by Chrys Cymri
‘It’s a struggle, raising children, particularly in a vicarage,’ the Bishop said. ‘But I can thoroughly recommend it. And the diocese offers nine months’ paid maternity leave.’
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. ‘Lunch was lovely, Bishop. Thank you for inviting us.’
‘Thank you for coming. It’s good to see both of you together.’ The Bishop turned his head to Peter. ‘Are you able to quote Doctor Who as expertly as Penny does?’
Peter nodded. ‘It’s one of the things which brought us together. But Matt Smith is my Doctor. Penny remains loyal to Sylvester McCoy.’
‘Always,’ I agreed.
‘And what occupies your time together when not watching science fiction?’
‘There’s Lloegyr,’ I said. ‘We’ve had quite a few adventures over there.’
‘And Morey and Taryn met because of us,’ Peter added. ‘It’s been great to watch them raise a nest of eyasses. Although I’m not certain I’d want five children at once. Just a couple would be enough for me.’
I took a gulp of coffee. As I lowered my mug, I found that Bishop Nigel was studying me. ‘And how is James?’
‘Much better,’ I said. ‘He seems to have come to terms with his heart condition.’
The Bishop nodded. ‘I understand that he’s become like a second father to Jago.’
‘Or like an uncle,’ I suggested. ‘But I think the experience has helped James to grow up.’
‘He’s a good lad,’ Peter said. ‘Penny did a great job raising him.’
‘Motherhood was thrust upon Penny, rather than chosen,’ Bishop Nigel noted. ‘So, remind me of the date you’ll become Mrs Jarvis?’
Coffee sloshed in my mug. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. ‘We’re getting marred on 24 August. But I’m not certain that I’ll become Mrs Jarvis.’
Peter stared at me. ‘Since when?’
‘We’ve never discussed it,’ I pointed out, pushing against the dismay in his blue-grey eyes.
‘Okay, I did just assume.’ Peter leaned forward. ‘But White isn’t really your name anyway, is it? It was Alan’s surname.’
‘I’ve had it for seventeen years.’
‘And I’d like our family to have the same last name.’
‘James and I already have the same last name.’
‘Sounds like something you two need to discuss,’ Bishop Nigel said gently. ‘There can be many assumptions made about marriage, particularly when each of you has been married before.’
‘We’re meeting with Rosie soon to discuss the ceremony,’ I quickly assured him. ‘And we’ve already had a talk about finances.’
‘I’m buying Penny a new car as her wedding present,’ Peter said.
The Bishop laughed. ‘That’ll save her a fortune in oil. I remember well when I drove around in an old banger. The engine always needed topping up.’
Peter had been staring down into his mug. I watched with concern as he took a deep breath and returned to the conversation. ‘I hope you don’t mind that we didn’t ask you to do the wedding.’
‘Not at all. Rosie is a wonderful priest and a good choice.’
‘But why not make it a double?’ Peter asked. ‘Penny and me, Rosie and Linda.’
‘Peter,’ I hissed, appalled.
The Bishop placed his mug on the coffee table. ‘You two are free to marry each other, both in the eyes of the law and in the canons of the Church. It’s a bit more complicated with Rosie and Linda.’
Peter shook his head. ‘It’s not complicated. Love is love. It’s a matter of equality, and justice.’
‘I appreciate that justice is important to you,’ Bishop Nigel said calmly. ‘But you’re also making an assumption. Not all gays or lesbians want to be married. Rosie and Linda certainly have not taken that step. After they’d entered into their Civil Partnership, they came here and we prayed together. We asked God to bless their relationship and their commitment to each other.’
Peter ran a hand through his brown and grey hair. ‘I didn’t realise you’d offer something like that.’
‘It was just the three of us, at their request.’ The Bishop smiled. ‘And of course I offered. I’m their bishop. I want any committed relationship to succeed. The question the Church is facing is, “What is marriage?” We know the biblical model, which developed from polygamy in the Old Testament to monogamy in the New. By tradition, marriage is a lifelong commitment between one man and one woman, to which there may or may not be given the gift of children. From my own personal experience, there are many loving gay and lesbian relationships which put some heterosexual marriages to shame. But that doesn’t mean the Church can immediately ignore the Bible or our own tradition.’
