by Aimée
Greyson hung up and groaned, sinking her face in her hands. Well – that had gone well. Maybe she shouldn’t have introduced herself. What if Angela heard her name and deleted the message? And not only had she stumbled on her words, but she had used jargon and promised Angela her father would be fine… She did think Edgar Arlingham would make it, but she had no guarantee. She almost considered ringing Angela back, but she didn’t want to risk another gibberishy message.
Chapter 21
As a matter of fact, if you examined a hundred people who had lost their faith in Christianity, I wonder how many of them would turn out to have been reasoned out of it by honest argument? Do not most people simply drift away? C.S. Lewis
Sipping a glass of rosé on a quiet terrace, Angela felt at peace for the first time in ages. She should have gone away long before. She had clung to the safety of her house, to the memories of her daughter imprinted on the walls and in every nook and cranny, but the familiar decor had only embedded her sorrow more deeply and prolonged the agony of mourning. Not that being away made her forget, but at least she could have a glimmering of a future where she would be herself again. She had even decided she wouldn’t look at her phone. After all, in a not so distant past, people lived without mobile phones. They managed without a constant connection to everyone and everything. In London’s scorching August heat, she could forget the beginning of the school term just days away, the endless paperwork associated with it, and the blonde vicar… She still felt a little guilty about not having acknowledged the gifts, though – especially since she had scoffed the whole box of chocolates on the drive to London. Draining her glass in one gulp, she stood up – a long power-walk should offset the calories of the wine.
A few hours later, Angela had to admit London might not be the best place to forget Greyson Walsden – the blonde popped up in her head at every church and every Hotel Chocolat shop – and there were a lot of those! She couldn’t understand why she was so obsessed with the woman, and why she couldn’t quite sort out her feelings for her. She didn’t think she’d ever felt like that about anybody before – all the more so for a woman. She couldn’t decide where she stood on the fine line between sentiments.
Decided to enjoy her few days away to the full, Angela caught a musical she had been wanting to see for ages – she must be the only ABBA fan not to have seen Mamma Mia – and opted on room service when she got back to her hotel after the show. When she had eaten half her club sandwich and fries and drank two glasses of an excellent cabernet sauvignon, she decided she ought to switch her phone back on. Only one missed call – good! It probably wasn’t urgent or the caller would have called back several times. She almost choked on her wine when she heard the message. Who on earth left a garbled message like that? And almost as uninformative as possible! Cursing Greyson Walsden, she quickly gathered the items she had left lying about and packed her suitcase. Thank goodness she had only had time to drink two glasses – being arrested for drunk-driving or having an accident wouldn’t help matters. She quickly checked out and half an hour later, she was on her way back to Gloucester.
During the drive, she alternated between worrying about her father, wondering what he was doing at the church – well, she could probably answer that one, since as far as she knew he was still seeing Reverend Jones – being mad at him, being mad at Emily Jones and being mad at Greyson. It was much easier to be angry than to think about what might happen. What if Greyson had been wrong? What if her father died too?
She arrived at the hospital three hours later and immediately made for the cardiac care unit – she had little hope she would be allowed to visit but she had to find out how her father was. Luckily for her, the night nurse was both sympathetic and helpful and after checking Edgar Arlingham’s file, she was able to reassure Angela. Edgar had indeed been brought to CCU after a few hours in the emergency room. He had been fully conscious when he had been brought in and the doctor’s prognosis was reassuring. Despite his age, he was in excellent condition and he should make a full recovery. As the nurse offered to take Angela to the visitor’s room, she suddenly felt exhausted and she would have given anything for the rest of the wine she hadn’t had time to drink. She accepted the offer of a cup of coffee grateful and sank down in one of the armchairs, not even noticing the other people in the room.
Only when she was sipping the coffee – instant, weak and lukewarm, but much needed – did she notice Emily Jones in another armchair. The vicar looked like she had aged ten years since she had last seen her. As she was pondering whether to wake her or not, someone came in, banged the door and Emily opened her eyes and straightened up. Angela suddenly felt sorry for her – if the vicar was really in love with her father, she could imagine what she had gone through.
