RICK KELSALL SAT IN THE CHAPEL and let his mind wander. He’d never been very good at sitting still, and he struggled to stop his foot tapping on the stone floor. Also, it was bloody cold. His head was full of plans and ideas, all jostling for priority. It had been an interesting day, and he still wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with the information he’d gained. Then there was the book, which might redeem him, or at least bring him back into the public eye. He’d complained about the attention when he’d been on the telly every week, but now he missed his public: the smiles, the waves, the recognition. He’d only been gone for a few months, but it was as if he’d disappeared into a black hole. When people did know who he was, there was more likely to be abuse than admiration. He shifted in his seat and wished he’d worn a scarf.
The door opened and he turned to see Annie hurry into the building. She still looked good for her age. She’d never been a beauty like Charlotte, but she was interesting without trying, without realizing. He’d never fancied her, not really. Not like he’d fancied Louisa. He’d always felt close to Annie though. Friendship was too bland a word to describe it. He wriggled again and tried to find a better way to express how he felt about her.
Philip stood up to call them to order. When they’d first come here as teenagers, nobody would have bet on Philip becoming a priest. Not in a million years. He’d been Rick’s most exciting friend, full of anger and rebellion and wild, impossible plans. Now he seemed to live his life in a state of complacency and contentment. Philip had achieved, Rick supposed, a kind of wisdom. He no longer battled the inevitable. He knew he was getting old but didn’t seem to care. Soon, he’d retire from his parish and his life would become even more boring. He might well move north again – so predictable – and he’d live out his smug, boring life until he died.
Perhaps Philip didn’t even miss the adventures of their youth. Rick missed them all the time. He longed for them with a desperation that sometimes overwhelmed him. He would give anything to be seventeen again and sitting in this chapel for the first time. He would sell his soul for it. He wouldn’t even mind being twenty-two and fighting with Isobel, then watching her drive away to her death. Then, at least he’d felt alive.
He realized that Philip had sat down once more. Rick hadn’t heard anything he’d said, hadn’t made the effort to listen; it would, no doubt, be much the same as at every reunion. Every introduction. These days, Philip provided comfort not originality.
The chapel was quieter than any other place Rick knew. He’d lived in the city since he’d left home for university and there was always that background hum. Traffic. The rumble of a train. People shouting in the street, even in the early hours. Rick disliked silence. He wondered why they had to go through this ritual every time they came back to the island, though part of him knew that he’d be the first to complain if one of the others suggested ditching it. Partly to be awkward, but also, he supposed, because this quiet time in the chapel was part of the whole experience. It reminded him again of his youth. For one weekend, he felt as if he was starting out again, at the beginning. Not approaching the end.
Almost before he’d settled into it, the twenty minutes was over. Philip was on his feet again, and they were making their way out. Rick waited for a moment, letting the others go ahead of him, gearing up for the evening ahead. He felt like an actor preparing for another performance, and wondered briefly what it would be like for once in his life to go on stage unscripted and unrehearsed.