Jubilate by Michael Arditti Read Free Book Online Page B

some green,’ I say of her sweatshirt.
    ‘Easy to spot in a crowd,’ she says. ‘You need it in Lourdes. Of course it’s not so useful when we hold mass in a meadow.’ I smile politely.
    ‘What’s that?’ Jamie asks, pointing to the logo stretched across her impressive bust.
    ‘Oh, it’s the Jubilate angel blowing her horn. His horn; her horn: you can’t tell with angels.’ I find myself warming to her. ‘We have one for each of you. It’s designed specially for the anniversary. You never know,’ she adds with an embarrassed laugh, ‘it may turn out to be a collector’s item.’
    Louisa leads us to the check-in counter, where she introduces us to Sister Anne, whose title is the only sign of her vocation. As I shake hands with the sturdy forty-year-old in sensible shoes and an anorak, wearing a more discreet cross than many of her charges, I think back to all the penguin jokes of my boyhood and wonder how we are supposed to know who’s who any more. I picture myself as a McCarthyite commentator in fifties America, warning the honest citizen of the subversives in their midst. ‘Ten telltale signs to detect a nun.’ But even I have to admit that the only one in evidence is compassion, as she hears a paralysed man sniffing beside her and tenderly wipes his nose.
    Louisa is summoned to deal with a missing ticket. ‘Duty calls,’ she says apologetically. We take our places in the queue. Check-in counters are not built for wheelchairs and the staff seem more forbidding than ever as they peer down at the confined figures in front of them. I suddenly become aware of a commotion to my left. A middle-aged man has opened his suitcase and is tossing out the contents . Clothes fly everywhere, causing nothing more serious than confusion until a sandal hits his chair-bound neighbour, provoking an indignant howl. The man then throws down the case and twistshis neck back and forth as though to ward off a persistent wasp. Two pilgrimage officials rush up to him. One puts his arms around his shoulders, gently calming him; the other gathers up the scattered clothes. Meanwhile Sister Anne consoles the victim, whose overemphatic wails sound increasingly like pleas for sympathy and less like genuine pain. Jamie has captured it all on film and gives me a thumbs-up sign which is intercepted by Louisa who approaches, hand-in-hand with a little girl.
    ‘That’s Frank. I think he’s on your list.’
    ‘Oh yes, of course. The guy with Lyme Disease.’
    ‘No control of his emotions. The slightest thing can set him off. He used to be a churchwarden.’
    ‘It must be hell.’
    ‘And here’s someone else you wanted to meet: Fiona, our youngest pilgrim, always excepting Dr Gilpin’s baby, but we won’t count her, will we?’
    Fiona shakes her head solemnly. I ponder her mother’s defensive ‘personable’ as I gaze at the discordant face with its elongated brow and elderly features, crowned by immaculately brushed golden hair. Her detached expression springs to life as, in response to my greeting , she pulls out a retractable tape measure and holds it against my left leg, disconcertingly close to the groin.
    ‘Are you going to be in my film?’ I ask, gently disengaging myself. Fiona looks confused and turns to Louisa.
    ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘You’re going to be the star.’
    ‘Star,’ Fiona repeats, clapping her hands.
    ‘Right then. Shall we go and find Mummy and Daddy?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Fiona says, running off into the crowd.
    ‘Bless!’ Louisa says. She moves to follow, when a tall grey man with a bulging briefcase strides up to her. ‘May I borrow you for a moment, Louisa? There’s been a slight accident.’
    ‘How slight?’ she asks. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
    ‘No, nothing like that.’ He whispers in her ear.
    ‘Is that all?’ she says with a laugh. ‘No need to be shy. Sister Anne or Sister Martha should have some spares in the emergency bag.’ The man hurries away. ‘Pants,’ she explains.