Always Believe

by Aimée

  She crumpled the letter in her hand in a fit of anger before smoothing it again almost lovingly – even if Elaine had disappointed her – abandoned her – she couldn’t help being glad she had reached out. At least she was alive. Her anger had smouldered during the early years after Elaine’s disappearance, and if she couldn’t honestly say it had become indifference, it meant smidgens of love still remained.

  Her ringing phone interrupted her thoughts and Greyson frowned – who would be calling at …11.16pm? For a brief, very brief instant, she hoped someone had fallen ill at the college and Angela needed her help…She chastised herself immediately – had she really hoped for a teenager to be sick just to be able to talk to the head? She picked up the phone which had stopped ringing and listened to the voicemail. Not Angela – unwelcome news, but maybe not unexpected. With a weary sigh, she rubbed her eyes with her hand and went to change into black jeans and a black shirt. Not ten minutes later, she grabbed her car keys and left – it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 26

  Only lovers

  see the fall

  a signal end to endings

  a gruffish gesture alerting

  those who will not be alarmed

  that we begin to stop

  in order to begin

  again.

  Maya Angelou

  November was a miserable month. No wonder it had inspired so many macabre poems. Now that Halloween had become “a thing” in England, the November gloom had leaked into October and the mix of skulls and bones, witches’ hats and Christmas tinsel added a layer of bleakness to the fallen leaves, the grey days and the penetrating cold. For Angela, the first days of November were her own private hell – the anniversary of her daughter’s death. She had soldiered on at work, locked all her alcohol in her basement and forbidden herself to set foot in a pub for two weeks. At least she hadn’t had to deal with real hangovers, although the after-effects of the sleeping pills she had taken to have at least a few hours of oblivion every day had left her with a furry mouth and a feeling of drowsiness. She had gone to the cemetery more by duty than by will – her daughter wasn’t there. She had got the photo albums out and pored over each of them, reliving the happiest moments of Sybil’s live, all the while wondering where things had gone wrong. Her ex-husband had phoned and offered to travel to the UK to see her, but she had politely refused. Her friends Lucy and Fran had shown up with a selection of all the biscuits and cakes they used to binge on when as teenagers they had had rough days and they had emptied several bags of M&Ms and scoffed a few packs of Jaffa cakes, and other sundry chocolate biscuits, washing the lot down with Diet Coke – no need to overdose on sugar after all… They hadn’t spoken much, but at least she hadn’t been alone for a few hours. And when she had thrown it all up in the early morning hours, her stomach not used to teenage excess anymore, Liz had held her hair away and stroked her back. But she had wished for other hands and other arms around her – hands with long sensitive fingers that had caressed her with so much gentleness, arms that had pinned her to the bed in a sudden burst of passion…For one night only.

  Some days, before she fell asleep, she thought about that night – and that morning – and the blonde woman who had awakened so many sensations in her body, so many questions in her mind, only to dash her tinges of hope with a few words the next morning. She had thrown herself into the idea of a relationship – she had overruled the part of her brain telling her that she wasn’t gay. What did it matter? She didn’t want to go to bed with just any woman – she just wanted Greyson. And it had been – well, not just as she had expected, because she had had no expectations - it had been… So much – so much more… So gentle and so fierce, so soft and so tough, so beautiful…And so tragic. Greyson hadn’t even asked her what she wanted – hadn’t even let her decide if she was willing to wait. She wouldn’t make the first move again – not that she had a lot of pride, but she did have a little. She wouldn’t beg the vicar for a relationship. If the woman was so attached to the petty rules dictated by her church, she could go to hell! More than a month afterwards, the vicar could have dropped off the face of the Earth for all the news she had had of her – exactly zero. Angela had been informed by the School Trust that another doctor had been appointed as school physician – it probably made sense – Greyson Walsden would be easing off her medical practice now she had been fully ordained. It also meant, however, that if there was an emergency at the college, the blonde wouldn’t come running – and Angela didn’t have any other excuse to contact her.

  Angela got up to make herself another cup of tea – she still had three parents’ visits to go through and she really, really needed a hot drink. And a couple of custard creams… Parents’ visits usually boiled down to two topics – either they wanted to know all about the results, the university applications and the pedigree of the teaching staff or about the safety measures, the rules about drinking, smoking and drugs, and the pastoral care. Or they were interested in both aspects, and the visit could go on for ages. The first couple arrived twenty minutes late and was unfortunately full of questions about everything. By the time she got up to meet her last parent, a Ms. Lambert, she was tired, cranky and had the beginning of a headache. She opened the door to the waiting room and frowned – the room was dark and the chairs appeared empty. Angela smiled grimly – if Ms Lambert had finally decided not to come, fine – she was all too ready to go home. As she was already thinking of her bed with a nice hot bottle, someone cleared her throat and Angela started, finally making out a silhouette standing at the window.

  “You’re not Ms Lambert,” she accused as the woman came forward.