“He’s going to be fine,” she said gently. “Thank you for being here, Emily. I’m sure my father was glad to have you with him. The older woman took her hand and pressed it: “And I’m glad you’re here, Angela. You mean the world to him. He’ll be glad to see you too.”
Angela could see the exhaustion etched into Emily’s face. “Why don’t I call you a cab? You could go home and get a few hours of rest. I promise I’m not trying to get rid of you, but there’s no point us both being here. I’m not even sure they’ll let us see him in the morning.”
Emily looked at the younger woman thoughtfully: “Yes – all right. You’ll – you’ll tell me if there are any changes, won’t you?”
Angela nodded. Emily stood up wearily and made her way to the door. Just before opening it, she turned back towards Angela and whispered, mindful of the other occupant of the room: “She saved him, you know? She saved his life.”
Angela looked at her nonplussed: “I’m sorry?”
“Greyson – she performed CPR on your father when his heart stopped. She saved his life.”
Emily disappeared before Angela had time to answer. Anyway, Angela was too exhausted to take the older woman’s words in fully. Her first thought was: “Well, now I’ll have to say thank you.” Then she sank back in one of the armchairs and tried to think about the weeks ahead – would her father need a carer? When would he get out of the hospital? Would he have after-effects? She fell asleep as she was wondering whether she should call her brothers immediately or wait until she had more news.
Greyson came back to the hospital around eight. Emily had sent her back home almost immediately, telling her there was no point in them both losing a night’s sleep, and since the older woman hadn’t been in the mood to argue, Greyson had conceded the point and left. This morning, however, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She managed to see the night nurse and sighed with relief when she was told Edgar hadn’t had any further troubles during the night. Maybe those good news would help convince Emily to go home. When Greyson came in the family room with coffee and a pain au chocolat for her colleague, the first person she saw was Angela, her red hair a stark contrast to the green fabric armchair she was sleeping on. The redhead looked much younger asleep, with the worry lines smoothed out, tousled hair and smudged mascara. Greyson had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing away a stray red lock. Angela looked impossibly young, in fact, and Greyson’s heart constricted – why would she be interested in her? A woman, and a woman much older than her. She smothered the little inner voice telling her that many years ago, she had fallen for Elaine, who had been twelve years older than her…And look where it brought you – she broke your heart, smashed it into a thousand pieces, answered another little voice. But before that – we were happy… Or had they really been happy? The duelling voices waged war in her head as Greyson watched Angela sleep. At least the younger woman had come – it meant she had listened to her stupid message – and probably sent Emily home to rest. So maybe she should just go home too – after all… Just then, Angela shifted in the armchair and rubbed her eyes, and the temptation was too great – she would just say hi, reassure the redhead her father would indeed be fine and leave.
“I didn’t
hear you come in but I felt your eyes on me, Vicar.”
Greyson mutely handed Angela the cup of coffee and the pain au chocolat she was still holding and sat down.
“I’m sorry for waking you up. You needed the rest. And – I’m sorry for my message, yesterday – it wasn’t very…Well, very…”
“Very informative? Very reassuring? Very articulate?”
Greyson blushed and looked at her hands: “Well, yes – all of that. Sorry…”
“Just stop apologising, will you? Somehow, it makes things worse. And – actually, I have to apologise too. I haven’t thanked you for the flowers – and the chocolates – and the wine. They were – very much appreciated, but you didn’t have to. Really. I tend to – be a little quick off the mark… I’m still not happy about you not telling me – and I’m still not quite sure what I feel about you being a vicar, or why I care, but – you didn’t need to apologise. And – I want to thank you, too. Emily – she said you saved my dad. Thank you.”
Greyson couldn’t get any redder: “Just part of the job, Ms Arlingham – no need to thank me.”
