by Ivan B
“I really should clean the lounge,” replied Jo. “I only popped in, and I don’t normally work here on a Wednesday.”
They looked at each other, realized they were heading for an impasse and laughed.
, “OK I get the message,” said Charmian. “I’ll walk him back to my place so I can change.”
Peter arrived home and shot upstairs to change, but halfway through he realized that he had not had any breakfast and that his only remaining clerical shirt needed re-ironing. He rushed downstairs and plugged in the iron and while it was warming up got himself a bowl of Corn Flakes. He was just eating his second mouthful when Jo walked into the kitchen. Jo was obviously amused to find Peter, clad only in his underpants and socks, standing in the kitchen scoffing breakfast.
“Morning Peter,” she said, “is this breakfast alfresco?”
Peter stopped eating and froze with the spoon poised halfway between bowl and mouth. He managed to say;
“Jo!”
Jo passed Peter and grabbed a duster from a cupboard and walked out. As soon as she was out of sight Peter dashed upstairs. Jo stood in the lounge grinning to herself and then went back into the kitchen; on the work-top were the shirt and iron. Jo put the dusters away, paused for a second, and then proceeded to iron his shirt. When it was as immaculate as she could manage she hung it on the banister knob and went home shutting the door firmly as she left. Peter heard her leave and relaxed; he had totally forgotten he’d asked her to pop in and clean the lounge. He made his way back downstairs and found his shirt on the banister knob. It had been ironed in a manner he could never manage; there were knife sharp creases longitudinally down the arms and the collar was perfectly flat. Peter surveyed it and muttered under his breath, ‘some men would marry for a shirt like that.’
The rest of Peter’s morning at St Cedds was a total success as far as he was concerned. As he suspected Charmian was far better with the children than he was despite her slow use of sign language. In fact, the fact that she could not sign properly and frequently made mistakes seemed to endear her more to the children. Peter had a quiet word with the Miss Huttle, who in fact seemed quite relieved that Peter was suggesting Charmian for chaplain. This made Peter highly suspicious and it prompted a rise in self-doubt.
“Am I that bad?”
Miss Huttle had the grace to blush.
“No,” she said, “in fact you’re not that bad, it’s just that there has been some concern with the parents about your appointment.”
“Why?”
“You must know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
“Yes.”
She paused, obviously trying to choose the correct words to convey her message without being too undiplomatic. Eventually she grasped the nettle.
“Some of the parents have heard rumours that you left your previous parish because you were over-familiar with some of the children.”
She might have well have hit Peter with a baseball bat, he was totally gobsmacked. He rapidly composed himself; it would not do any good to lose his temper as the head was obviously in a difficult position. Eventually he wrote down the name and phone number of his previous Archdeacon and gave it to her.
“Ring him. He will assure you that that rumour is unfounded.”
She looked very uncomfortable.
“I already have,” she answered, “and he did. But when I told the parents that, they just said, ‘He would say that wouldn’t he..”
Peter wrote down two more names and numbers.
“Try these. The first is the Sunday school leader, and the second is the Head of the local primary school.”
Miss Huttle put the piece of paper in her pocket.
“I will Peter, and I have no doubt that they will confirm what you say, but the problem is that mud sticks and whatever I tell the parents now they will always have that doubt.”
Peter was at a loss what to do next. Miss Huttle looked away.
“I’m sorry Peter, but the only way that people might not believe the rumour is if someone admitted to starting it maliciously. Even that could not be guaranteed to totally quash parents’ fears, they can often be totally irrational.”
Peter managed to say, ‘Thanks for being honest with me,’ and walked out to the car park; he’d decided that that was probably the best place to wait. Charmian came to say goodbye to Miss Huttle ten minutes later and was totally surprised to be asked to be chaplain.
“I thought Peter was the chaplain.”
Miss Huttle shook her head.
“We’d rather have you.”
Charmian smelt a rat.
“Why?”
“Peter is not acceptable to some of the parents.”
“What!” said Charmian, “Why is he not acceptable?”
Miss Huttle sat down.
“Because some of the parents feel that he gets over-familiar with children. I know it is total rubbish; I’ve phoned his previous Bishop, Archdeacon, Rural Dean and Curate. All said more or less the same thing; Peter is fine with children, but tends to be accident-prone. Apparently once he managed to lose an entire Sunday school and on a separate occasion dropped a mouse during the middle of a sermon.”
