It was a dull dark morning but the children’s enthusiasm for life seemed to Peter to fill the room with light. Mrs Hardaker announced the first hymn. Those who could, found the number for themselves and then helped those who couldn’t.
Miss Booth played the first line and the children began to sing ‘If I were a butterfly’. Peter joined in and the children had to restrain their giggles for he sounded like Mr Johns except his voice was deeper and louder even though he was trying to sing quietly.
When Hetty Hardaker asked the children if they had anything they needed to thank God for this morning, Brian suggested, ‘Sykes. Let’s thank God for bringing Sykes back.’
Several of the children agreed. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea!’
‘I don’t think that Sykes has actually come back, Brian. Not really Sykes, just a dog who looks like Sykes.’
There came a strong murmur of dissension from the floor of the hall. ‘How come he knowed where Sykes’ bowl was then?’
‘Yes, and he knowed Mr Glover. Stuck to him like glue he did.’
Mrs Hardaker began to flounder. ‘Perhaps we should pray that the real owners will come to claim him. After all, they must be very sad to have lost their dog. I expect they love him very much.’
‘How can they, when he’s Mr Glover’s Sykes?’
‘Let’s pray for all pets, that they are all as well cared for as your animals are. Hands together, eyes closed.’
By the time Mrs Hardaker’s part of prayers was over Peter could see she was more than glad to hand over to Kate Pascoe.
Kate stayed sitting on her chair to the side of the children. She looked around at them all to catch their undivided attention before she began to speak. ‘Some days ago, Class Three went with me into the woods on a nature walk. Because it is winter most of the trees were bare of leaves, but we could see the beautiful symmetry of the twigs and branches reaching skywards high up above our heads. The trees were sleeping – no growing, no leaves rustling in the wind. They were biding their time, waiting for the sun to shine, the earth to warm up, for longer days and shorter nights so they can begin to stir to life. It won’t be long now before that happens; we call it Spring. Let us think about those trees and plants in the wood, waiting quietly through the cold months for the whole wonderful miracle, which comes every year, without fail. Imagine yourself like a tree, able to feel pain and hurt if you get damaged or chopped down, silently waiting like all nature is, for the right moment to wake up. Imagine yourself feeling the first stirrings of life.’
The children sat for fully five minutes quietly but not necessarily meditating on Kate’s theme. Peter sat quietly too. Mentally he checked his diary for the day – yes, he did have a spare hour around four if he cut short his usual Monday-morning visit to Penny Fawcett and thus got back from hospital-visiting early. And it didn’t matter what Ms Pascoe had in mind for after school, she was seeing him. Trees feeling pain, indeed! Whatever next!
Peter got to the school just as the children began to leave for home. Hetty Hardaker was running across the playground calling out to one of them:
‘Craig! Craig! Your stamps; you’ve forgotten your stamps! Catch him for me, Flick. Why hello, Rector, twice in one day, we are honoured! There you are, Craig, I’ve put the album in this plastic bag then you won’t lose anything out on the way home. Mind how you go. See you tomorrow. Come to see Miss Pascoe?’ She went back into school followed by Peter.
‘Yes, I have.’
‘She has a parent with her at the moment, but she won’t be long. Do I know what it’s about?’
‘Very likely.’
‘If you need my opinion which you don’t but I’m saying it just the same, it’s not right. Believe me it’s not right. Well-meaning, I think, but misguided.’
Peter nodded his head and gave a noncommittal ‘Hmm.’
Kate offered him a cup of tea, but he refused it. She felt that he filled the small room not just because of his size but with the strength of his persona. She was really into this business of aura and she could feel his almost touching hers.
Kate looked into his face and saw he was troubled. ‘Is there something I can help you with, Rector?’
‘There certainly is.’
She placed her empty cup on the desk and, having offered Peter the one and only chair, she perched herself on the edge of the washbasin and waited.
‘While I am well aware that the church does not have quite the same influence on the education of the children in its schools as once was the case, I really feel that I must speak up. During your short speech directing the children’s thoughts to a subject for meditation, you never once mentioned the One to Whom we should give thanks for the beautiful world in which we live. Nothing was attributed to Him and I should like to know why in such a context God’s name was never mentioned.’
