by Fern Britton
In the front pew, Mamie’s shaking fingers found Robert’s hand. She squeezed it with a nervous smile.
Robert looked up at Angela and winked.
Angela swallowed hard and began.
‘Good morning, everyone.’
A few voices returned her greeting. ‘Morning.’
‘I must say I am a bit nervous to be standing in front of you this morning.’
The congregation smiled back, giving her some confidence.
‘I am very new to this as I was ordained only at the end of last year, but I feel so lucky to have landed here in Pendruggan. My first proper job as a vicar. And the first woman to preach here. You may have had some misgivings about me coming here and want to know something about me. So here goes. Robert, my husband, and I have been married for almost twenty years. We met when we were both working for a paper called the Manchester Evening News. Fresh out of university, I thought I’d found my career. The cut and thrust of the newsroom excited me. There wasn’t a cat up a tree or a lost dog that didn’t get my full attention. My sympathetic interviews with devastated pet owners and my incisive writing skills led me to have none of my stories ever printed. All spiked by the editor, a seasoned hack with a bottle of Scotch in his desk drawer and a tongue as sharp as vinegar.
‘One afternoon, following my regular daily routine of chasing a story, typing it up, having it rejected and spending half an hour in the ladies weeping, I bumped into an impossibly handsome man, who was heading to the Gents’ as I came out of the Ladies’. By the time I got back to my desk, the office gossip machine was red hot. All the women were discreetly powdering their noses and applying lipstick, but I had no such tricks to employ. There was nothing in my bag that would camouflage my swollen red eyelids. My friend Tess, sitting opposite me, whispered a name. Robert Whitehorn. The new political correspondent.
‘From that day on he became the office pin-up. Funny. Talented. Handsome, and mysterious. He politely declined all offers from the office vamps of a drink after work and skirted any questions about his private life. This made him one hundred per cent more attractive. I kept out of the way. Why would he be interested in me? The only contact I had with him was the occasional shared ride in the lift or in the canteen coffee queue. He didn’t look at me once. But one day, I was rewriting a late story for the editor, who had loudly berated me across a packed newsroom for being a useless idiot, when a cup of coffee was placed on my desk. I looked up to thank whoever it was and nearly choked. Robert was standing there. “I thought you might like one of these,” he said. I was so surprised, I jumped up and knocked the desk, which tipped the piping hot coffee all down his trousers. And that is how our romance blossomed.’
‘Aahh,’ said all the women in the congregation, and a couple of men too.
‘We got married six months later and, almost immediately, Robert landed a job on the London Evening Standard so we moved south. I managed to wangle a job in the BBC newsroom as a copy taster, reading through the stories as they came in and passing the more interesting ones on to the news editor. At the newsroom Christmas party I introduced Robert to the head of news and the rest is history. If I hadn’t been called to this job, I would have made a great showbiz agent.’
The congregation laughed loudly.
‘I dearly wanted to start a family but Faith, our daughter, didn’t come easily. After a couple of years we were referred to an IVF, test-tube baby, specialist and on the third attempt, and after many prayers, Faith was born to us.’
Angela glanced down at Faith who was blushing furiously, pursing her lips and frowning. She smiled down at her. ‘And now I have embarrassed her.’
Robert reached for Faith’s hand but she shook it off, muttering, ‘Get off.’
‘It was around then that my calling to the Church began to take root. My father died before I was born and my mother had very little time to take me to church, but my faith grew with me hardly noticing. It was just there. Inside me. Seven years ago I told my husband that my life lay in the Church. He reacted by pouring two large gin and tonics. But he never tried to dissuade me. So while he was standing outside Number Ten or Chequers, reporting on the state of the nation, I was at the kitchen table studying until the small hours. He has been my support and mainstay all this time.
‘My mother became ill during that time. I suspect many of you have been in a similar position. The balance of keeping a day-to-day life going while bearing the pain and responsibility of watching a loved one suffering and fading. I would be lying if I told you that my faith hadn’t been shaken at that time. What use were prayers? Where were the answers? I took six months off from my studies to nurse her. Where was God when she cried out in pain? When she died, my strength deserted me. I became depressed. From being the carer, I became the cared for. Robert and Faith were my carers. A horrible, frightening time for them. I was lost.’
