In the cathedral’s shadow

We walked around the back of the Cathedral. Along the little passageway with the long haired Bacchus fountain, past the mini graveyard, under the small passageway. We knew every inch of the walk. We’d done it for years.

+++

I remember seeing her around a year before I met her. Standing around in a group near the Buttercross. Tall, long-haired, standing on the edge of the group, with a hint of being out of place. I met her in Pitkins. She didn’t say a single word. It meant I had to say things.

+++

We sat in the car which her father had left her. Her father was never around. Years later she found out she he’d been living a double life. The car was a small silver rover. It was parked by the tall fence, just along from the Queen. I can’t remember what was said, but all of a sudden I was out of the car, scaling the fence, running across the playing field. Her voice followed me but I was gone.

+++

There wasn’t long before I went to Australia. She must have come and picked me up. We drove out of town to the place with a name and a church where she would one day marry, near the Itchen. She drove well, but got done for speeding once. It’s still a good stretch of road, tempting you to go faster than you’re allowed to. We had the same driving instructor. A nervous white-haired man called Mr Godfrey. He spent a lot of time telling me how to cook an omelette. She passed, I didn’t. Her mother gave us tea with a shot of whisky in it. Then she took us on a tour of the bits of the house that never got seen. The top floor was covered with a hundred mousetraps. Her mother said it was better to say goodbye cleanly. No point dragging these things out.

Two months or so later Miguel would appear in Madrid and I had the world on my shoulders in the Adelaide Hills. We didn’t know that then. All we knew was that there was no way of knowing what would happen. Speculation is a foolish game for eighteen year olds. We didn’t feel young. Everything was done with consideration.

+++

We stopped under the flying buttresses. She cried. She wasn’t someone who cried. She said I’d needed a couple of whiskeys to get my courage up. I tried to talk to her but she walked away. I didn’t feel bad. I felt like I’d been given no option.

+++

When I worked in the scaffolding factory I used to stand by the shotblasting machine. The shot would spray off and smack the side of your face. Like hail. It was noisy. You couldn’t talk to anyone. All you could do was think. I thought about everyone, but I thought about her especially. It was two years since I’d seen her. I wasn’t allowed to mention her name. I knew that this wasn’t real. The sting of the shot was a constant reminder of what was real. Lea could not be removed like a limb.

+++

She had a boyfriend in Oxford who was intense, passionate. Once I went to see her and they had a fierce row. She wasn’t made for rows. I could see it was upsetting her, but there was nothing I could do.

+++

On her wedding night I hardly got a chance to speak to her. At one point we sat on the steps of Winchester town hall and maybe we mentioned the people who weren’t there and maybe we talked about something else.

+++

I came up to see her in London a couple of times. She was working for Barclays. I don’t know where she was staying. I don’t remember anything we did together in London. We never talked all that much. She wore gloves. I have a strong memory of saying goodbye at a tube station once, but I don’t know which one. We went to Trafalgar Square. We kissed there. It was a cold night. Lea laughed at me. She asked why men always kissed with their eyes closed.