  Greyson reddened: “No – I’m sorry – I… That was my former partner’s name. I wasn’t sure you would see me if…”

  Angela still wasn’t mollified, although a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies suddenly materialised in her stomach: “And I supposed you couldn’t have called? Or sent a text? Or an email? Like a normal person would do? I don’t hear from you for – what, a month? More? And then you decide to drop in at my place of work, under a false name! What’s wrong with you, Vicar?”

  Greyson hung her head and chewed on her lower lip so hard she tasted blood. She turned back towards the window and spoke so quietly Angela almost didn’t hear: “I’m sorry – I’ll go – this was a bad idea.”

  Angela strode towards her and took her almost roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to look at her: “Oh no you don’t! Not until I know what you want from me.”

  Greyson hesitated and then she slowly raised her hand towards Angela’s face, letting her fingers caress the redhead’s cheek. Her other hand slipped behind the younger woman’s neck. She brushed away a messy strand of hair, twirling it in her fingers and replaced it by a kiss, and another, and another, butterfly kisses until she reached the lips and settled on them. She felt Angela stiffen and then relax, her lips seeking hers, pressing against them, melting into them. Angela’s head fell on Greyson’s shoulder and she sighed – time to sew the pieces of her heart back together, to complete the jigsaw of their relationship – the outer edges were back in place, now to fill in the centre with love. When they came up for air, Angela returned the kiss, reaching for the soft skin with an almost desperate desire. In the half-light, everything seemed possible. She drew Greyson onto one of the armchairs and they remained nestled there for what seemed like hours, just kissing and discovering each other. Finally, when she came to her senses, Angela looked Greyson straight in the eyes: “Greyson – I need to know – before this goes further… It’s not – it’s not easy for me, you know. I need to know what made you change your mind. Last time… Last time, you said it was impossible, and now… You can’t just mess me around. You’re still a vicar…” She gestured towards Greyson’s dog collar, which had come a little askew during their lovemaking.

  “Life and death,” murmured Greyson.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I said – life and death. You asked me why
I changed my mind. That’s it – I realised that… Well, as much as I believe in the eternal life, we only have one on earth, and we shouldn’t waste it.”

  Greyson closed her eyes, remembering the night she had finally decided to go to Angela and beg for a second chance. The night after Maisie’s birthday. After an eventful day and Elaine’s later, the phone call had made her rush to her mother’s care home. Mrs Walsden had caught the flu a fortnight before, but she had seemed to be on the mend. On the phone, the care home manager had told her that her mother’s temperature had risen again, her pulse had become erratic and they couldn’t wake her up. She had arrived too late – when she had pushed her mother’s room door opened, she had immediately recognised the wet, rattling sound. There was nothing she could have done. She had sat by the bed, held her mother’s already cooling hand and prayed. The elderly woman had died peacefully enough a few hours afterwards, and Greyson had felt unable to cry. Mostly, she was thankful her mother had not suffered a long agony. Somehow, months of hearing from the older woman that she wanted to die had cushioned the impact of the death itself. Her mother had been laid to rest beside her father, and she had decided life was too short not to at least attempt to be happy again. It had taken her nearly a week to muster the courage to make the appointment with Angela’s secretary, but she wasn’t going to bail out now.

  She swallowed hard and went on: “The truth is, Angela… I’ve fallen in love with you.” She waited expectantly for an answer. After all, the younger woman could well reject her. Greyson felt Angela cuddle up closer and sigh. Greyson braced herself for a rejection and added quickly: “I know I’m older than you, and… Well, a woman, obviously, and… And there’s the whole church thing, but… I – I really mean it.” She felt Angela’s fingers on her lips, hushing her up.

  “Shh – my turn, Vicar. I’m very much afraid I’ve fallen in love with you too. I don’t care about your age, or your church, or…” Angela fumbled for words: “Or anything. I just don’t want to get hurt.”

  “I would never hurt you, Angela…” Greyson stopped and giggled: “You know what? I don’t even know your middle name.”

  It was Angela’s turn to blush bright red: “Err – you really don’t need to know…”

  “Come on! Methinks the lady doth protest too much. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always hated my name – always reminds me of how much my parents would have preferred a boy. And my middle name is Mary – you can’t have more ordinary.”

  “I like your name. And I wish mine was ordinary too.” Angela sighed: “All right – in the name of total disclosure, I’ll tell you. It’s an old family name – all the women on my father’s side have it as a middle name in memory of an ancestor… My full name is Angela Euphrosyne Arlingham. I forbid you to laugh.”

  Greyson wasn’t laughing – she was looking at Angela with shining eyes. “I would never hurt you, Angela Euphrosyne Arlingham,” she repeated. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Greyson Mary Walsden.”

  Greyson gently took Angela’s hands in hers and caressed the wrists with her thumb, suddenly feeling as self-conscious as an adolescent on her first date. Those three little words hadn’t escaped her lips often, and they weighted the promise of a whole future. Angela broke the silence before it became awkward: “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Dinner?”

  “Let’s.”

  As the two women walked to Greyson’s car, November felt a little less cold and wet, and the Christmas lights a little more cheerful.