Peter leaned back in his chair, but looked far from satisfied. ‘Thanks for your time,’ I told Bishop Nigel. ‘And please pass on our thanks to your wife.’
‘I will.’ The Bishop cleared his throat. ‘Could we take a moment to talk about Skylar, Penny? You can stay if you want, Peter. We’re not discussing anything confidential.’
‘She’s my new curate,’ I told my fiancé.
Peter rose to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you two to talk about church business. The dishwasher probably needs emptying by now.’
Bishop Nigel waited until the door had shut behind Peter before continuing. ‘I realise I haven’t yet arranged for Skylar to meet with you.’
‘No need,’ I said. ‘She appeared at the vicarage last week.’
The Bishop winced. ‘Bishop Aeron did warn me that Skylar can be a bit quick off the mark.’
I waved it away. ‘You didn’t mention that she’s a vampire.’
‘This could be a way to strengthen our links with the Diocese of Llanbedr. And it’s not like they could send you a dragon or a harpy.’
‘But how does it work?’ I asked. ‘I know that even people without the Sight can see vampires, because they mostly look human. But what if she smiles, and people see her canines? Does she disappear in a puff of logic?’
Bishop Nigel shook his head. ‘No. There seems to be a tipping point. Since most of the vampire appears to be human, people’s minds just ignore the extra long teeth. She’d have to do something more unusual, like shift to bat form in front of them.’
A thought struck me. ‘Vampires. They’re really just were-bats, aren’t they? Blood sucking were-bats.’
‘We might think so, but that’s not how they view themselves,’ the Bishop warned. ‘Vampires have their own distinctive sub-culture. Very few come to church, and even fewer put themselves forward for ordination.’
‘Archdeacon Rhis?’
‘Was raised by dwarves. He’s not a typical vampire.’
‘I’m certain we’ll get along,’ I said firmly. ‘We’ve already had a brief chat. I’ll be back to St Wulfram’s in a fortnight. When should Skylar start?’
‘As soon as you’ve returned, if you’re willing.’ The Bishop rubbed his chin. ‘And, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could she stay in your vicarage for awhile? It’s taking longer to find a suitable house than we’d thought.’
‘A house? I thought she’d be living in the church, with the other vampires.’
‘She’s not from the same colony, and it seems that matters.’
‘I’ll have to clear out the box room. Morey and Taryn are in the other double room, and James has the single.’ Now it was my turn to wince. ‘She won’t have much space. Do I need to fit in a bed? Or does she sleep in bat form?’
‘I’ll have to ask. Bishop Aeron has offered to arrange, and to pay, for the appropriate room fittings. Are you happy to house Skylar?’
‘Certainly,’ I said with more assurance than I felt. ‘But I’ll just check with Peter. In case she has to stay on past August.’
‘That makes sense. And Penny?’ I had risen to my feet, so I was looking down at his concerned face. ‘It seems to me there are some very important things you and Peter need to discuss. Please don’t leave it much longer.’
Chapte
r Four
Series 10 of Doctor Who was our main topic of discussion on the way back home. ‘And it’s great to be back to a more traditional companion,’ I concluded as Peter pulled up onto my driveway. ‘I wonder if she’ll continue with the new Doctor?’
‘Don’t say “new Doctor”,’ Peter replied. ‘I’m going to miss Peter Capaldi.’
‘Maybe Big Finish will bring his Doctor back.’
I managed to get out of the car before Peter could reach my door. We paused at the side of his Volvo. ‘Penny,’ he said slowly, ‘the name thing. It’s really important to me. Think it over. Please?’
‘I will,’ I promised, although a hard knot was forming in my stomach. Then I gave him a quick kiss. ‘The leaving service is this coming Sunday. Then I’ll be packing up and coming home.’
‘Good. I’ll be happier when we’re both in the same world.’ Peter escorted me to my front door. ‘And I can come over on Thursday, if that’s still your day off?’
I fumbled for my keys. ‘How will you get to Caer-grawnt?’
‘Raven said he’s happy to take me. He’s really quite supportive, isn’t he?’
