‘I’m not comfortable in a church. Not really the team I play for.’
‘Right.’
‘You have a good time though.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Expect you late, then. Or maybe tomorrow…’
‘Philippa—’
‘Kidding. I’ve wrapped you a sandwich, so you don’t have to go to the pub on an empty stomach.’
‘Bless you, thanks.’
‘We are blessed, aren’t we, Pye? I had a call from Tom, at the hospital. He’s feeling groggy but OK. The big worry is infection. They don’t think there’s likely to be any, but they want to be sure. That’s why they’re keeping him there.’
‘Good news, then. Overall.’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
Jack comes for her at seven, and is smirkingly admitted by Philippa. Seeing that she’s in a mischievous mood, Eve grabs her bag and hurries Jack out of the house. Outside, it’s warm, with the light fading. Jack seems to be in no hurry to reach the church, and clearly feels no compulsion to make small talk, so he and Eve make their way along the pavement in companionable silence.
The church is cooler than outside on the street. There are perhaps thirty people in the pews, none of whom Eve recognises. A printed sheet lists the pieces to be sung. The names of the composers – Byrd, Tallis, Taverner – are unknown to her. There are six singers, four men and two women, and when the first piece starts, Eve feels a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Something in the soaring, intertwined voices touches her deeply. It takes her back, like the chalk hills and the butterflies and the birds-foot trefoil, to a half-remembered childhood self. Where did she go, that awkward, uncertain, free-spirited soul?
The programme lasts for fifty minutes, and for all of that time Eve is barely conscious of taking a breath. The other listeners seem similarly rapt. At one point she reaches into her bag for a tissue, and when her fingers encounter Philippa’s sandwich in its greaseproof paper, the tiny crackling sound makes her freeze.
As they leave the church Jack glances at her. ‘What did you think?’
‘Mmm.’ She nods, not quite trusting her voice.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes.’
He leaves it there and steers her from the churchyard with a touch on the shoulder.
‘I loved it,’ Eve says. ‘Thank you for asking me. It was beautiful.’
‘It heals the spirit,’ Jack says, and something in his resolute smile twists her heart.
‘Do you mind if I eat my sandwich on the way to the pub?’ she asks. ‘We can share it, if you like.’
He grins. ‘Go on then.’
She divides the sandwich in half. Cheddar cheese and slices of pink onion. ‘Just as well we’re both having some.’ She hands Jack his half. ‘No one else’ll come near us.’
The White Hart’s busy. ‘Why don’t you sit?’ he says. ‘I’ll get the drinks. And choose them, if that’s OK?’
‘Sure,’ Eve says, surprised. ‘Surprise me.’
She lowers herself into a banquette, still savouring the weightless happiness that the music has bestowed on her. Life, she decides, is a mysterious thing.
Jack returns with two pints of something dark.
‘What’s this?’ she asks suspiciously.
‘Try it.’