  Chapter 27

  Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:2

  Christmas eve – the one time in the year the church was full. Her first Christmas in the pulpit. One of her first Christmases in England for a long time, too. She hadn’t minded much spending it in deployment, as Christmas in a tête-à-tête with her mother had not held any particular appeal, even before she had been struck with Alzheimer’s. Greyson had never imagined so many people would come especially to hear her preach and be with her on that holy night. Angela’s father had whisked Emily off to Europe for a musical cruise on the 23rd and she had been left alone to organise the last details of the service. And now, in the assembly, she could see Paul and Carl, Maisie and Luke, her goddaughter Julie, who had invited herself for Christmas, all singing the hymns she had chosen with the choir director. Her eyes went to someone else, on the third row, as near a pillar as possible without hiding completely behind it. The one who had told her until the last minute she wouldn’t come, because it would be hypocritical of her to celebrate the birth of the Son of someone she didn’t believe existed. And who had slid into the pew at the last minute, literally two minutes before the first hymn. That person winked at her and a warm wave of tenderness invaded her. For that wink, she would have had several awkward conversations like the one she had had with Julie two days before…

  The teenager had arrived with her whole kit and caboodle, and had soon invaded Greyson’s smallish flat. Greyson hadn’t dare refuse – after all, as a guardian, she had to do her duty. And this time, her duty was to welcome the teenager for the holidays, even though she would dearly have liked to spend Christmas alone with Angela. Once she had spread her belongings all over Greyson’s army-neat living-room, Julie had disappeared to spend the evening with friends, and Greyson had missed her chance to broach the delicate subject of her new love interest. Telling her goddaughter that she would be “on duty” at the church on Christmas eve, because – oh, by the way, I didn’t tell you before, but I sort of became a vicar last summer – had been hard enough, although Julie hadn’t shown much interest, beside a “oh – right, okay – weird. I thought you liked being a doctor, but whatever floats your boat, Colonel.” Greyson had had to bite her tongue not to snap at her for calling her “Colonel”, but she had managed to ignore it – maybe that would bear more fruits than a knee-jerk reaction…And if they fought on the first day of the teen’s stay…The holiday season would feel like an eternity.

  The next day, Greyson had patients in the morning and church business to attend to in the afternoon, as well as a Christmas concert at the church in the evening. She had left a ticket for Julie in case she wanted to attend, although doubting very much the teenager would want to watch a small local classical ensemble perform by candlelight. She was thus extremely surprised when her goddaughter joined her at the end of the concert, looking like she had just won the lottery. As they walked back to Greyson’s flat, the teenager, usually pretty chatty, didn’t say a word, and Greyson couldn’t help asking if anything was the matter.

  “Uh? Oh, no, nothing wrong, Colonel,” replied Julie absently. Seemed that ignoring the nickname hadn’t worked very well, but Greyson was too tired to argue.

  “Really? Are you feeling sick?” Greyson was pretty sure that at Julie’s age, people knew enough to say so before throwing up all over but…

  “Sick? No…” Julie giggled: “Or maybe lovesick – did you see that violinist? He was well fit…I went to congratulate him afterwards – well, the lot, but – I kind of talked to him, and he invited me for a drink tomorrow. I hope it works – he looks really cool, and he goes to uni in Birmingham, so that’s not too far from Warwick.”

  “Oh – oh, okay – I see.”

  It all seemed so easy at that age – they must have spoken for all of five minutes and Julie was already making long-term plans for a relationship with a complete stranger. As they settled in the living-room with hot chocolate and biscuits, Greyson decided to take the plunge and cleared her throat. After all, she would have to sooner or later, and since they were talking about – love – well, why not?

  “So… Do you remember Ms Arlingham?”

  Julie looked at her as if she’d grown a second head: “You mean my former head teacher? As in former, like six months ago? I hope so, otherwise I’d be worried abou
t having early Alzheimer, Colonel.”

  “Well – yes, yes – of course. Yes, Ms Arlingham – Angela. So – would you mind – spending Christmas … With her? I mean, maybe on Christmas Eve, we could all have dinner, and the next day – well, I’ll be free, so, I don’t know, but – maybe go for a walk or something?”

  Luckily, before leaving for her cruise , Emily had arranged for another vicar to come for the Christmas morning service, leaving Greyson free to enjoy herself.

  Julie shrugged: “I don’t mind – she’s nice. But – I didn’t know you were friends? You weren’t before. You didn’t even know her…”

  To her utter mortification, Greyson felt her cheek grow hot and she knew she must have blushed bright red. “Err – well …We’ve become – acquainted. In fact… She is my…” All the possible words swirled in her mind at the same time – certainly not mistress. Girlfriend sounded a little adolescent. Lady friend – just no. Companion came right out of a Jane Austen novel. “She is my partner.”

  Seeing her goddaughter didn’t seem to understand, she felt obliged to add: “We are – seeing each other – I mean dating each other – romantically.”

  She couldn’t believe that at forty-six, she was coming out for the first time, and to her goddaughter of all people, but… With Elaine, they’d had to be very discreet at the beginning, and then, when homosexual relationship had become acceptable in the forces… They were just together, and no one really asked any questions, especially since they spent so much time apart due to their respective deployments.