by Ivan B
He looked at Peter.
“Don’t pin your hopes on her, we’ve cut the phone line and our colleagues outside. Now, the money.”
Peter could smell peppermint on his breath; he’d also noticed a knuckle-duster on his left hand, but again before he could say anything the kitchen door opened, but this time it was not Jo but Aquinas. Now Aquinas was already a big dog by Old English Sheepdog standards, but standing in the doorway with his hackles up and teeth bared he looked even bigger. The short one jerked.
“Call your dog off.”
“Only if you back off,” in a voice he hoped showed at least a little authority.
Aquinas made the decision for them; he slowly started to walk forward one pace at a time, growling deeply in his throat. To Peter’s utter surprise the short one wet himself. Both men stepped back slightly; Aquinas kept coming.
“Stay,” said Peter.
Aquinas ignored him. The two men moved off to the side of Peter farthest from the dog.
“Stay, “said Peter.
Aquinas still ignored him and kept advancing. The two men retreated to the front door. Aquinas moved round in front of Peter and between him and the men. He stopped advancing, but he didn’t stop his deep throat growling. The short man was clearly terrified; however the tall one was made of sterner stuff and waved his knuckle-dusted left hand.
“If he comes any closer I’ll knock his teeth out.”
“Stay,” said Peter. Aquinas probably ignored him again, but he had already taken up the defensive position between his master and the men and he didn’t advance on them anymore.
“Tell me about this money,” said Peter, who could now see Jo standing in the kitchen and waving her mobile phone.
“We want it,” said the tall one.
“How much is it, £100?”
The tall man laughed.
“We’d ‘ardly go to this trouble for £100, try a couple one hundred thousand.”
Jo came out of the kitchen and stood with her back to the open door.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said to the tall one, “just after Revd. Graye disappeared; you were hanging about in the churchyard. What did you do to him?”
“Didn’t do nothing, “said the small one, “it was him who ran out on us.”
“Well if he did he probably took whatever money you’re talking about with him.”
The tall one took a step towards Jo; Aquinas’ response was instant – he barked. In the confines of the hallway the explosive sound was actually painful to the ears. The tall man stopped, and stepped back against the front door.
“Why come here when the Revd. Graye owes you the money?” Peter asked.
“‘Cause we borrowed it in the first place and rumour has it that your church is very wealthy.”
“If it is wealthy it is not because of a donation from him,” said Peter, “the church was already wealthy when he arrived.”
The tall one smirked, “Yeah you would say that.”
“I’ll show you the accounts if you like,” said Peter.
Just then the doorbell rang, Aquinas barked again and the short one made a bolt for the kitchen door. He didn’t make it any further than halfway; Aquinas sank his teeth into the man’s thigh and he screamed. There was suddenly hammering on the front door and the tall man slipped the knuckle-duster in his pocket and opened the door. Two policemen were there. Peter shouted “He’s got a knuckle-duster in his left coat pocket!” Before turning to Aquinas, “Leave,” he said, trying to drag the dog off, “leave!” After a few tugs and a bit of shouting Aquinas let go. He licked his lips as if appreciating the taste and turned to face the tall man. He growled. The short man was lying face down on the ground and holding his right thigh, blood oozed out onto the floor. Peter went to speak to the police, but one of the policemen spoke first.
“Hello Fred, up to your old tricks? Who’s your pal laying on the floor?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Knuckle-duster please,” said the policeman. Fred handed it over. “Now, would someone mind telling me just what’s been going on here?”
Jo spoke first. “These two barged their way in, threatened Peter and told me to get lost. They keep rabbitting on about money they lent to Revd. Graye and wanting it back. They were trying to intimidate Peter into paying them out of church funds.”
The policeman smiled.
“Demanding money with menaces; dear dear Fred, whatever next?”
“It’s our word against theirs, it’ll never stick.”
The policeman smiled and patted his radio, “it might,” he said, “I heard every word.”
