by Aimée
“Look, I …” They’d both spoken at the same time, and despite the tension in the air, it made them both grin. Greyson gestured to Angela: “You first – it’s your house after all.”
“Thanks – well - I don’t quite know how to say that but - I behaved like a jerk yesterday, and like a lech too, and - I want to apologise. I’d had too much to drink, and usually I don’t socialise after several hard drinks but - I’m sorry – it will never happen again. And thank you for bringing me home – I owe you one. Now… Your turn!”
Greyson bit her lips – she didn’t quite know how to begin… After all, she’d never had to come out to anyone – except in the context of her vocation, and that didn’t feel as personal as now. Why did she have to talk about her love life anyway? She began hesitantly, in a small voice: “Last night …when you kissed me…how did you know?”
“Sorry? I’m not with you?”
Well, I know that, thought Greyson – you’re not - that’s the whole point …
“I mean …how did you know I was gay?”
Only when Greyson saw Angela’s astonished face did she realise that once again she had made a mess of things – and made rash assumptions… “Right …you didn’t know.”
Angela nodded numbly. Greyson blushed and dipped her face in the mug of coffee. Angela swallowed audibly: “Look – I don’t …I mean – if I was gay, I would - you would; oh , fuck! How do I say this? Last night, I was just drunk – but if I were a woman – I mean if I were a man – no, if you were a man …”
“It’s okay, Angela– you don’t have to say anything – just… Do you think we can stay friends?
“Yes, yes, of course, I would like that. I like you – I mean, as a woman – hem - as a friend I mean.” Angela stopped talking before she could dig herself in further. Both women lifted their mugs and toasted each other, both of them trying to forget that the experience had been most enjoyable. Greyson cleared her throat: “And about the other thing…”
“The other thing?”
“Yesterday – at the church – me being – a vicar. You didn’t seem very – happy about that.”
Angela’s alcohol-addled brain had carefully pushed that information away and suddenly, in the stark daylight, she remembered everything. She was mad at Greyson! Greyson had lied to her – she had pretended… Well, no, she hadn’t pretended anything, but she had lied by omission.
Greyson insisted: “Are you – are you okay with that?”
Until then, Angela had blocked out the ceremony. Her shock at seeing Greyson at the altar. Her own behaviour – the kiss – had somehow erased the earlier memories, but Greyson’s words reignited her fury. She clasped her hands around her cup, for a second fantasising it was Greyson’s neck – a rather slender and lovely neck she would cheerfully wring. Greyson had betrayed her. At least – not exactly, but it felt like betrayal. Suddenly, her feelings churned with the alcohol in her stomach and she rushed out of the room, reaching the loo just in time.
Left alone in the kitchen, Greyson sank her head in her hands – Angela’s abrupt disappearance could be hangover-related, but the timing seemed rather ominous. Maybe she should just leave? She chided herself – if she wanted the slightest chance of Angela forgiving her, she had to stay and make amends. When Angela came back in the room and propped herself against the kitchen counter, Greyson smiled hopefully: “Feeling better?”
Angela shook her head, immediately regretting it as waves of pain accompanied her gesture. She wet her lips with her tongue and started again: “Not really, no.”
“Listen – I know I should have told you. But – it was never the right time, and… I really wasn’t trying to deceive you on purpose. It’s just – I don’t – well, if you would just give me a chance to explain…”
Angela glared at her: “I’m not interested in your explanations, Vicar!”
The last word held such contempt that Greyson lowered her eyes in distress: “I’m sorry. It’s just – it’s very personal, and…”
“I’ve poured my heart out to you! I’ve told you about Sybil! That was personal too! And you knew what I think about all that religious mumbo-jumbo! You knew!”
“Yes,” murmured Greyson. “I knew.”
“I think you should go. From now on, we’ll keep our personal lives – personal. I don’t expect we’ll have any occasions to talk anyway.”
Defeated, Greyson stood up and threw a last appealing glance at Angela, but the other woman had deliberately turned towards the window to avoid her eyes. She really had a talent for antagonising the whole world! Why could she never find the right words? It had been much easier in the Army, despite the need to keep her relationship with Elaine under cover. People usually said that the Army was a family, and of course, like in most families, no one got along with everyone – there were tensions, clashes, but also that blend between professional and personal life which somehow made relationships easier. The hierarchy, the rules and the rough and dangerous conditions helped to cement comradeship and solidarity. You didn’t need words – you needed action – you needed to have each other’s backs. As she waited outside the house for a cab, she realised she couldn’t just leave it at that. The idea of never seeing Angela again was unbearable. Greyson licked her lips unconsciously, recapturing the memory of Angela’s pressing against them.
