The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [119]
In the darkness I stood, counting, waiting for my pupils to expand. By the time I reached seventy the arched outlines of the windows were faintly visible and, below, the rows of pews. I could still have drawn a detailed plan of my uncle’s church, and leaving my case by the door, I walked down the nave towards the altar. Steps, I thought, and here they were: one, two, three. Arms outstretched, I circled the altar, searching for the vestry. My knee knocked against a chair; my hand met a doorframe and then a switch.
A few seconds of light showed me the familiar vestments hanging on a hook, also a counter, a small sink, and a kettle. A half-open door revealed a toilet. Once I was sure I was alone, I risked having the light on for five minutes, long enough to make use of the plumbing. In the dark I returned to my suitcase, chose a pew near the door, took off my shoes, and lay down.
I slept poorly. The church was cold, the pew narrow and, even with cushions, hard. Sometime in the night I put on another pullover and wrapped the newspaper I had bought in Thurso around my legs. As I had years ago at Yew House, I parsed every sound into would-be kidnappers, thieves, rapists, murderers. Or if not two-legged assailants, then four-footed ones who would nibble my fingers and chew my nose. And if there were no sounds my brain whirled with thoughts of what I would do tomorrow without food, or shelter, or almost any money. I had found some coins in the pocket of my trousers—enough for a loaf of bread and a pint of milk. But all these difficulties were infinitely preferable to dwelling on the loss of Mr. Sinclair, and of Nell.
I woke to the sound of the clock chiming; my watch showed seven o’clock. In the vestry I washed and brushed my teeth. Using the mirror of my compact, I checked my face and hair and straightened my collar. It was important to look neat when I presented myself at the hotels. Beside the kettle, I discovered the makings for tea. I made myself a cup and added several spoonfuls of sugar and dried milk. I sat drinking it in the pew farthest from the door. If anyone came in, I could hide the cup and pretend to be an early worshipper. Then I read my book until the clock struck nine.
Not wanting the encumbrance, I left my suitcase tucked under a pew. Unless someone washed the floors, which looked to be a rare event, I was confident it would not be found. Outside the day was bright and mild. Behind the church the streets of the town stretched up towards the hills; in front were the rooftops of the buildings that lined the main street. In other circumstances, I thought, this would be a pretty place. I hurried down the steps and across the road to the hotel.
The hall was deserted, but the sounds of cutlery and conversation led me to the dining-room, where a dozen people were breakfasting. I gazed yearningly at their plates until the waitress, a girl around my age, asked if she could help me. When I said I was looking for the manager she sent me back to the hall with instructions to ring the bell.
I did and a woman appeared, her broad face shining, her spectacles resting on the wide shelf of her chest. “Good morning,” she said. “Aren’t we lucky with the weather?”
I said we were and that I was looking for a job. “I can clean, serve people. I’ve had a lot of experience preparing vegetables, washing-up, whatever you need.”
She nodded approvingly. “I’m sure you’re very well qualified, dear, but the tourist season is nearly over. We’re letting people go, not taking them on. If you want to leave your name and address, I can let you know if we need someone at Christmas.” As she spoke, she slipped on her spectacles to examine me more closely.
“I’ll do anything. Wash windows, scrub floors. Feed the pigs.”
The woman smiled. “We don’t have pigs, more’s the pity. Here.” She produced a sheet of paper and a pen.