‘Hmm. Just be careful. His flying is still, well, unpredictable.’
‘That’s what Taryn said when she got home from the exemplar ceremony. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I hold on tight. Anyway, you’ve decided he’s safe enough, and I trust your judgement.’ Peter drew me into a quick hug. ‘Call me when you’ve moved back in. We’ll go out to celebrate. There’s a new Italian place near Abington Park which is supposed to be very good.’
Only when a shut door formed a barrier between us did I find myself relaxing. I glanced at my wristwatch. Too early for a drink. So I did the next best thing and headed to the living room for a binge re-watch of the current Doctor Who season.
<><><><><><>
The trill of my iPhone pulled me out of sleep. I reached groggily for the offending piece of technology. A glance at the screen showed me that it was indeed early. I pressed the answer button, and said, ‘It’s not even 6am.’
‘Reverend Penny?’ The crisp professional voice made me sit up and switch on the bedside light. ‘I have the Minister without Portfolio for you. Please hold.’
A click, and then the cultured tones of Sue Harkness filled my ear. ‘Good morning, Penny. Sorry to wake you, but I understand you’re returning to Lloegyr later today.’
‘Tomorrow, actually.’ My brain was finally catching up with my mouth. ‘I’m sorry that I snapped at your secretary. What can I do for you, Minister?’
‘I wanted to congratulate you on your ministry in Caer-grawnt. It’s the first time the Church of Lloegyr has allowed a human to run a parish. I hear it’s gone well.’
And she was wrong for the second time in as many minutes. ‘It’s been an interesting experience.’
‘Could we arrange to meet? I have some Lloegyr business to discuss, and I’d rather do it face to face. When are you back permanently?’
‘End of May.’
‘I have visits in Coventry and Birmingham on the thirty-first of May. Could I call on you that afternoon? Say two o’clock?’
Was someone even allowed to say no to a member of Her Majesty’s Government? ‘Yes, of course, that’ll be fine. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Strong coffee, black, if you please. I’m having an early start that day.’
I blearily wondered what was ‘early’ to someone who already sounded chipper at 5.50am. ‘I’ll even get some biscuits in.’
We exchanged a few more pleasantries and hung up. I tried to fall back asleep, but after twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, I gave up. Time to get some toast and coffee.
Clyde joined me at the breakfast table. I made him a bowl of tea. He took one sip, and then red and orange trickled down his tentacles. ‘Sugar!’
‘Sugar isn’t good for you.’
‘Wine,’ he pointed out. ‘Beer. Whisky.’
‘Sure, throw all my own vices back at me,’ I grumbled. But I dumped two teaspoons of sugar into his bowl. ‘There you go. Don’t blame me if you get too fat for the cat flap.’
My conversation with the unicorn Archdeacon came back to me, and I had a sudden idea. I took my coffee through to the study. My call to the vets’ office at the Midlands Safari Park went through to an answering machine. They obviously worked far more sensible hours than a government minister. ‘Yes, hello, this is a message for Jennifer Lawson. Could I call in sometime, maybe even today? I’d like her to look over a snail shark. Penny White, Vicar General of Incursions for Nenehampton Diocese.’ I finished the message with my mobile number.
The iPhone buzzed at 9am. Come on in, said the text message. Quiet morning, can see you now. Jen.
<><><><><><>
A message had obviously been passed through to the main gates, and the woman at the entrance booth waved me in. I drove down the side lane and through a smaller gate to the veterinary block.
Clyde was grumbling in his cat carrier. I unbuckled the seat belt and opened the front. ‘Just remember,’ I told him as he slid into my arms, ‘the vets have the Sight, but not all of the staff.’
Jen greeted me in the small reception area. ‘A snail shark,’ she said happily. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet a snail shark.’
Clyde reared up, seemingly fascinated by her purple-streaked hair. ‘Special,’ he told her.
‘Left-hand spiral on his shell,’ I explained. ‘And, well, he used to have wings. I was wondering if you could examine him.’
One manicured eyebrow rose. But Jen held out her hands, and Clyde flowed across. ‘He’s warm. Somehow I didn’t expect that. What’s your name?’
