m not asking you for anything. Today’s not the day for this, anyway. Take som
e time to get used to the idea.’

  ‘Theo?’ Father Stephen approached, a round white box in his hands. ‘Are you about ready?’

  For a fleeting moment, Theo looked blank. Then he appeared to collect himself. ‘Ready,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘Time to go. Everyone?’

  They walked up the hill, slowly for Ruth, towards the ruined towers of the medieval church. The day was still warm, and there was a light breeze coming off the sea, sending little wisps of cloud scudding across the sky. In the distance, gulls swooped shrilly over the surf. Waves crashed onto the beach, noisily dragging the pebbles into the undertow. All around them, families were playing games, walking dogs, eating picnics. A nearby clutch of caravans made it a popular place for holidaymakers. Tamsin wondered how easy it would be to find a quiet spot. But maybe it didn’t matter. Life goes on, and other clichés. She reached out for Milo’s hand, glad that she’d left Smith with David in the car park below. He looked up with a little smile of surprise, but made no resistance.

  ‘Here, I think,’ said Theo, fifty metres or so beyond the ruins. ‘Ruth – would you like the bench?’

  They clustered around her, in silence, unsure quite what to do. Tamsin took off her backpack and put it at her feet. Father Stephen lowered his head and draped a purple stole around his neck. At a nod from Theo, he stepped forward.

  ‘Dear friends,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be here together. It’s tempting to say that we’ve reached the end of our journey, but of course, that’s not really true. But we have reached the end of our week’s pilgrimage. We have one last but important task left to us. When we scatter Anna’s ashes, we’ll be marking another step on your journey as you say goodbye to her.

  ‘Theo’s chosen this place because of the happy memories he has of coming here with Anna on their honeymoon.’ He smiled encouragingly at Theo, who was visibly struggling to control his emotions. ‘I must say, the view is magnificent. I can’t think of a better choice,’ he continued. ‘But just before we begin, there’s one more thing. Tamsin?’