by Ivan B
At about ten o’clock the doorbell rang and Aquinas, as usual, beat Peter to the door by about fifteen seconds. Peter opened the door to find a young woman who gave a casual wave.
“Hi,” she said, “I’m Jo”.
Peter stood transfixed; Mark had not warned him. Jo was about five feet tall, maybe slightly less as she was wearing seriously high-heeled boots of the chunky variety. She was clad in a sloppy mauve jumper and a pair of faded blue, slightly flared, jeans. However, that is not what riveted Peter’s attention. She was sporting thick dark blue lipstick, deep pink eye-shadow and had close cropped platinum blonde hair with a dark coloured ‘rats tail’ that hung between her shoulder blades. She also had more rings and studs than Peter thought possible. Her face could have been pretty, she certainly had intriguing deep blue eyes, but her nose seemed to have been totally squashed and twisted into her face. In this apology for a nose she had the biggest nose ring he had ever seen, it totally dominated her appearance. Peter thought that she looked absolutely grotesque.
“Thirty two” she said in a sort of neutral accent with a hint of Suffolk.
“Thirty two?” echoed Peter
“Thirty two studs and rings, would you like a run down?”
Peter realised that he had been very rude.
“I’m sorry”, he said, “I’d forgotten you were coming. Do come in.”
Jo entered and immediately made a fuss of Aquinas, rubbing both his ears and then tickling his chest.
“Used to dogs?” said Peter
“Brought up on a farm. What do you want cleaned and how often?”
“All of it including both staircases, except for two rooms upstairs.”
“Both staircases?”
“Yes there is this large one off the hall and a smaller one off the back of the kitchen. I guess there were servants here at some time.”
Peter paused to think.
“Tell you what, you look round and I’ll fix us a coffee. The rooms upstairs are labelled, product of a previous incumbent, so you can leave the Main-Bedroom and Minty’s Room alone’. OK?”
With that Jo wandered off and Peter disappeared into the kitchen.
It was not quite what Jo had imagined. First of all the vicar was obviously single; Mark had not warned her about that. Secondly he had a large hairy dog and large hairy dogs usually leave large hairy bits all over the place. And finally Peter did not look like a vicar; he looked more like a university professor. He could also do with a haircut, still like owner, like dog she mused as she wandered around. Although she knew the vicarage from the outside appearance she had never been in it before and was struck both by the size of the house and the paucity of furniture in it. Upstairs, a pair of double doors separated the first floor bedrooms from the staircase that wound round the hall as it climbed. Behind these doors lay an inner landing and the bedrooms, which proved to be mostly unused. One back bedroom was totally empty; one had only a prayer desk and a cross propped up against the wall and the smallest he was using for his bedroom. His sleeping arrangements were unusual, but that was his business. Obeying his instructions she ignored the main-bedroom and ‘Minty’s Room’ to move onto the Bathroom. It was huge, with one solitary electric toothbrush. The stairs continued up and there was an attic across the top of the house. It was totally empty. She wandered across it and down the back spiral staircase into the utility room – one washer-dryer and an ali-baba linen basket. Then there was the kitchen; it too was huge with vast areas of worktop and a breakfast bar. Like the rest of the house it was mostly bare with just a ‘fridge, microwave, toaster, kettle, and nothing else. Is this guy a monk she asked herself? He certainly doesn’t go in for luxuries. Downstairs there was a spacious hall with an old two-seat pew, a sitting room (unused) and his study. That stopped her in her tracks; it was a mess, doubtless an organised mess, but a mess none the less. There were books everywhere; shelves of them; piles of them and a packing case still full of them. Papers were strewn about on the desk and there were three piles of box-folders on the floor. The only bit of sanity in the room was an old leather armchair with a coffee table next to it. On the coffee table was one book, a bible. ‘Well what do you expect,’ she murmured to herself. She crossed the hall to what she thought must be the lounge where she could hear Peter talking to the dog. The lounge was big; running the entire length of the house, in it there was a tired three-piece suite and a coffee table and acres of empty space. Like the rest of the house, there was no TV.
“Well?” said Peter.
“Do I have to tidy your study?”
“Goodness no! Please no, I’d never find anything. Just dust and Hoover it.”
She stroked her small chin.
“Take two mornings a week; say Tuesday and Thursday, if you like I’ll also bath the dog every other week.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”
She pointed to Aquinas, who obligingly scratched himself behind the ears.
“Keep the dog clean with a fortnightly groom to remove loose fur and we have a hope of keeping the house clean” she replied firmly.
“Done,” said Peter and they then haggled over the rate of pay.
Jo was pleasantly surprised, he haggled her up from her starting offer, not down; saying something about a workman being worthy of their hire.
After that they both relaxed slightly, the difficult bit over.
Jo reached for her coffee.
“Not much furniture, do you intend to get more?”
He shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.
“No, I have enough, I would have installed myself in the studio flat above the garages out the back if it wasn’t for Aquinas; he needs the room”.
He reached in his pocket and gave Jo a key.
