Upperkirkgate Chapter 7: The Gallows Is Built Stronger Than the Church, Part 2

She looked at him, his well-built frame filling the area at the head of the stairs. “You wouldn’t be trying to stall me now, would you?” He did not move. She went up and poked him in the waistcoat. “Move.” He did not. “Alright.” She moved briskly over to the balcony and started to climb on it. “Either you move, or I am leaving this way. I mean it.”

     “I’ve heard of baling out, but this is ridiculous.”

     “Okay. Make your mind up.” She sucked in her breath, and seemed prepared to jump the eight feet to the ground level.

     He moved. She moved faster, back from the edge, behind him and down the stairs. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She moved quickly back to the table, collected her shoes, and disappeared out into the street. He came after her.

     Jules found her just outside, smiling. “Don’t forget your exercise. Healthy body, healthy mind.”

     “I might say the same, in reverse order.”

     “Where to next?” She pilled out her map. “Ah. There’s a couple over here.” She walked briskly up Back Wynd, towards Union Street, tripping over the cobbles more than once. She turned right onto Little Belmont Street. She paused by a large Gothic structure. “The Castle… something tells me that’s not a church anymore.” They went on to Belmont Street, passing a music shop. Jules stared at his reflection, mirrored in the window.

     “Now that’s a real music shop.”

     Alison came alongside him. “We haven’t time for this.” She stared at their reflections. Something in his face struck her. “Oh, no. You didn’t mean- they really are at King’s College?! Oh, you-“ She slapped his shoulder, and walked off abruptly towards Union Street. She waited for the next bus on the Red Line. Jules smiled opaquely at his own reflection, pocketed the blue plectrum he had been holding, and sauntered after her, hands in the pockets of his suit.

     He found her on the corner, waiting with an air of fixed indifference. She turned away as he came nearer. “Now,” he said mildly, “don’t ignore me. I’m only my cousin’s best man.”

     She turned towards him slowly. “The best man for the job? Distract me, stop me getting there?” He shrugged.

     “I told you the truth.”

     “You did, too.” The bus arrived. “Well. Are you paying, on this day of disaster?” He fished out the plectrum again, among his change. They got on the bus.

     “Going somewhere?” said the driver, eyeing their clothes.

     “King’s College. We have a wedding to stop,” said Alison.

     The driver nodded. “Like that, is it?” as he issued two tickets. Alison went and sat in a window seat. He sat beside her. She did not flinch away. They said nothing for a while as it rattled down Union Street. “Modern buses,” she said at last, as they turned a corner onto King Street. “They aren’t the same.”

     “Yes, they just bend with the wind.” In a while, the playing fields came up on the left, deserted in the holiday season. There was a new Summer School for Access in session, but they had little time for sports in the ten weeks necessary to grasp basic undergraduate study skills and prepare for a new life.

     Jules and Alison alighted from the bus. There was the faint sound of bells tolling from the other side of the campus. “That’ll be them finished,” said Jules mildly, with the air of a job well done.

     “Ask not for whom the bell tolls,” said Alison sombrely.

     “Now, I don’t know what you have in mind,” he said warningly. “No confetti.”

     She smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He looked at her curiously.

     “What are you going to do?”

     “Study. As in, what people come here for.” She strode away, past the sports field. Taken aback, he had to move quickly to keep up with her.

     “Alison. Don’t.” She stopped abruptly.

     “I think that is the first time you’ve said my name. Things are looking up.”

     “Eh?” They started off again. They passed the Taylor Building shortly, crossed the bottom of the High Street, towards the older part of the university. She slipped through one of the closes linking one street to another, casting a sly glance over her shoulder at Jules, who was hot and tired and trying not to snag his suit on the bricks in the wall. Alison had no such problem. She emerged onto Elphinstone Road, shading her eyes with her hand. She began to walk purposefully in the direction of the Chapel. Jules patted his pockets for a moment in relief at getting out of the narrow space, but concentrated on following her. The bells got louder.

     They walked briskly past New King’s, the ivy rambling up a tower like a half-grown beard, and through the entrance into the quad. Alison wrenched open the door of the Chapel with both hands. The bells were silent. There was no-one there. She stood in the entrance, blinking, adjusting to the dark. Jules followed slowly behind. A sheet of paper was lying on the ground. She pounced on it. “Mr and Mrs… blah blah… invite you to the marriage of their daughter Claire, with Jack.” Her voice shook.

     “You said I was their best man.” Jules came behind her, and closed the door behind them. She looked in shock at the door leading to the bell tower. “Again, I told the truth.” His voice carried a slight echo. “Not many couples get married at 8 am, but for them, it was worth it.” He seemed calm, reflective. “The reception was somewhere special. By now, they’ll be heading for Italy.”

     “Oh!” She recalled the coffees, Jack’s stories about Italy. “And Tuscany, this time of year, the food, the wine, the paintings- oh!”

     He shrugged. “Well, from what Jack told me, you may be better off. It wasn’t meant to be.”

     “Oh? How do you know?” She looked hard at the ceiling, trying to be rational. Her lip quivered, and she brushed away a tear. She tore the wedding invitation and tossed it dismissively on the floor, walking forwards and pushing open the door to the Chapel proper. Jules followed her.

     “I thought you didn’t like churches.”

     “No more I do. I just need time to gather my thoughts.” She sat down on a pew at the back. She seemed almost as pale as her clothes.

     “Are you alright? Really? Can I get anything for you?” He sat on the opposite pew, across the aisle.

     “Only the whole of last year. I don’t know if I’d do anything differently.”

     “You were successful in your degree.”

     She smiled slightly. “Yes. And more to come. I start my Masters in September. Lots of preparation.”

     “Isn’t there, always.”

     “So… I did get a lot of material for my thesis from Jack, indirectly, but I didn’t mean to use him.”

     “Ah.”

     “Seriously. My Masters will build on similar ground, but move on.” She rested her chin on her hands, then slid a sideways look at him. “Eight o’clock. Lends a different meaning to the term “wedding breakfast.”

     “Yes. I had to cancel a gig last night to get up in time. Will was not amused.”

     “Aw. Poor you. Coming to cousin Jack’s aid.”

     “I wanted to help.”

     “Sure you did. Now I can’t be sure, but it might just be the case I still happened to have Jack’s mobile phone number. Or that I somehow acquired yours.”

     “How-“

     “Shh.” She raised a finger. “As I recall, there was something mentioned about an eight o’clock wedding. I just couldn’t be sure if it was ante or post meridian.”

     “But if-“

     “Dear Jules. So loyal. I just had to watch your devotion to your cousin. Something special.”

     He burst out laughing. “You’re just the limit.”

     “Is that all Jack told you about me?”

     “He told me enough.”

     “Enough about what?” The sun came through the stained glass windows, casting shades of red all over her face. Alison seemed happy again. She stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

     “Where?”

     “Wherever your potential lies. I’d say it lies- oh, this way.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the entrance. He looked at her as they stood in the doorway, the light strong outside. She was so alive.

     “Where are we going?”

     “Oh, I’m just the girl next door.”

     “If you were the girl next door, I’d move.”

     “Where would you move to, Jules?”

     “Next door.”