Charmian was appalled.
“And just because of some unfounded rumours, and despite of the facts, a good man gets pilloried.”
“I’m afraid that that is the society we live in.”
Charmian opened her mouth to say something, but Miss Huttle cut in.
“Please don’t say anything hasty. I know you’re mad, but please don’t make the children suffer because someone’s set off a rumour about Peter.” She took a deep breath. “We have a governor’s meeting tonight and I’d like to do two things, firstly recommend you for chaplain, and secondly get the governor’s to issue a letter of support for Peter.”
Charmian and Miss Huttle then chatted about her joining in with some signing lessons, and she left for the car park.
When Charmian arrived at the Land-Rover Peter was slumped over the steering wheel with his head in his hands. Charmian climbed in the passenger seat. She almost whispered.
“Peter I am so sorry.”
He straightened up, she was not sure if he had been crying or not.
“It’s every male priest’s worst nightmare,” he said. “The problem is there is no way of redressing the situation, Miss Huttle is right; mud sticks. You can almost hear the gossips, ‘no smoke without fire you know.’”
He went to start the car, and then said, “would you mind driving, I can’t concentrate.”
As they swapped places Charmian privately resolved to try and track down the perpetrator of the rumours. As they drove back in silence Peter suddenly sat upright.
“Would you do me a favour and tell Bunty?”
Charmian was perplexed.
“Why?”
“Because the Mothers and Toddlers meetings are in my house; if the rumour is spreading at St Cedds it won’t be long before it reaches some of the mums. Bunty may want to take the meeting elsewhere.”
Charmian could almost hear the pain in his voice, and a dreadful thought crossed her mind, supposing the rumours were true?
Peter must have read her mind.
“I think I know what is going through your mind; it would be going through mine if I were you. But no, I may be a pratt on occasions, but I am not a pedophile. Since I began my ministry, I have taken great care never to be alone with any child. I always take baptism classes with another adult present, never give lifts home and never, but never, have lone children in the house. In fact, in my last parish I was accused of being over-sensitive and paranoiac on the subject.”
As they drew up at his house Charmian bit her bottom lip.
“Will you cancel this evenings meeting?”
Peter shook his head.
“Life must go on.”
Once Charmian had left, Peter went and knelt in his prayer room for half an hour, he didn’t a
ctually say anything, but just knelt in God’s presence. Then he took Aquinas for a walk, as he knew he would not be able to concentrate on much else. He walked to the Creek, along the sea front to the harbour and back towards the church. This route took him past two significant places: The first one was The Captains Table Café. Lucy and Jo were having their usual Wednesday coffee together in the Captains Table when they saw Peter walking by; he looked so alone that both their hearts went out to him. Lucy watched him walk by.
“He really looks lonely and as if all the cares of the world are on his shoulder.”
For a while Jo didn’t say anything, and then replied slowly.
“He’s just vulnerable. He needs someone to stand beside him through thick and thin.”
“Would you,” asked Lucy, “stand beside him through thick and thin?”
“Not the point,” said Jo. “It’s not just someone being beside him, he’s got to want to have them beside him. I sometimes get the feeling that he’s been single so long that not being single would be a step beyond his comprehension.”
Lucy studied Jo closely.
“And are you any different?”
Jo leaned back in her chair.
“You don’t know how lucky you are Lucy; you’ve found a man who loves you and you love him.” She nodded at Peter. “Whoever he stands with, it’s got to be in mutual love.”
Lucy asked gently.
“Do you wish it was you?”
“Cinderella’s only getting their princes in fairy tales.”
“But he is your prince?”
Jo shook her head.
“Only in my dreams. Remember I am alone with him on and off every morning for two days a week; in all the weeks I have cleaned for him he has not made one advance towards me or one remark that would even hint at a relationship. The only time his eyes sparkle is when he mentions Jane and if what you say is right he stands little chance there.”
Lucy nodded.
“It’s right enough. I spotted Jane and her paramour again last weekend on the quayside in the harbour hand-in-hand.”
Lucy sat and looked out of the window; at the angle she was sitting she could see Peter walking away and the reflection of Jo opposite; misery was written on both their faces.
The second place Peter had to pass was The Fisherman’s friend, or to be more exact the bottom of the lawn behind the pub. As Peter slouched by, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly heard, “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
He looked up and there was Taffy hanging out a line of nappies.
