by Chrys Cymri
Certainly, I wrote back. Hope you can visit easily?
Not a long drive from Westminster. Thank you again for your assistance. Crew will be given leave to visit their families.
Family is so important, I agreed.
As I ate my dinner, I lifted my gaze to look out to the back garden. Raven was resting on the long grass, eyes and ears trained on the snail sharks sitting near his forefeet. I could trace the weariness which sagged at his wings and ears. He had made great physical sacrifices, as well as monetary ones, for my sake.
I owed him. And now I was worried about Audrey’s health. ‘Frail’ felt like an understatement. Was it time to make some plans?
When I’d polished off the casserole, I went to my office and turned on the computer. Ignoring the emails filling my inbox, I carried out searches to find out which Church of England dioceses were within an hour’s drive of Westminster. Then I sent emails to their communications departments, asking whether there were any Church of England nursing homes within their area. And I added to the total of my day’s lies by stating that I was trying to track down an elderly parishioner, Audrey. That I didn’t know her last name, but she had served in the ATA during the second World War. I provided links to the websites of Nenehampton Diocese and St Wulfram’s to prove that I was a priest of good standing in the Church of England. As Audrey’s daughter was a high-ranking cabinet minister, I thought that a nursing home might be cautious about releasing her location.
It had been a long day. I refilled my wine glass and went into the living room. I dug through my Doctor Who DVDs, and smiled at the box set of the Eleventh Doctor’s third season. What better way to end the day than to watch the Doctor and Clara trying to bring peace on a Soviet submarine? I popped ‘Cold War’ into the DVD player and stretched out on the sofa.
<><><><><><>
I was reviewing Skylar’s pre-ordination essay the next morning when my phone rang. ‘Penny White, Vicar of St Wulfram’s,’ I answered. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Actually, I think we can help you,’ said a brusque female voice. ‘I’m Lorna Evans, manager of St Gabriel’s. I’ve been contacted by Thames Diocese. Our nursing home has a Mrs Audrey Steele as one of our residents. I understand you’ve been looking for her.’
‘Yes, I have.’ I lowered my voice, although Raven and Bastien had left for the monastery that morning. ‘One of my church members served with her in the ATA and, well, she’s rather elderly and would like to see Audrey one last time. Would that be possible?’
‘We certainly allow visitors,’ Lorna replied. ‘Mrs Steele does suffer from dementia. As a result, she has her good days, and her bad days. I can’t predict which will be the case when you come.’
‘We’ll just have to take the risk,’ I said. ‘And, sometimes, the sight of an old friend brings back long lost memories.’
‘That is certainly true.’ Her voice had slowly thawed. ‘I’m just looking at your website. That’s a lovely old church.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed. ‘And we’ve put up some of the photos from our last Messy Church.’
‘Backs of children’s heads only. Glad to see you follow your child protection rules.’
‘I’ll speak to Gillian and come back to you,’ I said. ‘What number can I reach you on?’
‘Our website is easy to find. St Gabriel’s, West Ealing. Phone or send an email when you’ve worked out a date.’
‘Will do. And thanks for all your help.’
‘Audrey’s not had the easiest of lives. It would do her good to see an old friend.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it would do both of them good.’ I put down the phone. Now I only had to work out a way to get Raven there.
<><><><><><>
After all the toing and froing between Earth and Daear, I actually enjoyed nine days of simply concentrating on parish matters. The end of June was rushing towards us and, in particular, Skylar’s ordination at Nenehampton Cathedral. I met with the DDO and we signed off her diaconate year.
‘Of course,’ I said to Clyde one afternoon, relaxing on the garden bench, ‘some members of the congregation just don’t understand why Skylar is going back for a second ordination. “Didn’t it take the first time?” Maybe I need to do a sermon about the traditions surrounding ordination.’
The snail was pink and green in shared amusement. ‘Priest.’
‘Exactly. First deacon and, if you behave yourself, priest a year later.’ I sighed. ‘I’m sorry, we still haven’t talked about your meeting with Bishop Nigel.’
