by Aimée
“So – this is a surprise! I had no idea you were getting married, Maisie!”
The young woman nudged her boyfriend: “I told you I was right!” Addressing Greyson, she explained: “I told him it would be you, because you have an unusual name, but he said you could not be a doctor and a vicar.”
Greyson reddened and bit her lips: “Well, yes, technically, Maisie, you can be both, and I’ll be the one marrying you and…”
The young man offered his hand to Greyson: “Sorry – I’m Luke – Luke Golding. Glad to meet you, Dr Walsden. Oh – sorry – do I call you Vicar?”
She unlocked the door and ushered the couple in her small office.
“Just call me Grey. That will simplify things. So …this is your parish church?”
Maisie spoke up: “We live 2.4 miles from St Andrews and 2.6 miles from here, so St Andrews is our parish church. But I wanted a female vicar and St Andrews has a man. I checked on the website and they said Reverend Emily Jones, so I decided to come here.”
“I see …well, I’m very glad to see you both. During this first meeting, I’d like to get to know you both better, and to take care of a few formalities, to check if everything is legal… If I can marry you, in other words.”
Maisie handed her a file at which Greyson glanced interrogatively: “I read on the internet about the papers. Here they are: the phone bill, copies of our identity papers, also a tax form if the phone bill doesn’t work …We are both British, we both live here, we …”
“Thank you, Maisie – I’m sure everything will be in order…”
Maisie went on: “We thought the banns could be read every week till the wedding – we would like to be married in exactly two months and four days. Here are the hymns we would like and the texts.” And she handed Greyson two sheets of paper, neatly typed.
“We’ll need to check with the church planning, but of course, if it’s possible, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t – is there any reason why you want this date especially?
“Of course!” Maisie
looked affronted: “10/08/18 – a palindrome, see. And then, the 10th of August 2018 is a Wednesday, and that’s "the best day of all" according to the traditional Celtic folk rhyme. And it’s also the new moon, and that’s considered lucky in the Jewish tradition …”
“I see”, murmured Greyson, a little bewildered.
“And we’re having a Dr Who wedding,”, added Luke, who hadn’t said much. “Maisie, show her your engagement ring.”
Greyson admired the ring and Luke explained: “It’s exactly like a sonic screwdriver, you see? And we have “Save the day” cards with the Tardis and …
“Fantastic! I’ll try my best to make myself and the church available for Wednesday the 10th – now. Shall we talk about commitment and what getting married means for you?”
Once they had left, Greyson reflected that not once had the words God or bible, or religion been mentioned. Maybe Luke and Maisie should get married in a Tardis instead of a church … And maybe she should have tried harder to direct the meeting – instead, she had more or less let the young people ramble on about their themed wedding. She would have to do better the next time.
Chapter 13
There are three things that amaze me—no, four things that I don't understand: how an eagle glides through the sky, how a snake slithers on a rock, how a ship navigates the ocean, how a man loves a woman. Proverbs 30:18-19
Her coffee machine had chosen the wrong day to break down. Angela was already not looking forward to lunch with her family and facing her father and her siblings without caffeine definitely did not appeal. Maybe she would have time to stop for a cup before joining them. She was halfway to Ullenwood, where they usually met at a pub not far from their old family home when her brain suddenly remembered her father’s last text. She stopped in a lay-by and consulted her phone again. Sure enough, he had changed the place of the rendezvous, giving the address of a pub in central Gloucester instead – she had just driven for fifteen minutes in completely the opposite direction. As she drove off and looked for a roundabout, she mulled over the change. They had been meeting at the Green Jester for nearly six years now, once a month. Before that, her father, Edgar Arlingham, had still been living in their family home, a crumbling mansion much too expensive to keep and much too large for him. He had finally decided to sell it and to move into the Lodge, a three-bedroom house, keeping a biggish garden to indulge in his passion. When he’d moved, he had also decided that he didn’t need a full time housekeeper, who he could ill-afford anyway, and therefore the family meals had taken place in the pub ever since. Sometimes it was just her and her father, and she had suggested at first she could cook at his place, but when they’d tried, she had realised her father didn’t like anyone in his kitchen. So the pub it had been ever since. Her brothers came as often as they could, but she was usually the one playing the role of the dutiful daughter. William taught philosophy at Bristol University and his presence depended on whether he was engrossed in a writing project. As for her brother Arthur, a banker in London, when he wasn’t on holiday somewhere exotic with his wife, he often chose to stay home and take his two children for a day out instead of driving all the way to Gloucester. Anyway, no chance of coffee now – even without stopping, she would definitely be late.
