I can’t remember exactly who helped me back to my room, but two people did. ‘Get into bed,’ one said as we reached my door. Then they left me.
At that moment, I wanted to die. Couldn’t face what I had done. On the bed I curled up like a foetus, my head on my knees, my hands pulling my head down. I curled up so tightly, eyes shut, and kept repeating,’ Oh! God. Oh! My God. Someone save me.’
I would come up for air, realise again the horror of what I had done and, knowing there was no going back, curled up again, back into the womb. Escaping.
I knew the police would come and I would have to go with them to answer questions. And then the court case would follow some time, and then prison. The fear was so bad, the shaking so uncontrollable, that, suddenly like some kind of self-defence, it turned to anger. Did I care? Was I sorry? I had to stand up for myself. It wasn’t premeditated, I would tell them. But no! I was empowered, despite the fear. Bloody well served them right. Trying to let out the rabbit. Cruel beyond words. No, they had it coming to them. But not that way, not that way. Christ!
Guy did come briefly, looking pretty shaken himself, and gave me a sedative, simply saying he would see me in the morning.
The sunlight woke me because the curtains had not been drawn and when I realised that I was still dressed, I remembered. You know people talk about their stomach falling? Believe me, I felt I was falling through the bed. Terrified into rigidity. I cut myself off from it. I was a murderer. Please let me die. Scared to death but not sorry. At least I’d made a stand, just as I had when I threw my breakfast on the dining-room floor as a child, and when I chucked the pack of cards around my room because Mother was so unfair. I was afraid of what would happen, but not afraid of life any more.
The bells rang for morning prayer. I timed it, and then knew they were having breakfast. And I waited for Guy, who I knew would come, for he would have understood, not condoned, I’m sure, but understood that I needed him, so when at last I heard the knock on the door, I breathed, ‘Oh, thank God.’ But it was Father Godfrey standing just inside, looking awkward, his fingers rolling round and round.
I was waiting for him to tell me to prepare myself for the police.
‘We won’t go into it now,’ he said, ‘but Brother Bertram doesn’t want any fuss, in any case. I know you—’
‘He’s not dead? You’re not going to do anything? You’re not going to call the police?’
He shook his head and I burst into tears, saying irrationally, ‘Oh, please, please…’
‘I know you were concerned about—It’s lucky the stick was so brittle.’ He appeared to be speaking to someone else. Not me.
He swung his arms back and forth, his long fingers, opening and closing into his palms . He looked thoroughly weary, and I was sorry.
‘What can I say? Thank you. I don’t know what to say. I’m not really like that.’
I was ashamed of my uncontrollable sobbing.
‘So sorry for the trouble; I don’t know what came over me. It was just—’ I was going to go on about the rabbit and Joseph, but he held up his hand.
‘I’m afraid we have been of little help to you. I’m sorry for that. But…’ And he didn’t finish his sentence. ‘While I think of it, I’ve asked Brother David to bring you over some sort of breakfast. Mrs Gregory, as you know, we are leaving here in less than three weeks.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well as you can imagine we have more than … we have much to do.’
‘I’ll go home today if nothing is going to happen to me. Can I go? Can you let me go?’ I saw him visibly relax.
‘Do you feel up to driving? We could always—’
‘No! No! Really, I’m fine.’ But I was absolutely exhausted. ‘Please say sorry to … sorry, I don’t know his name.’
‘Brother Bertram. And I suppose Brother Oswald as well; he’s still in shock.’ he muttered. ‘Yes, well…’
He turned as if to leave, and then stopped. ‘I think perhaps a short prayer is in order,’ he said. ‘Help to calm you.’
He stood by the door, arms by his side, head lowered. I hung mine and waited.
‘May the peace of the Lord be always with you. And the blessing of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit be upon you, now and for ever more. Amen.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
He raised his hand and left.
He shut the door quietly, somehow obliterating his presence there. He was miserable. It was the sight of her. Pale, vulnerable. And as he walked down the path away from her, he was transported back to his dream and the garden in India and Padma. Pale and vulnerable.
I dressed quickly, waiting for Guy. It was Guy I needed then. Absolutely.
But Brother David arrived with a marmalade sandwich and a glass of milk. He stood in the doorway and I took the tray from him. I smiled; he nodded and then, pointing to the envelopes on the tray, said that Dr Guy had asked him to bring the letters.