Jo blushed and took the mobile phone out of the pocket of her slacks; it had been upside down with the microphone exposed.
The policeman looked at Aquinas.
“Mind you that dog nearly blew my eardrums in.”
The police took Fred away; they already had someone else in the car. The short, and still nameless, man left in an ambulance. Only one policeman stayed behind to take provisional statements from Peter and Jo. Peter asked him if he thought there was enough to actually charge the men
“Oh we’ll charge them all right, but I doubt they’ll be prosecuted. To be honest it will boil down to your word against theirs as they will probably find some way of getting the telephone transmission declared inadmissible; we’ve met them before and they have very good lawyers.”
“So they could be back,” said Jo.
“I doubt it,” replied the policeman. “Well certainly not Fred, he’s wanted on another charge, one I doubt he will slip out of. And the other bloke won’t want to face your dog again, and I must say having seen his thigh, neither would I.”
The policemen left just before one o’ clock and Peter began to shake slightly.
“Thanks Jo,” he said, “I’m glad you were here, but I hope it won’t worry you about working here in the future.”
“Of course not,” replied Jo who then went silent until she said, “Peter, have you any idea what they were on about?”
Peter could not lie to Jo, in fact he probably couldn’t lie to anyone, and he could see no way of being economical with the truth that did not cross into telling untruths. Fortunately for him a reprieve came in the form of the doorbell ringing. Jo opened the door. It was Lucy and Mark, who walked in with Lucy saying,
“Peter’s phone seems to be out of commission, so we dropped by to say that Caroline has had a pair of twins.”
“Twins!” said Jo. “Didn’t know she was expecting twins.”
“Neither did she. The hospital said it occasionally happens that they miss second other baby.”
“How’s Henry?”
“Ecstatic, though he’s still not sure if Caroline is pulling his leg about calling them Thelma and Louise.”
Lucy then saw Peter and stopped dead.
“Peter, you look like you have seen a ghost.”
“We’ve just had a visit from a couple of London thugs who tried to intimidate Peter.” Jo replied.
“I think he could do with a cup of tea” said Lucy and virtually dragging Jo out the door saying, “you can tell me all about it in the kitchen.”
Mark surveyed Peter, he was ashen white and obviously in a mild state of shock.
“You OK?”
Peter nodded.
“I didn’t tell them about the money and Aquinas took a fair chunk out of one of them. But I nearly showed the money to Jo. Would it be easier if we involved them?” And he inclined his head towards the kitchen.
Mark shook his head.
“Not until we are sure the thugs won’t return.”
Peter whispered.
“I also had a visit from your records clerk; she’s searching for the grave of Tomas Jefferson’s family. She hasn’t found that headstone yet, but it appears to have disappeared.”
“Sorry,” said Mark. “I should have told you. I had second thoughts about leaving the headstone there when I noticed people walking u
p and down the line of headstones reading them.”
“So where is it now?”
Mark smiled, “Down beside Norma’s coffin. When I filled the grave in I slipped it in the hole.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack!” Peter said, but he was mightily relieved that Jennifer Smith would not be able to find it.
Lucy and Jo reappeared and they all discussed the thugs, but much to Peter’s relief Jo did not re-ask the question she asked before. They all finally departed around half past two. Peter then tried to settle down to some sermon preparation, but he could not concentrate; he tried to pray, but with the same result. In the end, Peter decided to visit Caroline in the hospital. As he drove to the hospital he passed Claude’s funeral parlour. Hannah’s exposure seemed to have made absolutely no difference; the advert for the special package was still in the window and Peter had heard absolutely no comments about it. Short of blowing the place up Peter had no immediate solutions come to mind.
Once at the hospital Peter soon found Caroline, Henry and the twins. Caroline looked tired, but jubilant. Henry just looked intoxicated with paternal joy with that have-a-cigar look all over his face. To Peter the twins looked like a couple of wrinkled beetroots with arms and legs, but obviously Caroline and Henry saw them through different eyes. Peter gave the usual congratulations, but he was actually quite pleased for them.
