by Aimée
“It’s always better to be scared than to be over-confident…”
“Do you really think so? It doesn’t work like that on the battlefield. You have to be prepared to take risks. You have to go for it – you can’t afford to be scared.”
“I don’t think you’re scared, Greyson. I think you don’t trust yourself enough. And if you want other people to trust you, to believe in what you say, you have to beginning by trusting yourself – and by forgiving yourself.”
Greyson gulped: “It’s just …I know I have to let it go, and I know it’s selfish to want forgiveness, and I’ve prayed and prayed about it, but …”
“You haven’t had closure. I understand. But – I think today is about something else. Someone else. Am I right?”
Greyson grinned sheepishly: “You’re a mind reader, Emily. And you’re right. Today wasn’t about Elaine. Or not directly anyway.”
“Would your reaction have anything to do with a certain Angela Arlingham?”
This time Greyson just gaped at the reverend: “How on earth do you know?”
Emily Jones smiled: “Intuition. And the fact that I looked at her several times and she was staring at you like she wanted to kill you…”
“Oh God!” Greyson buried her head in her hands. “Not here, please, Greyson!”, chastised Emily gently. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. You don’t have to take His name in vain – He’s listening. What exactly is going on between you and Angela? I did ask you to go and talk to her, but I guess it’s not about that.”
Greyson shook her head: “No – of course not. Actually – I didn’t – talk to her about God, or her daughter. Well, not really.” She looked into the older woman’s eyes and suddenly decided to tell her everything. How she found herself attracted to Angela, even though it was a terrible idea. How she could not possibly think of having a new relationship if she wasn’t over Elaine yet. And how the redhead would probably never trust her again anyway, because she hadn’t told her about her new career. The older woman took Greyson’s hand in hers and began a short prayer of intercession. Then Emily went on: “I wish He would bring you the solace you deserve and need. Because you’ll need to be strong. And…it’s not exactly a one-way path, you know – you can always change your mind – go back to the clinic full-time – no one will be angry, no one will resent you for it. It doesn’t work like that. God doesn’t ask for greater sacrifices than you can bear.”
“Yes – I know. But I would be angry – and I would blame myself. I need to commit to it.”
“I know. That’s why they call it a leap of faith, dear. As for Angela – I’m sure she’ll get over it. Think about what you’re going to say to her at the reception.”
Greyson stared at her aghast: “The reception? Oh God – oh, sorry, Emily! Of course she’ll be at the reception. I can’t go – I can’t… I can’t see her like this.” She dug into her pocket and found a crumpled tissue to wipe her eyes. This was not her – Lieutenant-Colonel Greyson Walsden didn’t cry – at least not often – never in public. Emily Jones handed her a fresh tissue: “Of course you’re going – Maisie and Luke would be disappointed if you didn’t go. Go and freshen up a bit, and I’ll wait for you outside. You’re driving me there.”
Ten minutes later, Greyson joined Emily in the carpark. She had splashed cold water over her face, hoping to erase all marks of tears and repaired her make-up as best as she could. And she had changed into a dark blue suit and pale blue shirt, which made her look more like a business woman than a party guest, but at least wasn’t her usual black shirt and trousers. Emily smiled at her appreciatively: “That’s better. Let’s go, dear – I’m quite looking forward to a little champagne!”
Chapter 18
I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample
I Could finish enmity.
Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.
