by Pam Rhodes
They were all there. Neil was welcomed back by so many friends and congregation members from St Stephen’s who had grown to love the charmingly inept young curate as he had stumbled his way through his early training to emerge, butterfly-like, as a pretty decent minister at the end of his three years with them.
“Have you heard about our new minister?” asked the other churchwarden, Cyn Clarkson, who joined Neil as he was chatting to Peter Fellowes and Bishop Paul.
“There has indeed been a new minister appointed to this church,” confirmed the bishop. “He and his family are moving into the rectory in about two weeks’ time, so their children can be settled in ready to start the new academic year in September.”
“Have you met him?” asked Neil, feeling rather odd at the thought of someone new taking over his parish.
“His name’s Paul Nicholls, and his wife Anne’s a doctor. She’s just agreed to join the local surgery as a GP.”
“Well, that’s great news,” enthused Neil. “What sort of church has he been working in until now?”
“He’s a very interesting and unusual man, and I am sure he’ll have a lot to offer here. He’s not actually been ordained all that long. In fact, he’s at a similar stage in his ministry to you, Neil. I felt that, as a first church for a new minister, St Stephen’s would be the perfect place to start.”
“But he has children, so has he been in another career until now?”
“You could say that…” agreed the bishop, leaving Neil with more questions than answers.
“Neil.” It was his mother-in-law, Felicity. “Iris is looking a little tired, so we’re going to run her back to the house. Shall we see you there in a while?”
“Of course. I’m not sure where Claire is, but when I’ve found her we’ll follow you down.”
“Well, keep in touch,” said Val, giving Neil a hug, followed by just about every other member of the St Stephen’s congregation, including Raymond, who almost squeezed the breath out of him.
“We’ll look after Neil,” said Betty, appearing at his side along with Marion, Sheila, Mark and Deirdre.
“Yes, and he will be back,” announced Carole Swinton, who predictably had been chatting to the musical team at St Stephen’s. “Clifford, Brian, Sylvia and I are planning a programme of music to feature our combined choirs, with performances both here in Dunbridge and in Burntacre. I am sure you’ll see Neil then.”
After a further flurry of hugs and goodbyes, Neil and Claire finally escaped to cross the road, then walk hand in hand down Vicarage Gardens to take one last look at Harry’s house.
Standing by the garden gate, Claire put her arms around Neil’s waist and looked up at him. “I wonder…”
“What?”
“Well, you know I said that Harry was a wonderful dad to me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be as good a dad as he was?”
Neil pulled back, staring at her. “Is that a hypothetical question, or are you trying to say…?”
“That I’m pregnant? Well yes, I am. You’re going to be a daddy.”
With a whoop of joy, Neil swept her up in his arms and kissed her soundly.
“But when? How…?”
“When? It’s early days yet, but I think we’ll be needing a nursery some time in February. And how? Well, I blame those single beds…”