Kate didn’t answer immediately and Peter, as so many of his parishioners knew to their cost, didn’t fill the silence for her.
‘That’s a sticky one.’
‘It was meant to be.’ Peter waited patiently.
Kate turned her face from his scrutiny and looked out of the window. Her view was of the school dustbins and the cycle shed. She heard the slip slap of Pat Duckett’s old shoes and watched her come into view to empty waste paper into the recycling bin. She wished she lived Pat Duckett’s uncomplicated life. With Peter present, she had been a fool not to have mentioned the Deity. Now what? Abject apology was called for. ‘You’re quite right, I should have. It won’t happen again.’
‘Good. Talking about trees feeling pain, that is ridiculous, and has no place being presented to these impressionable children by someone whose word they see as absolute truth. They have to believe what you say, otherwise they can’t learn. If you say two and two make four then that’s the truth to them. If you say trees feel pain then, in just the same way, they believe you. It’s a most tremendous responsibility. And hugging trees? Come, come!’
Kate opened her mouth to protest but Peter held up his hand and silenced her.
‘There is another matter I need to speak about. At one time the absence of the head teacher from Communion and indeed from any service in the church would have been a matter for stern admonition. Not nowadays, however, but you’re never there at all. Is there a reason for this?’
‘None. I’ve just not got round to it.’
‘You’ve an example to set. Your behaviour doesn’t go unnoticed in such a small community.’
Kate swung round from staring out of the window, and looked him full in the face. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing sinister, I assure you. But straight from a mission school to nothing? It doesn’t add up. Well, I’ll be on my way. Won’t take up any more of your time. No offence meant, only the very best of intentions. I know you’ll think over what I’ve said.’ Peter stood up. ‘I expect you’ll be pleased Beth has settled better. We do have the occasional dodgy morning, but mostly she comes quite happily. If there’s one thing you learn about children it’s that they are full of surprises.’ He smiled. ‘God bless you, Kate.’ He left and so didn’t see her shudder.
Peter got home late from a meeting that night, to find Caroline already in bed. He called upstairs, ‘All right, darling? I’m just making a drink – want one?’
‘Yes, please, don’t mind what. You’re late.’
‘I know, lot to discuss. Won’t be long.’
He glanced appreciatively at her as he took the tea into the bedroom. She was sitting up in her dressing gown on top of the duvet reading a book. He placed her cup on her table and bent to kiss her. ‘You feel damp and deliciously perfumed.’ Peter bent still further and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His tongue trailed up her neck, up her chin as far as her mouth and he kissed her again, tasting the toothpaste. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you. You look tired.’
‘I am. Long day. Looking back on it I’m having doubts if I should have reproved Kate the way I did. Perhaps I came down a bit too heavily.’
He sat beside Caroline and sipped his tea. ‘What do you think?’
‘Not heavily enough in my opinion. I don’t want our offspring learning to hug trees and things.’
‘Neither do I. There are rumblings from the parents, too.’
‘Hardly surprising.’ Caroline put her cup down and leant forward to kiss him. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash. Believe me!’ She kissed him again and tasted the hot tea in his mouth. ‘Isn’t it odd, there’s no other person in the whole world I would want to kiss like that but you.’
‘Thank heavens for that! I’d have a lot to say if there was.’
‘Never. You’d take it patiently and wait, and leave the decision with me.’
While Peter thought over what she’d said he held her hand to his cheek. Kissing it, he said, ‘I wouldn’t stand by in circumstances like that. I’d be in there hauling my woman back to my cave!’
Caroline laughed. ‘And you a pacifist!’
‘Darling girl!’ He relished the taste of her toothpaste again and was thinking of stripping off his clothes and stretching out on the bed beside her when the phone rang. ‘Blast.’ He climbed over her to pick up the receiver on his side of the bed.
‘The rectory. Peter Harris speaking.’
‘That you, Rector? It’s Vera. Vera Wright. Can yer come? I know it’s late but it’s our Rhett. He’s out of his mind and we don’t know what to do. Please, come, please tell us what to do. He’s going mad.’
