Upperkirkgate Chapter 7: The Gallows Is Built Stronger Than the Church, Part 1

Jack stood watching a rugby match, yet not taking it in. He had never been sporty. He stood on King Street, not very far from Claire’s flat. He had been there again that day: another fruitless pilgrimage. He had left the empty little black box in his flat: it had recorded enough in the way of disaster.

   A bus stopped behind him, and disgorged more students. It was late June. The university campus was quietening down, exams almost finished, preparing for the graduations. The rugby was not a serious contest: sweating props on the run, the ground baked hard as winter and as unforgiving. It had hardly rained for two weeks.

     “Long time no see,” said a voice behind him.

     “Hallo, Jules. Still working on your band?” said Jack in a moody tone, not turning round.

     “The research is proceeding… on hold for the summer, perhaps.”

     “A year from now you’ll be finished, too. Ready for the real world.”

     “As if.” Jules came alongside him, gripping the black iron railings that gave a limited view of the sports field. “Have you seen her recently?”

     “Claire? Not since I lost the ring. It makes proposing to her just a bit difficult.”

     “I was thinking of Alison.”

     Jack exhaled. “I can’t say I’ve thought of her much. I’ve been sort of free of her lately.”

     “I believe that.”

     “I mean, I’ve not seen her around so much. I handed in my dissertation, waiting for the result. I remember when I got into this place, through the Summer School for Access. It was great, seeing I’d passed, posted on the wall. Now it’ll happen again. I’ll get a job in a bank or something, do that Masters part-time. Claire’s got a year to go.” They started to wander into the King Street entrance to the university, walking over the first speed bump. “Any concerts planned?”

     “Like I said…”

     “Wrapped up for the summer. You’re not thinking of headlining at Glastonbury, then?”

     “Not any time soon. As far as postmodern exhibitions of the ego go, that could be deemed ostentatious.”

     “Isn’t that the point of a lot of art?”

     “Very possibly.” They drifted past the sports centre, towards the QML.

     “I’m done with there for now,” said Jack. He stood still for a moment on Meston Walk, stretched and yawned.

     “I find it cool,” said Jules. “In every sense. Relaxing and invigorating. A philosopher’s cave for the head.”

     Jack stared. “Are you feeling alright?”

     “Oh yes. Come and meet the missus.”

     “What?”

     “She’s waiting in Heavy Demand. Sort of appropriate, in the circumstances.” Wordlessly, Jack followed his cousin. They went through the atrium, swiped their ID cards through the system, and walked into the library. Jack saw Claire inside, leaning against the entrance to Heavy Demand. She smiled and began to walk towards them.

     Jules fished in his pocket. He produced a guitar plectrum, bright red. He looked at it regretfully. “I wish I’d been able to find your ring. I doubt if this… would work as a substitute, but you are welcome to have it.” Jack shook his head. “Thought not. Oh well, I don’t think you’ll be needing me anymore.” He smiled slowly, and wandered off, up the nearby flight of steps. Jack had no time to think of anything elaborate to say. Claire was almost within talking distance.

     “Hi,” she said warmly. “I heard you were looking for me.”

     “Yes.” The sun flooded in through a window behind her, making her seem brighter. She smiled. He cleared his throat. “Er, there’s something I’ve got to ask you.”

                                                           ***

Alison was immaculate. She sat on the chair, two rows from the front of the stage, elegant in black at her graduation. She stared bright-eyed up at the doctoral student giving a speech. “If they would let me speak, what tales I would tell,” she muttered.

     “Don’t I know it,” said Jack quietly, beside her. “If Jules hadn’t caught you when on tripped- on throwing my ring onto the railway line-“

     “I know. You still asked her, that mistake. I haven’t lost you, just yet.”

     “You nearly lost you. Was my ring more important than your life?”

     “That depends on what it stood for.”

     “But the whole point of your thesis, the reason you’re here today-“

     “These occasions are a bit like Moonie weddings, I think. Such a collective sense of- well, togetherness.”

     “We’re getting married next week. You can’t stop us.” He nodded up to the gallery in Marischal College, where Claire was seated.

     “Thank you. That’s what I needed to know.”

     “You can’t stop us.”

     “You just need some reminding.”