Emily Dickinson
Maisie and Luke had chosen a local pub for the celebration and they had accessorized both the inside and the beer garden. A Tardis stood at the entrance of the garden, and the guests took turns taking pictures with the blue police-box. When Greyson and Emily arrived, everyone was milling around happily and ransacking the buffet. Emily soon left Greyson to her own devices, since she knew almost all the guests and had people clamouring for her attention. Greyson retreated to a corner of the garden and observed the crowd. They looked happy. Some of the guests had chosen to stick to the theme and she spotted several Doctors and other Whovian figures among them. A small Dalek even held a sign directing people to the restroom. Despite herself, she sought out Angela in the crowd and spotted her at a table, not far from the bar. She appeared to be engaged in conversation with other guests and Greyson couldn’t make herself approach her. So she just watched from afar as the redhead drank several glasses of champagne. She knew she ought to mingle but she couldn’t muster the energy. She did go to the buffet and sampled the canapés, knowing that otherwise the champagne Emily had almost forced into her hand would go to her head. Not that she was that much of a lightweight for alcohol but in her present exhausted state, she knew better than to drink on an empty-stomach – a migraine would soon follow. She saw Angela switch drinks for something stronger and frowned – obviously the young bartender had no qualms about serving two neat vodkas in a row to a guest who’d already imbibed a fair quantity of alcohol. As the evening went on, Greyson noticed that Angela teetered slightly when she went back to the bar for the third time and this decided her – she couldn’t let Angela get drunk and possibly embarrass herself. Especially if she was even only partly responsible for the redhead’s escape into alcohol. Most of the guests were now swaying on the makeshift dancefloor as Greyson walked towards Angela and sat down quietly beside her. When she saw Greyson, the redhead lifted her glass to her: “Santé, as they say in France…”. The words came out as slurred, and Greyson frowned: “Well, I’m pretty sure your health is not going to be improved by this amount of alcohol…What’s going on, Angela?”
“None of your business, Doctor. Or Vicar. Or whatever. Just leave me alone.”
Greyson blushed: “I’m sorry – I know I should have told you. But – well, I had no idea you were going to be here today!” She cringed as soon as the words had escaped her lips – even she could hear how lame it sounded. A “the dog ate my homework” kind of excuse.
“So if I hadn’t been here, when would you have told me?”
Greyson focused on her hands and worried the skin around her thumb: “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just – I just didn’t know how – I thought – I thought we were beginning to be friends, and I didn’t want to jeopardise that. Just – just let me help you tonight, and then – well, if you don’t want to speak to me again, I’ll…” Greyson swallowed hard: “I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“You can leave me alone now, Vicar. I don’t need your Christian charity, I don’t need your God, and… I don’t need you! So go and do your good deeds elsewhere. I’m quite all right.”
“You’re not all right, Angela. Please – let me help you - I’m sure you can’t even walk straight.”
“I can walk perfectly well, thank …”
Trying to prove her point, Angela stood up and almost fell on Greyson who just had time to grab her elbow to steady her.
“That’s it – I’m taking you home. Come on!”
Angela squirmed to get away from Greyson’s grip and Greyson sighed: “What are you, five? I’m not letting you fall – you don’t need a concussion as well as a hangover. Where do you live?”
“I’m not telling you!”
Greyson rolled her eyes: “Really?”
“Oh – o-kay – it’s getting a bit cold here anyway…Cammrghamm Road”
“I beg your pardon?”
&nbs
p; “Ca-the-rine Road - school grounds – and I’ll drive myself home.”
“You’ve got a hope! Give me your keys – we can take your car if you want.”
“Don’t care!”
Greyson got the keys, made Angela point out her car and managed to get the grumpy and nearly comatose redhead home. As she helped Angela onto the sofa, she noticed several pictures of a young girl at different ages on the walls and mantelpiece and her heart went out to Angela all over again. Whatever losses she had suffered had nothing to compare with Angela’s. The room looked cosy and inviting, with two well-worn leather sofas, crowded bookshelves and colourful rugs, and yet it cried of loneliness. As she went to the kitchen to make coffee, she saw that by contrast its bareness rivalled her own – except for the state-of-the-art coffee machine on the counter, most of the cupboards were empty except for a few packets of biscuits and the bare essentials.
When she came back with the coffee, Angela was looking into her liquor cabinet, which seemed to be rather well-stocked.
“Angela…do you think that’s wise?
“No – but who’s going to stop me?”
“Hmm? I am!”
“You can’t stop me from drinking in my own house.”
“I wouldn’t attempt it if I were you – don’t forget I was in the army – I’m pretty sure if it came to wrestling …”
“Oh, just stop it, will you, Vicar! You’re not my fucking mother!”