She would have welcomed a day at the surgery, but as luck would have it, it was her “free” day, the one she had requested to attend to parish duties. A glance at her schedule showed her a day full of meetings and visits, and she had to swing by the pub and get her car first. She could cope – she had to cope – these were just the basics. At last some of these would be in a familiar environment – the hospital. Half a day later, she was ready to eat her words. The hospital visits should have been easy – after all, it was her natural habitat. But she just couldn’t shake her doctor’s coat, her doctor’s eyes. It was so much easier to diagnose, to suggest solutions, to order tests…
At the end of the day, she was even more exhausted than after a full day in a military front hospital. However, mountains of mundane tasks awaited her -she still had to email various people, to check the parish bulletin before it went to the printer, to update the website… And when she was done, her books and her degree work was waiting. She didn’t need it – she had already finished her degree in Theology, begun when she was still serving. But she had wanted more – as usual, she had wanted to be perfect. And she had signed on for the MA. Three more years – part-time, but at forty-six, three years seemed like eternity. A lonely eternity. She hated paperwork – she didn’t like much writing papers either. She did have a thirst for learning – she needed to understand. Whether it was the human body or the theological foundations of religion. However, she always seemed to finish the essays and the written work at the last minute. Obviously, she had been working all kind of hours while doing the BA online, but she had also procrastinated a lot. Somehow, having to produce an organised, logical, in-depth written piece felt like doing penance – much like the admin linked to her jobs. Angela would probably think she deserved it. Hell, she thought she deserved it. She probably deserved her loneliness, too. Although she shouldn’t feel lonely. Because she had God, hadn’t she? Watching her, supporting her… A real-life person would be …More comforting though… More – present… Cuddlier, too. She missed cuddling, although she would only admit that under torture. The tough army medic showing a soft side… Only Elaine had known about her marshmallow heart. And yet she had squeezed it out by leaving. Without explanations. Without even a letter. After nearly ten years together. And now, another decade later, she was still alone and her heart had not fully recovered. It had, however, begun to beat a bit faster again in Angela’s company. Surely there must be something she could do to apologise. She sighed, went online and googled “flowers for an apology”. Red and white roses… She could begin by that. At least now she had Angela’s address to get them delivered.
Angela had to smile when sh
e unwrapped a large chocolate box and a bottle of prosecco. The roses had not made her smile – she would have thrown them away if they had not been splendid and she had not hated waste. In term time, they would have found their way to the staff room, but since it was currently empty of human life, they had remained in her living-room. But now, with hindsight, she could accept the delivery from Hotel Chocolat. Especially since she could spot her favourite salted caramel chocolate bites in the box. She had to admit the vicar knew how to eat humble pie. And she had probably overreacted, the hangover making her bitter and resentful. What did she care, anyway? Their paths wouldn’t cross that much – of course, she wished she could have kept Greyson Walsden as a friend, but that seemed compromised on both sides – Greyson’s lack of honesty about her situation and her own reaction didn’t make a friendship very likely. And if they didn’t see each other again, that mad, drunken, delicious kiss would fade into the background. Meanwhile, the new students would arrive soon, and she had plenty to do to keep herself occupied – or maybe she should take a few days away before diving back into work. If she went away, she would have no need to thank the doctor – she still couldn’t quite think of Greyson as “the vicar” – for her apology gifts. She could drive up to London – see a play, go to museums, try to get her mind off the blonde. Acting on impulse, she went online and booked four days in an hotel. She didn’t need ages to pack her bag – an hour later, she was on the road.
Chapter 20
Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit,— Life!
Emily Dickinson
Greyson had spent her morning at the surgery and the beginning of the afternoon in meetings – since Emily would definitely take a step back from September, she left most of the organisation of the new year to Greyson – the confirmation classes, the bible study groups, the adult Christian education programmes – everything had to be arranged and although some of the activities would be run along the same lines as before, Greyson wanted to change several details, and she had discovered that people wanted to know and discuss in depth each and every of those little details. She spent much more time in meetings than in prayer or worship, and although it still was the work of God, she often felt like she was wasting her time and His. In theory, she was supposed to say a Morning Prayer and an Evening Prayer, either publicly or privately, every day without fail. In practice, she usually merged the two in one in a short session whenever she could find time. She decided she might as well fit it in while she had the time – her office at the church was usually pretty quiet. When she finished, she noticed the music coming from the parish hall – the church rented it to dance and yoga teachers, and from the sounds, this must be a salsa class. Not that she minded – during her prayers, she had been so absorbed she had shut the noise out completely, and now that she had to work on her sermon, she quite liked a musical background.
Greyson thought ruefully that her sermons seemed to be running on a theme lately. The previous Sunday, she had preached on mistakes. Abraham had made mistakes – his wife Sarah had too – she should have known giving her maid to her husband as a surrogate couldn’t end well. David had committed adultery and murder. Peter had denied Christ…The list went on and on, the Bible was full of heroic figures who were actually far from perfect. God doesn’t ask us to remember our mistakes, only to recognise them and handle their consequences. Then, to go forward. Abram had lied. Sarah had been impatient. We could all fall prey to those mistakes… For the next Sunday, Greyson wanted to preach about rejection. How we are all afraid of rejection. How everyone has been rejected in life – for a team at school – for a job – by a crush. And how only God never rejects anyone. How we think we have to be perfect… Greyson logged into a bible concordance search engine to find the verse she was looking for. “Live a life you’re not ashamed of Then when rejection comes, persecution comes---You’ll know where you stand.” (Romans 12:9-21). God doesn’t ask us to be perfect – only not to give up trying. And yet…She got interrupted by her door flying open to reveal a dishevelled and frantic Emily.
