clothes befitting a college choir: a black sweater with a high neck and a long blue skirt that reaches her ankles. Admittedly both are tight but, having compromised with length, she drew the line at baggy. At last, Carmen takes another deep breath and walks through the open door. Like all good Catholic girls she went to church every Sunday, sitting between her father, who slipped a hand onto her thigh at the start of every service, and her mother, who pretended not to notice. But there was no church this beautiful in Bragança.
Carmen walks carefully down the aisle, glancing up at the delicate patterns engraved in the arches. She’s never seen stained-glass windows so vast, so intricate, so colorful. Final glints of sunlight fall through them, illuminating the saints’ feet, shining slices of red, green and gold across the wooden pews.
As she nears the pulpit Carmen sees two women, both very short and very fat, standing side by side like two barrels of beer in the cellar of The Archer.
“I’m Nora.” The first one grins and reaches out her hand. “And this is Sue.”
“Or, rather, I’m Sue.” The other one steps forward and reaches out her hand. “And this is Nora. I think that’s the way it should be.” She looks at Carmen. “Don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure I don’t.” Nora folds her arms. “I introduced us perfectly well, without your embellishments.”
Carmen suppresses a smile. Now the two women don’t remind her of beer barrels but Tweedledum and Tweedledee. This relaxes her a little.
“Are you Meg’s friend?” Sue asks. “She called last week, to ask if you could join us. Of course we said we’d be delighted. Can’t have too many bats in the belfry I always say.”
“Yes,” Nora sighs, “and I do wish you wouldn’t.”
“Peg,” Carmen corrects Sue, “Peggy.” She might have known this was a set-up. But now she’s here, she can’t very well run away. And, if she did, she has the feeling that these two would chase her.
“Yes, Peg, exactly,” Sue says, “that’s what I said. Anyway, enough talking, it’s time to release the Kraken, it’s time to sing!”
“But,” Carmen stalls, “Peggy tell me this not serious choir, because I am not ready for—”
“Oh, don’t worry about little old us,” Nora giggles, “we’re very casual, from our knickers to our socks, you’ll fit right in. We only sing because we like to be loud.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sue huffs. “Right, enough chitter-chatter, let’s get on with it.”
She starts to hum. Nora joins in and soon the chapel is filled with song. The notes dance around Carmen, across the pews, soaring past the stained-glass windows, past the stone arches of the ceiling, before disappearing through the bricks and mortar and up into the sky. Carmen is enchanted, filled with a sense of serenity she’s never felt before. And then, without a single thought in her head, she begins to sing.
This time her voice isn’t soft and low but high, bright and strong. For a second it soars at perfect pitch above every other sound, then dips and sinks back to meet the other voices, twirling and twisting between them, collecting their scattered and solitary notes like a strong September wind that whips through a pile of autumn leaves and brings them, for one eternal moment, into a perfect and elegant dance. And then, all of a sudden Carmen realizes something is wrong: the other two women have fallen quiet, hers is the only voice in the air. She shuts her mouth to see Nora and Sue staring, their own mouths hanging open.
“What?” Carmen asks. “What is wrong?”
“Your voice,” Sue says, “I’ve never heard anything like it. You’re not a bat, you’re an angel.”
“Quite, quite,” Nora exclaims. “It’s exquisite, simply exquisite! Don’t you know it?”
Carmen bites her lip and thinks of Tiago. “I not really sing very often.”
“Why on God’s green earth do you not?” Nora cries. “Your voice is so full of spirit, it bursts my heart right open. Blooming heck, if I could sing like that I’d never talk again.”
Sue raises an eyebrow. “Hardly.”
“Oh, shush,” Nora says, “we’re in the presence of greatness.” She reaches out and clasps Carmen’s hands. “Your voice, my dear, is divine.”
Carmen frowns, a little startled at the enthusiasm of Nora’s embrace. “Really? You think so?”
When both women nod so vigorously it seems that their heads are on springs, for a moment Carmen forgets Tiago. She forgets about the midnight glory, about being found out and every other fear that haunts her. Then