And on that, Angela collapsed into huge sobs. As uncomfortable as Greyson was with body contact, she tentatively hugged the crying woman, who clung to her as if she was drowning. As the tears threatened to become hysterical, Angela swallowed several times and disengaged herself from Greyson’s arms. The redhead huddled on the sofa and spoke haltingly: “Sorry – I shouldn’t… I might as well tell you. Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I don’t usually – think about it. I mean – it was more than twenty years ago. But today, with the wedding and seeing Maisie with her family…It just - got to me.”
“I’m sorry, Angela.” In a way, Greyson was relieved to know that Angela’s meltdown hadn’t been induced only by her dissimulation.
“She was the religious one in the family, you know? And yet – she died.”
Angela held her hand up to prevent Greyson from speaking. “Everyone dies on me – my mother died, my daughter died. But that’s all right – because my father decided to get me a new mummy!”
Greyson cocked her head: “I’m sorry?”
“My father is going to marry Emily – your reverend. At least I think he will – maybe they’ll just fuck and live in sin!”
Greyson stared at the redhead: “Really? Wow – she never said…But – that’s great – if they love each other. And I doubt very much she thinks you need a mum. She likes you, though.”
“How do you know that?” snapped Angela. Greyson reddened – she might as well confess everything. “She wanted me to talk to you – to help you through – your bereavement. So – she talked to me a bit about you. She told me about your mother dying when you were a child and…”
“Fucking perfect! She sent her lapdog after me!”
Even though Greyson understood the younger woman was very drunk, it still hurt a bit and she stood up and went to look at the books to hide her face.
“I suppose you have the perfect family – the perfect mother?” Angela’s tone was almost wistful. Greyson came back to the couch and sat beside her. She tried to think about what she could say – finally, she decided on the truth – she was too tired to make up lies anyway.
“My mother has Alzheimer’s. That’s why I left the army – not only, but – I had to be here to arrange things for her – a nursing home, and – I don’t have any other family, so she’s all I’ve got. But it’s hard – actually, it’s horribly hard, and… Well, now, she doesn’t recognise me most days, and somehow – that makes things easier. Because – when she was still herself, I always had to be perfect – to try to fulfil her expectations for me – and I never did – I was never good enough. And now… Now I’m relieved, because I may be a complete fuck-up, but… She doesn’t know. Or maybe she does… Anyway – no, no perfect family either.”
Greyson lapsed into silence as unwelcome memories invaded.
“Sorry?”
Angela repeated patiently: “I asked if you wanted to stay here tonight. There’s a spare room.”
Greyson looked at her phone and saw it was nearly one in the morning. She supposed she could try and call a cab, but it might take a while.
“Well… If you don’t mind…”
“Of course I don’t”, answered Angela with asperity. “I offered, didn’t I?
“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist – I’ve certainly slept in worst places! Thank you”
Angela looked at her empty cup of coffee and gave a yearning look towards the drink cabinet, but the stern look Greyson gave her in return changed her mind. Instead, she got up and went into the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with two steaming mugs. Greyson raised her eyebrows and Angela explained: “Hot chocolate with marshmallows – my comfort non-alcoholic drink – reminds me of when I was at school. When we had drama club in winter, the teacher brought flasks of cocoa because we were too young to drink coffee.”
