‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I do. Looking back, I think I have been steered on several occasions away from what I imagined to be my goal. For example, I never planned to be living in Barminster or working in Bishopsworth. Neither did I plan to meet…’ He stopped, feeling that he was risking being insensitive. ‘Yet, here I am.’
‘Which is where, exactly?’
‘Let’s just say that I confess to having felt very hypocritical for some time.’ He drank some tea. ‘I mean, how can I extol the basic tenets of the Christian faith, when here I am committing adultery?’ In turn, he stared at Anna, then out of the window, where he met and held the gaze of a passing stranger before returning his attention to Anna. ‘Perhaps one day, at some distant, undetermined future time, God will again show me that the time is right for me to do his work in that way. However, I am getting a very strong message that now is not the right moment.’ He drained his cup. As he did so, Anna gestured to the teapot.
‘More tea, Vicar?’
‘Or not, in this particular case.’ Anna’s left hand fled to cover her mouth and a look of incredulity sprang across her face as James raised an eyebrow. His own features softened into a smile. ‘Yes, please; more tea would be lovely.’
‘I am so sorry; that was another bad joke under the circumstances; but one I couldn’t resist. I don’t seem to be thinking before I speak this afternoon.’ She poured his tea and then another for herself. ‘Are you cross with me?’
‘No, of course not. Why should I be?’
‘James, you really are such a lovely man. I could quite easily…’ She stopped mid-sentence and giggled.
‘Quite easily what?’
‘Nothing.’ She giggled again as he caught hold of her wrists.
‘Anna Baldwin, I’ll not take you home until you tell me.’
‘Not in here. I will tell you outside. Come on, it looks as though we might get that rain you were forecasting earlier.’
He glanced towards the window and was surprised at how overcast it had become whilst they had been talking. ‘I think you may be right.’ Rising from his seat, he again caught the attention of the waitress, made a writing gesture in the air and then, turning back to Anna, ‘I’ll go and pay the bill.’
After a few moments, she joined him at the counter, waited whilst he collected his change and then passed him his umbrella. ‘I think you might need this.’
‘Thank you.’ Then, as they stepped outside to the fall of large water droplets as the rain started, ‘I don’t think I would have forgotten it for long!’ He quickly unfurled it as they walked, being careful to hold it to cover them both. Anna again took his arm and walked close to him. ‘It’s only a light shower; it will soon pass. What are you doing later?’
‘Don’t try to change the subject. Come on, Madam Mysterious. What couldn’t you say in the café?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember now. What were we talking about?’ She gave him an exaggerated look of innocence, but failed to supress yet another giggle.
‘You seemed to be under the momentary illusion that I was a “lovely man” and then said something about feeling able to do something. Time to own up or no lift back to Bishopsworth.’ He tried to reach across to tickle her, but the umbrella hindered him. She turned to look at him, her face a radiant picture of happiness.
‘I was going to say that I could just…’ She stopped walking, leant closer and put her lips to his left ear. ‘…bite your bum.’ She gave a gentle nip of his earlobe, let go of his arm and ran up the street laughing.
For a moment, James stood transfixed as first a wave of mild puzzlement, then overt pleasure rippled through him, until he too was laughing aloud. As he did so, the rain intensified, bouncing off the pavement as the light shower became torrential. Yet, he was oblivious to it. All he could think was how incredibly happy he suddenly felt. If ever there was a moment of revelation, then this, he thought, was that moment. Anna’s words echoed again in his mind and he laughed aloud again. Then, noticing that he was attracting a few strange looks from passers-by, he realised how strange he must appear: an adult man standing alone, laughing in the rain.
The rain… Anna… He anxiously stared up the hill, trying to see her amidst the rushing shoppers as they sought shelter. The recollection that she did not have an umbrella caused him to start running, splashing through puddles as he did so. He had lost sight of where she had run to, but guessed she would have headed for the car park. However, his alarm, quickly raised, speedily quelled when he spotted her as he crossed into the open square of the Bailgate, she having taken shelter on the steps under the pillared portico of a Georgian townhouse. Running across to join her, he ran up the two steps and squeezed in next to her, holding the umbrella in front of them for extra protection.
‘At last! I thought you had abandoned me.’
‘Me abandon you?’ For the second time in a matter of minutes, he laughed again. ‘You were the one who ran off! And besides…’ He half-turned towards her, met her eyes and tried to finish his sentence. ‘And besides…’ The words again faltered as he felt an unseen force pulling his face nearer to hers. Their lips found each other’s; at first, hesitantly and softly, then developing into a long, slow, passionate kiss, as the rain continued to beat down on the umbrella.
Re-focusing his eyes onto hers, he heard his own voice, barely audible above the rain. ‘I love you, Anna.’
‘Oh, James. I do hope so. I love you, too. I’ve done so for such a very long time.’
‘I know.’ They kissed again. ‘I really love you so much, Anna. I promise you, whatever direction this crossroads is going to send me, there has to be a way to make this work. I have to make it work.’
‘I believe you, darling.’ She cuddled in close to him. ‘After all we’ve been through, I so really hope you will.’
