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From Winamop.com
As if by Fire
by Andrew Lee-Hart
“If any man's work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as if by fire.” 1 Corinthians 3 15
I
Marie once said to me in a moment of spite, “people think you are lovely; a kind man who will do anything for anyone; but if they knew how unpleasant and selfish you really are, they would be shocked. You are no saint, not even close.”
We had had some kind of disagreement, probably over money or David our son, and at the time I thought she was just being nasty, which was something she was frequently… saying whatever she thought would hurt, so I just laughed it off and repeated it to a couple of colleagues, who found it less funny than I did.
It is true I had never done anything particularly valorous at that point in my life, but then I had never had the opportunity. On the other hand I had never done anything particularly bad either; I had not hit anyone since I was at school, never robbed a shop or taken drugs. I just floated along, trying to live my life without causing anyone grief or pain.
And then my moment of heroism arrived.
II
It was the mother I first noticed; I am getting on (fifty last summer), but if I see an attractive young woman I will still give her a second look, maybe even a third or fourth, and then risk a quick smile. The woman in front of me had long black hair, unbrushed but sexy, and a shapely bottom, covered by tight black jeans. I slowed my pace and for a few moments admired her body, before eventually walking past her. She was oblivious, there was the smell of tobacco and she was blowing smoke upwards, towards the Heavens, enjoying a moment of harmony with the heavens, whilst at her side a young boy held her hand and chattered away to his heedless mother.
I was on my way to work; the bank where I am based is approximately a mile and a half from my flat, and after a minor health scare earlier this year my doctor had advised me to do more exercise, so I walked to and from work whilst my car sat unused outside my house. I am not sure that it did me much good, but I enjoyed the walk and it saved me money.
There is a busy road just in front of the Bank, and I stood waiting for the lights to change or for a break a in the traffic, when suddenly I felt something push past me, instinctively I grabbed hold of whatever is was, and the momentum pulled me off the pavement and into the traffic, but I held on to what proved to be a child. By luck I had grabbed hold of his jacket which was zipped up (despite the warm day), so I was able to swing him back behind me and out of danger. And then there was a shout and the sound of brakes and I felt an excruciating pain in my right knee. As I stumbled to the ground, feeling sick and dizzy I realised that I had been hit by something and was in a lot of pain.
There was noise all around; people shouting and crying.
“Oh Kyle. What were you doing? Are you okay?”
“Are you okay mate, I did try and brake.”
“It is my fault I should have been looking where I was going. And now that man is hurt, and you are going to be late for school.”
“It is fine, I am okay, just my knee I think. I work over there, they have a box…a first aid box.”
“Oh don’t cry. You will be fine.”
“Don’t try and stand up, you look faint.”
“Please don’t worry, everything will be okay.”
The driver sat me in his car, and then my colleagues Lizzie and Ian, who had seen the commotion from over the road, came over.
“Oh Mr Hart, that looks nasty, you need to go to A and E, look you are bleeding and you are probably in shock. We will tell Eleanor what happened.”
“He was a hero” said the driver, “he saved that kid’s life.”
Lizzie patted my shoulder, “let this man take you to The City, you need to be checked over.”
Passive, I let them fuss and “Mark” drive me to the hospital, where within an hour I was tucked up in bed, with bandages on my right knee and elbow, and a cup of unpleasant tea at my side. I was going to ring somebody to tell them what had happened, but could not think of anybody to call, only David, who was probably at work and who I had not spoken to for awhile, so instead I lay back and enjoyed having nowhere to go and nothing to do.
III
I assumed that I would be released within a couple of hours but the doctor said that I would be staying overnight at least, and maybe longer.
“Your body has taken quite a jolt so I want to keep you in just to check nothing major has happened. Nothing to worry about, but I like to be certain. Just rest and we will see how you go.”
I enjoyed it at first, they eventually let me leave the ward, so I hobbled down to W H Smiths at the entrance, and bought a couple of detective novels, and then I had a tea in the Costa before returning to the ward, by which time I was already bored. The other patients all had visitors, so I just sat and read one of the books I had bought, half-hoping that someone would visit me, but knowing that they wouldn’t.
