by Pam Rhodes
Neil was acutely aware of Wendy setting up music stands and instruments with the rest of the worship group in the front corner of the church. On one occasion he caught her eye and tried a smile which died on his lips as he felt the chill of her dismissive glance.
“You did it, then?”
He hadn’t noticed Margaret quietly coming to stand beside him, her gaze following his.
“It was awful. It just didn’t come out right. She was so hurt, so angry…”
“How do you feel now? Do you regret having the conversation?”
“Yes. No.”
Neil’s expression was full of confusion and sadness. “I had to be honest…”
“Absolutely right.”
“… but I hurt her in the process, and I regret that very much because she really didn’t deserve it.”
“She didn’t see it coming, then? It hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps your enthusiasm for the relationship didn’t match hers?”
“It seemed to hit her like a bolt out of the blue. She was totally shocked – distressed, embarrassed a bit, I think, and then, at the end, absolutely furious. She said that from now on she’d cut me dead, and that’s exactly what she’s doing.”
“Well, don’t blame her for that. Perhaps avoiding you is her way of coping with the pain of losing you.”
“But she doesn’t have to lose me. That’s what I was trying to say, but really I didn’t get the chance. I wanted her to know that my feelings are uncertain now, but they may not always be. There’s so much that’s good between us. She’s right when she says we make a perfect team. I can see that and I miss it already.”
“Well,” said Margaret, looking at him carefully, “perhaps absence will make the heart grow fonder. They do say you never really recognize what you have until it’s not there for you any more.”
“And she is a loss, I know that. What if I’ve closed the door on the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”
“On the other hand, your instinct may be right that you’re not certain enough of your feelings for her now. It’s better to be truthful and pull back than let her picture a future with you that you aren’t ready for.”
Neil nodded sadly.
“But,” added Margaret as she started to turn away, “don’t expect her to wait for you if you’ve given her the impression there’s no hope. If she’s wise, she’ll get on with her life, as you must get on with yours. And if, further down the line, you decide she is the one for you, she may not be there waiting for you. That’s the risk you take.”
Neil’s face was thoughtful as he watched Margaret head off towards the vestry.
* * *
It was a wonderful service. The church was packed with a congregation who were either members of the Clarkson clan, or who knew them well enough to share their joy and thanks that baby Ellen and her mum Jeannie were both doing well after the difficult pregnancy and the complicated premature birth. As Margaret made the sign of the cross on the tiny forehead, watched by close family members and treasured friends who had just become godparents, Neil found himself thinking that miracles didn’t only belong to Christ’s time on earth two thousand years ago. Miracles happened every day, somewhere and to someone. This longed-for little girl was nothing less than a modern-day miracle for her family and their church community.
Coffee after the service was noisier than ever, with numbers increased by the visitors who’d come especially for the christening. Neil saw little of it as he gulped down a quick cuppa, then hurried off to the nearby village of Minting to take the service at St Gabriel’s, a picturesque little church that could trace its history back to Saxon times. As he looked out at the ten parishioners who sat in the ancient pews, he remembered Margaret’s challenge that if he managed to attract more than eight people to a service there, he’d get the job on a regular basis! It looked as if he’d be seeing a lot more of St Gabriel’s in the months to come.
By the time Neil arrived at the Clarksons’ rambling old farmhouse, the lunch party was in full swing. Guests had spilled out onto the wide patio at the back of the house, where picnic tables had been laid out so that they could serve themselves from the buffet in the dining room, then sit in the sunshine to eat their meal.
“You made it!”
Peter Fellowes offered Neil a glass of iced fruit punch. Usually smartly dressed in his role as churchwarden, Peter looked relaxed and informal in slacks and an open-necked polo shirt. Years of running his own estate agency in the town had got him into the habit of never feeling smartly turned out without a collar and tie – but his growing closeness to Val was plainly raising not only his level of contentment, but also his fashion awareness, as Val gently steered him towards a more modern style of dress. She was at Peter’s side now, their hands almost, but not quite, touching. The couple were still very discreet about the love they felt for one another, although it was plain to anyone who really knew them. Val had been widowed for years, and it had probably been the cancer that claimed her husband’s life which had prompted her to steer her nursing career towards palliative care in the community. Now in her fifties, her small frame, sandy-coloured hair, slightly husky voice and grey eyes gave her a prettiness that belied her age. That’s what love can do for you, thought Neil, as he considered the tangled mess of his own love life.
“I’m hoping there’s still some buffet left,” Neil said, taking the glass from Peter’s outstretched hand.
“I think the family will be eating the leftovers all week,” laughed Val. “They’ve cooked enough for an army!”
Their attention was drawn to the French doors where Colin Clarkson had just appeared, his wife Jeannie beside him with baby Ellen in her arms. A small group crowded around them to see the little miracle whose birth had brought such joy.
“I don’t blame them,” said Peter quietly. “There’s a lot to celebrate here.”
Neil nodded in agreement, his eyes still on the scene near the house.
“Actually,” continued Peter, “I’d been meaning to catch you to let you know there have been developments.”
“With Glenda?”