“Thought of any names yet?” asked Peter.
“Rebekah Seonaid and Loranah Mysie” Henry replied.
Peter smiled inwardly, Henry and Caroline had just set a spelling test for every teacher the pair were likely to have. “Any special reason?”
“My mother was a Mysie and Caroline’s mother was a Seonaid” replied Henry.
“And we just liked the other two names,” added Caroline.
Peter did not stay with them long, but he was genuinely happy for them; but now he was in no doubt. Henry’s nicely ordered world was about to come to an end.
Peter then drove back to the common car park which overlooked the sea and where he had had talked with Tom. The money was beginning to worry him and so was Cameron’s whispering campaign. If Peter was honest, he was also worried about the next special council meeting tomorrow night; they were going to have to get down to some discussion and Peter was worried that views were still too divergent for rapprochement to take place.
He was also surprised at himself: since his own failed love affair, now of many years ago, he had considered himself unlikely to have a personal relationship with a woman again. But Jo was beginning to unsettle his equilibrium. If he was honest with himself he wanted Charmian out of the way on Thursdays so that he could have coffee alone with her. She had also stirred up emotions in him that had lain dormant for many years, some of which were painful as they also brought with them memories of earlier, and happier, times. He had been unable to pray in his study, but here looking at the ocean and the vast Suffolk sky, he opened his heart again to God. He was there for some time.
Peter took a diversion on the way home to deliver the copies of Henry’s correspondence of yesterday (was it only yesterday?) to Sam. Peter knocked at the door and Wendy opened it, she gave Peter a curious look and let him in. Peter handed Sam the faxes from Porlock, Whitby and Scanes; Wendy then invited him to stay for dinner, there was obviously something in Wendy’s manner that made Peter accept. Peter sat down to lunch with Sam, Wendy and Little Sam; Samantha was apparently out with friends. It was a very pleasant meal and Peter enjoyed it very much. When it was over Wendy smiled at her husband.
“Time to collect Samantha, why don’t you take Sam with you?”
Little Sam was obviously pleased at the prospect and Sam picked him up and walked to the door, he turned to Peter and thanked him for yesterday. Wendy gathered up some of the dinner plates into a pile and then, as Sam shut the front door, put them back down again. She scrutinized Peter.
“Sam tells he he talked to you yesterday.”
Peter nodded.
“I hope you don’t think less of him because of our past.”
“Of course not. We all have past; it’s just that some are more diverse than others.”
She idly stirred the cold gravy on the top plate; Peter waited. Wendy had asked him to stay for a reason – the same reason that had made her ask Sam to take Little Sam with him. After a minute or so she spoke very quietly.
“He probably didn’t tell you everything.”
Peter stayed silent. She kept poking the old food around the plate and then stopped and put the fork down in a manner that indicated a decision.
“I don’t like to think of how we met,” she said, “I can usually put it out of my mind and say to myself that it’s just a fragment of history, but life is not like that.”
She suddenly gave Peter a piercing look.
“Do you think that history repeats itself and in that repetition God is testing us?”
“I don’t view God as a malevolent being that takes pleasure in trying us out.” Peter said carefully. “For me God is the one who stands beside me through the hard times as well as the good times. It’s just that we tend to depend on him more in the hard times.”
“Sam thinks that Samantha has been out with friends this evening, and she will be with her friends when he picks her up, but she’s been somewhere before. She’s been to the doctor for a check-up.”
“Why the secrecy,” said Peter, but he knew the answer before Wendy spoke.
“Because she’s pregnant.” Then she added, “Do you think that is terrible?”
Peter felt for her.
“No it’s not terrible. It would probably have been better if she’d waited until later in her life and when she had a stable, and preferably married, relationship; but it is not terrible. In any case,” he added, “I’m not part of the youth culture and do not experience the pressures they are under.” He paused for a moment. “And we all make mistakes when we are young. It’s part of being young. I don’t think any of us can say that we didn’t.”