She looked around at the rapt faces of her congregation. ‘I can’t tell you that I am the perfect woman, wife, mother or vicar, but my relationship with God grew again once I stopped raging at him and slowly began to see the good in our world. Walking over from the vicarage this morning, seeing the primroses in the churchyard, the birds beginning to build their nests, the number of you who have bothered to come here this morning – all these things fill me with renewed energy and a determination to give all I have to you. I stand here and make my promise to you. Whatever happens over the next twelve months, I will do my best to help you. Build an even stronger community for Simon to return to. I’m particularly interested in empowering women. Show them the opportunities within their reach. A chance to fulfil their latent potential.’
A few of the older generation looked around at friends and partners with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, sending the silent message to each other. Didn’t we tell the bishop that a female vicar, with ridiculous modern ideas about equality, would bring trouble?
Angela saw the exchanges but ignored them. ‘Do come and talk to me. I want to get to know you well. Share problems, joys, ideas, anything. I maybe the newcomer but my vicarage is open to all comers.’
A young woman sitting in the body of the church began to clap. Next to her, Helen joined in, starting a wave of applause through the majority of the congregation.
The organist wiped a dew drop from the end of his nose and struck up the opening notes of ‘Love Divine, all loves excelling’.
‘Darling, you deserve a sherry.’ Mamie shooed Angela into the big vicarage sitting room. ‘Robert, get her a sherry please, and a G and T for me.’
Robert, on the point of entering the room, made a U-turn, and went to the kitchen.
Mamie relaxed into the sofa and kicked her shoes off. She patted the cushion next to her. ‘How did you feel that went?’
Angela sat down. ‘I think it went OK. What did you think?’
‘Darling, you were wonderful! They adored you. You gave them everything.’
Robert returned with a drinks tray and Faith. Mr Worthington followed and hoisted himself next to Angela, before yawning squeakily and burying his whiskery face in her lap.
‘I was just telling Angela how wonderful she was,’ Mamie told Robert as she took the G and T from his proffered tray. ‘Thank you, darling.’
Robert passed a glass of coke to Faith, who had opened a bag of crisps and was tickling Mr Worthington’s tummy, and sat down in an armchair, opening his tin of beer.
‘She really was.’ He lifted his tin. ‘To Angela, the new vicar of Pendruggan.’
‘To Angela,’ said Mamie.
‘Mum,’ said Faith.
‘My wonderful wife,’ smiled Robert.
‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my family,’ Angela said, her voice soft.
‘Now now, none of that,’ Robert chided gently. ‘This is your time to shine.’
‘And I wouldn’t be able to do it if you hadn’t taken this year off, away from the job you love,’ she said.
He waved a hand airily. ‘Piffle. You have
stood in my shadow too long. It’s time I stood aside.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘Women can make their own way now, you know. Like, they don’t need a man to “stand aside” to help them achieve things in life. We are liberated from that sort of patriarchal nonsense, you know.’
Robert was hurt. ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. Your mother is an independent, free-thinking adult woman, but in the past she has been the partner who has supported me while neglecting, maybe, some of things she wanted to do.’
‘Huh. Maybe? Listen to yourself, Dad. She definitely missed out while you were out building your career. How many times were you home in time to read me a bedtime story? How many times were you already at work by the time I woke up? How many times did you take me to school or pick me up or watch sports day?’
Robert was wounded. ‘And who do you think paid for your holidays and looked after you and Mum?’
Angela interrupted them. ‘Hey. Stop it. You make me sound like some sort of downtrodden drudge. Let me make this clear. Making a home and caring for you both was and still is, A Job. One that I love. I would change nothing … other than to still have Granny with us today.’
Faith and Robert were chastened. ‘Sorry.’