“I’ve heard from her solicitor. She’s filed for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.”
Neil almost choked on his fruit punch. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to describe your wife going off with her boss!”
“Honestly,” said Peter, “I don’t care how it happens. I just want the proceedings over and done with so that I can get on with my life – our lives…” he added, looking at Val.
“How long do these things take, do you know?”
“Well, I’ve no experience in these matters, but my solicitor says that because it’s uncontested it could all be sorted in as little as three months.”
“You aren’t contesting anything? Doesn’t Glenda want half of all the assets, especially the house?”
“Oh, yes, she wants any equity she can grab from that – but really, Neil, I just want to make this as quick and easy as possible for everyone concerned. There’s no mortgage, and I’ve got a bit put by. It looks as if we just have to agree on a settlement figure, and that will be the end of it. She can’t wait to get shot of any connection with me, and I must say I’ve got to the point where I share that feeling.”
“I know your children are grown up now with families of their own, but has she been keeping in touch with them?”
“She’s been down to see Christine in Brighton, but she was tactless enough to take Roland with her, which wasn’t well received at all. Christine would have liked some quality time with her mum, just to be sure she knew exactly what she was giving up, and the implications for everyone else of the decision she’s making. Not much chance of that with him there! Chris said that Glenda was like a dewy-eyed teenager hanging on his every word.”
“And your son – John, isn’t it?”
“He’s never been that close to his mum. John’s more like me, a bit of a Steady Eddie. He simply can’t understand her causing all this upheaval
when not long ago we were celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
“I am sorry,” said Neil.
“Don’t be!” grinned Peter. “I couldn’t be happier. Glenda’s done me a favour, although that’s probably the last thing she ever meant to do. And as far as splitting the proceeds of the house is concerned, Val and I are thinking of pooling our resources anyway, to buy a new home we can choose together.”
“We’ve got our eye on one of the new bungalows being built on the Minting Road,” added Val. “We took a look round the show house a few days back, and we were quite impressed.”
Peter looked at her adoringly. “It’ll make a change being in a new house where everything’s finished and working. I’ve had too many years of sorting out roofs, electrics, plumbing and decorating on our old place. I’m ready to put my feet up a bit now I’ve got someone I want to relax and unwind with.”
Over Peter’s shoulder, Neil saw Colin Clarkson raise his arm to beckon him over.
“Look, I’d better go and circulate…”
“… and grab some of that buffet,” laughed Val. “We’ll see you later.”
Baby Ellen was wide awake with an expression of puzzled surprise at the gaggle of people crowding around her. She had been changed out of the family christening gown, and now wore a pale yellow dress that looked as crisp and fresh as summer itself. As Neil got closer, he realized with some alarm that the baby was no longer being held by her mother. It was Wendy who was cooing down at Ellen as she lay in her arms. Hoping he could back away without being noticed, Neil started to move towards the edge of the group – but, as if she could read his mind, Wendy looked up to stare straight at him, her expression cold with disdain.
“You seem to have such a way with babies, Wendy,” said Brenda, from the back of the group. “A natural mother!”
Well aware that Neil was looking at her, Wendy let out a sigh worthy of the most saintly martyr.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be having children any time soon – certainly not until I find a man whom I can truly respect. I only seem to come across empty-headed idiots who aren’t much better than babies themselves.”
The circle of faces all turned towards Neil, who instantly blushed bright red.
“I’ll, um… I’ll go and take a look at the buffet, I think,” he mumbled, squirming uncomfortably in the chill of Wendy’s icy stare as he scuttled off in the direction of the dining room.
Val was right. There was food in abundance, a banquet of meat, pies, salads, rice and pasta covering the length of one table, while a mouth-watering array of fruit flans, mousses, pavlovas, chocolate puddings and lemon roulades was displayed on the opposite side, with an extra section dedicated to cheeses of every colour and description.
Suddenly starving, Neil picked up a napkin and one of the paper plates embellished with Ellen’s name. He collected small portions of almost everything he could find on the savoury table – well, they seemed small until he’d piled them up together, at which point they started sliding precariously to one side as the paper plate sagged under their combined weight. Balancing the plate carefully in one hand, he reached out for a knife and fork with the other, which left him with no free hands at all when the plate suddenly folded into a kind of funnel through which a trickle of what looked like beetroot juice combined with meat gravy began to stream onto the floor. Panicking, Neil looked around urgently for a flat surface where he could lay the plate down. In a few moments, as the crowd around him shifted slightly, he spotted an uncluttered space on a small corner table right beside a chair. With the bulging plate dripping profusely, he hurried over, sat down heavily and slid his plate carefully onto the table.
His sigh of relief was short-lived. At first, he couldn’t quite work out what was wrong, until he felt a cold, damp sensation spreading across his nether regions. And then he saw it: a bright red, creamy, custardy mess oozing between his legs and all over his best black trousers. Leaping up in alarm, he looked down at the seat of the chair, which was covered in the remains of what had obviously been someone’s helping of strawberry trifle and ice cream. But where was the bowl?
“It’s behind you!”
A familiar voice had him spinning on his heels to find Claire, her face pink with delighted amusement, observing him from a few feet away.