“I won’t always be here when you come; I guess you can find what you need in the kitchen. If not leave a note and I’ll get it by the next time you come. Help yourself to coffee and biscuits. I definitely won’t be here on Thursdays, the Bishop has dumped a Diocesan committee on me, and it meets Thursday mornings.”
She was quite taken aback; she had not expected him to trust her with a key, especially after his hesitant response at the front door.
Peter shuffled slightly.
“There is one thing I have to ask.”
Here it comes thought Jo, he’s going to ask me about my morals and will I be bringing his house into disrepute.
Peter continued. “I sometimes leave papers lying around you might notice, and sometimes you might hear me on the phone. Please can you keep anything you see and hear confidential?”
“Of course!”
Peter stood up; the interview - if that’s what it had been - was at an end. He showed her to the door. As she was leaving she turned to face him.
The other two rooms upstairs I could include them in the price you know.”
He shook his head firmly.
“No thank you, I’d rather you didn’t go in those rooms I have stuff in them that is personal to me.”
As they shook hands Peter couldn’t help noticing the ring in the little flap of skin between thumb and forefinger, with that, the tongue studs and lip-ring, Peter felt quite queasy. As Peter watched her go down the drive, he decided that he was out of touch with modern culture, but if that’s the type of hideous apparel that modern culture produced he was glad he was.
Peter then went to the conference and Aquinas took a holiday with Jane, the Vicar of Glumburgh. This left the house empty. Jo cleaned in the house three times during his absence. The first time it took her half an hour to find the cleaning materials. She searched every under-work-top cupboard and only found a well used electric wok. Eventually she located the cleaning gear on the top shelf of a wall cupboard. She had to manoeuvre the bottles off the shelf using a broom handle and catch them when they fell as there was no way of reaching them. Inevitably one of the bottles had a loose top and of course that was the one she failed to catch; it bounced off of the worktop and onto the floor covering her with pi
ne scented fluid on the way. Later that same morning she could not find the vacuum cleaner, again a search of the likely haunts proved fruitless. Eventually she discovered it in Aquinas’ cupboard hidden behind the door. On her third visit she decided to make herself a coffee and opened the freezer instead of the ‘fridge. Four shelves were packed with meals for one, all neatly labelled with their sell by dates; the top shelf had rice, mince, and oriental vegetables. Boring she thought; how boring. During that visit she decided to try and dust the study and couldn’t help noticing that there were a pile of books on his desk, all of them were on transvestism. She wondered then about those ‘forbidden’ rooms, but decided that it was none of her business and left for home.
Peter returned home an hour after her third visit and immediately tackled the post and surveyed his diary. He read over the various cards from well wishers, over a cup of coffee in the kitchen. He couldn’t help noticing the strong smell of fresh pine and the general cleanliness of the house. The cards were varied and all wishing him well, one card was slightly different, the one from Jo. The card showed two penguins skiing down a steep slope towards a precipice below which were a group of hungry crocodiles. One penguin was saying to the other ‘See it’s easy, nothing can possible go wrong’. He chuckled to himself and hoped the card wasn’t too prophetic. He turned the card over and noticed a small motif in the corner; it had been printed by The St Cedd Press, Lastingham. He made a mental note of the address as he had a former colleague soon to be made a professor of a theological college and wondered about sending a duplicate card. The diary was ominous; on Friday he had his licensing, the next day a special Church Council meeting (called while he was away) and on Sunday he would lead his first service at St Nathaniel’s. That gave Peter less than 48 hours before his work would start in earnest.
The licensing service proved to be a crowded affair and Peter was surprised at how many people turned out. There was even a coach load of parishioners from his old parish. Peter had welcomed them by boarding their coach and speaking to them using the driver’s microphone. In closing he asked them that as a favour to him they would not mention to anyone why he had left his old parish in such a hurry.
Despite his misgivings the licensing service went well. Jane Sato led it in her capacity as RuralDean and the Bishop preached. The Archdeacon should have been involved, but he was away on an extended holiday in Australia and not due back for a month or so. The church put on a grand spread afterwards at the golf club. As Peter ate his third exquisite miniature éclair he realissed why the church council tolerated Roger: they didn’t have a church hall so they needed the golf club for functions. The whole affair had one sour note and one surprise for the congregation. Just before the service started a visibly angered Dan cornered Peter in the vestry. He virtually spat his words at Peter.
“I told you I would not play Will Your Anchor Hold” he snarled, “and I will not be bounced into playing it just because you have put it on your printed order of service. Choose something else or you can try and sing it unaccompanied!”
Peter, trying to keep calm, replied in as even a voice as he could manage given his own inner tension.
“I don’t expect you to play it, I have made other arrangements.”
Dan became red faced and vitriolic, “You have to get all organists cleared by the council, you can’t use just anybody.”
Peter had answered stiffly, more stiffly than he intended.
“We shan’t be using the organ.”
Dan had stalked off with a face like thunder.
