by Aimée
Sandra had been forced to resign her commission and leave the army shortly afterwards, narrowly avoiding being court-martialled - except for the letter, the MP hadn’t found any incriminating evidence. During her next leave, Greyson had tried to end it with Elaine. Even though the older woman wasn’t living in military accommodation anymore, Greyson had insisted Elaine burnt all the letters she had ever sent her, in her presence. She wasn’t afraid for herself as much as for her lover. Greyson had seen first-hand how the Army’s witch’s hunt had destroyed Sandra’s career and life – she couldn’t bear to think it might happen to Elaine because of her. As a young doctor, she was still at the beginning of her career and could contemplate working as a civilian, but Elaine had spent her whole life rising through the ranks to a position few women could boast of, and being charged with unnatural conduct, possibly with conduct unbecoming an officer would ruin her life. Elaine had put Greyson’s doubts and panic on the trauma of separation and had tried to allay her fears, but she had finally accepted that Greyson wanted to sever their relationship. Two weeks after she had gone back to Germany, Greyson had phoned Elaine in tears and said she couldn’t do it – it was too painful to consider a future without her. Elaine had begged for a weekend off, flown to Hannover and they had spent two nights in a hotel, not leaving the room – fewer chances of being found out and more time in bed…
And eight years later, when Greyson had come back from Afghanistan on leave and had found their flat empty and all of Elaine’s belongings gone, she had thought she would die. Of a broken heart, most probably, but that would have taken too long - she had almost hastened her own demise by contemplating her service weapon and wondering if she would dare…
It still hurt – even more than ten years later, the wounds were still prone to bleeding at odd times and thinking about Elaine had certainly stirred up painful memories. Even now, she blamed herself for Elaine leaving. She hadn’t understood. She hadn’t seen anything. She had swallowed Elaine’s lies, she had let herself be convinced that her lover would be all right, that she had overcome her ordeal. She had wanted to believe Elaine would be fine, and that their relationship would survive. She had been wrong. Terribly wrong.
Angela noticed how Greyson’s face had closed up and decided it was neither the time nor place to probe further. She wanted to tell the blonde that yes, she was nuts – as mad as a hatter – as naïve as – as anyone who could believe in a supreme being who would let children kill themselves. But Greyson’s face had for a moment shown a grief as acute as her own, and she couldn’t bring herself to badger her about her faith any further. Anyway, before she had time to say anything, Greyson muttered something about having to go to work and hurried out of the room, leaving Angela to wonder what had gone so wrong in Greyson’s previous relationship that the mere mention of her partner would make the doctor all but run out of the room, distraught. Angela sighed and decided she might as well go and inquire about her father’s condition – after all, Greyson had brought reassuring news but she still hadn’t been able to see him.
Instead of driving to the surgery, Greyson sat in her car at the hospital, staring unseeingly at the wheel. She had just planned on a lightning visit to comfort Emily, and instead she had been drafted into an explanation of her faith and distressing reminiscences of her life with Elaine. When she had told Angela she still struggled sometimes, she had been thinking of what Elaine had gone through. Of what thousands of women went through and kept quiet, just as Elaine had done at first. Of what Elaine had finally thrown at her like a grenade, in a middle of a discussion.
As a senior officer, Elaine had had a choice– her skills as an expert trauma surgeon made her an asset anywhere, but she was at her best in a war zone, as Greyson used to be too. Elaine had wanted to go. Both had been dedicated RAMC officers, and with the army finally accepting their sexual orientation, they had been ready to serve their country for the rest of their careers. In fact, not three months before Elaine had left to join Operation Herrick in Afghanistan, they had both gone to Buckingham Palace… In her dress uniform, Greyson had stood at attention before the Queen to receive the Military Cross. She had wanted to refuse it, because in her opinion she had only done her duty. The fact that during her previous deployment she had performed a tracheotomy and stabilised another’s patient open head wound while rockets whizzed overhead was for her no reason to get a medal, and so had she argued with her Commanding Officer, but the Colonel had told her in no uncertain terms that she would just have to grin and bear it, because no one refused the MC, not even “Lieutenant-Colonel bloody Walsden”. So maybe Elaine had just been champing at the bit to go to the newly established Camp Bastion Hospital in the Helmand Province. Some would have said she was jealous of her younger partner, but Greyson knew Elaine had been proud of her. In fact, when she had told the older woman she didn’t want the medal, Elaine had torn a strip off her…
So Elaine had gone off to Camp Bastion, and when she had come back three months later, she had been – quiet. Subdued. She had barely eaten during the first days of their reunion. She had barely spoken to Greyson, either. And at night, she had rolled to the far end of the bed, wrapped herself in a blanket and refused all contact. In fact, chaste, fleeting kisses on the lips had hardly helped re-established their connection and had left Greyson worried and unsatisfied. It had taken Elaine several weeks to break out of the ice prison she had built around herself and even then she had refused to talk to Greyson – either about her deployment or about the cause of her isolation. Their nights had remained lonely, and although Elaine had thawed sufficiently to allow Greyson to hold her, she had still refused anything more intimate.
