Winman, Sarah: When God Was a Rabbit

There was no warmth at all that afternoon, not even in the cab from the station; the heater had broken.

‘Sorry it’s a shit car, miss,’ the young man had said. ‘I can blow on your hands instead, if you like?’

‘I’ll manage,’ I said.

I waited in line holding a small bag of presents, unwrapped, of course – I’d learnt my lesson. I looked behind and saw a young man fidgeting with his phone; they’d take that from him soon enough. I could see it was his first time and usually I kept away from such interactions, but that afternoon I offered him a piece of chocolate, which he gratefully accepted, as much for the sustenance as for the relief of finally having company.

‘First time?’ I said.

‘Can you tell?’

‘Yeah, I’m afraid.’

‘Cold, isn’t it?’

‘Freezing,’ I said and looked at my watch.

‘Who are you visiting?’ he asked.

‘A friend. She’ll be out soon.’

‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘My sister’s in for three years. Just starting.’

‘That sucks.’

‘It does, just before Christmas an’ all,’ he said, and started to stamp his feet. ‘Is it all right for them? Inside, I mean.’

‘Not bad. People tell me there are plenty worse.’

‘That’s good then,’ he said. ‘I’d hate her to be in a shitty place.’

‘She’ll be all right. Most people end up all right.’

The gates opened and the queue moved forwards.

‘Good luck, eh?’ I said as we started to move forwards.

I passed through security effortlessly, but I knew the routine by now and they often smiled at me, or enquired about my health. I was known here, had a reputation, the one who always turned up but was never seen, the subject of so much speculation: I was the jilted lover. The hated family member. The Christian volunteer eager to spread the Word.

The visitors’ hall was warm, for a change. The decorations were the same as last year, faded and dog eared, and they drooped the same way and brought no smile to the Queen as they hung around her frame in a way that verged on treason. I thought about the tree we’d just put up in Cornwall, the one that joined floor to ceiling in a dense mass of green-scented pine. We’d dressed it a couple of days before, and Arthur had climbed the ladder to place the star on top, now that he had one good eye to see out the rest of his days, and to release Nelson to be the simple dog he was.

The women started to come out, and I saw the young man from the queue joined by his sister – she was one of the first to enter – who looked so happy to see him. And then Maggie over to the left; her daughter was wearing a new track suit. They turned to me and waved. I smiled. Maggie reminded me of Grace Mary Goodfield, and I thought again about her wise ways and sensible shoes and the visit she would make to us in February. I thought how well she would have got on with Ginger, Ginger the Brave. I started to write a gift list – a monocle for Arthur, he’d always wanted a monocle – and as I did a shadow fell across my page, a dark looming cloud from outside, or so I thought. I waited a moment for it to pass on but it didn’t, it stayed put.

And when I looked up, she was there.

Gone was the plumpness of those early years, the wild hair she hid her shame behind, the clothes she never grew into. All replaced now by a calm beauty. But the eyes, they were her; the eyes and the smile.

‘Hello, Elly,’ she said.

I stood up and held her. She smelt like she did as a child, she smelt of chips, and suddenly that world opened up once again, a world unlocked by a simple smell, a world we might finally put right; and as I pulled away to look at her again, she handed me a small tissue-wrapped gift.

‘Open it,’ she said. And I did.

There, sitting in the palm of my hand, was the fossil; the coiled impression of the creature from another time. Nothing stays forgotten for long .

‘I kept it safe for you.’

The sun was low; orange emanating across the ancient cityscape, burnished by the modern. We were wrapped in blankets, and candles burned on the battered table, emitting strong gusts of tuberose. I watched her looking out over the rooftops, over the meat market and the people below, and I thought of the path that had brought us here, of the strange day of reconnection six years ago, when her card arrived and pulled me onto her journey. She turned round and smiled. Pointed to the horizon.

‘Look, Elly, it’s almost gone.’

‘Ready to say goodbye?’ I said.

‘Ready,’ she said, and sat back down next to me. I handed her the computer and she started to type.

Acknowledgements

This book could not have been written without the love and encouragement of so many people.

I’d like to thank Mum, Simon and Cathy for a lifetime of support and making so much possible, and to my dear friends here and abroad who have helped along the way; especially Sharon Hayman and David Lumsden for the best years shared. Thank you, Sarah Thomson, for being such a trusted and erudite reader.

My gratitude always to Eamonn Bedford for taking a chance on me when few would, and for introducing me to Robert Caskie – literary agent, friend, unsurpassed in both roles. Thank you for your guidance, Mr Caskie.

My thanks to Leah Woodburn, my editor, for making this a better book, and to all at Headline Review for their overwhelming support and enthusiasm.

Thank you, Patsy, for everything.

1

The Covenant was released earlier that year, 1975, and enjoyed a cult following due to a fetishistic sex scene in a crypt. It was directed by B. B. Barole, a young man tipped for stardom, until he was tipped over the edge by acid.

2

Raining in my Heart was a 1983 Australian film set on an outback farm brought to its knees by a desperate drought.