by Pam Rhodes
* * *
Margaret came to the funeral. Supported by her daughter and son-in-law, she walked stiff-backed behind the coffin as it was carried down the aisle. It was odd to see her so soberly dressed in black from head to toe, when her usual garb was colourful and even flamboyant. No colour today, not in her clothes, not in her skin, nor in her dull grey eyes.
She got to her feet for the first hymn, “The Lord’s My Shepherd” – Frank’s favourite, so Sarah said – but she didn’t even attempt to join in with the words she knew so well. She sat down then, staring straight ahead as Sarah stood up to read the poem that begins “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, before the Reverend Cole gave an outline of Frank’s early life. He’d been a long-distance runner when he was a young man, apparently a very successful one. How surprising, thought Neil, who would never have thought that of the older Frank he’d come to know. Frank had been in the army for seven years, and was in the Catering Corps. No wonder he was so good at rustling up meals at a moment’s notice, mused Neil. Frank had met Margaret at a Spanish-language evening class they’d both joined because they’d been thinking about taking one of the new package holidays to Spain. In the end, they went to Spain together – for their honeymoon.
Throughout it all, with Sarah on one side and Cyn on the other, Margaret registered no expression on her face. Even when Peter Fellowes got to his feet to give a moving, funny, touching tribute to Frank on behalf of all who’d known and loved him at St Stephen’s, Margaret’s eyes were dry when practically everyone else in the church was reaching for a tissue.
And then it was over. On the organ, Brian started to play a poignant arrangement of “Abide with Me” as the pall-bearers gently lifted the coffin off its stand, hoisting it onto their shoulders to start their slow march down the aisle and out of the church. Family members and close friends filed out behind them to follow the hearse to the crematorium. It had been agreed that Neil would stay behind to host the wake in the church hall, so his last sight of Margaret was a glimpse of her pale, expressionless face as she was helped into the car to make her final heartbreaking journey at her beloved Frank’s side.
Nearly an hour later, Sarah and her husband Martin briefly came back to the church hall to thank everyone for their sympathy and support. They explained that Margaret was exhausted and emotionally drained by everything that had happened, and that they planned to take her back with them to their home in Beaconsfield while she regained her strength and health.
The following morning Neil watched as Margaret climbed into the back of Martin’s car. She said nothing. She reacted to no one around her and her eyes stayed firmly fixed ahead of her as the car drove slowly down the drive and away.
* * *
“This has been a sad business, Neil, very sad,” said Bishop Paul as they sat together in the front pew of St Stephen’s a couple of days later. “It’s hard to imagine Margaret without Frank. He was a splendid man.”
“Surprising too,” added Neil. “There was so much about him I didn’t know until I heard the tribute to him at the funeral. In fact, the more I learn, the more I realize how little I knew either of them, really. On the face of it, it always seemed that Margaret was the strong one in the partnership, but their relationship was much more complex than that. I remember her telling me once that their marriage was very passionate, and that Frank was her rock.”
Bishop Paul nodded thoughtfully. “Proof yet again that it’s all too easy to make assumptions about other people’s lives and feelings. Years in ministry have taught me that.”
“Well, that’s the other thing,” continued Neil. “What about Margaret’s ministry? Will she want to come back to it?”
“From the point of view of the church, she must have as much time as she needs before making any decisions about her future. In other situations similar to this, I’ve been aware that getting back to work has been a significant step on the path to recovery. After all, the working life of an ordained minister is spent reassuring others of the presence and power of God, and it’s exactly that message they need themselves as they cope with their own grief and bereavement.”
Neil stayed silent as he wondered if he should share with Bishop Paul Margaret’s shocking revelation that she no longer believed in God. Better not to mention it. It had only been a matter of days since Frank’s death. Margaret’s mind was traumatized. Healing would come in its own good time.
“So what do you think?” The bishop’s voice broke into Neil’s thoughts. “Are you up to the job?”
Neil looked at him in confusion.
“Margaret’s job? Can you cope without her, for the time being at least, until her return?”
“I don’t know,” stuttered Neil. “This is a busy parish. There’s always been more than enough work for two people, let alone one.”
“I’ll try to arrange whatever support I can for you. Not easy, though. Everyone’s stretched and I haven’t got spare pairs of hands in ready supply.”
Neil didn’t reply. His mind was busy trying to imagine coping alone without Margaret.
“There is Hugh, of course,” continued Bishop Paul. “He’s only about ten miles away. He’s retired from his own church now, but I know he’ll be more than willing to help out with your services at any time. And do you know Rosemary, the non-stipendiary industrial chaplain? I’ll put you in touch with her too. She’ll probably be able to lend a hand from time to time.”
“Right.”
“And you have a good team here. They’ll rally round, I’m sure.”
Neil thought about Peter, Val, Cyn, the Lamberts, Boy George and all the other stalwarts at St Stephen’s.
“Yes, they will,” he agreed. “We’ll keep things going and pray for Margaret’s safe and healthy return.”