When she arrived at the pub, she noted her brother’s William’s car – an old Jaguar he had had for a few years – in the car park. Her father’s Range Rover was there too. She parked as close to the pub as possible and sighed – the pouring rain showed no sign of relenting. She finally made a run for it and once inside, she discovered that the new venue looked like an improvement on their usual haunt – no cobwebs on the lights and smiling staff. She craned her neck and spotted the family group on the other side of the room. For once, her two brothers had made it. So the black Porsche she had admired outside might be Arthur’s after all. All three men stood up to greet her and she bent to kiss Arthur’s wife. “ No kids today?”
“No – we left them with my parents,” replied Bea, her sister-in-law. “You know Enzo is not a great traveller…”
Angela grinned – the last time Arthur and Bea had come with Enzo and Andrea, Enzo had been sick in the car and they had forgotten to bring spare clothes for him…
“Sorry I’m late – have you ordered yet?”
“No – we were waiting for you. We had aperitives, though – do you want one?”
“I’m good, thanks, Dad.”
A waiter slipped her a menu and she perused it quickly – usual pub fare, plus a few vegetarian options and new-fangled dishes. Her brothers were discussing the cricket and Bea was telling her father all about Andrea’s end-of-term dance show. Her brother’s children attended a very expensive private primary school, where the pupils learnt everything from ballet to French from the age of four. When they’d all given their orders, Angela addressed her father: “So, Dad – why the change? I mean – it’s much closer for me, but…”
Edgar Arlingham smiled at his youngest child. He was relieved to see she looked a little better than the month before. She was wearing make-up again and had obviously gone to the hairdresser. And she looked less tense - less jumpy. He had never been able to tell her that he understood what she had gone through. Before the boys, he and his wife had had a little girl – she had died from cot death at two months. He had supported his wife as best as he could but neither of them had ever forgotten their little Juliet. For a brief moment, he regretted the bombshell he was going to drop on his children, but he really didn’t want to wait any longer. His family had had too many reasons to grieve, and life was short. He really didn’t want to waste any more of it. He cleared his throat: “Well – I thought we could use a change. Also – I would never have made it in time to the Green Jester today.”
Angela frowned: “Made it in time? Well, it’s not like we couldn’t have met a bit later. I know you like your lunch at half past noon, but… Or you could have done whatever you wer
e doing this morning a little earlier?”
Her father chuckled: “Well, sweetheart, that would have been a little difficult. I went to church at St Lawrence.”
Angela and the rest of the family stared: “You – went – to – church?”
“Yes – you know, that big building with a spire and stained-glass windows…”
Angela spluttered: “But – but you’ve always told us you didn’t believe in God!”
Her father fidgeted and looked uncomfortable: “Well, you know the saying… A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”
Angela and William exchanged a look and William paled suddenly, asking: “Are you sick, Dad? You can tell us – we’ll help.”
“Are you dying?” inquired Angela bluntly. She had had more than enough of all the pussyfooting in this family. For several weeks after Sybil’s death, her father and brothers had walked on eggshells around her, not daring to say anything for fear they should say the wrong thing. And now, it would be just like their father to hide a fatal illness from them – he had always had the stiff upper lip mentality. Edgar Arlingham looked startled and immediately apologetic: “Oh no, sweetheart – of course not! I’m sorry if you thought – no, no, nothing like that! I’m in perfect health, as far as I know. No – this is good news, I promise.”
Seeing that his daughter and sons still looked shaken, he dived in: “I’ve been to church because I’ve met someone. Or rather – I’m seeing someone.”
“What?” “You’re what?” “I’m sorry?” The three exclamations came at once. Then Arthur, who’d always been the most pragmatic of all three, spoke: “Why do you have to go to church because you’ve met someone? Is she that religious? Can’t you let her go by herself?”
“I could. Of course I could – and I don’t go as often as she does. But – we’ve talked a lot about all this – God, religion, et cetera, and… I mean, why not give it a go? And Emily can be quite persuasive.”
A small light bulb lit up in Angela’s brain: “Emily? The woman you’re seeing is Emily Jones? Reverend Emily Jones?”
Her father smiled and nodded sheepishly: “Yes – we’ve been friends for a long time. More than sixty years, in fact. And – well, she was a great help after your mother died. I’ll never forget your mother, of course, but Emily and I – we’ve grown very close and… Well, I thought it was time to tell you.”
Angela glanced at her brothers and sister-in-law, who all looked rather bemused. Of course, they had only seen the Reverend at Sybil’s funeral. She did not know her much better herself, actually, but the woman was persistent. After the funeral, she had tried several times to contact her, and had even come to her house to try and “talk”. Only she didn’t want to talk – all she wanted was to be left alone with her grief, certainly not to talk about God and how her child was happy in heaven with Him. Her logical brain told her that she could not hold that against Reverend Jones – after all, she was just doing her job – and for all she knew, she could be a very nice woman. Moreover, she was no spring chicken herself – her father was seventy, and Emily Jones must be in her late sixties. And she could hardly be accused of being a gold-digger, since her father only had a very average pension from his time as a solicitor. If they got married, Emily would become Countess of Arlingham, but she really couldn’t believe that was what motivated the woman. So all in all, she ought to be glad for her father.
