Free Invincible Summer by Alice Adams Page A

morning and even as the day grew lighter, the air remained clouded with mist. The group trudged quietly along a pathway through a eucalyptus forest, each of them subdued by the knowledge that they’d be back in England and back to real life tomorrow. Benedict was trying to untangle a problem with energy ranges for his thesis but found his mind kept straying to thoughts of how good it had felt to spend the night with Eva in bed beside him, and then reminding himself tetchily that she had a boyfriend. Eva found herself resolving to end things with Jeremy when she got back; he just didn’t smell right, and no amount of working at things could fix that. Sylvie was deciding to visit every art gallery within a twenty-mile radius and beg for a job when she got back—it was time to carve out a proper life for herself. Even Lucien seemed lost in thought, limping along without the usual complaints.
    Eventually the scent-filled woodland thinned and gave way to fields and then roads, until finally they reached the bridge to Santiago de Compostela. They joined the steady trickle of walkers following the brass shells inlaid into paving stones into the narrow streets of the old town, and eventually right up to the looming Baroque façade of the cathedral itself.
    Lucien made a few token protests about preferring to go to a bar but Benedict rounded everyone up and in they all went, inching into a pew at the back just as the service started. A hush descended on the cathedral packed with tourists and pilgrims with dirty clothes and disheveled hair, people from every corner of the globe and yet nevertheless all giving themselves up to a service in Spanish and Latin which somehow communicated everything it needed to through its sonorous rhythm. Once it was over, Lucien got chatting to a man sitting next to him who had made the journey on crutches and Sylvie wandered off to sketch some of the icons and altarpieces. Eva wandered through the side chapels and surprised herself by slipping a couple of euros into a bank of electric candles on impulse and thinking of her mother. Benedict strolled away casually, then, after checking that none of the others were in sight, furtively slipped into a pew on the other side of the building and bowed his head in prayer.
      
    As the four reassembled in the square at the front of the cathedral, they were each so wrapped up in their own thoughts that it took a while for anyone to notice Lucien dabbing at his face with his sleeve.
    ‘Lucien,’ said Benedict after a while. ‘Are you... blubbing? Are we witnessing a miracle? The most cynical man on earth having some sort of religious experience?’
    ‘Oh, fuck off. I’m not blubbing, mate.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s just…that Spanish guy I was chatting to, the one next to me in church with the withered leg and crutches. He came all the way from Sarria like that, just to be blessed here. Can you imagine doing the walk we’ve done, but on crutches?’
    ‘Wow. That must have been tough,’ said Eva, whose legs were so sore she wasn’t certain she’d ever want to walk anywhere again.
    ‘It’s taken him over a month and he said it was the hardest thing he’s ever done. His leg’s been like that all his life. Seemed really happy to have made it. Look, he gave me this.’ Lucien pulled a shell out of his pocket with a loop of string hanging from a hole drilled through it. ‘Said he’d worn it round his neck for the journey, that it had brought him good luck and now he wanted to share it. Don’t you hate it when people do stuff like that? I can put up with any amount of arseholes but that shit just pushes my buttons.’ Lucien’s voice grew husky again.
    Benedict stifled a laugh. ‘Seriously? You’re crying because someone did something nice for you? I’ve seen it all now. Come on over here, Snugglepops, you look like you could use that cuddle you were trying to give me this morning.’
    Lucien glared but allowed Benedict to envelope him in a