Twelve Days Page 3
The fire crackled in the fireplace at the far end of the room, and on the mantel above stood a large advent calendar. The Christmas tree flashed its gaudy lights in sequenced patterns and the tinsel glittered. But I saw no presents under the tree. I stared at Reverend James in the wall mirror, which reflected every nuance of the gathering.
And who the hell is this Signor Rossi, I thought. Creepy rooms, torture instruments, mirrors everywhere. More like a scene for a Gothic crime novel. Or some seedy porn setting. ‘The storm is getting worse,’ I said.
Mike looked up at the window in surprise as if he had not noticed the howling wind, the sleet battering the window panes, the deepening darkness.
‘We’re here for the long haul, Rafe,’ said Reverend James. ‘Twelve days.’
‘Don’t you love a white Christmas?’ said Glen. Every place had been set with our name written on a small white envelope. He found his nametag and sat.
The Reverend took his seat at the head of the table. ‘I only hope Emily makes it. Assuming her taxi can get through, she should be arriving any minute.’
‘I can’t see any car getting through this storm,’ said Mike.
I found my nametag on Alison’s left and sat down.
‘Who’s the great cook?’ asked Mike. ‘Smells delicious.’
‘Signor Antonio Alfieri, the concierge,’ said Stephen. ‘Not only is he a wonderful host and driver, he is also a marvellous chef. He prepared all our food for these twelve days.’
Reverend James leaned forward. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, these are dark times. Thanks for heeding my call – no, God’s call – to come to this retreat. Some have come far – USA, Canada, England.’
‘Dark times indeed,’ I said, gesturing at the windows. A bare tree branch scraped at the glass, like the claw of a ghoulish spirit trying to get in from the cold.
‘Please take the envelope addressed to you on your placemats and look inside, but don’t let anyone else see. This is between you and God.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Suzanne?’ said Glen, fingering his envelope but not opening it.
Reverend James frowned at his wife, who pointed up at the stairwell. She meant, of course, by the rolling of her eyes, that Suzanne was playing princess.
I took a quick look inside my envelope to see the number eight, and a picture of eight maids a-milking. I got it. We had each been assigned one of the twelve days of Christmas. So we were going to play some silly game.
Linda poured what looked like red sparkling wine into each person’s wine glass, and Reverend James raised a toast. ‘To the twelve nights of Christmas. May the good Lord bless us all.’
I tasted grape juice. I hadn’t expected Gutturnio or Lambrusco, but it did seem a crime to be in one of the finest wine regions of Italy and not get a taste of its wine.
‘Cheers!’ I clinked glasses with Glen, Stephen and Danny. ‘Good to see you all again.’
The front door banged open, and a gust of icy wind and snow flurries blew through the hall. In walked a bundle of scarves and coats. She unwrapped herself at the fire, fluffing out a mane of long, straight, red hair. Emily Barnes. My first feeling was joy – I hadn’t seen her for years, and we had been close friends. My second feeling was guilt. I had not kept in contact with her for years either. I had simply disappeared.
‘Emily!’ said Reverend James. ‘You made it. Merry Christmas!’
She shivered. ‘Nearly didn’t make it. God! It’s frikkin’ freezing out there. I don’t know how we got through that mother of all snowstorms. We’re right in the middle of it.’
Stephen stood up to help her out of her coat. She brushed her hand through her hair. ‘Hi, guys,’ she said. ‘It’s good to see you all again. How long has it been, hey?’
Stephen thrust the basket under her nose. ‘Any electronic devices? Right here.’
She gave him a pained look, fumbled for her phone in her pocket and found it. Looking at it sadly, she dropped it into the basket and took her place next to me. She smiled and kissed my cheek. ‘Rafe! I can’t believe you came to the reunion. Good onya.’ She leaned her head on my shoulder, fluttered her eyelids in mock affection. I gave her a sideways bear hug. The feelings of warmth and childish affection rushed back.
‘I told you we shouldn’t have let them sit together,’ said Glen.
Reverend James pointed. ‘Emily, your seat is actually over there. Nametag. Envelope. All the seats are designated for a reason. It’s all part of the plan.’