And she was – she really, really was. In fact, she even managed to congratulate him and to spend the rest of the lunch making small talk with her family. But when she left, instead of going for a walk and going to Tesco to buy a new coffee machine like she had intended to, she went straight back home and buried herself in her bed, in the dark. In the evening, after spending several hours semi-asleep, she finally got up and made herself a cup of tea, with a lot of milk and sugar to sweeten the sour taste she had in her mouth. And she tried to understand what rankled so much with her. Why did her father’s love affair bother her so much? She didn’t think of herself as a prude, and if anything, she would be relieved if her father didn’t spend his last years alone, since as the child living closest to him she would probably be his primary carer if he became dependent. It had nothing to do with her mother either…Or at least, only in a very roundabout way.
She had always been a daddy’s girl. Her twin brothers had had each other, and Angela, six years younger than them, had been raised very differently. And of course, when her mother had died, she had been twelve years old. By then, the only one living at home, her brothers having gone to university. Her father had always claimed he was an “agnostic atheist”– she had heard him said that that once at a dinner party and she had loved the sound of the word. She must have been around seven or eight years old then, and she’d tried to say again and again the strange sounding word, like a magic spell – “nostictist”. Her father had heard her and explained it wasn’t one word but two, and what it meant – he did not believe in God, but he could not prove He did not exist – he didn’t know. Her mother had been christened as a baby, raised in a convent school, and had believed. And she had seen her suffer for several months before the cancer had taken her. She had heard her pray at night, pray for relief – beg God to take her and to end her suffering. And that had made Angela’s twelve-year-old self extremely angry – both against her mother and against God. How could her mother want to die? And how could God make her mother suffer and go on being in pain? Only morphine had helped her, and she had died barely conscious of anyone in the room. Angela had decided then that her father was right – God did not exist.
At university, she had made friends with a feminist group, and they had had heated debates not about the existence of God, but about whether He was a He or a She. It had not really reconciled her to the idea of a supreme being, but the topic had interested her. She had briefly attended services with a few girls in the group where the priest talked about God as a woman. But she still couldn’t stomach many of the Church’s positions on current issues. And of course… Then her daughter had died, and she had lost what little faith she had regained. But she had nothing against Emily Jones – maybe she should say it aloud a few dozen times, and it would convince her.
Chapter 14
Look back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west! Emily Dickinson
“I’ll have a salted pistachio and caramel frappe crème with almond milk, please. Shall I get a table?”
“Yes – sure.”
Greyson added a tall americano to her goddaughter’s order and paid for both drinks, trying not to look too nauseated at the concoction the barista was making for Julie. She had finally managed to send a message to the teenager and suggest they had coffee together. She had after all promised her parents she would keep an eye on her. A-Levels were over, and Julie had not yet gone on holidays, so it seemed like a good time. She joined the girl at the table and for a few minutes, they both sipped their drinks in silence. Finally, Greyson cleared her throat: “So – any news of your parents recently? Are you going to see them this summer?”
“You don’t know? I thought you were my guardian, Colonel? Not that I didn’t manage perfectly well without you before, but…”
“Julie!” Greyson held up her hands in surrender. “Please- can we just not fight today? Please? I know I’m not perfect – neither are you. But – I do need to say something. I’m sorry – for slapping you – I shouldn’t have – I was mad at you, but – it really wasn’t an appropriate reaction. So – I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
Julie nodded, suddenly serious: “I do. Thanks for saying sorry – must have taken a lot of guts. And – well, I’m sorry too. I just wanted to let my hair down a bit. You know, when I arrived at the college – well, I told some people my parents were Army and – well, they thought I was kind of straight, and… Before, at school, I’d been there for ages, and everyone knew me as a swot, you know, all As, pretty quiet. So I thought I�
��d try and change that – especially, well, it was almost the end of the year, and with the stress of the exams – I just wanted to fit in for once. But it was pretty stupid.”
“Yes – pretty stupid. But I get it – I get the wanting to fit in. I used to be like that too. Good student, quiet… But I didn’t rebel – teenage angst came a little later – probably when I joined the Forces. Not that I’m telling you to do that. Only – next time you want to fit in, can you avoid a potentially lethal overdose? Would be much appreciated.” Greyson paused and pondered: “Nor a piercing or a tattoo – your parents would kill you. They’d probably kill me too.”
Julie giggled and revealed her ears, until then well-hidden under her long brown hair: “Maybe too late for that!”
Greyson looked aghast at the three earrings in each ear. “Please tell me that’s all you had done?”
Julie smirked: “I could tell you that, but that would be lying. And I’m not going to show you the other one… But relax, Colonel! My parents won’t blame you.”
Greyson exhaled: “I hope not. And I hope you had them done somewhere safe. Anyway – truce?”