“Thank God you’re here, Greyson. It’s Edgar – I think he’s having a heart attack!”
Greyson sprang up and hurried after Emily to the salsa class. The young dance teacher knelt beside an older man sitting on the floor, his back to the wall. Everyone else was watching, murmuring and not doing anything useful. Greyson strode into the room and knelt on his other side.
“Sir? Edgar? Can you hear me?”
The elderly man mumbled something incomprehensible.
“He was dancing, and then he said he had a pain, and he began to sway, and…” The young teacher looked extremely distressed. “Do you think I should do CPR? I did learn but I wasn’t sure…”
Knowing that wearing a dog collar did not really attest to her medical qualifications, Greyson felt compelled to explain: “I’m a doctor – he’s breathing. No need. Just get everyone out of here, please. Have you called 911?”
“I have”, said someone. “They’re sending an ambulance.”
Greyson had bent over the elderly man and had his wrist in her hand, checking his pulse. “Crap!” she swore. “He’s stopped breathing – help me get him on the floor.” She pressed her hands over his chest in rhythm as she began CPR, trying to get the salsa music out of her head to replace it by the Bee Gee’s “Staying alive” – her song of choice to get the chest compressions right. “Where the hell is that ambulance?”
By the time the paramedics burst into the room, she had been performing CPR for almost fifteen minutes and the elderly man was breathing again, very shallowly and jerkily. Only then did Greyson look up at the other people in the room. The young teacher was still there, hovering over Emily who sat in a chair, looking almost as grey as the elderly man. Worried that she was going to have another casualty on her hands, Greyson came nearer: “Emily? Are you all right?”
“I’ve got to go with him. Where are they taking him? I need to warn his daughter – I …”
“Whoa! Emily – calm down. Everything will be all right. I’ll take you to the hospital if you want to go. Oh – and sorry for the cursing earlier – I tend to forget I’m not in a field hospital anymore. Do you…”
Emily interrupted her: “You don’t understand, Greyson – I need to go with him. He’s my – my companion.”
Greyson inhaled sharply – she hadn’t seen that one coming. She hadn’t even known her colleague had someone in her life. “Right – okay. So you go with him in the ambulance and I’ll join you at the hospital. Would that do? Can you give me his daughter’s name and number? I will call her for you.”
Emily glanced anxiously at the paramedics who were loading Edgar on a stretcher.
“Emily? His daughter?”
Emily looked at Greyson wearily: “You don’t need her number, Greyson – you have it – Edgar is Angela’s father.”
The older woman rose shakily and followed the paramedics out, leaving Greyson muttering: “Oh fuck!” under her breath. She hadn’t seen that one coming either. Very aware that she ought to offer a cup of tea to the dance teacher who still looked shaken, Greyson had just enough composure left to offer a smile and a promise to keep her informed of Edgar’s prognosis. Just before disappearing in her office, she couldn’t resist a parting shot: “You know, when someone’s heart stops, you don’t think about performing CPR – you do it. Maybe you should update your training.”
Greyson regretted her words as soon as they’d left her mouth but she really didn’t feel up to apologising. Anyway – she was right, but her tone could have been less scathing. Once in her office, she sank to her knees and prayed for the right words to come to her. Then she rang up the person who hadn’t acknowledged the roses or the chocolates… Of course, she would get the voice mail… She hated voice mails, and she didn’t think this was the kind of news to be left on one. Now she thought about it, she had never like
d talking to a machine, but her hatred for messages probably came from the one left by her mother in similar circumstances: “Greyson, your father is in the hospital. Call me.” By the time she had found the message, her father had been dead for several hours. As a doctor, she had often lamented the lack of communication training – no one had ever told her how to deliver bad news, and as a beginner, she had often been shocked at the somewhat callous manner some of her older colleagues used to address the family or the patient. Later on, she had understood it was better to be factual, and to go straight to the point than to shilly-shally around the issue, which only got the patient confused. And after being told off for being over-optimistic and promising one of her patients he would get better – “never promise what you can’t deliver, Dr. Walsden” – she had reluctantly admitted giving someone false hopes didn’t help. She had been very glad that in the Army, she had had no families to deal with, and no real time for chit-chat – her bedside manner didn’t matter that much on the battlefield. However, if Angela wasn’t informed of her father’s condition as soon as possible, she probably wouldn’t be very happy. She began hesitantly: “Hi – it’s Greyson – Greyson Walsden. The vicar. Well, I’m not calling as a vicar, but as a doctor. Anyway – it’s about your father – he – he was at the church and – he suffered a myocardial infarction – which means – his heart stopped for a moment, but he will be all right. He’s at the Royal Hospital right now, and – I’m sure he’ll be fine, but you may want to go to him. Anyway – you can ring me back if you want to – I’ll go to the hospital to make sure Emily – Reverend Jones – is okay. I mean – she’s okay, but she was – upset. Talk later. Bye.”
