Chapter Forty-One

For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, or be cast away?

Luke 9:25

Thursday, 8th November: They'd been out to supper together which was a first. They'd gone to a discreet out of town Chinese restaurant in Longmeadow, an elite district Seb insisted on calling Long-ghetto. It was a place where neither were likely to be recognised. Still, the frisson of risk added an edge to their meal. Seb had been talking of the things that mattered to him - of his family, of his call to the priesthood, of his belief in God and the sanctity of life. Angie had just listened mostly. It was all about him, but she didn't mind. He had been there for her when she'd needed him. It was his turn now.

Later they were in her car. He was driving. He had intended to drop her back to her new place but she put her hand on his arm, "No, yours," she said. He knew this meant she would stay the night and he was a little uncomfortable with the idea. This was going too fast for him and these bridges, once burnt, could not be crossed again. Not too fast for Angie though. She had thrown herself at their shared new world and the new dawn it represented for her. She wanted him to move in with her in her new home.

Angie's words broke in on him then, earnest and keen edged from the passenger seat of the car. He could feel her looking at him as she spoke, watching his face for reaction. "You know you were talking about the sanctity of life?" she asked. She wanted to understand him, this man that made her feel so good.

He nodded. "Yes."

"That's really important to you? All life?"

"Yes," he said again.

"But you're not vegetarian."

"No," he said. "But if I were no longer a priest, I might become a vegetarian."

"Why not now?"

He smiled. "Don't want to put anyone to any trouble," he said. The minute he said it he noticed how lame it sounded but it was the truth.

"So all life is sacred?"

"Yes."

"I had an abortion once."

He pulled the car over, in close to the sidewalk. The road pavement was glistening black in the streetlight. It had been sleeting. It was late. He turned to face her. "What did you say?"

"I had an abortion."

"Why?"

She was nervous now. She'd just wanted to be honest with this her new love. "I was young. In college actually. There was a boy I liked. I was careless. I was afraid of what my parents would think."

"But how could you do that?" He was disturbed by this new revelation and he genuinely wanted to know. He didn't care how immature he sounded.

She watched him, her head tilted a little to one side, like a cat, her slate-blue eyes wide, appraising. "You talking as my priest or as my lover?" she asked. She was a little frightened inside by how cold his voice sounded.

"I can never be your priest again." He frowned bitterly. "I'm not sure I can ever be anyone's priest."

She smiled and reached a hand over to smooth his brow. "I've been reading up on it," she said. "On celibacy I mean."

He didn't say anything. He had turned back to stare blankly ahead out of the windscreen, so she went on. "There weren't many celibate priests before Pope Gregory reformed things in the sixth century. Certainly not in the Western church. Monks were celibate, not priests."

He turned to face her again. "Maybe I should become a monk," he said. And then, "You never said anything about this at confession."

"About having an abortion you mean?"

He nodded.

"You were my priest, not my lover." She hesitated a moment. "Does it make a difference?"

"Yes. It makes a difference."

"Why?"

"Because you're talking of a new life. And I'm not Jesus. However much I'd like to be perfect."

She smoothed his brow again with the tips of her long, slender fingers. "I don't want you perfect," she said.

"Some things are better left unsaid."

She dropped her hand and tilted her head again so her hair fell to one side, glistening in the half-light like a shimmering golden curtain.

"Why?"

"Christ told the truth. But he didn't tell the whole truth. He knew when to remain silent."

"And this hurts you, so I shouldn't have said it?"

He didn't say anything. Not that he was lost for words but that it did hurt, the thought of a littler life snuffed out. This conversation had gone as far as he felt like going. And she knew what he thought. They already had something of that magic, that knowing the mind of the other that comes with a deep love.

And this knowledge hurt her in turn. More profoundly than he knew. She kissed him then. First on the cheeks then on the lips. She was frightened she might loose him, unable to admit, even to herself, how much he meant to her, despite his narrow mindedness.

Later at his place as they took each other, there was an awkward edge to their lovemaking for the first time. Like they both knew there was a whole mountain yet to be climbed.