‘It’s fine. Not offended at all. I’m not religious myself.’ He had lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘But jolly good clock. I just came in to shelter from the rain, to be honest.’
‘Me too.’
‘So, have you had a look around the rest of the cathedral?’ He realised, even as the words escaped his mouth, that this sounded like an invitation. Was that his intention?
‘No. You?’
She had rather strange eyes. Not quite green and not quite brown. His own mother had green eyes, and he was wondering what percentage of the population did too. Not many, he suspected, as it felt unusual; he would look it up. Wasn’t it an Irish thing to have green eyes? But she didn’t sound Irish. A soft accent that he hadn’t yet placed. He was staring now. The eyes looked greener. Odd. Was it a change in the light? She didn’t look away.
‘Please say no if I’m intruding, but if you fancy some company looking round?’ She was smiling, still holding his gaze.
‘Oh yes. Lovely. Though I’m no expert. Cathedrals, I mean.’ He signalled with his hand for her to take the lead and they set off towards the far end of the cathedral.
Ed pretended to read labels as they moved from one area to another but was in truth stealing glances to take in his new companion. She was wearing a deep-red coat with a battered black leather satchel. It was worn across her body on a long, wide strap that dug into her shoulder, making quite an indentation in the fabric of the coat. Evidently heavy. He found himself wondering what was in the satchel. None of his business, but after a while it burned like the curiosity over the women chatting alongside him in the café.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but your bag. It looks quite heavy.’
‘It’s all right.’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘It’s not a bomb.’
‘Well that’s a relief.’ He didn’t get the tone quite right and she kept her expression entirely neutral which for a moment alarmed him. He could feel his face reddening.
‘I’m teasing. Music manuscripts. Lots.’
‘Right. OK. And you’re carrying them because?’
‘Because I teach music and I’m technically on my way to work. I’m freelance but I teach at the Elderbury School now. Piano and violin. I’ve only been there a few weeks so I’m still playing tourist.’
Now he was really interested. Ed had not a musical bone in his body and both admired and envied those who did. He had tried guitar lessons; his teacher had made an admirable effort, but Ed just couldn’t make sense of the music on the page. Odd because he was good at numbers and so had imagined it would be similar. But he just couldn’t get the hang of it. Three terms and he finally threw in the towel.
Once again, he realised that he was staring at his new companion.
‘Lunch. I was going to get myself an early lunch,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy joining me? I’m afraid I don’t know anywhere but we could busk it.’
‘The Hedgehog Café.’ She was smiling. ‘Don’t worry. They don’t serve hedgehogs. That’s probably illegal. There’s a story behind the name of the café but I’ve forgotten it. One of my pupils recommended it. Cool place. Great soup.’
‘Soup it is then.’
She then linked her arm through his, with the satchel on the other side of her body.
‘I’ll see if I can hail us a canoe.’ He winked and she laughed and he felt a little bubble in his stomach. It was the perfect surprise on this wet day and he felt light and excited and happy.
He will come to look back on that moment often, with his head in his hands and the heaviest of hearts. Thinking, yes, about fate. Destiny. The fluke of timing. For he could not know that this would be the woman he would marry.
He could not know that within two years he would be living an entirely different life with her in Canada.
He could not know that one day, he would wake up to visit the bathroom and she would be screaming and screaming and screaming.
And everything would suddenly swirl and spiral into a dark, dark place like the rainwater rushing for the drains as they hurried to the Hedgehog Café that very first day.
CHAPTER 12
THE DAUGHTER – BEFORE
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – the quest for identity?
I haven’t even re-read it for the essay yet. The book, I mean. I have no idea if it’s a quest for identity or not. I’ll have to make a big pot of coffee and pull an all-nighter. There’s no way I can ask ‘S’ for special favours. Not after . . .