     “Of what, exactly?”

     “The truth.”

     “If I weren’t sorry for you, I’d-“

     “What? What would you do, Jack?”

     “Remind you what you’re missing.”

     “That sounds intriguing.”

     “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, as a friend. I mean, you need your own life now. Claire and I need a new start. We can’t have you there, like a deadweight round our necks. I cared about you once. We both did.”

     Alison was silent, the voice of the doctoral student droning on past her. She turned to Jack. “That doesn’t mean that I stopped caring,” she hissed. He rolled his eyes, and tried not to look at the anxious blue blur above them.

     The graduate stepped down. Jack exhaled in relief as they all applauded. The names of the Masters students were called out, and then the undergraduates, who were undergraduates no more. Jack left his seat first, walked onto the stage, shook the hand of the University Chancellor, smiled up to the gallery as a flash came from there, and returned to his seat.

     By then, Alison was already walking up the aisle. She approached the stage calmly, palms a little sweaty. She climbed the steps to the summit of her work. The wood echoed beneath her shoes, louder than she would have liked. She almost missed the Chancellor’s outstretched hand, scanning the seats to see if Jack had returned. “Oh, thank you.” She received her scroll, and walked slowly to the other side, the next student already ascending behind her. She looked to the gallery. A flash dazzled her for a moment. Alison smiled, and returned to her seat.

                                                           ***

“Here’s your carnation.” Jules bent a little so that Alison could reach his lapel. They stood on the corner of Thomson Street, where Alison’s flat was, and Rosemount Place. She had bought him a flower from the fruit and flower shop there known as The Orange Grove. “Just picked this morning.” She was dressed in cream. She looked at herself in a car window. “Not quite white, but what do you know… could be better in some ways. Now you’re sure it’s not in a registry office?”

     “Sure. He told me. It’s in King’s College Chapel.”

     “Nah. That’s too obvious.” Jules smiled. They walked down Rosemount Place, passing one church. It advertised the experience of Jonah’s Journey on the outside. “How about that one?”

     “I don’t know if that’s a proper church anymore.”

     “You should. Let’s see.” He sighed. She looked inside the hallway, her eyes adjusting to the dark. There were biblical themes in the exhibition, directing visitors around part of the church, centring in part on the prophet Jonah and his three days and nights in the belly of the fish. She discerned no-one else was around. “Fish is off. Right. Something else to tell Claire about when we find them. Let’s move.”

     “Perhaps I’d like to look around.”

     “Fat chance. Move along. Nothing to see here.”

     “I like it. It looks interesting.”

     “Out!” She resorted to pulling him by the hand, outside. The sun was bright in late July. She produced a map from her cream handbag. “X marks the spot for some of these places. Come on, Captain Jack Sparrow!”

     “We’ve got all day.”

     “No time to lose. My Jack needs enlightenment, and boy is he going to get it!” They walked down South Mount Street, towards Rosemount Viaduct. Alison tripped and nearly fell on the concrete slabs more than once. “Help. I’m not used to these shoes.”

     “Neither am I.”

     “Ha ha. Wait a minute.”

     “You’re the one who’s ahead of your time.” She leaned against him, removing one shoe and massaging her foot.

     “Ah, that’s better. Let’s see.” She shook out the map again. The road swept down the hill before them. She saw one imposing spire, and matched it up on the map. “Ah. That’s one possibility.” She hurried on, approaching the church on Rosemount Viaduct, the tower rising to a considerable height. There was a gate preceding the door of the church, and both were locked. “No joy. What about… that one?” She shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked across the road. “Is that a church? It looks so small and ordinary compared to this one.”

     “Judge not, lest you be judged.” She checked the road was clear, and crossed to investigate the building, its door at right angles to the street they were on. She went up its short flight of steps, and approached the door. She shook the handle: it did not open. “Not everyone’s sold on tradition,” said Jules. “Or appearances. Or even both, together.”

     “Well, some people are. Enough to get married today. Come on!” They walked on, Jules sauntering in less obvious haste. Alison turned back, took his hand and dragged him on. The day was quite warm. She was a little out of breath. They passed another pedestrian crossing, approaching the startled lions of Cowdray Hall.

