Fisher of Men

by Pam Rhodes

  “Well, that’s nonsense and you can prove it for yourself. Eat up your fairy cake, and we’ll get going!”

  As obediently as a recently ticked-off child, Charlie finished the last two mouthfuls of cake in silence, aware that all eyes were on her.

  “OK, team!” ordered George. “Tea break is over. Back to the bells!”

  Like a well-trained dance troupe, the bell-ringers stood up and headed for the tower. George lingered at the back of Charlie’s chair, making it quite clear that he was ready to pull it out as soon as she moved. She hesitated – but he was the picture of gracious patience – in spite of his deliberate glance at her stilettos which he plainly considered unsuitable for bell-tower climbing. In the end, she stood up to join him, recognizing that she had no choice in the matter.

  The ringing-room was too small for Neil to accompany them, so he paced the floor down below for the next half hour, which really dragged by. Finally Charlie and George descended from the bell-tower. It wasn’t until after she’d climbed back into her car and zoomed back to her office that George and the team laughed and guffawed through the story of what had happened.

  George had sprung up the tiny spiral staircase to the bell-chamber like a spring chicken, leaving Charlie to totter precariously behind him on stairs that were nowhere near wide enough for her fashionable footwear. She stepped from the dark staircase into the lit bell-chamber with her eyes like saucers, especially when George leaned towards her in a very gentlemanly manner and picked a cobweb out of her hair and a blob of pigeon droppings from her suit jacket. The team had arranged themselves around the circle of bell ropes, leaving the heaviest for George. Carefully taking off his blazer and rolling up the crisp linen of his shirtsleeves, he spat on each palm and stepped forward to clasp the rope.

  Anyone who has ever been in a bell-chamber when ringing is in full swing cannot help but be moved by it – and Charlie was no exception. Trying to follow the intricacies of the peal, she recognized that this was a very competent team indeed. Mind you, she thought, it can’t be that hard if even old people like this can manage it…

  “Right, young lady!” boomed George once their first peal was finished. “Your turn!”

  With horror, Charlie realized that Madge, who was in charge of the rope opposite George, had stood back to allow the newcomer to take over.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t!”

  “But you will, my dear lady. We all had to learn – and here at St Stephen’s, we learn properly!”

  A light suddenly gleamed in Charlie’s eyes. Whipping off her smart suit jacket, she kicked off her shoes and gave a determined grin as she stepped forward to take the rope. She listened closely to the dire warnings of how she could disappear up into the bell-chamber, never to be seen again, if she forgot to let go of the rope after every pull – and then, spitting on her palms just as George had, she stood braced for action.

  By the time the peal finished five minutes later, she had overcome her initial panic and bad timing, and was fitting in quite nicely. It was she who asked if they could try the same peal again. Then she suggested they might have a go at a different peal. Finally she asked for a more complicated one. She was absorbed, breathless and completely hooked. It was a smiling, chattering, bare-footed young girl who came down the steps instead of the sophisticated, slightly officious young business woman who had gone up in the first place.

  There was no question that bell-ringing wasn’t safe, or that the age group of the ringers was unsuitable. The only query Charlie had was whether they needed any more volunteers, because she wouldn’t mind joining them every now and then? She took the large box of cream cakes and chocolate eclairs Beryl handed her, hugged everyone in the room – including Neil – and, waving and beeping the horn as she left, she headed back to work a changed woman!

  Easter came at the end of March that year, which was when Neil always thought it should be. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the ancient reasons that explained why Easter bobbed around each year across the weeks of March and April. It was simply that the daffodils were safely out and nature was springing into glorious colour at the end of March, so that it felt right to celebrate Easter just then.

  It was one of the busiest times of the year for Claire, as she cleared away the winter debris from the churchyard and all the gardens she cared for. She combined that with a routine of pruning, trimming and planting to ensure the shape and colour needed for the summer months ahead.

  Neil was very aware that neither of them had ever mentioned their unexpected kiss on Christmas Eve, almost as though, if it weren’t discussed, perhaps it had never happened. Not speaking about it didn’t mean that Neil didn’t think about it, wondering why on earth, when he was settling into a relationship with Wendy, he should feel so affected by a traditional Christmas kiss under the mistletoe. It wasn’t as if he and Claire were attracted to each other, he thought to himself. They were so different! They had different interests, different ethics, different points of view in so many ways. That made for some heated debates, which they both relished as Christian versus atheist. There was no moving her. She said she was too much of a scientist to see evolution and the glories of the world in any other way. He respected her opinion, perhaps more than he felt she respected his – but he did enjoy the challenge of the argument, knowing that their discussions would always end in good humour.

  Their paths crossed often, either because she was working at the church or in his garden, or because he sometimes popped in to see Harry and Sam on his way back home to Number 96. It didn’t take long to discover that her quirky sense of humour was similar to his own, and he enjoyed seeing her laugh, especially as he knew her life was far from easy. She was down-to-earth and practical, not afraid to roll her sleeves up to tackle any problem – and yet she could be so soft and tender when she spoke to Sam or Harry.