Clyde bumped his shell against my knee. ‘Busy.’
‘I have been, but no one should be too busy for family.’ I looked around for Jago, but saw no sign of his distinctive blue-grey plumage. ‘Next time your interpreter is around, we must have that chat.’
The other snail sharks were finishing their dinner of free range poultry. Clyde opened his mouth in a smile. A few scraps of raw meat clung to his jagged teeth. ‘Community soon.’
‘Really? No one’s staying here?’
‘All to Community.’
I felt my credit card breathe a sigh of relief. ‘You’ll miss them, won’t you?’
‘Yes. But training.’
‘It’d be hard to look after them while you are at college,’ I agreed. ‘When you get your powers back, you’ll be able to make a crossing so you can visit them.’
His colours shifted to happy blues and pinks. ‘Yes.’ Then these darkened to orange and green. ‘Talk. Problem.’
‘What, any more than usual?’ As grey swirled across his body, I quickly added, ‘Or do you mean, the fact that it’s hard for you to speak English or Welsh could be a problem? In ministry?’
Clyde’s eyespots were both fixed on me. ‘Yes.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Let me tell you something. I went to see a family about having their son baptized. He’s in a wheelchair and can’t speak, although he does seem to take things in. I talked to him about baptism, and the family decided to go ahead with it. They’ve been coming to church every Sunday since then. Now the dad’s asked if he too can be baptized. Can you guess why?’
‘Gospel?’
I chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, I did talk a lot about Jesus and the meaning of baptism when I prepared their son. But when I asked the father, it wasn’t what I’d said that made an impression. It was how I treated his son. The dad told me, “You were so kind that I thought, well, maybe God’s like that too. Maybe God loves me as much as I love my boy.” It wasn’t my words, Clyde. It was how I acted that gave that family a glimpse of God. And that’s you. You have the purest soul of anyone I’ve ever known, and people will see Jesus by how you act. Like St Francis of Assisi said, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and if necessary use words.” That’ll be you, Clyde.’
Morey swooped to land on the snail’s other side. ‘The statement is certainly attributed to St Francis, but there’s no evidence that he actually ever said it.’
‘Still holds true, though.’ I rubbed Clyde’s shell. ‘I’ll also have to find a way to visit you. Feels like everyone is growing up and leaving home.’
‘Indeed,’ Morey agreed. ‘I’ve enjoyed having Jago around. Even if he’s turning my feathers white with worry.’
‘Clyde will settle him down.’ I rose from the bench. ‘I need to take a car load of shirts and trousers to St Wulfram’s. The vampires have agreed that they’ll wear clothes for Skylar’s ordination.’
‘Good. You wouldn’t want to distract the cathedral’s choir.’
‘Or the canon precentor. She’s got enough on her mind at an ordination service.’
The house felt very quiet. James was splitting his time between the house and the flat, as the latter needed some painting and decorating. Skylar was safely tucked away at the diocesan retreat house, spending a few days with the other deacons as they prepared for their ordinations. I’d even become accustomed to Bastien’s presence in the house while Raven remained in my back garden.
Thoughts of the dragon mad
e me swallow hard. Morey and I were having Friday as our day off, and I’d already decided that I’d take Raven to see Audrey. I had no idea how either of them would react, nor whether the visit would only rub salt into Raven’s wounds. But I could only hope that perhaps, after all these years, the woman might have come to regret walking away from the dragon whom she had raised.
I drove to St Wulfram’s and made several trips from car to church, puffing under the weight of boxes stuffed with clothing. The vampires stared at the piles with expressions which varied from curiosity to loathing. ‘Everything’s been washed,’ I said, ‘by the charity shop, and by me. And it’s only for the one day.’
One younger vampire stepped forward to finger a blue shirt. ‘If I wore this,’ she asked Angwyn, ‘would I be able to walk through the village?’
The magister raised a black eyebrow. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘We are a bit isolated in here,’ another vampire said. ‘We’re living in the midst of humans. Maybe we should try to meet more of them.’