‘There’s a plan?’ But Emily did not switch seats, so Stephen handed her the correct envelope and nametag.
The concierge, who had donned a white cook’s hat and apron, pushed a silver trolley of food out of the kitchen doorway. ‘La cena è pronta.’
‘We’re still missing one.’ Glen craned his neck towards the dark stairwell.
Didn’t we all know? But this was Suzanne. Any party, any occasion, she would sweep in late when the party was in full swing for maximum effect.
Alison poured Emily a drink, and she swilled it in her mouth. ‘Hmm. Vintage bouquet. I’d say a good 1950s Cabernet Sauvignon.’
I nudged her under the table. ‘Behave.’
She picked up the envelope Stephen had placed there.
‘You may look, Emily, but please do not show or tell anyone else,’ said Reverend James.
She slit open the envelope with her nail. ‘Oh, I see. Wonderful.’
‘Seven swans a-swimming,’ she whispered to me. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Eight maids…’
‘Sexy.’
The others were distracted by an apparition descending the staircase in a low-cut green dress, her hair sparkling blonde as if she had arrived at the Oscars. Even the concierge stopped serving to stare.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Suzanne.
Sure you’re sorry.
The effect was measurable. The men became instantly awkward and self-conscious; the women screwed up their faces at her as if she hurt their eyes. She upset the balance instantly. So much for being wise and mature. Danny was grinning like a schoolboy, Mike looked like a puffer fish, Glen sat rigid. All still under her spell. No change at all. I refused to give her more than two seconds.
Even Reverend James looked nonplussed. ‘Now we’re all here, we can begin.’ He motioned Suzanne to her seat opposite me. ‘Let’s say grace.’ His prayer droned on for some time. How we were all blessed to be together again, and were here for renewal and to listen to Him and His plans for us. And to revitalise our faith and commitment to The Twelve.
‘Amen!’
‘Please eat. And while we do so, I want to tell you about “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. This song was sung by persecuted Christians in order to help them keep their faith, to remember and pass on the tenets of their beliefs without the persecutors knowing it. Each symbol means something. We will begin with today, Christmas Day, the first day of Christmas, and the partridge in a pear tree.’
Here we go again. The interminable Reverend James sermon. At the Church of the Joyful Resurrection, he used to go on and on for hours, delaying everyone’s Sunday lunch. And as I used to do during those sermons all those years ago, my eyes sought out Suzanne’s. Back then, if she looked back at me, my emotions would soar. Tonight, I kept my sentiments under tight rein. Reverend James took a slice of meat on his fork and raised it in the air. ‘What meat are we eating here for this Christmas feast?’
‘Turkey,’ said Mike.
‘Pheasant,’ said Alison.
‘Pernice,’ I said. ‘Partridge.’
The Reverend looked up at me in surprise. ‘Correct.’
‘I get it, I get it,’ said Danny, beaming. ‘And I bet p-pear is for dessert.’
Reverend James nodded. ‘What does the partridge represent?’
‘Christ.’ This was Alison, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she spoke.
Reverend James placed the forkful of meat in his mouth and chewed before answering. ‘The partridge, Christ, hanging on a tree for us, the centre of C
hristmas.’
‘And,’ said Linda, ‘we eat of his flesh, of his body and blood. It’s all symbolic.’
‘Delicious,’ said Emily under her breath. ‘Tastes like chicken.’
‘You haven’t changed,’ I whispered back. ‘Actually, it tastes like old string dipped in garlic.’
She giggled and Reverend James gave us a sharp look.
Danny shot his hand up. ‘I don’t quite understand. If Christ is the partridge, then who is the “my true love” in the song?’
‘On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me…’ said Reverend James, his mouth full of partridge meat and gravy.
Alison was quick off the mark. ‘Again, that is obviously Christ.’ She pushed her glasses onto her nose.
I remembered why it was difficult to like her. She, and the others, knew the Truth with a capital T. And Truth was static. Had to be pronounced with the pious pomposity of fifty flipping Pharisees.