After my evening meal I must have dropped asleep, because I suddenly realised that there was a young woman sat by my bed playing on her phone.
“Oh Hello” I said and she looked round and gave me a smile.
“I am sorry, did I wake you. I just wanted to thank you for what you did. You saved Kyle’s life – Kyle’s my son, the little tyke - but I have left him with his dad, it gave me a chance to get out. I am Ash by the way.”
And then I recognised her; she had brushed her hair and had put some make-up on, but was wearing the same jacket and jeans as earlier, and looked incredibly beautiful; dark brown eyes and flawless skin.
“It is okay, it was just instinct, I saw him running into the road, and grabbed him. I am glad that I was there”
“Well you saved his life. Thank you. Oh and I bought you these, I made them this afternoon.” And she handed me a tin of chocolate brownies, which smelt divine.
“Oh thank you, but there was no need. You will have to help me eat them.”
“What about your other visitors?”
“Oh don’t worry about them” I told her, “let’s share,” and offered her the tin.
So Ash and I sat there eating cake; I noticed that she got a bit of chocolate on her fingers, and I had a sudden urge to lick it off, to have her finger in my mouth, and slowly bite it. We said nothing at first just smiled at each other, as buzzers went off and nurses hurried past.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked out of nowhere.
I looked at her puzzled, “uhm not really; I am what is called an agnostic; I am not sure what I believe, but I certainly don’t go to church. Do you?”
“Well I was thinking of going to church, after what happened. I feel that I ought to offer thanks, for you saving Kyle’s life. I guess I am kind of a spiritual person…but it is not something people really talk about.”
She picked up another cake and bit it in half;
“Something happened years ago, when I was a kid. I woke up with this awful headache, but my mum made me go into school anyway, she just thought I was acting up or didn’t care. I don’t blame her really, but the teacher took one look at me - Mrs Locke she was called – and got the school secretary to drive me to hospital. It turned out that I had meningitis so she saved my life. Apparently she had lost her sister to it and so knew what to look for,,,.. another teacher might not have spotted it; you know what school is like; hundreds of children complaining of this and that, but she realised. That must be some kind of miracle,,,. And now you saved Kyle. I feel that I should be grateful and thank God, if it wasn’t for him sending you he would be dead. It is as if I am protected...perhaps because I am so careless and God sends me angels to look after me.”
I listened, unsure of what to say. Fortunately at that moment there was the ringing of a bell and a nurse came round to say that visiting was over, so that the patients could get some rest.
“I enjoyed that” Ash told me, “although I do need a fag. It is nice to have some peace; you are a very calming person. I would like to visit you again.”
“You are very welcome, although I might be out tomorrow morning; I feel okay, not sure why they have kept me in for so long.”
I hoped that Ash would visit me again, because despite the religious talk; it was flattering to have an attractive young woman giving me her full attention, not the cliché of the single mother more interested in her phone than her son, that I had first thought she was…and she did make delicious chocolate brownies.
Ash took my number and then bent over and kissed me on the lips, they were rough against mine, and she tasted of chocolate, and for a moment, I felt her body against mine, and I wanted to hold her tight, but I resisted and just lightly stroked her back.
“Thank you” she whispered, and then was gone.
It wasn’t until Monday I was released from hospital, I was not sure why, it was as if they had forgotten about me. The food wasn’t great, but no worse than the ready meals I ate at home, and at least I wasn’t having to cook it, and I was able to sleep and read the Telegraph every day. Even so by the time I was discharged I was glad to go; tired of the unremitting noise from the other patients and staff on my ward, and I even missed work a little. I was sad that I would not see a couple of the nurses again, but knew that they would have forgotten me before I had left the hospital grounds.
To my disappointment, Ash had not visited me again in hospital. I often thought of how she had kissed me, and our sitting and eating her homemade cakes, whilst the world went by. But she has a young son, and so it was unrealistic to expect another visit. But I missed her and hoped that I would see her again.