‘There are various social groups in the village,’ I said carefully. ‘The pub has an indoor skittles team, there’s a civic choir, the gardening club, all sorts. It might be good for you to integrate a bit more.’
‘We’re vampires,’ Angwyn retorted. ‘We keep to our own.’
‘We did in Lloegyr, and look where that got us,’ the young vampire countered. ‘If we’d found a way to mix with other races, maybe we could have found a home there.’
I rubbed my lips to hide a smile. ‘Sounds like a good point, Magister.’
‘Yes.’ Angwyn pulled a dark green shirt from the pile and held it up to his neck. ‘What about this?’
‘Suits you,’ I said. ‘The colour goes nicely with your dark hair.’
As I left the church, the colony was chatting happily as they rummaged through the clothing. Garments had been easy. Shoes had proven to be too difficult to source. Other guests at the ordinations would just have to cope with the vampires’ bare feet. I made a note to let the Dean know that Nenehampton Cathedral would be hosting some unusual visitors.
<><><><><><>
Friday afternoon. I forced down some oatcakes and cheese to feed the butterflies which had taken up residence in my stomach. It was time. The nursing home was expecting me to come on my own to, as I had explained, ‘Check if it’s feasible for Gillian to visit, she’s really quite frail herself.’ Their website and Google maps had revealed a handy bit of woods in the grounds which could hide my descent from the air. Once I was there, I’d have to work out how to arrange for dragon and woman to meet.
Raven responded quickly to my half-extended pen knife. ‘Magnificent Penny. You’re very smartly dressed.’
I tugged self-consciously at my dark suit jacket. ‘I need to visit a friend. She lives in a nursing home near London. Do you mind taking me?’
‘So long as we do something more interesting afterwards.’
‘You look like you’ve already had an interesting morning.’ I pointed at slashes of dried blood on his forelegs.
Raven laughed. ‘My prey fought back.’
‘I thought the monastery only stocked deer.’
He winked at me. ‘I tired of venison. My hunt took me much further afield.’
‘And what does the Abbot think of that?’
‘So long as I say my prayers and turn up at Mass, he’s content,’ Raven said. ‘He says I should be able to leave soon.’
‘But, no doubt, you need to keep up your prayers and church attendance.’ I climbed up his side, my fingers enjoying the feel of his sun-warmed skin.
‘Regretfully, yes.’
‘You’ll survive.’ Only when I was settled in place did I realise that someone was missing. ‘Where’s Bastien?’
‘With his rat king, no doubt. He’s been making many a visit between monastery and the Enforcer. And to Jago.’
‘Jago?’ I grabbed at a neck spine as Raven kicked us away from the vicarage. ‘How? Since when?’
‘Through the window to the bedroom, and for some time now.’ The dragon’s chuckle rumbled against my legs. ‘Once Jago has regained his flight, they have plans to go adventuring together.’
‘But Jago will be busy translating for Clyde.’
‘And Bastien will have his duties to his rat king.’ Raven turned, taking us away from houses and streets and over fields of yellow flowers. ‘They plan to make short trips. Micro adventures. That’s the term they use.’
‘I'm glad Jago has a friend. And Bastien, too.’ I watched as the M1 passed below us. ‘Can you find a specific address? We need to go to St Gabriel’s, West Ealing. Do you want the post code?’
Raven snorted. ‘What would I do with a post code? I can find large places, like somewhere called “West Ealing”. Specific addresses mean very little to me.’
‘Then I’ll direct you when we get close.’ I dared to pull my iPhone from my trouser pocket and opened up the map application. The blue dot which marked our position wavered uncertainly from time to time, particularly when Raven flew over fields rather than following a road. But the GPS worked well enough for me to chart our progress. As we drew nearer the city, Raven followed the large grey slash of the M1.
‘Keep to the motorway,’ I urged him as we passed over the multiple lanes of the M25. ‘I’ll direct you using the roads.’
Navigating a dragon was much easier than navigating a car. Missing a turn meant nothing more than a few extra wing flaps rather than finding a place to turn around. Nor did Raven ever complain, unlike Alan, who had always muttered under his breath if I hadn’t given him the right direction in time.