‘I’ll come, though it sounds as if you need a doctor rather than me.’
‘If we get a doctor they’ll cart ’im off. Please, Rector!’
‘I’m on my way.’ He put down the receiver and stood up to straighten his cassock.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Rhett Wright appears to be going out of his mind. Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll try not to wake you when I get back.’
‘I could be unprofessional and give him a jab if things are difficult – I’ve got my case with me. If you ring for a night-call it could be hours before anyone comes.’
‘Thanks. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Is Rhett on drugs, do you think?’
‘Not that I know of, but then we don’t see much of him.’
Don Wright let Peter in. ‘Thank God you’ve come, Rector. I didn’t want Vera to ring but it’s just that we don’t know what to do. He’s gone stark raving crackers.’
‘Tell me, Don. Have you ever thought he might be on drugs?’
Don looked embarrassed. ‘Well, a while back I might have said yes, but not these last months now. Got in with a different crowd.’ From upstairs the sound of howling drifted down to the hall.
‘Come on, then. Show me the way.’
Vera was in Rhett’s bedroom on her hands and knees, peering round the door of the built-in cupboard.
‘Thank God you’ve come. He’s in here.’ She pointed to the bottom of the cupboard and moved aside so Peter could see him. The howling was spine-chilling.
Rhett was crouched in the bottom of the wardrobe amongst the shoes and boots; he’d made his body as small as he could. On his head he’d rammed a sports bag and with his arms through the handles his head was completely hidden. His hands were gripped around his shins. Although his howls were muffled by the bag they were still loud enough to wake the dead, as Vera observed.
Peter shouted above the howling. ‘Hello, Rhett, Peter here from the rectory. Come to see if I can help at all. Is there anything I can do?’
There was a violent shaking of his head, but no dislodging of the bag.
Peter retreated from the cupboard and asked Vera how long he’d been like this?
‘Been to a friend’s to stay, got home about five, went out in the garden for a drag, beggin’ yer pardon Rector, but I won’t have him smoke in the house, and next news he’s deathly white, shaking from head to foot, and can’t speak. He raced in and hid in ’ere and he’s never moved since. Just howled.’
‘Did he seem odd when he came home or do you think he saw something while he was outside, or perhaps he spoke to someone? Did someone threaten him, perhaps?’
‘Only Jimmy spoke to ’im. I was outside there getting some coal in and Jimmy called over the fence.’
‘What did Jimmy say?’
Vera tried to remember the exact words. ‘He said “Now, Rhett, how about that then? What d’yer think, eh?” Then he laughed and pointed at that dratted dog he’s found. Rhett peered over the fence and was took bad immediate like. That’s all.’ Vera wrung her hands. ‘Oh God, Rector, I’m at my wits’ end. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything and not been to the you-know-what for nearly six hours. What shall we do?’
‘He must be thirsty. Get him a drink – whatever he favours.’ Peter bent down inside the cupboard. ‘Rhett, we’re just getting you a drink; you must be ready for one after all this time. Your grandmother is very worried about you, Rhett, so how about coming out and sitting on the bed? I’m a very good listener; I’ve heard some rare tales in my time. You can tell me absolutely anything and it will be entirely confidential.’
Rhett’s howls grew louder and he began thrashing about inside the wardrobe, hammering with his fists against the back and slamming his feet at the end panel. Still with the sports bag over his head he said, ‘Go away, the devil’ll get you. Get away.’
With absolute conviction Peter said, ‘He can’t get me, because I’m wearing my cross. I believe the devil always runs from absolute goodness and that is what Christ is – total goodness. Here, you hold it.’ Peter unhooked the cross from his belt, took the chain from around his neck and reaching inside the cupboard touched one of Rhett’s hands with it. He clawed it into his grasp. Almost imperceptibly the howling began to lessen.
Vera came up with a glass of shandy. She whispered, ‘He’s a bit quieter. Thank Gawd for that.’
‘Indeed. Here we are, Rhett, your grandmother’s brought you a drink.’ There was a violent jerking of Rhett’s whole body and the glass of shandy spun out of the cupboard, spilling its contents over Peter and the carpet.