Once home I rang the bank but nobody seemed bothered at my few days off. Eleanor, my line manager, told me not to hurry back, and to rest. I even rang my son David (or Dave as he had taken to calling himself), and perhaps exaggerated my injuries, and we ended up having a long virtual chat about football and politics.
And then on Monday afternoon, as I sat at home watching “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” and thinking about what to make for dinner, Ash sent me a text.
“Sorry I didn’t get chance to visit you again. Hope U are OK xxxx.”
“Don’t worry, I know you are busy” I replied, “I am back home safe and sound. Take care.”
I thought that was the end of the conversation and started to look through my freezer for a ready meal.
But then my phone pinged again.
“If you want to visit me one afternoon, I owe you. I live at 23 Hawksley Street.” This was followed by a love heart.
“Thank you Ash. But you don’t owe me anything at all. I am glad I was able to help.”
And then I made dinner feeling a bit better about myself, not only had I saved a life, but had also refused to take advantage of his attractive mother, although I could not help but wonder what would have happened if I did take her up on her offer, if that was what it was.
IV
On my return to the bank I was a bit of a hero, at least for a couple of days. Lizzie hugged me and referred to me as “the man of the hour”, whilst the men made good natured jokes and patted me on the back. For the first time since I started working at the bank, I felt valued and liked. I was not exactly unpopular at work; I had had no major fallings out with anyone, and would chat to my colleagues during tea breaks, but I never met up with them outside work, although I knew that the other members of staff did go out occasionally for a drink and a meal. Perhaps it was because I was just that bit older than the rest of them that our relationship stayed strictly within work.
The weekend after the incident, I met up with Dave and spent the day in London, visiting a display about Mozart at the British Museum. It meant one of my two days off was taken up, but it was good to see him, and there was a bit of banter between us which I enjoyed. Although by the end of the day I was glad to get home as I was exhausted making conversation and all the walking and travelling by tube.
And then slowly everything went back to normal; Dave and I did not repeat our excursion to London, although we occasionally chatted on the phone. And work carried on as it always had done; I did my job and exchanged small talk with my colleagues, but I was back to being a bit of an outsider. My moment of fame had gone, without any permanent change to my life.
And then one Sunday afternoon, a month or so afterwards, I was walking through Verlamium Park when I happened to glance at the children’s playground and saw Ash sat on the bench smoking and gazing into the distance, and there was Kyle running about like a mad thing. Should I go over and talk to them? After a moment I thought that I would just say hello, I didn’t need to stop, but it would be rude if I didn’t acknowledge them, after all we had a bond, and perhaps were friends. And I did need a sit down after all my walking.
“Hello Ash” I said, “how’s Kyle.”
“Oh hello Mr Hart…you have caught me having a cheeky smoky.”
“We all need our vices” I told her.
She smiled, “Kyle is fine.” and she looked around for a moment, before eventually spotting him on the slide. She smelt of tobacco and perfume. I sat down beside her; it was late Autumn now, and beginning to get cold, so we both pushed close together to keep warm.
“How are you getting on?” she asked, “how’s the bank?”
“Okay, I didn’t know you knew I worked in the bank.”
“I saw you a couple of days ago, and followed you….I was just curious.”
“Oh yes, I have been working there for a long, long time. Part of the furniture (ha)”.
I felt a glow that she had seen me and been curious enough to follow me.
“So are you married then?”
“No, I am divorced and have a son, but that’s all.”
“No girlfriend then” and she laughed, and patted my arm.
“No, there have been a few relationships since my divorce, but nothing more.”
But had there been? A drunken fumble outside a pub is not really a relationship, nor are a couple of intense conversations on a dating app, but it was all that I had to offer.
She huddled closer to me; “I love this weather; so wild, as if spirits are running amongst us.”
I laughed, bemused by her whimsy.
“I know it is silly, but I often think what must be going on under the surface of everyday life; ghosts, spirits and gods.”
“You are a very imaginative person” I told her, unsure as to what else to say.