We followed the A406, passing over a mixture of dark-roofed housing and tree-lined parks. A right turn brought us over the train station, then another right towards another park. And there, marked on my iPhone’s app, was St Gabriel’s.
From the air, it looked like an old mansion which, over time, had been expanded. Some of the new build matched the older structure, other parts were more of a clash. An expanse of lawn surrounded the nursing home, and to one side was a small set of trees. At my suggestion, Raven dropped down behind the mixture of oaks and birches.
I slid to the flower-lined ground. ‘I’ll walk to the entrance from here. You’ll wait for me?’
‘Of course. Just remember, somewhere more interesting after this.’
I walked over the trimmed lawn to the entrance drive. The place spoke of serenity and wealth. I wondered how much a week it cost for someone to live here. Large stone mullioned windows were set into red brick walls, and tall gable roofs made me ponder what might be kept in the attics. The large black gates were open, and I strode to the entrance door with all the confidence I could muster. With a quick prayer, I pressed the entry bell.
‘St Gabriel’s reception,’ a male voice responded through the speaker. ‘How may we help you?’
‘Reverend Penny White,’ I said. ‘I’ve arranged to visit Mrs Audrey Steele.’
‘Yes, Reverend, we have your name on the visitor list. Please come in.’ The door buzzed, and I pushed it open.
A young man stepped into the entrance hall the same moment I did. ‘Mark Donaldson, assistant manager. Good to meet you, Reverend. Would you mind if I asked for some ID?’
‘Not at all.’ I fished my driving license from my wallet.
Mark studied the card for a moment, then handed it back. ‘Thank you. Please sign in, and then I’ll take you to Mrs Steele.’
‘Wonderful.’ I wrote in the visitor’s book and turned to use the hand sanitizer. Mark nodded in approval. ‘How is Mrs Steele today?’
‘She was lucid enough at breakfast.’ Mark smiled. ‘Managed quite a bit of egg and toast, I understand. I think you’ve managed to catch her on one of her good days.’
We walked down a bright corridor, the white walls decorated with cheerful paintings of children and gardens. ‘Does she have many visitors?’
‘Her daughter comes twice a week. She was here yesterda
y.’
Which meant I was unlikely to be discovered by Sue during my visit today. I sent a quick prayer of thanks. ‘I’m pleased to hear that. So many of my parishioners complain that no one ever visits them. Except their vicar.’
‘People lead busy lives.’ Mark led me up a set of stairs and turned right. The doors to most of the bedrooms were shut. The names of each occupant rested in a card holder, and I admired the swirling, hand-written script. Although the place reeked of money, the mixed smell of bleach, polish, and cooked food reminded me of other nursing homes I’d visited.
We stopped at the end of the corridor. ‘Audrey Steele’ was the name listed outside. I straightened and tugged my jacket into place as Mark knocked on the door. ‘Mrs Steele? I have a visitor for you. May we come in?’
A noncommittal sound made Mark look at me and shrug. He pushed the door open and waved me inside. ‘I’ll leave you with her. Any problems, just use the phone. The zero takes you straight through to reception.’
The room was larger than I’d expected. A set of wardrobes filled the left-hand wall, and a double bed rested against the right. A table and a chair were set into the bay window. A bathroom was through another door on the right, past the end of the bed.
An elderly woman rested in the chair. Although I had done the maths, working out her age from what both Raven and Sue had told me, I was still surprised to see her thin hair, wrinkled face, and shrunken body. Raven’s memories of her were so strong, so vital, that it took me a moment to link the young woman of his childhood with the ancient person who blinked up at me.
‘Mrs Steele,’ I said, coming to her side. ‘My name is Penny White.’
‘I don’t know you.’ Her voice trembled. ‘You aren’t Sue. Where’s Sue? Why doesn’t she ever come to visit me?’
I’d come across this before, elderly parents whose short-term memories were so poor that they forgot about visits from their children. ‘I’m certain she’ll come again soon. In the meantime, I’ve brought someone else to see you.’