‘Can you ask him to come over to see me, please? I’m not feeling very well.’
‘I think he’s gone out.’
‘Gone out?’
‘I believe so. It’s his day off.’
‘Fine! Thanks for letting me know.’ And I shut the door behind him.
One letter was addressed to my doctor and the other to me.
He’d just written.
Dear Rose
The other letter is for Jonathan, as you can see. Go to see him as soon as you can, and good luck with everything. It’s been difficult for you, but I’m sure everything will be fine in the end. Be patient! And do as you are told. Enclosed is a photocopy of those lines from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
Guy
I screwed up the note and threw it in the wastepaper basket, but unfolded the piece with the words he had recited to me. I read them and knew then that all I wanted was to go home.
But Joseph and the rabbit delayed me. He arrived with his pet on the lead, grinning. He pulled the rabbit into to my room.
‘Say thank you, Francis. Say thank you to the lady. He wants to say thank you,’ he said. ‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’
‘It was my pleasure, tell him. Not long now, Joseph, and you will both be off on another adventure.’ His face fell.
‘I don’t want to go. Not to leave Billie.’
It was quite spontaneous. I emptied out the jar of painkillers Guy had given me when I hurt my foot. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘I’ve got an idea. Come on with Francis and show me where Billie is.’
‘In the “graves” garden.’ He giggled nervously.
I knew exactly what I was going to do.
He half ran, as usual, in front of me, dragging the rabbit behind him, and led me to an area on the right of the Monks’ Walk that was like an overgrown garden surrounded by trees and with a dozen or so mounds headed by small gravestones. He stopped by one of these, which lay to the edge near the trees. ‘Here,’ he called.
I read the words: Here lies Brother John, 1900–1978. May his soul rest in peace.
The rabbit was nibbling the grass on the mound as Joseph stood watching me.
I took his arm. ‘You know your friend, Billie, isn’t really here, Joseph, don’t you? He’s where we all go when we die. And where they go when they die means I think that they can still be with friends and loved ones, in a different sort of way. And in a different way, we can be with them. They – you know the ones we don’t have with us here on earth any more – only want us to be happy. I’m sure of that. He’ll be with you, Joseph, wherever you are. That’s good, isn’t it?’
He was staring from me to the rabbit, from me to the rabbit. Then he nodded.
I showed him the empty jar. ‘This may seem bonkers, but look, Joseph, you put a little bit of the grave into this.’
I held the bottle out for him and took the lead from his hand.
He hesitated. ‘Take some with me?’ And then he fell on his knees and began to scrabble at the earth with his long yellow fingernails, much like the rabbit’s claws, to loosen the earth.
‘Push some of that in,’ I said.
He sprinkled the earth into the palms of his hands and held them over the bottle. The earth dropped in and around, but he continued until the jar was full.
‘That’s fine,’ I said.
I took the bottle and screwed back the top as tightly as I could, while he struggled to get up, leaving an untidy, earthy patch on the grave ,which I tried to stamp down with my foot.
I put the bottle into my trouser pocket and took his arm to steady him.
‘Where is it?’ he asked and I gave him the bottle.
He shook it and stared at it, whispering something about Billie’s grave, and then he put it in his habit pocket.
A grin spread all over his face. ‘I can take him with me … just a bit?’
‘It’s just a reminder,’ I said. ‘Like a souvenir, kind of. Not exactly, but sort of, kind of.’
‘He’s not really there, Francis.’
‘Billie is everywhere,.’ I said.
I knew what I wanted to do next. I tied the lead to the wooden fence while Joseph stood staring at the grave.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We have to celebrate. We have to dance for Billie. Dance round his grave. Come on, Joseph.’
And I took both his earthy, grubby hands, smelled his rancid, warm breath, saw the filthy habit but heard the laughter, the giggling laughter of a naughty child. And I began to pull him round the grave, side-step, side-step, gallop, gallop, gallop. He was bent double laughing and I began to dance and sing,
I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black –
It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.
They buried my body and they thought I’d gone,
but I am the Dance, and I still go on.
He did the best gallop he could and together we went around the grave holding hands, while the rabbit nibbled away at the grass.