Angela took a sip of her sherry and leant back into the softness of the sofa. ‘Now then, this independent, brilliant, superwoman would like her lunch on a tray, right here, watching a movie. And while you lot make that happen, Mr Worthington and I are going to have forty winks. Scoot.’
Later that evening, the phone rang in the hall. The women were watching Poldark, leaving Robert to get up and answer it.
‘Hello?’ he asked tentatively, not certain he would know who was calling.
‘Hi, Robert? It’s Helen here. Helen Merrifield?’
Robert remembered the attractive woman from Simon and Penny’s party. ‘Hello, Helen. How can I help you?’
‘I was wondering if you and Angela would like to come round for supper this week. Would Tuesday be good? Listening to Angela in church this morning, I was thinking how brave she was.’
‘She’s a tough cookie,’ Robert laughed.
‘Yes. And I thought, we tough cookies need to stick together.’
‘That’s very kind, Helen. Hang on, I’ll ask her.’ He put the old-fashioned receiver down on the hall table and popped his head around the door of the sitting room.
‘Who was it?’ asked Angela, not taking her eyes from the television.
‘Shh,’ snapped Mamie and Faith, who were watching a strapping young man gallop a horse across Cornish cliffs, his ruffled white shirt open to the navel and billowing in the breeze.
‘Helen,’ whispered Robert. ‘Wants to know if we can have supper with her on Tuesday night.’
Angela looked at him with bright surprise. ‘Love to,’ she mouthed. ‘Does she want us to bring anything and what time?’
‘What do you want me to put the linen napkins out for? You’ve only got to bleddy wash an’ iron after. Don’t make sense.’
Helen, chopping fruit for a salad pudding, said firmly, ‘Just do it, Piran.’
‘She’s the vicar not the bleddy Queen of Sheba, is she?’
‘Oh, Piran, please, I simply want to make tonight nice.’
‘It’s nice without having to put out the bleddy linen napkins.’
Helen pushed a handful of chopped grapes into a bowl and put her knife down. ‘What’s wrong with you? You normally like a kitchen supper with friends.’
‘I don’t trust him.’
‘Robert?’
‘Too smarmy by half.’
‘He’s charming. And devoted to Angela. Two things you could learn from him, actually.’
Piran chuckled at that. He hadn’t seen Helen for a few days and had missed her. He walked towards her and put his arms around her. ‘You ’ad smooth and devoted from that womanising idiot you was married to, remember?’ He nuzzled into her neck, his beard tickling her. ‘But I reckon I suit you better.’
Helen felt her shoulders relax. She had missed him too. ‘I need to turn the roast potatoes.’
‘They’ll be fine for a couple more minutes.’
She ducked out of his arms with a kiss. ‘The reason you and I work is because you give me the space to be me and I give you the space to be you.’
Piran’s eyes, as dark as the night ocean and as deep, softened. ‘I don’t say this often, but thank you for putting up with me. I know I’m a pain in the arse at times.’
‘Most of the time, actually.’
‘But we belong together. I don’t know what I would do without you.’
Helen frowned comically. ‘Who are you? What have you done with Piran Ambrose? The grumpy, selfish, commitment-phobe I call my boyfriend?’
‘If you’re gonna be like that, I’m off to the pub then.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘That’s them.’ Helen looked around at the untidied kitchen. ‘Shit.’
‘All right. All right. I’ll let them in.’ Piran moved to the door. ‘You get a bottle out of the fridge.’
‘I do love you,’ she said.
Piran growled a bit before saying, ‘Likewise.’
‘This is so kind of you.’ Angela handed her coat to Piran. ‘Our first night out for a long time, isn’t it, Robert?’
‘I can’t remember the last time.’ He looked around at the inside of Gull’s Cry, Helen’s cottage. ‘This is lovely.’
‘Very small,’ said Helen, passing her guests a glass of cold wine each. ‘But I love it.’
‘Typical cottage for this area,’ said Piran. ‘Villagers round here didn’t have money to build mansions like up in London.’