“And I’m always on the end of the phone, Neil. Just ring at any time if you’ve got a problem or simply need to chat things through.”
“OK,” replied Neil, hoping he didn’t come across as shell-shocked as he felt.
Bishop Paul reached out to touch his arm. “I know this is tough for you, Neil. I don’t underestimate the responsibility that’s being laid on your shoulders. You’re not yet two years into your curacy, and this is neither ideal nor fair. It’s just what it has to be until we know more from Margaret. I’m sure that when she’s feeling stronger she’ll be longing to get back to where she’s loved and where she belongs.”
“I hope so.”
Bishop Paul looked at his watch. “I must go.”
“Of course. Thank you for making time to talk to me like this.”
“We’re on the same team, Neil: God’s team. He’ll see us through. Now, before I go, shall we pray together?”
And as Neil bowed his head, he thought he’d never needed God’s love and strength more than he longed for it now.
* * *
It was gone nine in the evening when the phone rang as Neil sat poring over the piles of paperwork on his desk.
“Neil, it’s Graham. Got a minute?”
“For you, definitely! I’m surrounded by so many bits of paper, my eyes are swimming.”
“Can I come round?”
Neil laid down his pen, alarmed by the note of worry in his friend’s normally confident voice.
“Of course. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Any beers in your fridge?”
“A couple.”
“Get them out. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
True to his word, a quarter of an hour later Graham was sitting on Neil’s settee, pulling the fob off a can of beer.
“Debs is pregnant.”
“Oh!” said Neil, not quite sure whether that was cause for celebration or commiseration.
“It’s a bit of a shock.” Graham took a swig from the can. “To put it mildly.”
“How is she?”
“Throwing up first thing every morning, but basically fine, I think.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“I didn’t see this
coming. I knew the pill didn’t agree with her, but we were always careful – well, I thought we were.”
“So this wasn’t planned then?”
Graham shrugged. “So how do you feel about the prospect of becoming a dad?”
“Shocked.”
“But has the shock worn off enough now for you to think it through a bit more?”
“Yeah, and I’m coming round to the idea. Debs and I are solid. We always planned to stay together. We wouldn’t have bought the house if we hadn’t thought that, so kids would probably have been on the horizon at some time in the future anyway.”
“But this has all happened quicker than you thought.”
Graham gazed down at the can in his hand before he went on.“The thing is – what happens now?”
“Have the two of you talked about it?” asked Neil.
“Well, we’re living together in the house. We’re set up. We’ve got enough room. So what if we have a baby there in a few months’ time? I can’t see there’s a problem.”
“Well, that all sounds OK.”
“Debs says she wants to get married.”
“Good!”
Graham snorted dismissively. “You would say that, wouldn’t you! You’re a bloomin’ vicar!”
“You’re not keen on the idea, then?”
“Look, mate, no offence or anything, but most marriages I know end in disaster. What’s the point of signing a bit of paper promising to share everything and stay together when you know you can just walk away if it all goes wrong?”
“It may not go wrong. If there’s enough love and commitment between you, the kind of love and commitment you need if you’re bringing a child into the world…”
“I’m committed! I love her! I just don’t see why we need to spend all that money getting married to prove it.”
“It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money. You could keep it simple.”
Another snort from Graham. “Have you met her mother? She’s not going to let her little darling get married without a great big production.”
“It’s not her mother who’s getting married. It’s you and Debs considering this, and you can choose to keep it as simple as you like.”
“Neil, you’re not listening. There’s nothing I like about the whole idea of getting married. I’m not interested. I don’t want it.”
“Even if it’s important to Debs?”
“I’m not just being bolshy. It’s not aimed at her. It’s nothing personal at all. I just don’t agree with marriage.”
“I guess it feels personal to her. It’s all tied up with whether you love her enough to recognize her need for some formality in the arrangement between you, especially if children are going to be involved.”
“Now you’re beginning to sound like her. I thought you were my mate, so you’d understand. If you can’t get over the job you do long enough to listen to how I feel about this, then I might just as well go now.”
Graham made to stand up.
“Sit down,” said Neil, grabbing his arm. “I am listening. I hear what you say. You’ve got every right to feel the way you do about marriage, but Debs has the same right. She obviously feels differently about it. The thing is, with the baby coming, the two of you are going to have to reach a decision about this, one way or the other.”
“She’s already decided. She says if I’m not prepared to marry her, it’s over between us. She means it too.”
“Can you risk losing her over something like this?”
“I think she’s asking too much. She thinks I’m not giving her enough. Stalemate!”
Neil sat back to think for a moment.
“Would it help to talk to someone, a relationship counsellor perhaps?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t really see how a stranger could help.”
“They take a detached view, and help you to listen to what the other’s really feeling.”
“I think we’ve made our feelings abundantly clear.”
“Graham, you could lose Debs and your child over this. If a bit more conversation might help, isn’t it worth a try?”
“It’s not me who has to try. It’s Debs who’s being stubborn. She’s made it clear it’s her way or no way! What kind of relationship is that?”