Greyson was not a talker by nature. She had never found it easy to share her feelings. It hadn’t been encouraged during her childhood, and she had learnt to inhibit her emotions, to hide her empathy and her loving nature under a mask of aloofness and silence, a useful skill to have as a doctor, but a handicap in her personal life. As a vicar, she wouldn’t have any safeguard - although the clothes did offer some distance, some detachment, she would have to reach inside for the parts of herself she had buried. An arduous path, one she had been steadily treading on since the beginning of her career change. With Elaine, she hadn’t known how to convey her concern. And since she hadn’t been able to talk about their relationship, she had talked about her project – about how she suspected she had been called by God to serve Him. She couldn’t have found a worst moment to share – Elaine had called her a delusional fool and stalked out. A few days later, Elaine had finally exploded and told her. Not everything, just the bare bones, but enough for Greyson to understand why her partner had retreated into herself. She had reached out and embraced her, and for the first time since her return, Elaine had cried in her arms. From the few details Elaine had shared, Greyson had pieced together the whole ordeal and ended up with a horrendous picture. Having been to Camp Bastion herself had made Elaine’s experience all too real for her – the tent hospital in the middle of the Afghan desert, shadows lurking in the night, the sounds of gunfire adding a macabre background… Elaine, overtired after a day in theatre, catching the chance of a shower in the makeshift cubicles, letting the cold water dilute the grime and tiredness, closing her eyes and… The men coming from the darkness – she had had no chance, naked against two soldiers. She had tried to fight them off but had seen the futility of her attempts and had curled into a ball on the floor. They had yanked her by the hair, pried her legs apart and taken turns…
Elaine had cleaned herself as best as she could, explained the bruises on her face and arms by a fall in the darkness, and had buried her trauma deep under layers of work and silence. The tests she had done on herself some days later had come back clear, and that had been the only mercy. She had come back to Greyson dead inside, and when she had left for good, two months after her revelation, her letter had told Greyson not to look for her – an order Greyson had immediately attempted to disobey. She had even been to Elaine’s c
ommanding officer, to be sharply rebuffed. Greyson had never seen Elaine again – more than ten years later, she had no idea if Elaine was dead or alive, but she was coming to the realisation that she couldn’t let her past decide her future. Elaine wouldn’t come back. She had to live again. But she couldn’t forgive. The two soldiers had destroyed two lives, and although she wanted to hold them solely responsible, she couldn’t help blaming God for forsaking Elaine that blasted night. And wanting to kill the men responsible, although she prayed daily for acceptance and forgiveness.
Chapter 23
Therefore take up the whole armour of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day —to stand firm having done all. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet, prepare yourselves with the gospel of peace. That's not all: take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Ephesians 6:13-17
As she dressed for the final step of her new life, Greyson couldn’t help thinking of the similarities between the Army and the Church. Paul had called the Ephesians to battle and conscripted Christians into battle against evil for the love of God. Her ordination clothes did not include the weapons she had had to bear during her years of service, but they bore a close resemblance to a dress uniform. Learning to iron the perfect crease in her trousers during her days at Sandhurst certainly stood her in good stead now, although her black trousers would be hidden under a long black cassock for most of the day – also ironed to perfection. Instead of the navy blue jacket and skirt with red and gold trimmings she had last worn to receive the Military Cross from the Queen, she would wear a traditional cassock over black trousers and a black clerical shirt, and cover the cassock with a white surplice, with a white embroidered stole around her neck . The first time she had worn the cassock – compulsory for compline during the pre-ordination retreat, Greyson had commiserated with women from early times who had to wear long skirts – the long black vestment was almost as cumbersome as combat dress, if a little lighter. She had stumbled more than once on the way to the chapel and back, and she prayed she wouldn’t make a fool of herself during the ceremony. Walking in step for the procession – easy! The Forces elevated marching to a fine art. Kneeling straight-backed for more than twenty minutes would tax her fiftyish year-old body, but she would offer her pain to God. And if she fell flat on her face – well, she didn’t have anyone coming to see her become a priest, anyway. Emily had promised she would be there, but at the last minute her substitue had fallen ill, and now she would have to lead the service in her church instead of being at the cathedral for Greyson.
