Final Cut(75)

‘Oh, hi,’ she says when I approach.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Carol’s,’ she says, as if I ought to know.

‘Where’s that?’

‘There’s a service,’ she explains. ‘A carol service. Over at St Julian’s. Everyone’ll be there.’

Of course. Carols. That must be where Monica’s going, and maybe Bryan will be there, too. I ask the woman behind the bar when it starts and she glances at her watch. ‘Soon. Four, I think. What’ll it be?’

I shake my head and tell her I’ve changed my mind. I climb Slate Road as quickly as I can and get into my car. It would be there, I think. The church where my mother is buried, somewhere I’d be happy never to go again.

It’s almost completely dark by the time I turn down the road that leads to St Julian’s. The car park is full so I have to stop the car a little way down the track. I jog the rest of the way, keep my eyes forward; I don’t even glance towards my mother’s grave. Inside the old church the nave is empty and my boots echo on the cold stone floor. Despite the lit candles that cast their soft orange glow all over the church and the cars parked outside, I wonder for a moment whether I’ve come to the right place after all, but then I hear a noise from further in. Raised voices, laughter. Through a door I find a smaller room, this one brightly lit, with a Christmas tree in one corner, and full of people. Children and adults; most, I don’t recognise, but Liz and Beverly are here, and Monica, too, just shrugging off her coat. I hesitate in the doorway then spot Gavin in the far corner and enter. Bryan sees me almost as soon as I come in. He waves, and though I return his greeting I push my way over to Gavin.

‘Is everything all right?’

I shake my head. Bryan is approaching. ‘I need to speak to you later.’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks. ‘What is it?’

‘Not now,’ I say. ‘Later.’

He lowers his voice. ‘You’re scaring me.’

I glance at Monica. ‘I just … I can’t speak now.’

Bryan arrives. ‘How’re you?’ he says jovially. He’s holding a mince pie in one hand, a plastic cup in the other. ‘Want some? It’s mulled wine. Well, it’s supposed to be, only no alcohol, see.’

‘No, thanks,’ I say. I turn back to Gavin. ‘I’ll catch you later. Okay?’

Bryan watches as Gavin moves off. Something flickers across his face. Jealousy?

‘How’re you?’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Have one of these. They’re delicious.’

He hands me a mince pie on a paper plate. It’s home-made; the pastry crumbles as soon as I pick it up. He lowers his voice. ‘Did Monica tell you about David’s note?’

I nod. ‘There’s something else, though. Can we go outside?’

He frowns, but steers me towards the door to the nave. He stops en route to talk to some guy who laughs and thumps his arm playfully before allowing him to continue. Gavin watches us leave and, though I acknowledge him with a slight nod, he doesn’t smile back. I dump my mince pie on the table by the door and together we go into the nave.

‘Let’s sit,’ he says, heading towards the front pew. ‘It’ll be starting soon anyway.’

‘Not there,’ I say. ‘It’s … Can we go further back?’

We choose the fifth pew from the front. It creaks as we sit and there’s that stale, musty smell that’s in every church I’ve ever been in. The door to the side room has swung shut and we’re now in echoing silence.

I keep my voice low, but still my whisper seems to bellow.

‘It’s Monica.’

‘What?’

‘Giving the girls drink. Drugs, too. I’m sure of it. And there’s worse. I think she’s been …’

I falter. He shifts in the pew to face me. The candlelight glints orange on his face.

I search for the word. ‘Using the girls.’

‘No,’ he says emphatically, shaking his head. ‘None of that. Not Monica.’

The door to the side room opens. The vicar enters, a young man dressed in black vestments, his hair thinning. He’s laughing as he goes, and pauses to let the woman behind him pass. Behind her follows a man, two children and then, as if on cue, Monica herself.

Bryan leans in close. ‘That’s … that’s just not possible.’

‘No?’

Monica scans the room. She notices us, gives a tiny wave. We should’ve sat nearer the back. I will her not to come over, but she heads towards us.

Bryan sighs as she draws close. Others are coming in now to take their seats. A couple sit on the pew directly in front of us. ‘Look. I know her as well as anybody. We went out. A long time ago. It’s not something she’d do.’

I watch Monica approach. They went out? It doesn’t feel surprising, and again I wonder whether I’d known them both back then, whether I’ve somehow forgotten them since.

‘She’s the one who got me off drugs, you know?’

‘People change,’ I say.

She’s level with us now. I force myself to smile in her direction, but at the last moment she seems to change her mind. She waves to us both and mouths, See you later?