Wendy didn’t reply but stood up and walked over to an old armchair and slumped down.
“Are you worried about Sam’s reaction?”
“I think I know what it will be, but I was sure of my dad’s reaction and I was wrong.”
Peter waited. Wendy started sorting through the magazine rack and talked to nowhere in particular.
“I became pregnant when I was fifteen; up to then I’d had a normal childhood. My parents were just there for me. When I was eleven I was hit by a car and broke both legs. I was young and healed easily, but I missed half my first term at secondary school. Dad was adamant that I then went into private education at a local girl’s school. Within a few months I had caught up, but dad kept me there. I just didn’t think about it. Other girl’s parents got divorced or were remote, but my parents were always there. Then one weekend we went down to Brighton for a wedding, I think it was one of mum’s second cousins, but I’m not sure. After the wedding there was the usual reception and I got drunk, not so drunk that I passed out, but drunk enough to lose my inhibitions. I ended up having intercourse with some lad or other; do you know I don’t even remember his name? As you’ve probably guessed I fell pregnant. When I’d missed two periods I told mum. She went ballistic, called me a trollop, amongst other things, and generally slagged me off. I had been looking for comfort and advice and ended up being berated for over an hour till Dad came home. He was worse. He slapped me, called me a cheap harlot and told me I was the scum of the earth. I fled to my bedroom, but Dad stayed outside shouting through the door. We lived in a bungalow so I climbed out the window and went to a friend, desperately hoping that they would calm down. I went home two days later; they had calmed down, but were obviously furious with me. Dad gave me an ultimatum: I had to have an abortion and tell no one. He even offered to pay for it. I’ll always remember mum’s words, she said, ‘we don’t want any bastards in this house; we’re above that sort of thing.’”
She finished the magazine rack and s
tarted re-arranging books in the bookcase.
“To tell you the truth I was undecided what to do. I hadn’t planned to be pregnant, had no feelings whatsoever for the father and the thought of childbirth terrified me. But my parents were trying to force their decision on me and did not give me any real time to think. In the end, after two weeks of snide remarks, I became defiant and said I would have the child. When I told Mum and Dad I thought they would explode but Dad just said, ‘so be it.’ The following day when I got home from school they were both waiting for me. Dad placed his will under my nose; under it everything was left to me. He then produced another will, in this one everything was left to the local cat’s home. He sort of snarled, ‘you have that child and you cease to be a daughter of ours.’ I said that it was probably too late for an abortion, he said he would pay for me to go away and have the child as long as it was adopted. I tried living at home for another month, but the atmosphere was pure poison. My pregnancy started to show and I came home from school on my sixteenth birthday to find a suitcase on the doorstep and the locks changed. The suitcase had a nametag on it: it just said ‘scum’. They never said goodbye; they never spoke to me again. I did ring up twice and Mum answered the phone, but as soon as I spoke she put the receiver down. Once I rang dad’s office, but his secretary said she was sorry but she had orders not to put me through.”
“The suitcase contained nearly all my casual clothes, some cosmetics and jewelry, but no money. I took the suitcase to the local pawnbroker and sold almost everything. I kept one change of clothes, the cosmetics and my Bible; I scrounged an old mini-rucksack from the pawnbroker and a small transistor radio. On my sixteenth birthday I caught a train to London with my little rucksack, £35 and no future. When I arrived in London I had no idea what to do so I just sat on a bench in Paddington station. After a while a lady porter came and approached me and asked if I was all right. I burst into tears and she waved to someone or other. That someone was the Salvation Army in the form of a young female officer. She took me away to a room somewhere and listened to me. She tried to call my parents, but they told her they didn’t have a daughter anymore. I eventually ended up in a children’s home run by the Salvation Army; there were eight of us there, all young, all pregnant and all homeless. I stayed there until I had Ernest. Without them I don’t know what would have happened to me, you hear such terrible stories, and later I saw a lot of them were true. They kept me safe from harm and stood beside me while I had Ernest.”