During the non-silent hours of the retreat – not necessarily the easiest for her – she had heard the other ordinands talk about ordination gifts they had received and post-ordination parties they were planning. At least she didn’t have to bother about such details. Emily had given her a care package just before she had left for the retreat, and she had been grateful for the small whisky flask, the huge chocolate bar and the “Prayers for those who are too busy to pray” book, but she wasn’t expecting anymore fuss about herself. After all, no one except Emily knew about the ceremony. She hadn’t had anyone to tell. She couldn’t tell her mother – her mind was too far gone for her to understand, she hadn’t told her goddaughter yet, nor her few army pals scattered around the world, and she hadn’t told her colleagues at the surgery the exact date. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t alone – she had God by her side – but she couldn’t help feeling lonely. Inevitably, her thoughts fled to the one person she wished she had told, knowing how ludicrous it would have sounded. Angela would have laughed at her. Or she would have looked at her pityingly – that would have been much worse. She had had no news since she had seen her at the hospital, more than three weeks earlier. She knew from Emily that Angela’s father was out of danger and back home. Anyway, she wasn’t a ten-years-old wanting friends to play with – she was a grown-up woman, and she didn’t need anyone. Moreover, a new relationship would be fraught with difficulties – what woman would understand the current demands of the Church? And would she herself be able to obey if she really fell in love?
Greyson sank to her knees – like every morning, every evening, she obeyed Paul’s order to the Ephesians: “Pray and plead about everything. Pray in all seasons. Pray in the Spirit.” She prayed for guidance, humility, strength, forgiveness and courage. For the humility she needed on her new path. For the strength she would need to respect the rules, even though she didn’t agree with them. For the forgiveness she still craved about her relationship with Elaine. For the courage she needed to start again. She thought about the deaconesses in Kenya – of their unselfish welcome and their unfailing faith, of their simple joy and their commitment. She hoped she would be able to follow their example. When she rose, she slept carefully into the cassock and took a deep breath – thirty minutes to go before the ceremony. She needed to focus. She couldn’t let her mind wander on the soft traits of a face framed with red hair…
The ceremony passed in a blur. Not expecting anyone, Greyson didn’t look in the crowd and immersed herself completely in the experience. The laying of hands by the bishop and the other attending clergy gave her a moment of intense discomfort – for someone who didn’t like being touched, that step of the ceremony was quite an ordeal – but otherwise she could feel herself being filled with a peace she had never experienced before, and she tuned out everything else. When she and the other newly ordained priests stepped out and their group split, the others joining their relatives and friends, Greyson blinked, blinded by the sunlight after the darkness of the cathedral. A sudden, overpowering feeling of misery engulfed her and she swallowed hard. She knew she had just taken the first step on her new path, and yet she felt close to tears. Slowly, she made her way to the vestry, where they had left their personal belongings. She disrobed carefully, hung the cassock and the surplice, folded the stole and sank in a chair, head in her hands. She could have cried, or screamed, but she didn’t want anyone to notice her. So she just sat there in silence, empty, not even able to find the words to pray and hoping God would read them into her soul.
The sound of hurried footsteps barely registered and when the door burst open, Greyson didn’t have time to reach for a tissue. She lifted a tear-stained face towards the intruder, and her eyes widened when she saw who had disturbed her.
“Angela! What are you doing here?”
Angela’s first reaction was to cross the floor and to take Greyson in her arms. She had attended the ceremony, not much impressed by all the pump and the whole religious mumbo-jumbo, but the obvious joy on the faces of newly ordained priests hadn’t escaped her. When Emily had told her Greyson would be alone for her great day, she had murmured a few dismissive platitudes, and wondered why the older woman had bothered. After all, Emily knew her views on religion. But the date had stuck in a corner of her head and on that evening, she had found herself jotting it down in her diary. And the day before, she had looked on the cathedral’s website and noted the time of the service. She had gone to bed with the firm intention of spending her day shopping for a new jacket, having her hair cut and maybe enjoying a nice, long, leisurely lunch with a good book, and yet, on the morning of the ordination, she had frantically searched her wardrobe for the “right” clothes and had left for the cathedral with a good twenty minutes to spare. She had seen Greyson escape after the ceremony but before she’d had time to follow her, she had been cornered by an old student and her family and she had had to stay and make polite chit-chat for a few minutes. Finally, she had managed to escape, and one of the cathedral’s staff members had pointed her towards the vestry. She had wondered whether Greyson would be happy to see her, but she hadn’t exactly planned on having to comfort a crying woman.
Being held by Angela had made Greyson’s resolve not to make a fuss dissolve
and she just stopped holding it and her sobs racked her whole body. Angela just went on holding her, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing nonsense, just like she had done to Sybil when she was a toddler. Finally, Greyson sniffed and reached for a tissue. Angela remained silent, having no idea what to say.