Beyond the confines of the portico and umbrella, the rain now fell as a deluge. They stood and watched as the path below the steps disappeared into a torrent of water.
‘It looks as though we might be here for a while. What do you suggest?’ He turned back to Anna, whose eyes were sparkling with happiness.
‘Well… you could always kiss me again…’
34
Barminster, East Yorkshire
April
Outside, the wind and rain lashed at the window with the ferocity one might associate more with a hurricane in the Caribbean rather than with an English spring morning. James watched as the water cascaded down the glass, decided that a weekend trip to the bird reserve at Bempton Cliffs was out of the question and settled down at his desk in the small box room he laughingly called his study. Downstairs, Janice was doing something meaningless with the contents of the kitchen cupboards, or so he judged from the noises emanating from that direction. Meaningless, thought James, as the re-arrangement of the cupboards was about the only time the pans were handled with any firm intent. Indeed, some of them were still in the same pristine condition as the day they were received as a wedding present.
He selected a tape cassette, inserted it into the portable music-system perched precariously on top of the chest of drawers behind him and pressed the play button, a movement he could just about accomplish with the simple expedient of rocking backwards on his chair. As the strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons commenced with the first movement optimistically called ‘Spring’, he opened a copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and started to read the introduction.
Chaucer’s English was difficult at the best of times. However, he had received an interesting edition of the tales for his last birthday, with the original Chaucerian version on the left-hand page and a modern translation on the right. It was an easy task to simultaneously read the original and attempt an understanding of the antiquated language and then compare progress and accuracy. No doubt some would consider such activity to be a crazy, somewhat mentally masochistic exercise, he thought. Nonetheless, it was one he found of great interest, never ceasing to be amazed at how the English languag
e had developed over the centuries.
Downstairs, the telephone rang and he paused his reading to see whether Janice would answer it. It was rarely for him, especially at weekends. In fact, about the only people who did telephone on a regular basis were Janice’s mother and sister. The ringing stopped on its fourth cycle and he heard Janice’s voice.
‘Hello?’ There followed a short pause and then, ‘Yes, it is…’
There followed an even longer pause during which time he presumed that the caller was speaking. He waited for a few moments to assess whether it was for him. However, the silence from Janice became more drawn out and only intermittently interrupted by a few non-committal noises. He finally decided that it was not for him and started to read The Miller’s Tale. It was to be a false start and he only got as far as line three before his attention was once again distracted. Various phrases of the one-sided dialogue downstairs started to intrude into his concentration because of their inherent strangeness; a strangeness coupled with Janice’s voice becoming progressively louder and taking on a more urgent quality.
‘What? Who are you? Who am I speaking to?’
To whom… he thought, subconsciously correcting Janice’s grammar. As the nature and flow of questions clearly indicated a degree of alarm, he put his book down and leant back in his chair, the better to hear the one-sided exchange.
‘How do you know all this?… When?… Where?… Who?… For how long?’
The questions started to come thick and fast. With increasing intrigue, he leant further back in his chair and tried to see down the stairs, as though sight of Janice might bring some clarification to the nature of the call. As it was, the newel post of the bannister obscured his view.
‘Are you sure?… Who with?… No, I need to know… please tell me… no… please… no, don’t hang up… urrgh…’
She banged down the receiver. James winced at the impact.
‘Janice, what’s the matter? Who was that on the telephone?’ There was silence from downstairs. Pausing Vivaldi in mid-season, he tried again. ‘Who was that? Is everything alright?’ There still being no response, he rose and took the few paces to the head of the stairs.
Janice was sitting motionless on the bottom step, facing towards the front door. On the floor beside her was the telephone, where it had fallen after she had slammed down the receiver. A high-pitched tone started to emanate from the receiver, ignored by Janice. Her continued lack of response caused him to start down the stairs.
‘Is everything alright with your moth—?’ His enquiry, as well as his descent, was stopped mid-flow as she twisted round and glared at him, some primitive instinct kicking in to inform him that something was far from ‘alright’ and that further assessment of the situation was called for.
‘Janice, what is going on? What has happened?’
‘You bastard!’
She spat the word rather than spoke it. As she did so, the depths of James’ brain produced the distracted analogy of a poisoned dart leaving a blowpipe. He maintained his distance and continued to watch from the relative safety of the second step down, his sense of awareness heightened and his mind busy assimilating the various clues.
‘It might be helpful if you could just—’
She thumped a hand down on the step above her and rose to her feet. ‘You bastard… bastard… bastard…’ The word was repeated several times as Janice started to pace around the small area between the base of the stairs, the front door and the rest of the living room. Once again, James’ mind distractedly caused him to liken her words to those of a Buddhist mantra and he again had to force himself to concentrate on the immediate problem. With a mounting sense of illuminated foreboding, he began to sense that he, and just possibly his relationship with Anna, was the focus of Janice’s rage. As he was reaching that degree of insight, she disappeared through the living room and out of view. He started again to descend the stairs, calling over the bannister towards the kitchen where she had evidently fled.