‘Oh sir, I am sorry.’ She shrieked at the cupboard: ‘Rhett, you stupid ungrateful boy! Look what you’ve done!’
Peter put his finger to his lips and waved her away. Vera went to stand by the bedroom door. She heard Peter telling Rhett that he wanted him to bring the cross out into the open into the light, and he’d be quite safe while he did it.
‘Come on now, come out, Rhett. Slowly. Slowly.’ Peter opened the door, shielding Rhett. ‘Let your hands go. That’s it. Hold the cross. That’s right. I’ll lift the bag off. Slowly. Yes, yes, I’ll do it very slowly. That’s great. Now your legs, one at a time. Don’t hurry. That’s it. Slowly. Grip my arm.’
‘Lights, is the light on? Mustn’t be dark. I want the light.’
‘If you open your eyes you’ll see it is.’
Inch by inch, Peter extricated Rhett from the cupboard. When he was finally standing on the carpet he raced for the bed and shot head-first under the duvet, his dirty trainers resting on the pillow.
‘Oh thank Gawd.’ Vera shouted downstairs, ‘Don, he’s come out! What is it, love? Tell your old gran.’
Peter said, ‘Let’s leave him for the moment. I’d love a cup of tea, Vera. I’d just poured one out when you rang.’
‘Of course, Rector. Cup of tea coming up.’ Vera scurried away downstairs, leaving Peter alone with Rhett.
‘Now we’ve got your grandmother occupied, can you come out?’
‘No.’
‘You’ve got the cross. No harm will come to you. Remember, you can tell me anything and I shan’t tell a soul unless you want me to. I’ve heard it all; there’s nothing can shock me.’
Very slowly, Rhett began to emerge from the bottom end of the duvet like a mole testing the night air. Peter’s cross was gripped in one hand and his eyes were covered by the other. Peter felt compassion for him. He was a typical teenager, lean and gangling, three rings in each ear, close-cropped hair, smooth-skinned
but with a spotty chin.
Rhett opened his fingers slightly and peered at Peter through the gaps. ‘Can’t go to sleep. Daren’t go to sleep.’
‘If you could let me know what’s troubling you, then perhaps I could help to make you feel better.’
‘Can’t tell you, sir. Oh no, not you.’ Quietly he began howling again, rocking from side to side.
‘Look, Dr Harris – my wife – could give you something to help you to sleep. Then we could talk in the morning when you’ve rested. We’ll ask your grandfather to help you undress and get you into bed, and then she could come across.’
Rhett nodded his assent and whispered, ‘Can I keep your cross? Till tomorrer?’
‘Of course. I’ll come back and we’ll talk. Right?’
‘Right.’
Chapter 16
‘It’s that blasted dog, Mr Charter-Plackett. The thing’s damned, that’s what.’ Mrs Jones snipped the parcel tape on her twelfth package of the afternoon and neatly pressed the gummed address label onto it. ‘Poor Rhett’s clean out of his mind and now it’s affected the sergeant’s wife.’
‘Really, I hadn’t heard that?’
‘Oh yes. Jimmy went round to ask if anyone had reported a dog missing, took the blasted thing with him, and the sergeant’s wife was doing her bit of dusting and that in the office – when lo and behold she collapsed against the counter and they had to get her to bed. Incoherent, she was. Drip white. Her eyes rolling all over the place. They say her hair stood on end, like she’d been electrocuted, but I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Still in bed and won’t talk. The sergeant did think of sending for the rector but when he mentioned it he thought she was going to strangle him.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes.’ Mrs Jones selected another jar of Harriet’s Country Cousin Apricot Chutney from the shelves. ‘This is going well; we’ll soon be needing some more. Will I ring her that makes it, or will you?’
‘You can.’
Mrs Jones nodded her agreement. ‘So, she won’t hear of the rector going to see her, hysterics she ’as if his name’s even mentioned. Rhett’s started sitting in the church which is a first for him, I don’t mind telling you, and Vera’s gone out and bought him a cross of his own so the rector can have his back again. Said she felt a complete fool buying a cross, but it seemed the only way to give Rhett peace of mind. I tell you, Mr Charter-Plackett, there’s more in this than meets the eye.’
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