  If that kiss had made any impression on her, she didn’t show it. They were friends, good friends. The kiss was forgotten, irrelevant.

  Except Neil couldn’t quite forget. On all levels, as a man and as a Christian minister, he was torn with guilt that such a thing could happen when he was in a relationship with another girl – and it was certainly true that he found his life becoming more and more entwined with Wendy’s. Within the church circle, they were increasingly thought of as a couple, and her parents treated him as if he were already part of the family. Prompted by constant hints from all who knew them that an engagement should be imminent, Neil found himself hesitating. It wasn’t that Wendy was anything except wonderful in every way. She was smart, attractive and popular – and without question, she cared for him very much. Who else would put up with his tidiness fetish, his shyness at inappropriate moments, his lack of social skills in ways she thought mattered? He was learning a lot from her, and trying hard to catch her vision for how his life, alongside hers, could flourish. Perhaps, he wondered rebelliously, his reticence was because, occasionally, when Wendy was making a point, she sounded unnervingly like his mother!

  The period leading up to Easter is particularly busy for all churches, but Margaret had been working with clergy from all the other denominations in the town to set up a series of talks throughout the six weeks of Lent. It had been agreed that, because of its size and location, St Stephen’s would be the most convenient venue for the talks, and everyone was looking forward to the chance for fellow worshippers from different churches to discuss and celebrate all that they shared in their Christian faith.

  At the start of Lent, Neil spent the afternoon of Shrove Tuesday at Wendy’s school, telling the assembled pupils the stories, traditions and Christian reasons for clearing out their cupboards and eating pancakes on that day. Then he sat back to watch Wendy organizing the pancake races, hiding a smile as he watched her firm authority over her class. No child had the nerve to misbehave under her watchful eye – and he chuckled to himself as he thought he never dared to disobey her orders either. The afternoon ended happily as he joined the children for a feast of panc
akes with lemon and sugar all round.

  Ash Wednesday turned from such jollity towards the sober fasts and reflections of Lent. Neil was setting up the church that afternoon, ready for their Ash Wednesday service during which worshippers would be signed with a cross from the ash left after the Palm Sunday crosses from the previous year had been ceremonially burned. At that moment, his mobile rang. It took him a while to recognize Peter Fellowes’ voice. The churchwarden sounded strange, as if he was struggling with his emotions.

  “I’m sorry, Neil. I meant to be there to help you this afternoon, but something’s come up.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Neil, worried for this man who had definitely become a friend.

  “Sort of. I’m not sure, really.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “Look, I know you’re busy, but could you spare five minutes to pop round?”

  “I’m finished here. We’re all set for later. I’ll be with you by the time your kettle’s boiled, OK?”

  Peter definitely didn’t look himself as he opened the door. Without a word, he led Neil into the living room and gestured to a handwritten letter lying on the coffee table. Neil picked it up and turned to the back sheet to see that Glenda’s signature was scrawled across the bottom. He read:

  Peter, it will come as no surprise to you that I feel stifled, under-valued and trapped within our marriage. It isn’t that you aren’t a good man, but whereas I am able to see your qualities, you seem unable to see mine or understand how constricted I have felt for years. I am suffocating in our small-town life. I am sinking under the routine, the sameness, the boredom of being in Dunbridge. You were the one who decided to give up the estate agency and retire early, but if you thought for one minute that I was ready to play the little wife at home to a man who has walked away from his purpose in life, then you didn’t know me very well, did you?

  I am younger than you, of course, by three years. That may not have mattered so much in the past, but recently it has mattered to me a lot. You have become an early-to-bed, slippers-and-cocoa sort of man, whilst I still have a lot of living to do. You want routine. I want challenge and change. You hate leaving this horrible little backwater. I want to travel. Your interest doesn’t stretch any further than the parochial little problems of St Stephen’s. I find the place small-time, small-town and irrelevant. I’m probably not even a Christian, if I’m honest. I only went along for your benefit, but really there were times when I was so bored with the small-minded people there, I felt like screaming!

  I worry this might hurt you (and that’s not my intention), but I have to tell you that while you have been sadly lacking when it comes to listening to my needs and understanding the woman you’re married to, there is someone else who really appreciates all I am. I am speaking of Roland Branson, my boss, of course. You know what an exceptionally clever and talented man he is – but he makes it clear that without my contribution, support and encouragement, he wouldn’t be the hugely successful man he is today. And what is more, he wants me! He says he can’t imagine living another day without me by his side. He has asked me to move into the new apartment he’s buying in St John’s Wood, and I have no hesitation whatsoever in saying I can’t wait!

  So I’m sorry, Peter, I’m leaving you. I’m reaching out for my life, and looking forward to sharing the rest of my years with my true soul-mate, because that’s what I recognize Roland to be. You probably don’t have the depth of feeling to understand what I’m saying. You will just be hurt that I have left you, and will probably never completely understand why. After all, if you were capable of that, you would have changed before now, wouldn’t you, in order to keep our marriage on track by making at least some effort to understand me and sympathize with what I’ve been going through?