“I’m so sorry, Graham, I really am. I can recommend an excellent counsellor, if the two of you think it’s worth a try. Other than that, I’m not sure what to suggest. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Graham sighed heavily. “Probably not. I just needed a sympathetic ear, I suppose.”
“You have that. I’m always here to listen. I just wish I could do more.”
“Well, it’s only the two of us who can do that, isn’t it? And if I can’t change, and she can’t either, that’s the end. And you know what, mate? I’m gutted by that, really gutted.”
* * *
“Over here, Neil!” called Barbara. “The playgroup stall’s over here!”
Neil pushed his way through the crowd milling around the brightly coloured tables in the church hall until he and his precious cargo reached Barbara.
“Four sets of face paints!” he panted, breathless from the run he’d just made back to the vicarage on a mission to find exactly where Margaret kept their extra supplies.
“Thanks, Neil. We’ve been run off our feet this morning. We’re used to the girls queuing up to have their faces painted, but all the boys have been coming along too so we can make them look like their action heroes. I blame television and those dreadful computer games! They all want to be Spiderman or Transformers these days. Whatever happened to being a good old-fashioned cat with whiskers, or a pirate with a bit of a beard and an eye patch?”
Neil laughed as he perched on the table to look around the hall. “It’s going well, isn’t it? I must say, whenever the Friends of St Stephen’s organize these Bring and Buy sales, they always do a good trade. It looks as if the money’s rolling in today.”
“Sorry!” called Barbara over her shoulder as another little boy came up to have his face painted. “Spiderman needs me!”
Neil went over to say hello to Beryl and her team on the tea and cake stall before wandering around the tables, stopping to chat to familiar faces here and there as he made his way round the hall. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm. Peter Fellowes stood beside him, close enough to whisper in his ear.
“We’ve got a problem. Do you see that woman with the wheeled shopping bag over in the corner there?”
“With the red jacket?” asked Neil.
“Do you know her?” asked Peter.
“Don’t think so. Should I?”
“You might have to get to know her. She’s been slipping bits and pieces into her bag at each stall she visits, and to my knowledge she’s not paid for any of them.”
“Oh dear!”
“It’s not as if we’re charging much. I don’t suppose anything here is over 20p.”
“Would you like me to go and have a quiet word?”
“I think you should,” said Peter.
Neil started to make his way closer, keeping the woman in his eyeline as he went. Almost immediately he saw her lift the lid of her wheeled basket just wide enough to drop a knitted cardigan inside before shutting the flap again and moving on. Within seconds, Neil was at her side.
“Hello,” he said kindly. “I wonder if I could just have a peep in your basket? I think you might have accidentally dropped a cardigan in it before you had chance to pay for it.”
He realized she was younger than he’d initially thought, probably only in her early twenties, when she spun on her heel to look at him, her face flushed with guilt.
“No, nothing!”
“Would you mind if I take a look, then, just in case you’ve picked something up without realizing?”
The woman immediately stepped defensively in front of her bag, then thought better of it, and headed at speed towards the exit. Her progress was hampered by the heavy, rather battered old basket, and Neil was so
on ahead of her, barring her way. He was about to say something challenging to stop her in her tracks, but his heart softened at the sheer fear and panic he saw in her face.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just wondering if you’re OK. Have you got time for a cup of tea?”
It was plain the woman didn’t intend to respond. She meant to bolt out of the door as fast as she could. But Neil’s kindness – and the mention of tea – seemed to change her mind. Uncertainly, she allowed herself to be drawn back into the hall as Neil gently led her over to a corner table next to the tea and cake stall. Peter Fellowes was hovering curiously.
“Peter, could you get this lady and me a cup of tea, please? And a cake or two?”
Fortunately, the woman couldn’t see the exasperated look Peter shot at Neil, but the churchwarden seemed to get the message that Neil thought he was dealing with more than just common theft here.
“I’m Neil, by the way. We’ve not met, have we?”
The woman kept her eyes down, plainly unwilling to talk.
“I’m the curate here at St Stephen’s. Have you ever been inside the church?”
“No,” was the muffled reply.
“It’s a lovely building. We think so anyway,” continued Neil, his mind racing to find other small talk that might get the conversation going. “Do you have another church you like to go to?”
“No.”
“Oh,” replied Neil. He thought he detected what sounded like an Eastern European accent as the woman started to talk again.
“Not now. Used to.”
“Where was that? Here in Dunbridge?”
“London.”
“So what brought you to this area?”
“No reason. I got on train. Came here.”
“When was that?”
“A week?”
“So where are you living?”
She shrugged without replying.
At that point, following Peter’s instruction, Beryl bustled over to their table bringing a pot of tea, two mugs and a plate of dainty sandwiches and cakes. The woman’s eyes grew wide with longing as she stared at the spread.
“Here you are, love!” chirped Beryl breezily. “Enjoy!”
The woman didn’t need any further invitation as she reached out to grab a sandwich in each hand, stuffing them into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten for days.