‘Clyde,’ the snail said. ‘Yours?’
‘Jennifer, but Jen to my friends.’ She smiled down at the snail. ‘And I’d like us to be friends.’
The blues and pinks swirling through Clyde’s body told me that he liked that idea. He liked it very much indeed. ‘Friends.’
I followed Jen to an examination room. She put Clyde onto the table, and he lifted his shell upwards, exposing the bottom part of his body. I forced myself to watch as Jen carefully felt at the scars on either side. ‘Well, the wounds have healed well. Did you go to a unicorn?’
‘Archdruid,’ Clyde answered.
‘I took him,’ I added. ‘How did you know?’
‘The scars are different when a unicorn’s been involved.’ Jen shook her head. ‘It’s hard to explain. I’d describe it as a special sheen. Like an extra layer of varnish.’
‘The Archdruid stopped the bleeding. But those used to be wings.’
Jen studied me carefully. ‘You know, I think I might be getting a text message any moment now.’
We both pulled out our phones, and a few seconds later a message pinged onto my screen. What don’t you want to ask in front of him?
Could his wings grow back?
Her green eyes flicked up at me for a moment. Then she turned to the snail. ‘Clyde, I’d like to put you through a MRI scanner. It’s a bit like a tube, and it will make some strange noises. You’ll have to hold absolutely still. Would you do that for me?’
He waved his tentacles at her face. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you mind waiting in reception?’ Jen asked me. ‘We won’t be long.’
I found a chair and busied myself with catching up on emails and Twitter. Someone brought me a cup of coffee, which I drank even though it was instant. I sent Peter a text with some speculations about the next Doctor, and was contemplating an eBay bid on a Peter Capaldi t-shirt when Jen and Clyde reappeared.
‘I’ve just had a call,’ Jen said as she placed Clyde into my arms. ‘One of the rhinos is off his feed. I’ll look at the scan results when I’m back, and I’ll text you with the results.’
Clyde was humming a tune as I carried him back out to the car. ‘Jen nice,’ he said as he flowed into the cat carrier.
‘Yes, she is,’ I agreed as I snapped the seat belt buckle into place.
‘Peter
nice.’
‘And he is, too.’ I lowered my head to look at the snail. ‘Are you doing some sort of roll call? James is nice, too.’
‘Mostly,’ Clyde said. ‘Jen, Peter, nice.’
I dropped the carrier door into place and straightened up. ‘Yes, Clyde, they’re both nice.’
A Big Finish CD kept my mind occupied until we arrived home. I let Clyde out in the kitchen, and made him another bowl of tea. My phone buzzed as I took my own mug into the study. I sat down and frowned at Jen’s text.
Sorry, bad news. Extensive damage. Wings won’t regrow. All healed, no physical pain. Sorry not better news. Jen.
I forced myself to finish my tea. Then I went back into the kitchen. Clyde raised his head from the bowl. Drops of brown liquid dripped from his sharp teeth. I took a deep breath. ‘Clyde, I need to talk to you.’
Yellow slid down his tentacles and through his body. ‘Morey beer,’ he said quickly.
‘It’s not to tell you off about anything,’ I assured him, but at least I now knew why my stocks of Speckled Hen were so low. I made a mental note to have a word with my Associate. ‘It’s about your wings.’
‘Gone,’ Clyde said. His colour changed to blues and greens.
‘I was hoping that, well, maybe they were something which might grow back.’ I walked over and rubbed his shell. ‘I know how much flying meant to you.’
His body still pulsed with calm colours. ‘Peace.’
‘Yes, you brought about peace.’ I could only hope that it would last. Or would the Nation hold together until they bred another left-spiralled snail to venerate? But I didn’t want to share such thoughts with Clyde. ‘I’m just sorry it was at such a high cost.’
‘Not sorry,’ Clyde said firmly. He reared up and sang, ‘“Peace, perfect peace, with sorrows surging round? On Jesus' bosom naught but calm is found.’”
I swept him up into a hug. ‘You brave snail shark.’
He flushed pink. ‘Yes.’
I put him back down. ‘We’re heading back to Caer-grawnt tomorrow morning.’
‘No. Stay here.’
‘Why?’