  I looked around this house today before writing this and thought there is nothing at all left here that I want. Even my own clothes and possessions are part of this life that I intend to leave completely behind. I realize too that it would be cruel to clear out this house in order to take my half share immediately, even though, of course, I am perfectly entitled to do so. I hope you appreciate that I have no wish to make this any worse for you than it is.

  Once you’ve got over the shock of this, I am sure you’ll agree with me that there is absolutely no reason for bad feeling. Why should there be when I only wish you well? And because I know you to be a man to whom fairness matters, I am sure you wish Roland and me every happiness too.

  Have a good life, Peter!

  Glenda

  xxx

  Neil whistled through his teeth in sheer disbelief. He looked anxiously at Peter.

  “So how are you? What’s your reaction to this?”

  “Honestly? A bit bewildered. I didn’t see this coming. She’s been working with Roland for years, so why has it taken them so long to get to this? I have wondered for some time if they’ve been having an affair, but I honestly didn’t care enough to bother asking. Perhaps they have, and maybe they’ve now got to the point where they want to share their lives more openly. Whatever the truth, she’s welcome to her slimy tie-salesman – and he’s most definitely welcome to her!”

  “She doesn’t mention a divorce in her letter, but do you think that’s what she means?”

  “If she doesn’t, then I do. I have kept my promises to that woman over all the years as she’s steadily become more demanding, more full of her own importance, and less aware of the needs and feelings of anyone else near her.”

  “Especially you.”

  “She has despised me for so long. She’s made no secret of it.”

  “You don’t regret marrying her though, do you?”

  Peter thought for a moment before answering. “Believe it or not, when I first met her she was painfully shy, living at home with her overbearing mum. She was really pretty, and so eager to break away from her parents to get married and set up home with me. We were married within eight months of meeting each other.”

  “Too quickly, do you think?”

  “Probably. We certainly didn’t know each other very well, and over three decades it’s become clear that we have very little in common, especially now the kids have left home. And I suppose we’ve both noticed the failings in our relationship more now I’m retired and have a lot of time on my hands. My wife is just never there – and when she is, she makes it clear she really doesn’t enjoy life with me. This decision of hers is just the culmination of years of unhappiness for us both.”

  Neil nodded. “How do you think your son and daughter will react to this news? Christine’s in Brighton, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, and John has a family of his own up in Scotland now. I think they’ll be quite shocked, really. The cracks between Glenda and me have really started to show since they left, but whenever we see the family now, we’ve managed to keep our differences under wrap. I wonder if Glenda has been in touch with them yet? I’d better give them a ring.”

  “Well, don’t rush to do anything too quickly. This must be quite a shock for you.”

  “Not one I’m unhappy about, though, Neil. I know I shouldn’t feel like that at the end of a marriage which began in church, but I have to be honest and say I feel deeply relieved. There, I’ve said it! Do you think badly of me?”

  “Of course not. I know you have remained committed to your marriage, and it’s not your choice that Glenda has decided to set up home with another man. And as your minister, I must counsel you to allow time for your feelings about all this to settle, and the paperwork to catch up with what’s happened.”

  Peter grinned.

  “And as my friend? What’s your advice then?

  “Well, I think there’s a certain charming lady whose life will be changed dramatically by this news.”

  “I can’t wait to tell her!”

  “You might want to change out of your slippers and run a razor over your chin – but I think she’ll be glad to see you, however you are!”

  CHAPTER 13

>   On the Bank Holiday Monday after Whitsun Neil got an urgent call from Graham.

  “I need to meet you! Are you around at lunchtime for a pint?”

  “Yes, I reckon so.”

  “The Wheatsheaf?”

  “About one?”

  “See you then!”

  Unusually, when Neil arrived at the pub bang on time, Graham was already waiting with two pints of real ale on the table in front of him. They took a couple of swigs before Graham put his glass down and stared forlornly into his beer.

  “She’s seeing someone.”

  “Who?” asked Neil, deciding it was best to play dumb.

  “Debs!”

  “Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? She’s a free agent.”

  “He’s been here this weekend.”

  “Staying overnight?”

  “No, as far as I know he was just around for the day.”

  “So perhaps they’re just good friends and he’s paying a visit?”

  “That’s what Debs said, but I know her too well. She just doesn’t do things like this.”

  “Why should it matter? You’ve always said you and Debs are nothing more than good friends yourselves. So if she has found herself a nice bloke, then as her old friend, surely you’re pleased for her – aren’t you?”

  “Well, for a start, he’s not her type at all. He’s a nerd. A big dumb nerd! A rugby player, so she said, and he’s got a bashed-in nose!”

  “Well, that doesn’t necessarily make him either dumb or a nerd. How did she meet him?”

  “At work, apparently.”

  “Not through the internet, then?”

  “I hope not! Heaven knows who she’d meet that way!”

  Neil smiled. Irony was plainly lost on Graham.

  “So if she met him at work, is he a policeman?”

  “He’s big enough to be a police van!”

  “Graham…?”

  Graham sighed. “OK, he’s a policeman. Apparently they’re based at the same station.”