‘I love the way the front door opens straight into the lounge, it’s so welcoming. And the fireplace is wonderful.’ Angela smiled. ‘Can I see the kitchen?’
‘Sure. It’s almost the same size as the sitting room. Come and see.’
‘Another Aga! I’m not sure how to use the one in the vicarage. I’m learning as I go but maybe you could give me some tips?’
‘Of course.’ Helen was liking Angela more and more. ‘It’s basically like a camp fire. Use common sense. When you have time I’ll come over and show you. Penny couldn’t get her head round it at the start either but now she really is a good cook.’
Over dinner, Angela had to get something off her chest. ‘Piran, I must apologise for our first meeting on the beach, and also thank you for saving my aunt’s life. She was very rude to you.’
Helen answered, ‘I suspect Piran may have been less than charming to your aunt. He doesn’t always remember to take his charm pills.’
‘The water was bleddy cold, woman!’ Piran said. ‘It didn’t improve my mood. But I am sorry if I caused offence to an old lady. I may have been a bit gruff.’
Robert stepped in. ‘You’d better not let her hear you calling her an old lady. She believes she’s still in her prime.’
‘She is!’ said Angela. ‘More stamina than any of us. But she does tend to be free with her opinions and that day she was less than gracious to you.’
‘Was she OK? Afterwards?’ Piran asked.
‘Right as rain,’ smiled Angela. ‘But thank you again for rescuing her.’
Helen stood up and collected the empty plates from her guests. As she put them in the dishwasher she asked Piran, ‘Would you get the fruit salad and ice cream out the fridge, darling?’
‘Ice cream? No clotted?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t get any. Did you?’ Helen asked pointedly.
‘Why would I get clotted cream?’ he said, pulling the bowl of chopped fruit out of the fridge.
‘Well, if you like it, you can get it,’ smiled Helen. ‘That’s the way things work around here.’
She took the bowl from him and placed it into the centre of the table while he pulled a tub of Cornish vanilla ice cream from the freezer.
Piran sat down and said to Robert, ‘Women ’spect us to be bleddy mind readers
. Sometimes, I come in here to see Helen, and from the look on her face I can tell I have failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.’
Robert looked at Angela and thought better of agreeing with Piran. ‘Well, you know, sometimes perhaps we are just preoccupied with our own things and forget that. I mean, Angela and I have decided to reverse our roles for this coming year. She has always been the one at home, keeping the home fires burning, shouldering the child care. I never had to think about anything domestic. She did it all while I worked in the world I love. Now, I shall do the same for her while she’s here.’
‘Oh, aye? Gonna be one of them househusbands, are you?’ growled Piran.
‘Yes,’ smiled Robert. ‘And happily.’
Helen passed a bowl of fruit to Robert. ‘Well, I think that’s wonderful. It’s high time some of the men in this village had a bit of a shake-up and began to value what the women do around here.’
‘Was that aimed at me?’ Piran said gruffly. ‘’Cos you know perfectly well, Helen Merrifield, that I treat all people as equals.’
‘I do know,’ Helen answered, ‘you treat all people equally badly.’ She handed a bowl to Angela, laughing. ‘And yet, beneath that beard and hard exterior, this man here is the kindest man I have ever known.’
Piran tucked into his pudding with a dark look.
‘You are, Piran. And you know it.’ Helen took his free hand and addressed Robert and Angela. ‘He and the Reverend Simon have known each other since they were boys. They swam, fished and surfed together. When Simon was deciding to go into the Church, it was Piran he turned to. And when the opportunity to help in Brazil came, Piran was the one who encouraged him. And when Piran had a difficult time some years back, Simon was there for him.’
Angela was sympathetic. ‘May I ask what happened?’
Piran put his spoon down and rubbed his chin. ‘My fiancée was killed by a hit-and-run driver.’
‘Shit,’ said Robert.
‘’Twas,’ Piran said bluntly.
‘It’s why Simon and Penny’s daughter is called Jenna. In honour of the memory of Piran’s girlfriend,’ Helen finished.