‘Janice, it might be helpful if I could understand what it is that—’
‘I’ll tell you what it is, you sneaky bastard; you two-timing, lying git.’ She re-appeared from the kitchen, looking as angry as ever. However, it was not her words that this time brought James to a standstill, but the ten-inch kitchen knife she was thrusting in his direction in time with her words. ‘You bastard. I might have guessed something was going on… working late… evening meetings… how many times were you screwing her when I thought you were elsewhere?’ She moved towards the stairs, continuing to wave the knife as she progressed.
‘Janice, I…’ She stabbed forcefully at the carpet of the first step, her face a contortion of fury, causing James to retreat to the comparative safety of the landing. ‘Janice, I am sure we—’
‘Don’t you “we” anything, you deceitful bastard. Be unfaithful to me, would you?’ She stabbed at the next step. ‘I’ll teach you to cheat on me. You’ll wish you had never met her by the time I’m finished with you.’ She started up the stairs, banging the blade of the knife into each step before her as she ascended, as though emphasising her approach. James backed away from the stairs in horror.
‘Janice, don’t you think you are being a bit melodramatic? I’m sure we could discuss—’
‘Melodramatic? Discuss? You’re nothing but a deceitful low-life!’ She freed the knife and took the next few steps with a speed of intent.
With growing terror, James fled into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and fastened the lock. It was only a push-button device on the handle and he knew that, if she thought about it, she could unlock it by using the knife in the small slot in the handle on her side. He leant against the door, which shuddered as she in turn tried the handle, barged against the door and then kicked at it. He called to her through the door.
‘Janice, please, listen to me… this is no way for us to—’
‘Who is she? You bastard…’
THUD.
‘How long have you been screwing her?’
THUD.
‘Do you love her?’
THUD.
‘You deceitful rat.’
THUD.
The bathroom door shuddered with every blow, as the kitchen knife was driven into the wooden veneer. With mounting alarm, he wondered how long the thin door would hold out. He knew very little about building matters, but had once heard such doors referred to as ‘egg box doors’, the speaker alluding to their flimsiness. He eyed the window, wistfully wishing that it had more than the small light at the top that opened. He might just be able to squeeze through that, but what was on the opposite side? He tried to picture where the drainpipe ran and then what would happen if he took a chance on the sheer drop to the concrete below. Perhaps he would break a leg or perhaps he would get stuck half-out of the window, and then what? He shuddered at the unfolding nightmare in his mind’s eye.
‘How could you?’ Her voice was becoming more of a screech than a shout.
THUD.
‘You lying, cheating, BASTARD you.’
THUD.
He looked around the small bathroom in desperation. It went against all that he stood for to hit a woman, but he had never had one maniacally wielding a knife at him in the past. If there was something he could use in self-defence, just to give him a chance. With mounting dismay, he saw just the usual paraphernalia of shampoo and conditioner bottles, toothbrushes, soap, toilet brush… toilet brush… perhaps better than nothing, he thought.
THUD.
His attention was drawn back to the door as the frame shuddered, accompanied by the distinctive noise of splintering wood.
THUD.
Her determination seemed matched by her rage.
‘Janice, please be reasonable! This is not going to solve anything. We need to—’
THUD.
‘I hate you, hate you, hate you!’
THUD.
The door shuddered again, followed by more splintering wood. A ceramic tile loosened and fell into the b
ath, making him jump even more. He thought again. Perhaps if he waited for the knife to embed in the wood and then opened the door quickly, he could over-power her before she managed to retrieve the knife? At least he might stand a chance with her unarmed…
‘How do you expect me to be reasonable?’
THUD.
‘How do I know you haven’t given me AIDS? I’ll kill you, you bastard.’
THUD.
‘Aaaargh…’ The scream was more of frustration than pain, but the preceding metallic noise suggested to James that the knife had broken.
‘Janice?’ Nothing. ‘Janice… are you ok?’ More silence. His heart pounding more forcefully than ever, he unlocked the door as quietly as possible and began to open it an inch at a time, ready to slam it shut again at a moment’s notice if necessary. As he did so, he heard the sound of someone running downstairs followed by the front door being slammed shut. He opened the door wider and peered through the gap, surveying the broken handle of the knife on the landing floor, surrounded by a liberal scattering of wood chippings.
‘Janice?’
He tentatively stepped onto the landing and listened again. The house responded with an eerie silence. From outside, the sound of a car starting came through the bathroom window, followed by the racing of an over-accelerated engine as it sped off the drive and up the road.
Visibly shaking, he moved to the front-bedroom window and peered out. Janice’s car had been the second on the drive. However, an empty space and tyre tracks across the small patch of wet lawn were all that remained to show that it had recently been there. As he took it all in, he felt his adrenaline level plummet and a powerful sense of relief envelope him. There being no further need for flight or fight, his shaking legs gave way and he sank to the floor, resting his head against the nearby wardrobe. With glazed eyes and his mind empty, he stared at the carnage on the landing, where the blade of the knife remained firmly embedded at head height in the bathroom door.
Lamplight in the Shadows Page 30