As they sipped their cocoa in silence, both of them deep into memories of school days, Angela relaxed into the sofa and her head fell on Greyson’s shoulder. The latter was feeling pleasantly warm, and she suspected Angela of having laced the hot chocolate with whisky. She would have been ready to go to bed, but she wasn’t sure she could leave Angela alone with alcohol just yet. Angela herself was remembering a tall redhead who had been in the drama club with her. Who just happened to have played Romeo to her Juliet very convincingly – so very convincingly that the few fumbles behind the set had led to a full-blown kiss tasting of greasepaint. She wondered what had become of her…
Angela sighed and nestled closer to Greyson… So close she could… Almost… She didn’t give herself a chance to think and her lips decided on their own. They met Greyson’s in a chocolate-laced kiss. After a few seconds of astonishment, Greyson found herself kissing back, before gently disengaging herself from Angela’s embrace. As Angela fell back on the sofa, Greyson tried to explain away the awkwardness: “Angela…I don’t think we should – I don’t know how you guessed but -you’re drunk, and I’m - tired, and – I’ve got a lot going on at the moment, and - we have the beginning of a good friendship and …”
Without another word, Angela got up unsteadily and went to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Greyson sighed… This had gone all wrong, as usual. Why could she never keep her mouth shut? She went to the door towards which Angela had vaguely gestured before and found the guest bedroom. She was too tired to analyse the situation properly, but her body had reacted to the tender gesture, and was letting her know it had missed the gentle touch of a partner. It throbbed and shuddered and almost hurt – it had been so long…
Chapter 19
The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it? Jeremiah 17:9
Angela woke up to a pounding headache, and the sun shining in her face through the curtains. She propped herself up on her pillows and realised she was still wearing the clothes she had worn the day before. Slowly, she tried to piece together the previous evening. She remembered the wedding - being brought home by Greyson - and as the film in her head came to an end, she groaned. How could she have done that? Sure, she had been very drunk, but… She had done many stupid things under the influence of alcohol, especially during her students’ days. Like stripping in one of London’s fountains which just happened to have a huge “no bathing” sign in it and two policemen nearby. Or encouraging all the students in her class to give back a blank exam sheet for one of the finals, to protest against one of their professor’s misogyny…that one had royally backfired on her, as once sober, her colleagues had all thought better of i
t, and her paper had been the only blank one. Or ending up in bed with her best friend’s boyfriend… Or driving her car into her letterbox. Or trying to microwave an egg still in its shell… Many, many stupid things… Culminating in kissing the blonde doctor the previous night.
Of course, nothing wrong about that per se. They were two consenting adults, and she didn’t remember Greyson pushing her away – or not immediately anyway. She didn’t actually remember much, but… She remembered Greyson’s lips on hers, though – velvety and sweet – chocolatey and… Well, actually, for an English graduate, she felt surprisingly at a loss for words. Oh – fuck! She had all but thrown herself at the blonde – what would Greyson think of her? She had behaved like a teenager with raging hormones …and even at university …well, she might have experimented a little, but she was pretty sure the conclusion had always been consistent – she liked men. Angela groaned again and got up gingerly. First, a good shower and then… Time to face the music.
Greyson had tossed and turned all night, and as she knelt to say her morning prayer, she almost begged God for guidance and for help in finding the right words. She had tossed her clothes on a chair the night before and she grimaced a little at the idea of putting on the rumpled shirt again. Somehow, since leaving the army, she had become much more demanding in terms of personal hygiene and comfort. She ventured outside the room and found the guest bathroom. Once showered and dressed, she tiptoed downstairs and went to put the kettle on the Aga. As she waited for the water to boil, she tried to process the previous night. What would she say to Angela? Would the redhead even remember the kiss? That pure instant of bliss in the middle of the night? And if she did remember… Nothing could happen. Angela was straight. And – how had Angela guessed anyway? About her? She hadn’t exactly shouted her sexual orientation from the rooftops. Could Emily… Surely not – and Angela didn’t seem very fond of the older woman anyway, even if Emily ended up as her stepmother. Had she let something out by mistake? She racked her brain but nothing came to mind…She suddenly felt cold all over and shivered, even though the temperature in the kitchen could be described as balmy. Well…she would have to come clean now. About that as well as about her calling. Of course, she could pretend nothing had happened. Or pretend she’d been offended – shocked – and magnanimously forgive Angela her forward action. That might work for about five seconds – she was such a terrible liar that Angela would see right through her. She would just tell the truth – come out. Anyway, was it really coming out if the other person already knew? Would Angela judge her? Think less of her? What if her congregation heard too? The Church was not the Army, but during the discernment process, she had had to reveal her sexual orientation to several people, and it had left her raw and fragile. She still wasn’t comfortable with it, and ashamed of feeling uncomfortable. What she and Elaine had had to live through had left deep scars that could bleed open easily. She was just pouring the boiling water in the coffee pot with an unsteady hand when Angela appeared at the kitchen door, looking sheepish.