Angela stared at the coffee cup: “See? That’s exactly why I don’t get it. You’re a good doctor – well, from what I’ve seen, anyway. Why would you want to give that up for religion? For a non-existent being supposed to live in the sky?”
There was such contempt in Angela’s last words that Greyson flinched: “I understand – I hope some day you’ll find your way back, but… I promise I’m not going to ram religion down your throat at every possible moment. And anyway…There are some thing I don’t exactly accept myself, you know – but I try to have faith nonetheless. As for the why – do you have a few hours? Because if I get into the details… But basically… First, I don’t think it was really a choice – I’m not saying that one day the heavens opened and I saw an angel who told me to become a vicar, but … You know, when people speak of a “calling”… It’s a little like that. Which doesn’t mean that I obeyed immediately – even now, I can’t quite seem to give up medicine. At first I tried to resist – I didn’t want to… And then … They make you jump through hoops! It’s not that easy – maybe not as hard as med school, but the whole interview process is certainly no piece of cake…They call it the Discernment Process. But anyway…I yielded, I went through the hoops, and… I’m trying my best to do what God wants me to do…
Angela tensed and she squashed the pain au chocolat with her fist: “Those are the practicalities, Vicar… But why do you even believe there is a God? A God who would let thousands of people, among them children, being killed every day? Among them my own daughter, who had her whole life ahead of her?”
“Next time I’ll buy you a pancake – you won’t have to flatten it….” Angela gave her a withering look and Greyson bit her lips: “Sorry – that was terrible.”
Angela sighed: “For someone supposed to preach the good word, you’ve got a surprisingly bad way with timing and words, Vicar.” She took the pastry out of its bag, tearing it in halves: “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t bite your head off – here.” She handed Greyson one half of the pastry: “Peace offering?” Greyson took it and began distractedly to unroll the layers of puff pastries, exposing the chocolate bar and nibbling it first. Sensing Angela’s eyes on her, she blushed again: “What?
“Nothing – nothing – just watching you dissecting this poor pastry. But come on, Greyson, you’re a scientist – how can you believe in all that crap! Dead people watching over you and everything!”
“Well…maybe not that, no, but…”
Greyson paused, trying to find the best way to explain her faith. Finally, she said: “Look, Angela, do you play poker?”
“Occasionally, yes.”
“Are you a gambler?”
“I can be.”
“Well, I am- just ask the men I played with when I was still serving. And the fact is… I don’t want to sound flippant, but… I think God is a gamble I have to take. I guess you’ve heard of Pascal’s Wager?”
Angela nodded.
“Well, it’s like this – if God exists and I do what I think He’s expecting of me… Only good things can happen later, and I might be able to find peace within myself. If He doesn’t …well, I won’t really have lost anything, will I? Except maybe my sanity, because – well, like I told you, I definitely felt called to the priesthood.”
Angela considered Greyson’s answer: “I suppose not – except a GP’s salary...”
Greyson grimaced: “I’m not in it for money, that’s for sure. But – well, a GP’s salary isn’t that stupendous either. And I’ve got no kids, so – I don’t need oodles of money.”
Angela could understand that – not needing a huge salary. Otherwise she would never have gone into teaching in the first place. She still couldn’t understand, however, how a level-headed woman who’d seen first-hand the horrors of war could still believe in God, let alone ditch a perfectly good career to serve Him. “Did you have support?” Angela asked curiously. “Your family? Your partner?” She had no idea if the vicar had ever been married, but she might as well use the opportunity to inquire discreetly.
