>> see into the nave through the grille in the door: in the distance, the back of Joe’s head;
to his right, a nativity scene half-assembled. There’s a pushchair blocking the aisle, but
it dissolves between the pews at Mr Rickman’s approach. We pass the scarlet-curtained
confessionals to the organist’s pedal, advancing upon the priest. I notice he is wearing
sneakers. As we kneel I picture the small red hymnbooks and the carols they contain,
joyful voices enclosed between yellow pages inked with the tracks of some strange bird. I
imagine the cacophony of opening them all at once, the light bursting out. Joe grabs my
hand and squeezes it.
When we leave the church it is raining; the guests hurry off to flag down taxicabs
or move their cars before the meters expire. Raindrops creep into collars and trickle down
the sleeves of hailing arms. An urgent umbrella arcs through the air to shelter my hair
and dress, as if they are made of sugar – the corporate woman again. Her impermeable
face says it isn’t raining at all. There are no red feathers on the droplet-patterned stone:
the cardinal has flown, or the rain ate it. Joe is shaking hands and giving directions to the
reception; I offer parasol smiles and say thank you, and so lovely of you to come. Then I
watch the figures retreat through the wet, silver blades, and I remember the last time I saw
Amy: rain striping the dark sky and drumming the concrete, beading her skin and hair
like moonstones.
Joe and I are alone in the back of the cab as it shudders through the downpour
to the venue; he is smiling and chattering to the driver, whom he recognises from some
other journey. I’ve forgotten my bouquet in the churchyard: a dripping bundle of white
anemones, jasmine, and juniper sprigs. Nothing red, I’d said. Nothing festive.
When we arrive at the hotel Joe pays the driver cheerfully. We met here over
drinks once – Amy, Joe, and I – in the amber-hued bar, the light flitting from the gold at
my ears to the crescent necklace at her throat and the whiskey glass cradled in her hand.