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William Brodrick: The Day of the Lie

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William Brodrick The Day of the Lie

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Anselm had nothing else to say At such times, Gilbertines fall silent. For some odd reason the apparent hiatus compels others to carry on talking.

‘When you called me for that meeting, I thought I was finished,’ said John. ‘I’d hoped you’d flush out the truth without anyone having to say anything, but you forced me to speak for myself I had to tell Roza about my relationship with Brack, which could only portray me as the informer. Which is why I asked you to invite Celina. I’d no idea what would unfold. I just realised she had to speak up, too… not to get me off the hook, but for herself… because this would be her last chance to come out of her hole in the ground… wherever it was she’d gone when she left me. In the end, Anselm, you said nothing; you made us all speak for ourselves.’

They finished off the puree and some braised matter that might have been lamb, chicken or pork. Fish was an outside chance. They argued about that one, unable to come to any friendly agreement. The debate threatened to turn violent, so Anselm rose to make coffee. Standing in the nearby kitchenette, he rummaged for biscuits, listening to John’s voice sail through the open door. The kettle began a low grumble.

‘You know, Anselm, there’s something that I can’t quite fathom about Brack’s behaviour.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘This is a man who hated the Shoemaker. He was into thought control, the suppression of free speech… he was up to his neck in class conflict:

‘Past his teeth.’

‘Well, part of his plan to trap me entailed the publication of the Shoemaker’s ideas throughout the English-speaking world and beyond. They’re out there now, thanks to him. Can you get more stupid than that?’

Anselm didn’t reply He was looking for the sugar.

‘You’d have thought that was a price too high,’ called John, wondering if Anselm was still there. ‘Same thing with Celina. He got her films released. And he never even seized that last documentary… yet he must have known that his dog-eat-dog superiors would lay half the blame at his door, since it came from his would-be daughter.’

‘You’ve answered your own question,’ called Anselm. ‘He got more stupid.’

More than John realised: Brack had destroyed JULITA’s file, too. He’d cleaned up John’s past when John would have had it exposed. Anselm flicked the switch on the kettle and the raging water gave a sigh. As he entered the dining room, a cup in each hand, John said, ‘What did you make of him?’

Anselm eyed his friend — his quizzical expression, the head angled — wondering just how much to say He’d kept quiet about Roza’s blue piece of paper once, and now he didn’t want to speak about the layers to Brack’s skin.

‘A man of hidden depths,’ said Anselm, guardedly.

That seemed reasonably fair. John mused upon it, as if waiting for the finish of the wine. Satisfied, he said, as though following on, ‘Tell you what, can we go up to the bell tower? It’s been a long time since we leaned on that ledge and talked cross-purposes, you mumbling about the cloister and me thinking of a singer in Finsbury Park.’

There was a strong wind that couldn’t be felt on the lanes below But up here, by the arched arcade, the current was almost threatening, pulling at the hair, rousing exhilaration. Four bells, still and imposing, hung beside their giant wheels. Ahead, the woods stretched far away rising and falling like a stilled ocean. Patchwork fields and roads knitted what remained into a sort of kingdom, lost down there, but wonderfully visible from this crow’s nest high above the monastery.

‘Do you remember, we talked about love? And you said chasing reasons is like… and I can’t remember what came next.’

‘Neither can I.’

‘That’s a shame because there are remarks that sow and remarks that reap. But yours do both, back then and since. Roza found her daughter. Celina came home.’

Words that sowed and reaped, coming from a man camped between the light and the dark: the Shoemaker would have approved.

The sound of gently churning gravel rose from far below A car swung into the parking area. A door opened and closed. Birds fled from the nearby plum trees. Anselm picked out a slim figure dressed in black. She was elegant, even at this distance. But what caught the eye were the shoes… bright red shoes, like sparks from a fire.

‘Let’s go, John,’ said Anselm. ‘Tomorrow’s already waiting.’


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