Reverend James pressed his fingers together. ‘We are the bride of Christ. The Bible often refers to Christ as the true lover, husband. In the Song of Solomon…’
Ever the philosopher, I could not keep my mouth shut here. I had to point out the illogic of this symbol. ‘But if my true love Christ’ – fingering the air to signify quotes – ‘gave me a partridge in a pear tree, Christ’ – again, air quotes – ‘gives me himself. That’s nonsense.’
Suzanne smiled at me in forbidden admiration, as if I were the only person in the world. As if sharing a secret with me. She was good at this. But I was practising immunity. I did not feel it, that old fluttering of the heart. It was gone. Surely.
Stephen gave me The Look. You never question the Reverend James Miller, let alone interrupt him when he is expounding on the Truth.
Alison gave me the smug eye. ‘Christ sacrifices himself for us. He gives himself to us. It’s obvious.’
‘Obvious,’ said Emily, digging me in the ribs. ‘You don’t get it, Rafe.’
Again, I wondered how I was going to survive twelve days of Supercilious Stephen, Pious Danny and Machine Mike, Sour Grapes Alison, Holier-than-Thou Linda and the Reverent Reverend. My only ally here was Emily, and the only saving grace an amused look Suzanne offered me.
‘Now eat,’ said Reverend James. ‘Enjoy, for this is His body, broken for you.’
‘Delicious food.’
The concierge, still in the room, made a gracious bow. ‘You need anything more, please call me. I’ll prepare dessert.’ And he wheeled the trolley back into the kitchen.
Suzanne had said nothing throughout the meal, but kept an ironic smile on her face. From time to time, she arched a characteristic eyebrow, as if she was above it all, an expression often exploited in her movies. It annoyed the hell out of them, I could see. She held the attention of all the men – yes, even Reverend James, who kept throwing her furtive glances as if even he was fishing for her approval. As for Danny, Mike, Stephen and Glen, they were drooling. Not so the women: Alison could not mask her disdain for Suzanne; Linda stared at her plunging neckline in distress as if it was causing her physical pain; Emily ignored her completely.
I could measure the distance between my teen infatuation and the damage done then and now. I could see all her tricks, and her illusions, and the spells that used to enchant me. Finally, Mike summoned the courage to speak to her directly. ‘Suzanne, how do you do it?’
‘What?’
‘Play all those roles. How do you pretend to be so many different people?’
Suzanne winked. ‘Aren’t you ever someone other than yourself?’
‘No,’ said Mike. I noticed a glance between Linda and Glen. Only a millisecond, but a glance nevertheless, which I could not decipher.
‘What about doing things you don’t do in real life?’ said Stephen. ‘Like smoking. What was that movie where you were a chain smoker? Fireball, was it?’
‘And that movie where you had to put on all that weight?’ said Emily.
Suzanne showed her perfect white teeth implants and crowns. ‘It’s a job. And all those people I act are not me. There’s a glass wall between me and my role.’
Maybe, I thought, we have something in common after all.
‘Is it t-true,’ Danny asked, ‘that you can c-cry at will?’ His stutter, I noticed, was much worse when he addressed her.
She stared at him, blinked a few times, adopted a heartbroken expression, and sure enough, there were the tears, rolling down her cheeks.
‘Amazing,’ said Stephen. ‘So we can never trust you?’
‘Why would you ever?’ she said.
I had to say it. ‘We wouldn’t.’
‘Good. You shouldn’t,’ she said.
Behind the joke was a history of heartache. I knew that each of these men, in turn, had cracked hearts because of her, and by their reactions to her now, they had never quite healed. All through this exchange, Glen frowned, averting his eyes from her whenever she looked at him. Signs of possible continued infatuation. After all these years.
The concierge rolled out dessert, which was, sure enough, tinned pears and ice cream. Then he announced his departure. ‘Enjoy the retreat,’ he said. ‘I will be back in twelve days!’
‘Thank you, Antonio!’ said Alison.
Reverend James clapped his hands, as a magician does to make something disappear. ‘Let the twelve days of Christmas begin! I have placed a Bible and notepad and pen in your room. I want this to be a cleansing time. Confess to God. Purge yourself. Each of you write down a secret confession to God. Something you want to be forgiven for. A vice. A sin. A transgression. Pray over it. Then tomorrow morning, bring the piece of paper and we will burn it here in the fire.’