And then Kyle came over and was made a fuss over; he seemed a friendly little soul and shook my hand when asked to by his mother.
“Well we’d better go, got dinner to cook” Ash told me and then she hugged me tight.
“Lovely to see you again” she added, kissed me on the cheek, “and thank you for listening to my mad ideas.”
I watched them walk off hand in hand. And, oh, I wished that I could follow them; to sit and enjoy a Sunday dinner, watch television and then lie in bed with Ash, just to enjoy that intimacy and love. That’s the thing about being old and single, is the lack of human contact, there is a craving for it, even sitting close to Ash on the bench had made me glow.
Instead of course I continued my walk on my own, following the river, without looking at what was around me. I wondered what it would be like to see things through Ash’s eyes; ghosts and spirits, God and saints. For me the weather was windy, and there was nothing above us but planets and stars, and endless space.
By the time I got home several hours later I was too tired to make myself anything but a sandwich and then I just sat on my special armchair and stared into space, I could not even be bothered to turn on the television or watch a documentary on Youtube. I sat there munching on slightly stale bread and thinking about nothing.
And suddenly I was tempted to ring Marie my ex- just for someone to talk to. When we had first split up we did speak to each other relatively regularly; money needed to be sorted out and there was David who was still a child, so we had to arrange when I could see him. And perhaps we were just used to talking to each other, even if we usually just argued, so it took us awhile to wean ourselves off each other. But then Dave got older, and all the financial arrangements were dealt with, and suddenly we did not need to communicate. And I missed that; even if much of our conversations had been hard and unkind.
But we had been friends after all, and there was no reason why I could not ring her, so – my heart beating fast - I typed in her number. It rang awhile and I was about to hang up when a voice I barely recognised answered.
“It’s…”
“I know who it is….”
And there was silence for a moment.
“I spoke to Dave” I said at last, “he seems to be doing well.”
“No thanks to you. But yes he has got a good job, and Natasha is a lovely girl.”
“Who is Natasha?”
“His girlfriend; they have been living together for over a year now, I thought you would know. I think he is going to settle down at last.”
There was silence again.
“Anyway did you want anything? I have people round.”
“No, not really, just checking in on you.”
There was a silence, and then she cut the connection. I think I had wanted to tell her about my saving somebody’s life, and that I was more selfless than she gave me credit for. I had done at least one pure thing in my life and I had that to hold onto. After a few moments I sighed and went to bed, although it took me a long time to drop off.
V
I have always hated Tuesdays; even at the end of the day you know you have over half the week to go before the weekend and since my last promotion there was the Area Meeting, which I disliked intensely. On the face of it I suppose that it was a sign how important I was that I got to sit with all the senior managers and discuss policy, but I am the lowest in seniority who attends, and so am something of a dogsbody, and also it is a reminder how my career has stalled; there are people there who started later than me, and are now doing very well and can tell me what to do even though I remember when they were callow youths who had to be shown the most basic of tasks.
There is Denise, who I trained and who I remember as being nervous and shy, whilst we worked together. She was very attractive and willing to learn, so attractive that I had almost asked her out on a date, even though it was against policy, but she started to regularly mention her boyfriend, and so I concentrated on being her mentor. But now she was a manager in North London, and when she attended the meeting she no longer acknowledged me, as if she had forgotten who I was and what she owed me.
The Tuesday after meeting in Ash in the park, was a particularly bad meeting, I had been given a task to look into certain ISAs, but had forgotten to do it – in part because of unscheduled stay in hospital - and whilst I tried to blame my assistant, Eleanor bollocked me in front of everyone, saying I was ultimately responsible, and to stop blaming my colleagues. Denise looked at me with contempt, and I felt sweaty and a failure. And then there were a couple of things that came up where it was clear that I was at fault. Even my usual ally Steve, who has the same position as me at the Watford branch, ignored me. I just wanted the meeting to end so I could crawl away and die.
Back in work for the afternoon, everything was quiet, and when I walked into the staffroom to make a coffee, the three people already in there stopped talking, so clearly my performance at the meeting was common knowledge. I thought that after the morning meeting Eleanor would want to have a word but she too seemed to be avoiding me.
