Free Imaginative Experience by Mary Wesley Page A

hard to stand up to him, though I did once hit back in desperation and broke his nose; I am proud of that. But usually I cringed and held Christy between us as a shield. I knew, you see, that he was not quite enough of a shit to hit the child. Oh God!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know why I am telling you all this; it is no business of yours. I have no faith, my belief in God is ropey and I am not even a Catholic. This is a Catholic church, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I only came in to escape the rain. Oh, blast my swollen feet!’ Again she tried to force her feet into recalcitrant shoes. ‘They simply won’t go.’ She shook with frustration.
    ‘We could leave aside your absence of faith,’ said the priest, ‘move out of here to the presbytery where my housekeeper could give you a cup of tea and a foot bath. That would be a start—the feet and shoes getting together,’ he said.
    Julia said, ‘That sounds like heaven.’ Then she said, ‘I am sorry. I am drivelling. I’d better shut up,’ and blew her nose.
    ‘We could also,’ said the priest, ‘find you a bed for the night.’
    Julia said, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, but no. I have a perfectly good bed; I must get back, if I can get my shoes on. I am not as destitute as some. You are very kind,’ she said. ‘Forgive me. I have made use of your church and wasted your time.’ She was on her feet now, holding her shoes; she looked at him for the first time. He was middle-aged and grey and tired; he watched her quizzically. She felt it would be a horror to deceive him. Painfully she said, ‘There’s another thing I should tell you, but I can’t. It’s not a murder or anything like that, and it might seem a small thing to you, but to me it’s the ultimate betrayal.’
    He said, ‘Let me deal with your feet and your shoes,’ and led her towards the door.
    Julia thought, I am being a bore, there’s a limit to what he can stand. He probably gets all the flotsam of the Government’s Victorian values in here; he doesn’t need me. I must not impose. She thrust her handkerchief back in her pocket and walked beside him, carrying her shoes. Passing the altar the priest genuflected and she, looking up and seeing the Virgin framed in delicious mother-of-pearl, exclaimed ‘How lovely, how surprising. Most Catholic churches in England are hideous.’
    He said, ‘This is the Bavarian church.’ He did not explain, but asked, ‘Do you live in London?’ distancing her somehow by his question. When she said, ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will give you your bus fare.’
    And she, distanced, exclaimed, ‘Thank you, but I have some money. I had enough to buy a sandwich.’
    And he said, ‘So you did.’
    They were by this time at the door of the presbytery; he unlocked the door, ushered her in and called to his housekeeper. The opportunity to tell him more was over; she bottled it up.
    But later, as the bus which would carry her back to the World’s End came rushing to a stop, she hesitated in the crush of people climbing on board.
    The priest had not flinched at a broken nose; could she not have purged herself of that other infinitely worse burden? Then, as she hesitated and people pushed from behind, the conductor reached down, caught her arm and pulled her into the bus.

TEN
    ‘I THOUGHT I WOULD just look in to see how you are getting on.’ Rebecca strode past as Sylvester opened the door. ‘I see you’ve given your door knocker a polish. Jolly good, it’s such a pretty one. I like dolphins; getting quite rare, the dolphin knockers. The Americans bag them all.’ She pressed on into the sitting-room. ‘I was just passing,’ she said, ‘on my way.’
    ‘Where to?’ Sylvester teased, not expecting an answer. ‘Where were you on your way to?’
    ‘Oh!’ Rebecca exclaimed, coming to a halt. ‘Oh!’ Her large eyes probed the room like searchlights. ‘A writing table! That’s new! It’s a beauty, Sylvester.’ She stroked the mahogany, slid a drawer