Greyson’s face darkened and she bit her lips, wondering whether she should open her heart to Angela. The hospital’s family room, with its stark lights and worn furniture, didn’t exactly seem like a place for confidences. She sighed: “Support? No – not really. I don’t have any family – well, my mother, but I never told her about it, and now she isn’t able to understand anymore. As for my partner… Well, when I broached the idea to her – no, I can’t say she was exactly supportive. Actually, she thought I was nuts. She suggested I was probably burning out and ought to go and see a shrink… So – no, she didn’t understand – but she had her reasons…”
Chapter 22
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Emily Dickinson
The truth was, when Greyson had told Elaine about maybe giving up medicine for the Church, Elaine had not been in a good place, and Greyson hadn’t noticed. She’d thought they loved each other, and that love would be enough. She hadn’t for one moment imagined Elaine would leave. She had thought they were solid – for a frequently long-distance relationship, theirs had beaten the odds. Nine years together – including three years of hiding their love from the Army. Three years of “don’t ask don’t tell”. Three years, before the new millennium had brought them acceptance from the Forces, of risking being court-martialled and thrown out for just being in love. The weight of being under permanent scrutiny had tested their relationship to the utmost. When they had been billeted together, intimacy had been impossible – even though as officers they had their own rooms, locking the door would have been suspicious.
During her first year with Elaine, Greyson had almost called it quits. Too dangerous. She struggled. With the idea of having been married to a man almost as much as with being in love with a woman. It scared her, and secrecy made matters worse. She had no one to confide in, and the stress of having to live an almost double life played on her nerves. She became jumpy and irritable. After Rinteln, Elaine had been transferred back to Queen Alexandra’s Hospital in Portsmouth, while Greyson had had to remain in Germany to finish her assignment, this time in another military hospital near Hannover. Even though Elaine had managed to find outside accommodation, anything suspicious in their communications would have been discovered. They had invented their own personal code during one of Greyson’s leaves – the universal language of lovers adapted for the circumstances. Greyson could remember them giggling on the sofa as they made up their code… “So, if I say “I miss pistachio ice cream”, it means I miss you, darling.”
“And if I say “I’ve just baked a chocolate cake”, it means “I wish you were here.” And they had both decided that saying “au revoir” inste
ad of “bye bye” would mean “I love you.”
Greyson had always been more of a loner, but the nurses – as a young female army GP, she was still an oddity – refused to let her isolate herself and invited her repeatedly to join them for drinks at the mess bar or for the NAAFI discos. They finally wore her down and she joined them a few times, finding that on the whole, being with them helped take her mind off from missing Elaine. They also all bunked together in the same annexe, so even if Greyson had wanted, she couldn’t really avoid them. One night, as she was just falling asleep after a particularly arduous shift, Greyson woke up abruptly, disturbed by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, knocking and a door slamming open. For a minute or two, she thought she had been dreaming – all the other residents of the annexe worked awkward hours, and they all tried to be as quiet as possible. She wondered whether to get up and investigate – finally, she decided that she could always said she had had to use the loo. She did just that, not noticing anything amiss in the corridors, and it wasn’t until she was on her way back to her room that she discovered the source of the noise – Sandra Watts, one of the nurses she had become friendly with, was being marched out of her room in full dress uniform by a man and a woman with the telltale red beret. The woman also carried a big bulging black bag. Too exhausted to really wonder about the disturbing occurrence, Greyson fell into a fretful sleep. She didn’t even think about it the next morning, having convinced herself it must have been a bad dream. Two days later, she and the nurses living in the same annexe received orders to present themselves for questioning by the Military Police Special Investigation Branch and the penny began to drop. During the two hours she spent closeted in a small, airless room with a MP officer, answering questions about Sandra, her replies meticulously jotted down by the officer, Greyson died a thousand deaths. Although she could say truthfully that no, she had never seen Captain Sandra Watts come out of another woman’s room, that the Captain had never made sexual advances to her, nor written letters of any kind, and that she had no knowledge of any relationship between Sandra and another woman, Greyson just couldn’t help imagining she could be the one being accused of “unnatural acts and behaviour”. She had thought Sandra could be a lesbian, but the Captain had been extremely careful and had even flirted with male officers on occasions. When Sandra came back to work a few days later, she explained why she had been targeted – she had had a brief affair with another nurse and she had been denounced by an anonymous letter.