When Jane got to the part of the service where that hymn was to be sung she announced, with a smile, “We will now have a special hymn that is a particular favourite of Peter’s. As it has a sea shanty flavour Peter will provide the accompaniment.”
At which point Peter stood up and walked to the front, grinned at the congregation and pulled a concertina out of its case. He held it close to a microphone and played the first few bars of Will Your Anchor Hold. The congregation sang it lustily.
After the service Peter was still in the vestry with the Bishop when Dan burst back in.
“You’ve only been here five minutes,” he spat, “So I’ll forgive your ignorance, but the church decided years ago that the only instruments allowed to be played in the church are of the organ or piano variety!”
Peter faced Dan; he was not going to be intimidated.
“I am well aware of that particular ruling, and I think it is out of order, but in any case a concertina is technically an organ as it uses air blown over reeds to generate the sound.”
Peter thought that Dan was about to explode, but he continued to make a further point
“And if you wish to discuss this sort of matter please could we do it in a sensible manner and not by barging into my vestry at the end of a service!”
Dan was temporarily speechless, so the Bishop diplomatically filled the gap.
“Time to go and meet the congregation I think,” he said politely as he led Peter out of the vestry.
After the service Peter was putting his vestments away in the vestry when he heard the strains of Rule Britannia being played on his concertina. He looked out and saw Mark grinning from ear to ear and alternately squeezing and expanding the bellows.
“Where did you learn to play one of them? No don’t tell me; you’re a fisherman you used to play one on the cold dark nights away from home.”
“Not likely,” replied Mark. “When I was laid up in hospital one of the physiotherapists lent me one to stop me going balmy. I tell you it nearly got thrown out of the window a few times before I got the hang of it. How about you?”
“When I was at university my tutor said that university should broaden our minds as well as stuff them full of knowledge. He said he would advise us all to do something unexpected while we were there, something we might never have otherwise attempted. My friends went parachute jumping and pot-holing; I joined the accordion society and learnt to play the concertina.”
Peter thought for a minute, “How about getting together for a jam session, who knows we might make harmonious melodies.”
“And we might cause the cats to emigrate,” laughed Mark, “but I’m game if you are.”
The following afternoon Peter made his way over to the church for the special council meeting. He had planned his strategy, but was still apprehensive as to whether or not he could pull it off. He waited until 3pm and looked around the room; there were only the people he had met at the Majors. By opting for an afternoon meeting all the council members who worked or had young families could not attend and it was a trick that they, according to the previous minutes, had used before. However, Peter intended to scupper the meeting. At precisely three the Major welcomed Peter to his first meeting and sat down. Dan was immediately on his feet, “Mr Chairman I would like to table an item.”
Peter cut him short.
“Sit down Dan we are not going to discuss anything.”
Silence reigned and Peter let his words sink in.
Peter continued after a few seconds had ticked by; it seemed like an eternity.
“This meeting has been called with less than fourteen days notice, and without an agenda being sent with the letter of notification, it is therefore illegal and I will not let it continue.”
The Major sat bolt upright.
“Can’t we at least discuss the issues at hand?”
“No” said Peter firmly, at least he hoped it was firmly as his knees were beginning to shake. “I will not grace this meeting with any semblance of legitimacy”.
Henry, who had been thumbing through the Churchwarden’s handbook, looked up.
“Vicars right you know, it says here quite clearly that fourteen days notice are required, and a specific agenda issued, to have a special meeting.”
And that was that. Peter got up and strode out of the church and went home.
As Peter expected he had only been home a few minutes when the Major, Henry, Cameron, and Sam turned up o
n his doorstep. Peter invited them in. Once settled in the lounge the Major, as the obvious unofficial spokesman, coughed as a prelude to opening up.
“Peter, can we at least have a meeting of the standing committee.”
Peter smiled to himself, he had also expected this.
“What is so urgent that it can’t wait four weeks until the next tabled council meeting?”
Henry spoke up, “It’s not that there’s anything desperately urgent, but… ”
Peter cut across him.
“I’m sorry Henry, but looking over the last few years council minutes it’s plain to see that things have not been conducted properly and in order and within the law.”
Cameron went on to the attack.
“Do you mean Canon law or real law?”
“Both” replied Peter swiftly, “In fact I have a good mind to take the matter to the press and expose just how this church has been run over the last few years.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Peter thought about his discussion with the Bishop following Dan’s outburst. The Bishop had made it quite clear that if Peter was going to take a tough line he had to do it from the start; at least he had promised his backing.
Finally Henry, the eternal lawyer, spoke up.
“Would you care to clarify that?” He asked scathingly.
“How long have you got?” said Peter. “Meetings called without due process; meetings called at times when people can’t attend; and meetings taking decisions that they are not empowered to make.”
More silence followed this.
The Major spoke next standing up as he did so.
“Well you give us no choice: if that is your opinion of us I’m afraid we’ll have to write to the Bishop to get you removed.”
“Sorry to disillusion you,” said Peter, “But the Bishop can’t remove me.”
“What!” Sam and Henry chorused together.