I gave him a quick kiss on each cheek as we parted in the lobby and in return he patted me a couple of times on my arm, saying, ‘Go on, go and have a rest. Glad you enjoyed the day, but you do look a bit weary now.’
I was tired, but it was not the usual tiredness; it was a gentle, a relaxed sort of tiredness, a sort of sit-in-the-sun-with-your-eyes-closed feeling.
We had returned in time for evensong, but I didn’t want to go. I didn’t even want to go for the evening meal because I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. I was agitated with excitement, uncertainty. Thinking, Was I going to find happiness?
In my room, I undressed and lay on top of the covers. I was floating on the bed, which felt soft and comfortable, thinking about the day. And Guy, his voice, his expressions, solemn and concerned, gentle and amused. Thinking of those lovely words, which I could then only remember in part.
I’d told him of my concern for Brother Joseph, how angry I felt about the rabbit being put into the old dog kennels, anger at their treatment of him. Life was hard enough for him, I thought; his rabbit brought him so much comfort and joy. Couldn’t he, Guy, have a word with Father Godfrey? Couldn’t he do something about it? Couldn’t he? It was such a little thing to ask, and he had promised to think about it.
‘I went,’ I said. ‘Last night. I think I shouted. Yes, I did, because suddenly I was outraged.’
He shook his head. ‘Oh dear. You are hopeless.’ But he was smiling.
Then I told him about the two brothers holding hands and kissing – yes, they were most certainly kissing – and his expression changed and he became somewhat thoughtful and said nothing.
‘Who were they? What were they doing out so late?’
‘Not sure.’
It was clear to me that he wasn’t going to say more, so for once I didn’t press it. And I didn’t want to think about Guy any more. I kept whispering that he was not important to me at all; that I didn’t need him or anyone. Ever. Ever. I didn’t want the feelings I had. I didn’t want to care.
Madly, I began to hit the side of the bed with my fist, whispering, ‘I don’t want you. I don’t need you – just Dan and Fleur. Nobody else. Nothing else.’
Yet what had he said about pain? It was easy for him. I thought, Would they perhaps cease the crying I could hear so often at night if I was happier? Would that dreadful crying stop? Could they be happy if I was happy? Did I owe it to them? I could certainly try to be happy for them and enjoy things again for them, even to love for them. Fucking hell! I just didn’t know what to do with myself. This nervous agitation, like falling in love, was worse than the pain itself, because I thought to be happy again was a betrayal. As if they didn’t matter. And my frustration with myself, with everything and everybody, grew with the dusk.
I got off the bed and began wandering round the room, absurdly wishing I could be with Guy. I couldn’t keep still; my insides were fluttering and restless and the room became a prison. I had to get out. I had to do something.
I had no thought of where to go or what to do. Nothing seemed satisfactory and I was beginning to be increasingly angry. Angry with myself, angry that I didn’t know what to do, angry about Joseph and the rabbit business. It was then I decided to go and check on the rabbit. It was just something to do. I went to fetch a cardigan, because for some reason it felt chilly to me, and then I made my way up the path and towards the Monks’ Walk.
The avenue was longer than I remembered, and several times I turned to the left, expecting to find the path to the old dog run, but each time found my way blocked by hedges and bushes.
Despite a hazy moon, it was dark amongst the trees and I began to panic, thinking that I had gone too far and had somehow completely lost my sense of direction. Perhaps I would go around in circles until dawn. In my anxiety, I tripped on a fallen branch and cursed as the pain shot through my foot. I picked it up, intending to throw it to one side, but its thick solidity made me feel safer in the darkness, and I used it as a kind of walking stick.
Because I was nervous, I decided to turn back, thinking I would never find the run, when out of nowhere came a man’s voice, and I grabbed the branch tightly, as a weapon. I had forgotten the brothers of the night before, and hoped it was Joseph talking to his rabbit, although it didn’t sound like him.
I stood rigid and waited so I might hear for sure who it was. The voices again. Voices. Two men speaking. I heard the metallic twang of wire and knew they were by the run. Something wasn’t right. Something odd was going on. I knew it, just had the feeling something would happen to Joseph’s rabbit. God knows why.
Then all the fear went, all the uncertainty, and I moved towards the sounds, my branch at the ready for protection just in case, and I found myself in the clearing that preceded the run.
Who was there and what were they doing? If it was something to do with the rabbit, I was not going to stand by and do nothing this time. Not this time. I had failed to act before. Had just let things happen around me, but never again. Never would I just stand by. I could feel a kind of fury in me and kind of rage – for Joseph, for myself, a rage about life.
I hadn’t screamed for Fleur to come out of the tomb nor unplugged all the tubes and taken Dan to the river. I had done nothing, just stood by and let them go. But not this time. ‘Go on, Minch! Don’t just stand there. Do something.’
It was easy to be quiet through the thick grass, and they were talking anyway. And there they were in the dim light, a shining bald head, arms outstretched – crucifix like-hanging onto the open wire gate, the shorter one gazing up at him. The rabbit was surely lost, gone.
‘No, you don’t!’ I screamed. ‘You don’t. Not this time.’ And I ran towards the Christ figure on the cross and, lifting the branch, brought it down with one mighty blow. Blow after blow. And they fell.
I screamed out, ‘No you don’t. No you bloody well don’t. You bastards!’ as all my pent-up grief exploded, until the breath was gone from me, and I sank to the ground and lay beside the other figures in the damp grass.
They found me inside the run, leaning against the wire fence. And in my arms, the rabbit, stunned also into stillness. The branch, now in two pieces, lay on the ground outside the open gate.
Out of the darkness stumbled Bertram, his head bleeding badly, as Brother Oswald raised the alarm. Trembling and shaking, he banged on Godfrey’s door and, screeching, broke the news, before collapsing and weeping in his room.
Godfrey, still in his dressing gown, woke Guy and together they crossed the lawn into the Monks’ Walk, taking great strides, hurrying without running, Guy carrying a medical bag. Towards them out of the dark, Bertram, groaning, lurched towards them, pushing Guy out of the way.
‘Where is she?’
Bertram pointed towads the run.
‘Can you manage to get back to the house?’
He nodded through his groans, his head hanging from his shoulders. He had lifted his habit against his head to stem the bleeding.