Where You Belong. Barbara Taylor Bradford

to enter through the one on the right because the door stood ajar, beckoning to me, I thought.

      Once inside I caught my breath and stood perfectly still…I was utterly mesmerized. I had forgotten how awe-inspiring this place was, with its beauty and size; and its absolute stillness overwhelmed me.

      There were hardly any tourists this morning, the cathedral was practically empty, and as I began to slowly walk down the centre aisle my footsteps echoed hollowly against the stone floor.

      Glancing up, I gaped at the apse, that enormous, intricate, domed ceiling, flung so high it seemed to disappear into infinity. ‘Soaring up to heaven’, Grandfather used to say of it.

      He and I had visited many of the smaller churches in Paris and the surrounding countryside, and we had taken part in the services as best we were able. We both spoke enough French to follow the Catholic service; being Protestant, we were not exactly familiar with the rituals, but somehow we managed. We also made trips to other European countries, as well as North Africa and Israel, where we visited mosques and synagogues. Grandfather was fascinated by places of worship whatever the religion being practised in them.

      I heard his voice reverberating in my head: ‘It doesn’t matter whose house you sit in, Val, as long as you love God,’ he had once remarked to me. ‘In my Father’s house there are many mansions: if it were not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.’ With those words of St John’s Gospel ringing in my ears, I continued down the aisle and took a chair, sat staring up at the high altar in front of me.

      Sunlight was filtering in through the many windows above the altar. It was a light that subtly changed colour as it seeped in through the stained-glass panes in those breathtaking windows, changing from blue to green to pearl, and then to a soft yellow and a lovely lambent rose.

      It was the most tranquil light which seemed to tremble visibly on the air, and dust motes rose up into the shafts of sunlight. The peacefulness was a balm, and how cool it was within these thick and ancient stone walls. Cool, restful, restorative, a welcome refuge, far away from the turbulence and violence of the world I lived in when I was working.

      I closed my eyes, let myself fall down into myself, and eventually, as was inevitable in this quiet place of worship, I began to think of Tony, of his death, and of the future. And I asked myself yet again, for the umpteenth time, how I was going to go on without him, how I would manage without him by my side. I had no answers.

      It seemed to me that all of my energy ebbed away, leaving me deflated, and I just sat there collapsed in the chair, with my eyes closed, for the longest time. I had no appointments, nowhere to go, no one waiting for me or worrying where I was. Time passed. And after a long while, just sitting there in the silence of the cathedral, I heard my grandfather speaking to me as if from a great distance. His voice was so very clear when he said, ‘Always remember this, Val, God never gives us a burden that is too heavy to carry.’

      IV

      The phone was ringing loudly as I let myself into my apartment an hour later. I snatched it up and exclaimed, ‘Hullo?’ only to hear the receiver clattering down at the other end.

      Too late, I got it on the last ring, and sticking out my good leg I slammed the front door shut with my foot. Swinging around, I went into my tall, narrow kitchen, a place I’d always enjoyed but which I had not occupied very much of late. I like cooking, in fact it’s a sort of hobby of mine, a way to be creative, to relax when I’m back from covering wars and the like. But because of my grief and misery I had abandoned the kitchen, having no desire to be in it to cook only for myself.

      I had hardly eaten a thing these last few weeks, and I had lost weight. But suddenly, today, I felt really hungry and I opened the refrigerator, frowned at the contents, or rather the lack of them, and swiftly closed the door in frustration. Of course there was nothing worthwhile to eat in there: I hadn’t been shopping. I would have to make do with a mug of green tea and a couple of cookies, and later I would go to the corner store and pick up a few things for dinner.

      A moment or two after I’d put the kettle on, the phone began to shrill once again, and I lurched towards it, grabbed hold of it before the caller had a chance to hang up. As I spoke I heard Jake’s voice at the other end.

      ‘Where’ve you been all day?’ He sounded both put out and worried at the same time.

      ‘Walking. I’ve been out walking, Jake.’

      ‘Again. I can’t believe it. I bet if someone locked you up in an empty room and told you to draw a detailed map of Paris and its environs, you could do so without batting an eyelid. And all from memory.’

      ‘Yes, I guess I could. But you do a lot of walking, too, so why are you picking on me?’

      ‘I’m not. I called to invite you to dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you for a week. Too long, Val.’

      ‘True, and I’d love to have dinner. I’ll cook for you,’ I said. Hearing his voice had instantly cheered me up. I’d missed him whilst he had been in the south; anyway, he was my biggest fan when it came to my culinary skills.

      ‘That’s a great offer, but I’d prefer to take you out…it’s much more relaxing for you.’

      ‘Okay, it’s a deal.’

      Jake cleared his throat several times and his voice was a bit more subdued when he added, ‘I had a call from London today. From Tony’s photo agency. About a memorial service for him. They’ve planned one and they want us to come.’

      This news so startled me, so threw me off balance, I was rendered silent, and when I finally did speak all I could manage was a weak, ‘Oh.’

      ‘We have to go, Val.’

      ‘I’m not sure…I don’t think I’m up to it,’ I began, and faltered, unable to continue.

      ‘We were his closest friends,’ Jake countered. ‘His intimates. His comrades-in-arms, he called us.’

      ‘We were, I know, but it’s hard for me.’

      Jake fell silent, then after a moment or two, he said softly, ‘The whole world is aware that we were with him in Kosovo when he was killed…that we came out alive. How will it look to the world if we don’t show?’

      I stood there gripping the receiver, utterly mute, as if I’d been struck dumb, shaking like the proverbial leaf as I weighed the odds. Should I risk Jake’s disapproval, everyone’s disapproval, by not going? Or should I go and expose myself to a large amount of pain and heartache? And could I handle that? I just didn’t know. For weeks I had tried very hard to get my turbulent feelings under control, and I was not so sure I could face a memorial service. Not now. It would open up so much and it would just…do me in emotionally.

      ‘Are you still there, Val?’ Jake asked, cutting into my swirling thoughts.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You seem reluctant to go.’

      ‘I’m not…I’m just…thinking it through.’

      He said nothing. I could hear him waiting at the other end of the line, could practically hear him breathing.

      Finally, realizing he was waiting for me to say something, I muttered, ‘I couldn’t bear to hear the world eulogizing him…It would be so painful for me, I’d be in floods of tears through the entire service. I’m trying to come to grips with my grief.’

      ‘I understand what you’re saying. If you want to know the truth, I’m not so keen to live through it myself. But we don’t have a choice. And Tony would want us to be present.’

      ‘I guess he would…’ My voice trailed off.

      ‘We’ll talk about it tonight.’

      ‘All right,’ I agreed, my heart sinking.

      ‘Good girl.