“Where?”
It didn’t appear to be anywhere in the vicinity of the chair.
Trying hard not to laugh out loud, Claire walked calmly up to Neil, turned him round, and pointed at his bottom, where a frothy, multi-coloured mess, was gluing the paper bowl to the seat of his trousers. Appalled and embarrassed, Neil grabbed the bowl, not knowing quite where to put it for safety. Eventually, he squeezed it onto the side table alongside his own lunch plate, covering everything around it in red goo before he finally felt it was safely wedged. He stared down in horror at his rainbow-coloured trousers, and was about to wipe away some of the cream and jelly until he realized that his own hands were now messier than anything else – so he just stood there, his hands waving in the air, his face a picture of indecision and helplessness.
Laughing out loud now, Claire took charge and led him away from the dining room and into the kitchen, which was mercifully deserted.
“Baby wipes!” she declared. “That’s what we need to get this lot off. They’re sure to have some here with a new baby in the house.”
She was right. Finding a pack in a back corner of the dresser, she grabbed a chair from beside the kitchen table and pulled it over towards Neil.
“Bend over!”
Neil was beyond caring about his dignity. Without a word, he obediently leaned forward to grab the back of the chair. Pulling out a handful of wipes, Claire got down on her knees, her face level with the back of his trousers as she started wiping him just as if his bottom belonged to a baby.
It was at that precise moment that Neil looked up to find Wendy standing in the doorway taking in the scene before her. She didn’t have to say a word. Neil could see appalled disbelief written all over her face.
“Look, this isn’t quite what it seems…”
Wendy was staring at them both with undisguised disgust. Claire raised her head to see who he was talking to, just as Wendy, with a flounce of her dark brown hair, turned on her heel and stomped off towards the crowd in the garden.
Neil stood up in alarm.
“Oh no, she’ll tell everyone! Whatever will they think…?”
But his fear was met by a peal of laughter from Claire.
“Let her tell anyone who’s remotely interested, if that makes her feel better. This was just an accident, nothing more. These plates look good, but they really are made of paper! It could have happened to anyone.”
“But it had to be me,” said Neil glumly.
“Actually,” smiled Claire, “it was one of the funniest things I’ve seen for ages – and if you don’t dine out on it, or at least weave it into one of your sermons about being able to laugh at yourself and keep things in perspective, I’ll be disappointed in you. Come on! It’s a bit public here. There’s a bathroom on the next floor. Let’s finish the job up there.”
* * *
“Absolutely brazen! The two of them went upstairs on their own after Wendy saw them, you know!”
“Where the bedrooms are! And he’s a minister of the church!”
“He’d taken his trousers off. Did you hear that?”
“Practically naked, that’s what I heard. Shameful! Completely shameful!”
Neil didn’t need to hear their comments to imagine what people were thinking. In the days that followed “the trifle affair”, he became constantly aware of members of the congregation huddling together as they gossiped and stared. Wendy, however, remained aloof with the air of a victim, wronged and wounded. During the choir rehearsal a couple of days later, he tried to find a quiet moment to speak to her, but she was instantly ringed by a protective circle of friends, who glared at him, challenging him to try to approach her. Neil might c
limb mountains and even cope with his overpowering mother, Iris, but the thought of facing that formidable circle of righteous women around Wendy was just too much for him. He backed away, his dignity in tatters, and imagined yet again what they were saying about him as they sabotaged what was left of his reputation.
Margaret was more amused than sympathetic. She said it would all blow over and that people had very short memories once the next piece of gossip came along. That might be true, mused Neil, but in the meantime it was very difficult to do his job when half the congregation weren’t talking to him.
However, talking – very loud and animated talking – surrounded him on the following Thursday evening, as the happy couple who were getting married that Saturday afternoon arrived with their families for their wedding rehearsal. At least, some of them arrived. Sophie, the bride, was an English rose who lived just down the road, but her groom, Chris, was a cheerful, laid-back young man who came from a large and loving Caribbean family. Neil had been a bit overwhelmed during the couple’s first visit to book the wedding a few months earlier. They’d arrived with both sets of parents in tow, and it became quite clear that all decisions about wedding arrangements were most definitely a family concern. This rehearsal was an opportunity for him to meet the other key members of both families.
The rehearsal was booked for six o’clock. By five to six the bride and her parents had arrived, along with the bridesmaids: Sophie’s sister, Sally, and her cousin Jess, whose three-year-old twin daughters were beside themselves with excitement at the thought of the fairytale dresses they would be wearing as flower girls.
A quarter of an hour later there was still no sign of the other bridesmaid, Chris’s sister Delia, or in fact anyone at all from the groom’s side of the family – not his parents, best man or even Chris himself.
While Rosemary, the bride’s mother, marched up and down the aisle tutting with exasperation, Sophie apologetically explained to Neil that being late was all part of the Caribbean culture. They operated on a more relaxed timescale than the rat-race pace at which most other people lived their lives – and, as far as she was concerned, that was just fine. Her explanation didn’t stop her glancing anxiously at her watch, though, as the minutes ticked by.