Eventually I bumped into her as we were closing.
“Any chance I can have next Tuesday off?” I asked.
“It is a bit short notice, and we have our meeting” she said, clearly annoyed that I had bothered her with something so trivial, but then she sighed, “oh go on then, I will sort it out in the morning.” And unexpectedly she put her arm on my shoulder and gave me a smile.
That evening I sent Ash a message, “are you free next Tuesday, it would be lovely to see you?”
Of course she might not answer and if she did she did, well we could just chat; I wasn’t committing myself to anything. She responded about thirty minutes later, which was odd considering how much young people seem to spend on their phones, but perhaps she had been cooking or having a smoke. But eventually I got a “sure, see you at two,” I probably should have prayed for my sins to be forgiven, but instead I watched a Western and went to bed.
VI
Her house smelt of baking, and my stomach gurgled in response.
“I have just made cake” she told me and handed me a plate and we both ate banana cake and cream using spoons; she ate quite daintily, whilst I manage to scatter crumbs on the floor and all over my trousers. I was sat on the settee, whilst she sat opposite, on a shabby looking armchair. She was wearing ripped jeans and a large sweatshirt with the name of an American sports team on it, and she looked as beautiful as ever.
There was an open fire in the front room, with some wood and newspaper burning. Every so often she would pick up a poker and move the wood so that the fire sparked and burnt. I wondered why I did not have such a fire, it made the room seem warm and homely, whereas my house seemed cold and spiritless.
I asked her about herself, where she went to school, what she liked doing. I didn’t want this to be about sex, and was not sure if it was and whether I had been imagining the implied invitation in her text. Perhaps it would be good if we became friends, less creepy and exploitative. After a few minutes she got up, returning a few minutes later with some paper, she looked a little embarrassed and shy, and sat down next to me.
“This is stuff I wrote down; I had this….well it is difficult to explain. But I get these kind of visions, when I go into a trance; when I have had a cigarette or early in the morning, and then I sit down and write, I am not sure where they come from; I was never much good and English at school, but this comes naturally.”
She handed them to me.
“You are the only one I can talk to about them….but please don’t read them now, I will be embarrassed, just take them home and then next time you visit, let me know what you think of them.”
I felt so close to her, her warmth and her breath as she spoke, and then I held her, and stroked her back and then the back of her head, and then we were kissing.
“Come on then” she said, with the faintest of sighs, and led me upstairs.
Afterwards she stroked my tummy.
“You will tell me what you think of my poems won’t you? There is nobody else I can ask; certainly not Mike.”
“Who is Mike?”
“Oh I thought you knew, Kyle’s dad….”
Her skin was cool against mine, and her skin was pale and without blemish.
“So are you and he…”
“Yes we still live together; it is important that Kyle has his dad here….But don’t worry….I won’t tell him about this. And I owed you.”
And she kissed me again, a lover’s kiss, before swiftly leaving the bed.
“Come and see me next week”, she said, “and tell me what you think, I will make some more banana cake.”
She dressed very quickly and I did the same.
“Time for a smoke before I set off” she told me, “I am not allowed to smoke in the house,” and she led me into the back yard, where there was a bucket with fag ends and some bedraggled plants. She lit her cigarette and breathed in deeply and then gave a sigh of pure pleasure, and a slight shiver.
“I do love smoking; not much else does it for me….”
And for a few moments she seemed to be in a world of her own, with the smoke disappearing above our heads into the heavens.
VII
These were strange poems, like those of a medieval mystic; not that I have read any of such stuff, or perhaps they were like the old hymns I had to sing at Sunday School when I was a kid. I had told Ash that I was an Agnostic; but whatever I am, I am certainly not a spiritual person and these poems were very Spiritual and did not mean much to me, and were rather embarrassing. There was lots of “warmth” and “love”, and there was God, and angels, and Mrs Locke appeared as some kind of benevolent being or mother figure.