     “I wouldn’t mind playing in there,” said Jules appreciatively. “Some people record in there, too.”

     “Not today. Move!”

     “Yes, ma’am.” They went further down the street, towards Schoolhill, and Upperkirkgate beyond it. Past the Central Library. “I think I might have some books to return,” he said, dragging his heels.”

     “Well, either you have them very well hidden, or you didn’t take them with you. If I hadn’t returned mine to the QML, I wouldn’t have graduated.” They passed the children’s section of the library. He made to go in. “No, you don’t. Focus on the mission.”

     “Does your handbag explode in ten seconds?”

     “You should be so lucky.” The granite stone of the library sparkled in the sun, a clear blue sky above the distinctive building.

     “Beautiful day for a wedding.”

     “Isn’t it just. An even better day for… enlightenment.” They walked past the main entrance to the library, by the traffic lights. A large and commanding statue of William Wallace stood across the road, his hand raised in an expressive gesture. “Freedom,” said Alison firmly. “That’s what Jack needs.” She noticed St Mark’s Church, beside the library, and saw it was open. “Ha!” She darted inside, disappearing below the railings like a ferret down a rabbit warren. Jules rolled his eyes, and sat down on the library steps. He looked over at Union Terrace Gardens, waiting, calm and unruffled, almost a statue himself. Eventually he saw her return to the foot of the steps, blinking in the strong sunlight. He got up slowly, and went down to join her. “No joy again?”

     She gave him a look. “No. You seemed to know there wouldn’t be. Something about serving lunches, but no weddings.”

     “What about a coffee?” He nodded in the direction of the familiar bookshop.

     Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, why not?” She went more slowly, past the Art Gallery, looked briefly at a poster for the current exhibition. It was not long before they arrived at Pirrips’. Alison sank into a chair, and removed her shoes. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Jules came to the counter and ordered a latte and an espresso. He took them over. Alison seemed to revive at the smell. “It’s been a long time since I had one of these.” She took the small cup by its handle, and held it for a moment before sipping. “That was a day to remember, when we were in here before.” She glanced up at the poetry section and frowned. “What were you doing up there, anyway? Spying on me?”

     “No.”

     “For someone who doesn’t like bookshops, you were there a long time.”

     “My research is ongoing.” She lifted a finger.

     “You might fool Jack with that kind of bafflegab, but it won’t work on me.” She grew brighter, finishing the strong coffee.

     “How was it? It looks like earth to me.”

     “A question of taste.”

     “Like many things.”

     “Good coffee is in the taste of the beholder.”

     “How about a look around the shop?” She looked at him narrowly.

     “You really are trying.”

     “I just thought it might relax you. You seem very tense.”

     “Well, considering Jack is about to make the biggest mistake of his life, to invoke another wedding cliché, I would say that isn’t surprising.”

     “Is it really marriage as an institution you object to, or is it that he prefers someone else?”

     She shrugged. “He’s misguided. Lost his way. I can teach him.”

     “What, exactly?”

     “That’s between him and me.”

     “Ah. Like that, is it?”

     “Oh, it’s hot. There hasn’t been a summer like this for a few years. I was glad it wasn’t so hot on our graduation.”

     “Maybe I don’t want a graduation. Maybe I want my work to speak for itself, not get dressed up in a hat like a sleepwalking owl.”

     “It’ll be up to you, next year. This place… was very much books for pleasure, rather than work. Even when they overlapped.” She looked around them. “Did you 

mean what you said about this place closing down, or was that just a conversational gimmick? Attacking my weak spot?” Her tone grew sharper.

     “Oh, no. I had it on good authority.”

     “I don’t see any sign of it here.”

     “People in Pompeii didn’t greatly credit the tremors from Vesuvius, either.”

     “I don’t want to end up like them. But that’s what Jack’s doing today. Buried in liquid rock. With her.” She got up and walked to the poetry section, walking slowly up the steps. Jules watched her go, finishing his coffee.

     Alison reached the arched recess at the top, and waved to him. She leaned out over the balcony.

     He stood, hands in pockets, watching her. Then he walked up to join her. She picked up a copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely, and more temperate.”

     “I’ve heard that one before.”

     “How deflating! No effort made. Nul points.” She frowned, and almost threw it back on the shelf.