Emily nudged me under the table. ‘You look like you’re about to murder someone,’ she whispered.
‘Sorry. Just wondering why the hell I’m here.’
‘Me too.’ She linked her pinkie finger to mine under the table, a gesture we had invented at school when we needed support from each other.
I knew Reverend James could draw a confession out of a saint. I could see the thoughts racing around in each person’s mind, each one deciding not if they had a vice, but which one to confess. I didn’t believe in sin, or God or any neurotic anthropomorphism of humankind’s deepest insecurities. But I had plenty of vice I could share. Plenty. If he wanted sin, I had a bountiful harvest to offer him.
‘I suggest we have an early night,’ said Reverend James.
Glen stood. ‘Listen up, people. The castle is a pretty derelict place, as you have discovered. There are several no-go areas where it is unsafe.’
‘The tower, for one,’ I interrupted, ‘where you’re staying.’
‘The entire north side of the tower is a no-go area. My side, the south, is fine. But don’t go prowling around at night. There’s a collapsed staircase down to the basement. The whole cellar area has caved in. No one goes down there.’
‘Goodnight, everyone,’ said Reverend James. ‘Tomorrow we start our programme, so be sure to get some rest. We start our Quiet Times bright and early. Prayers at 6am.’
Alison and Suzanne followed Linda up the stairs and along the left passage to the women’s quarters; Mike, Stephen and Danny followed Reverend James down the right passage that led to the men’s quarters. Glen lingered in the corridor and held Emily and myself back. He spoke quietly. ‘I need to talk to you both.’
We followed him to the end of the men’s corridor, along a narrow passage and up the winding stone steps to the tower. The tower room jutted out of the east side of the castle. I looked back at Emily and she shrugged her shoulders. We passed dark crevices in the stairwell covered in spider webs and Emily shivered. ‘Ugh.’
‘Dark times indeed,’ I repeated.
‘Smells like a sewer.’
‘Welcome to the tower.’ Glen closed the door behind us.
I took in the leaded windows on two sides and the narrow balcony leading out straight ahead. The large pentagonal room was fiery hot.
‘And cosy warm,’ Emily said.
Glen pushed open the balcony doors and stepped out onto the tiny ledge overlooking the black void of the storm. A violent gust of wind blew a curtain of snow and ice into the room.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Emily. ‘It’s evil out there.’
‘Come on!’
We stepped out onto the balcony into the full force of a blizzard. Glen whirled around. ‘Woohoo, this is something!’
‘You sure this is safe?’ I yelled. The balcony was a slab of rock jutting out from the wall, which looked as if it was about to crumble or break off if any weight was put on it. A wooden railing held us in. Above the balcony hung a large stone gargoyle the size of a human. A demon with its tongue out peered over the ledge. It looked battered and weather-worn too, as if any slight bump might dislodge it. I gripped the ice-cold railing. Snow and sleet stung my face, my eyes. The wind howled around my ears. ‘Vertigo,’ I said.
‘Nice,’ said Emily, her teeth chattering. ‘Now let’s get the hell inside.’
We stepped back in and Glen banged the balcony doors shut, sealing us inside the room, which had cooled dramatically. ‘Sit, sit.’
I was shuddering with cold and my head spun. Emily grabbed my hand. ‘My fingers are ice. Yours are warm.’
We sat on the couch while Glen paced. ‘Rafe, and Emily, you must hear this too. I’m just guessing we’re the only non-believers here. And maybe Suzanne. The renegades.’
‘I thought you had kept your faith,’ I said.
Glen smiled. ‘On the contrary. We’re the odd ones out.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And Suzanne.’
‘And Suzanne,’ he repeated wistfully. He held out the hand with the ring. Looked at it in the light.
‘My God,’ said Emily. ‘You still have her ring.’
He nodded. Folded his arms. ‘I’m worried about what the Reverend’s intentions are here.’
Emily laughed. ‘To see if he still holds us all in his magnetic power.’
‘The man evidently has a vain but persistent hope that he can bring us lost sheep back into the fold,’ I said.