Some of the poems rhymed, particularly the first ones she had written down, these were like proper poems, and I could understand most of them, however the last few, were just more random, as if phrases turned out as she thought of them. I am not much of a literature man; I got my ‘O’ Level English Literature, but only by memorising stuff and working hard, but maths and the sciences had been my thing, and this was beyond me.
I told Eleanor that I was having therapy every Tuesday afternoon; that I had been traumatised by the crash, and my doctor had told me I had to see someone. Eleanor sighed and for a moment I thought she was going to query it, but fortunately she was a trusting soul, and did not ask for proof, but rather wished me well and told me that she hoped it would “help”, and she would let me know of anything important in the Area Meeting. I felt a little guilty lying, but it was the only time I would get to see Ash. As the week went on, all I could think of, was her naked and passionate. Not that she had been that passionate, but she was young and kind, and perhaps as she got used to me she would become more adventurous.
She had promised more banana cake, but this time it was chocolate sponge cake.
“I love baking; I shouldn’t really because I need to lose weight. Now that Kyle is in school I don’t know what to do. I write and pray…and smoke of course, but I cannot do that all the time. So I bake cakes.”
It was lovely though and I told her so, but she just laughed and remarked on how chubby she was getting.
“Mike says that I look like a teletubby”.
“What do you think, of my poems?” She asked, nervously.
“They seemed good” I ventured, “but it is not really what I am good at. Interest rates, and percentages, I know all about. But not literature.”
She was sat opposite me, leaning forward, I had hoped she would have sat next to me on the sofa, so that I could have kissed her but she was clearly not interested in that.
“But you have been to college, and I imagine you went to Uni,… and I know you read, as you had a book by your bed in hospital. If I showed these to Mike… or my mum and dad they were say I was being soft.”
She looked at me intently, and for a moment I wondered if that was what it was like to be in the presence of a saint, I did not want to see her naked and kiss her, but just wanted to escape, back to normalcy, to the bank and to my life; which may have been quiet, but at least it was safe and predictable.
“In the morning I lie awake, with Mike snoring beside me, and God calls to me, it is like He is covering me, as if I am being made love to, but not like fucking, but kind and caring. And I yearn for him.”
She twisted her hands, I felt that I should say something, but had no idea what.
“That’s what these poems are about…love, passion, I don’t know.”
“Have you spoken to a vicar? There is a church near your house. Perhaps….”
“I have been to church a couple of times….but Mike makes fun of me, and it means my mum having to look after Kyle… and anyway it is not the same. They just sing a few boring hymns and the sermons are dull, the people are kind, but it is nothing to do with what I experience. I tried to talk to the vicar about it, but he just looked bored….at least you listen.”
She sat there for a moment and cut more cake for the both of us. And then she got some more paper out and read another poem and then another. Soon it all blended into one, and I stopped listening. Perhaps somebody who knows something about these things would have got something from it, but not me I was completely at sea, but fortunately she just needed me to listen.
After awhile we went outside so that she could smoke.
“I have tried to find Mrs Locke” she told me, “I looked on Facebook, but I never knew her first name, and then I tried on a page for people who went to my Junior School, but nobody knows what happens to her; perhaps she wasn’t there very long. Only a couple of people remember her.”
Once back in the house, she gave me a photograph that he had been on the mantelpiece.
“I have this” she told me, the photograph showed a class of about twenty children and a young teacher standing behind them.
“That’s me when I was little” she said, pointing at a small, pretty girl sitting in the front row, “and that’s Mrs Locke. That’s the only picture I have of her.”
Mrs Locke was stylishly dressed and very young, probably younger than Ash was now, and she looked out nervously at the camera, the photograph would not have been taken that long ago, but something made me wonder if she was dead.
“If only I could to talk to her.”
“But what about?”
“I don’t even know…. Perhaps she would understand….Perhaps she would have a key to what has happened. At least I could thank her for saving my life, I don’t think that I did, and I am sure mum didn’t….At least with you I know your name, and have given you something in return….”
When I left she gave me a quick hug, and then she was off to pick up Kyle.
