‘I’m only thinking of your heart, Reg.’
He waved her off and carried on.
I found myself walking next to Father Bernard, rather by design than accident. If Parkinson and Collier decided to follow us, as lying awake in the night I had convinced myself they would, then I felt safer next to him, no matter how distant he seemed that morning.
I looked at him and he smiled back. His argument with Mummer the night before was obviously still playing on his mind. He brought out a couple of apples from his bag but didn’t say anything much until Moorings was out of sight and we stopped by a gate to wait for Mr and Mrs Belderboss.
‘Andrew seems fair excited,’ he said, nodding up ahead where Hanny was straddling a fence and waving for everyone to hurry up.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘So does everyone.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Apart from you.’
I didn’t reply. Father Bernard leant on the gate with his forearms and watched the Belderbosses coming at a snail’s pace; a faint argument.
‘If nothing happens today, Tonto,’ he said. ‘You won’t be too disappointed, will you?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Because I’d hate for you to lose faith in what God can do.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You know, not all miracles are instantaneous. I’ve never seen one like that anyway. I think it takes a while for them to ripen. If all you look for are Damascus experiences, then you miss all the smaller things that are part of His plan. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, Father. I think so.’
He turned and smiled and held the gate open for Mr and Mrs Belderboss, who went through still bickering.
***
The shrine seemed much further than everyone remembered, but eventually we arrived at a small gravel carpark, that was deserted apart from a mattress and some old car tyres.
The little booth where an elderly attendant had once sold penny information leaflets was gone and there was only the wind and the sounds of sheep far away on the hills.
‘You mean we could have come by road?’ Miss Bunce said, looking at her muddied shoes.
‘We could have come by road, Joan,’ said Mummer. ‘But I’m not sure arriving in a minibus shows quite the same sense of devotion.’
‘Where is everyone?’ said Mrs Belderboss as she and her husband finally appeared.
Across the carpark was a gate almost completely throttled by the branches of the trees next to it. The gate led to a weedy, gravel pathway that meandered through the trees and came eventually to the shrine itself after another half a mile. All along the path were little figurines half hidden in the undergrowth — Christs and saints and angels peeping around the sides of plastic urns like curious fairy folk.
Here and there were little clearings where grottoes had been set up in honour of various saints and holy men, the trees dressed with the rosaries and rags previous pilgrims had left behind with their transgressions.
Mummer caught up with Hanny who was ahead of us all and steered him well clear of the ribbons, making sure that he passed along the path as quickly as possible. Father Bernard stopped and ran his hand through them.
‘Oh, mind they don’t come away, Father,’ Mr Belderboss said. ‘You’ll take the sins home with you.’
We came to where Hanny was looking at a statue of Saint Francis that had fallen over and smashed. His head had cracked off and rolled into the undergrowth and wood lice swarmed in and out of his hollow body.
‘Oh, Esther,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘It’s such a shame.’
‘Well, perhaps the groundsman hasn’t got round to it yet,’ said Mummer.
‘I’m not sure there is a groundsman anymore,’ said Mr Belderboss.
‘There must be,’ said Mummer. ‘They wouldn’t just let the place go to seed.’
‘But if there’s no money, Esther,’ said Mrs Belderboss.
‘Of course there’s money,’ said Mummer. ‘There’s always money. Someone’s always got money.’
‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with money,’ said Farther. ‘It’s just that no one comes to places like this anymore.’
‘What about Lourdes?’ said Mummer.
‘That’s different,’ said Farther. ‘And anyway, it’s like Disneyland nowadays.’
‘Well God is still here,’ said Mummer. ‘Despite what it looks like.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Of course He is.’
We walked a little further through a tight kissing gate and then the path was flanked on either side by a tall hedge, as though we were in a maze. The hedge had gone wild and in places had almost met in the middle of the path so that we had to squeeze past the brambles and thorns in single file.
A hundred yards further on, the path ended. Mummer stopped and pulled away some of the branches and leaves to get at the handle of a small iron gate.
‘Here we are,’ she said, and opened it inwards with one, two, three hard pushes, tearing aside more of the foliage that clung to the railings.
Everyone stopped talking and went through the tangle of rhododendrons until we came to a set of stone steps, damp and black with moss, which led down to where the spring itself bubbled to the surface and could be accessed by opening a small trapdoor in the ground.
Father Bernard helped the ladies down first and they negotiated the narrow, greasy slabs slowly and carefully. When they were safely at the bottom, Father Bernard went back up the steps to help Mr Belderboss. Everyone seemed to hold their breath when he was in the precarious moment between Father Bernard’s hands letting go of him at the top and Mummer’s hands reaching to him from the bottom.
‘You go first, Hanny,’ I said, when it was our turn.
He stared down into the shrine and turned to look at me.
‘It’s alright,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
Everyone was watching, waiting. He shook his head.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
I held Hanny’s hand and step by step he went down and joined everyone else huddled in the damp.
‘I can’t believe what’s happened here,’ said Mrs Belderboss, looking around. ‘I’m so sorry for you, Esther.’
‘It’s alright,’ said Mummer.
‘The well was always so beautifully dressed,’ Mrs Belderboss explained to Father Bernard, who had taken his gold-coloured stole from his bag and was looping it around his neck. ‘So many flowers and candles.’
Now, it was an oubliette; cramped and dank and filled with permanent shadow by the yew trees twisting above us. Where the large stones that formed the sheer walls jutted out, there were stumps of wax, which no one could get to light, and so David was designated to hold up a match so that everyone could see the wooden board nailed to the wall on which a scene had been painted of Saint Anne shimmering in white and hovering above the startled peasant children that had first witnessed her apparition three centuries earlier.
Father Bernard knelt down and opened the little trapdoor that was inches thick and braced with iron straps. Everyone gathered round. The holy water trickled past, black and silky looking with a smell of autumn deadfall and eggs.
I could feel Hanny crushing my hand.
‘It’s alright,’ I said. ‘Don’t be scared.’
Miss Bunce went first as she was closest to Father Bernard. She took off her coat and handed it to David to hold. Accepting Father Bernard’s hand, she knelt down in front of him and bent her head forward. Father Bernard placed his hand gently on her crown, said a quiet prayer, and then reached down into the hole with the chalice to let it fill with water. He brought it up spattering onto the stone and handed it to Miss Bunce. She closed her eyes and drank from the cup and was replaced by David, and then the rest of us one by one.