Jubilate Read Online Free PDF Page A

statue of the Virgin. I am about to sneak past when I see to my amazement that it is Jenny, hand-in-hand with Matt. I am delighted. After our conversation at Stansted, I was afraid that she would be too shy to make friends even among the girls. Curiosity outweighs discretion, as I seek to learn more about a romance that has run in parallel to my own.
    ‘Hi there!’ I shout. Jenny drops Matt’s hand as though confronting her mother. He grabs hers back with deliberate defiance. ‘It’s a beautiful morning. Have you come for a final look round?’
    ‘A final look round,’ Jenny echoes.
    ‘We’ve been out all night,’ he says, in what sounds like a challenge. ‘We didn’t go to bed.’
    ‘Or anywhere else,’ Jenny adds quickly.
    ‘But that’s wonderful,’ I say, eager to move off and put them out of their misery but afraid of appearing to disapprove. ‘How long have you been…?’ An item; a pair; a couple: I search for a less forbidding word. ‘Together?’
    ‘Two days,’ he says.
    ‘Since Saint-Savin,’ she adds. ‘I was struggling to push Mrs Clunes up to the Abbey. Matt came to help.’
    ‘So your eyes met across a crowded wheelchair?’ I ask lightly.
    ‘It was fingers first,’ Jenny says, prompting Matt to squeeze her hand.
    ‘Well I think it’s wonderful,’ I say, both touched and troubled by a love that is so much freer than mine. I long to make common cause but am afraid of seeming ridiculous. The spontaneity that is the stuff of youth feels suspect – almost dangerous – in early middle age. ‘Any plans for when we get back to England?’ I ask, sticking to practicalities . ‘How close to each other do you live?’
    ‘I’m from Stoke,’ Jenny says. ‘But if I get my two As and a B, I’m off to Warwick.’
    ‘And I’m in Solihull.’
    ‘That’s not too bad,’ I say, alert to their mournful faces, ‘it could have been John O’Groats and Land’s End.’ 
    ‘You don’t understand,’ Jenny says. ‘Matt isn’t flying home with us; he’s in the van with the equipment. It takes them two days to drive through France. I’ve asked everyone if they’ll swap places. I don’t care about feeling sick. But they all said they had too much fun on the way down.’
    ‘Two days.’ I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘I had a great aunt who married the day before my uncle went off to fight in North Africa.’
    ‘It’s easy for you,’ Jenny says. ‘If you were our age, you’d understand.’
    ‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you in peace.’
    ‘No, we have to get back to the Acceuil,’ Matt says. ‘We only came to say our Hail Marys.’
    ‘What? Oh yes. You were on Father Dave’s walk.’
    ‘How about you?’ Jenny asks, with affecting credulity. ‘Have you said yours?’
    ‘No, not yet. I think I’d rather leave it to fate.’
    I walk through the Basilica Square and under the ramp, past the drinking fountains and the Grotto to join the pilgrims on their way to the baths. I pause for a moment by the candle burners, with the forest of flames in various stages of extinction, and picture all the faith, all the hope and all the entreaties that they represent. I want to add some words of my own but fail even to formulate them in my head. It is not just my throat but my entire being that is parched.
    The crowds at the women’s baths plunge me into panic. Convinced that the wait will be too long, I decide to turn back. All at once I am spotted by Louisa, who lives up to the emblem emblazoned on her chest by bellowing my name.
    ‘Gillian! Over here!’ I smile apologetically at the people in front, but the queuing system is so erratic that no one – not even the Italians – seems to blame me for jumping it. ‘You sit here,’ she says, directing me to a bench next to a trim, well turned-out woman who, if it weren’t for the wheelchair beside her, might have been lining up for the summer sales. ‘Most of our lot have already gone in. I’m just keeping an