“Come again” she said, “it does me good to talk. I know that I bore you, but there is nobody else.”
“You don’t bore me” I told her untruthfully, and left, feeling heavy with excess of chocolate cake and the warmth of her front room.
Despite my misgivings I was there again the following Tuesday. This time there was a lemon cake, which I don’t really like, so I only had a small slice and drank plenty of tea to take away the taste. As soon as we had sat down, she started read again; too my horror there were even more sheets of paper than last week, and every so often she would explain the significance of a particular line, and I felt that it was going on forever.
It was hot in the room, with the fire blazing; and then with all the tea that I was drinking I was sweating, my shirt was sticking to my back, and I kept having to wipe my brow. And then there was a pause, and without even thinking about it, I walked over to her and kissed her hard on the lips; for a moment I thought that she would yield, but after a moment she pushed me hard against my chest.
“I am sorry, but no. Don’t you realise how guilty I have felt after what we did? How could I do that to Mike?” she looked hurt and angry.
“I am grateful to you for what you did…. But no more…. I am sorry. I love you being round, but no more sex stuff. I really thought you were interested in me; you seemed such a good man, but I suppose that you men are all the same….”
“Sorry” I muttered and hurried out of the house, feeling a mixture of guilt and relief. And that night as I lay in bed I was tempted to send her a message; apologise, say that I loved her, or I am not sure what, but I resisted and determined that I would not see her again. I wasn’t what she needed, hopefully she would find Mrs Locke, who would take her by the hand and reassure her, or whatever it was she wanted. But it certainly wasn’t me.
Over the next few days I would think of that classroom photograph, from twenty years ago, not that long ago really. And sweet Ash, even then perhaps hearing the voices of angels.
VIII
A couple of years later I was training another young thing who would doubtless go onto to become a senior manager, and leave me trailing in her wake, but at present she was grateful for all I could teach her and clearly liked me.
“You seem a good person, your wife must be very lucky,” she told me, after I had patiently gone through something to do with loans.
I laughed, and then remembered Ash, and excused myself, to make us both a coffee.
I do think of Ash sometimes even now; she messaged me a couple of times after I tried to kiss her, well actually more than a couple of times, as if she was prepared to forgive me, if only she could get me to listen to her poetry, and to take her seriously. But I ignored her messages and eventually they stopped.
At first I worried that she would come into the bank and berate me, or that she would tell Mike about the sex, and he would follow me home and beat me up, but nothing happened; no punishment for what I had done, just an underlying since of guilt, like nausea, that has never totally disappeared, or not for long.
And then one day, a couple of years later, I popped into the Abbey after work; it was a Thursday evening and I felt tired and yet could not face going back to my empty house which needed a good clean, and always seemed to be cold. So walking past the Abbey, I decided to go in if only to postpone walking into an empty house. I had not been there since I took David round as a child, in an attempt to get him interested in his town’s history.
The Abbey was quiet, I imagine they were just about to close, there were just a couple of people pacing around looking up at the windows, and speaking in hushed tones, whilst in the corner, the woman in the shop was looking bored, presumably waiting until she could go home.
I sat down in one of the pews and let my mind drift; work, Marie and even Ash. I even tried to pray, but I just felt silly and soon stopped. After awhile my legs started to feel sore and cramped so I got up and walked around in a clockwise direction, looking up at the stained glass, and reading the memorials, without paying any attention to anything.
I was just about to go home; I was hungry and needed a shower, when I came upon a small side chapel hidden away, and out of curiosity I walked in. There was a picture of Mary at the front; a modern one, all swirling blues and whites. I stood staring at it for a few moments, and then I realised that there was the faint smell of tobacco, and that Ash was sitting in the front seat staring up at the altar. And as I looked, the last remaining rays of sun from the small window above the altar shone down upon her dark hair, which glowed and sparkled, and then I heard a faint sound and I realised that she was murmuring something, a prayer or a spell.
I stood there gazing at her, and she seemed unknowable, and precious; someone I had been entrusted with and who I had let down.
And then I fled that Holy place because I was unworthy to behold such beauty.
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