“Sorry?” Peter said.
Taffy grinned his lopsided grin.
“You look like you’ve lost a tenner and found a farthing.”
Peter shook his head.
“No Taffy, I think I’ve just lost my reputation.”
Taffy opened the back gate, “come and have a drink.”
Peter had been contemplating phoning the Bishop or Jasper to have a tête-à-tête, but he ended up pouring his heart out to an agnostic ex-boxer instead. Taffy was just at the right place at the wrong time and Peter confided in him. Peter finished with his head in his hands.
“If the rumours won’t go away I’ll probably have to move. Nobody trusts a vicar over whom there are child sex abuse questions.”
Taffy didn’t respond; he just sat at the kitchen table with his huge fist wrapped around a pint pot as Peter sipped at a cup of coffee. Eventually he gave Peter a hard stare.
“Let me get this straight, man to man, there is absolutely no truth in these rumours?”
Peter shook his head.
“It’s not the truth that matters; it’s the rumours. If they’re strong enough to give a school head doubts then the truth doesn’t matter. But for what it’s worth; no there is absolutely no truth in them.”
Taffy banged his glass on the table.
“Then let them go to hell. If you leave the rumour will grow and follow you; you’ve just got to face them out.”
“Easier said than done.” Peter replied glumly.
Taffy winked at Peter.
“Far be it for me to preach at a vicar, but I guess dying on a cross was easier said than done.”
Peter finished his coffee.
“Thanks Taff, sorry to burden you.”
Taffy gave a lopsided smile
“‘Swots friends are for. One day I’ll do it to you.”
Just then Bronwyn appeared at the back door with Sarah. Simultaneously Peter and Taffy asked after Kimberly. Bronwyn sat down, to Peter she looked to have aged ten years since Sunday.
“Not good. She didn’t regain full consciousness and just after dinner she had a fit. They’ve given her a brain scan and say they can’t see anything wrong.”
“So where is she now?” Peter asked.
“Glumburgh ward, they’ve sedated her and say that they’ll let her sleep for twenty-four hours before trying to bring her round again.”
She then looked at Peter with red-rimmed eyes.
“They’ve asked Damian to contact her parents and get them back here, pronto.”
“Probably just routine,” said Taffy.
“I hope so, I hope so, but there was something in the doctors voice I didn’t like; a sort of resignation to failure.”
Peter continued his journey home and then drove to the hospital. He found Damian slumped by Kimberley’s bed. As Peter entered he looked up.
“Peter she won’t die, will she? I mean she’s not yet twenty.”
“Death has nothing to do with how old you are, just your physical shape.” Peter replied gently. “Kimberley’s young and fit, she’ll have a good chance of pulling through.”
As he said this he thought ‘what a hypocrite I am’ for in his pocket he had slipped a little vial of holy oil, just in case he had to administer the last rites. Peter sent Damian away to get some food and sat alone with Kimberley for about forty-five minutes and then Damian returned. Peter left him holding Kimberley’s hand and taking gently to her, but the ides were not good.
Chapter 14
Glimmers of Hope
Peter arrived back at his house just in time for the first arrival for the evening meeting. It was Bunty, she immediately cornered Peter in the hall.
“Thanks for telling me about St Cedds. I’ve already started a counter-rumour.”
“Counter-rumour?” said Peter.
Bunty smiled.
“I don’t think that there is even any success in directly trying to refute a rumour; you just run into ‘there’s no smoke without fire’ region. However, if you start a counter-rumour, for example ‘there’s a malicious parishioner out to get you,’ then both rumours spread, one a’gin you and one supporting you. The result, hopefully, is that people have to make up their own mind on the evidence they see, not the evidence that someone says possibly might exist.”
Peter was not sure about the moral legitimacy of this, and this must have shown on his face as Bunty punched him on the arm.
“Come on Peter; why should the devil have all the good gossip?”
Peter smiled despite his misgivings.
“Just how do you go about starting a rumour?”
“That’s a piece of cake,” said Bunty. “I just went shopping in the supermarket; there are a couple of young mums working there who could gossip for England! A couple of supermarket aisle conversations and bingo the rumour is on its way.”
Other people started to arrive and Peter ushered them into the lounge. Charmian was last to arrive and asked quietly if he was OK. He nodded.
“A friend of mine helped me put it in perspective.”
They went into the lounge. Peter wanted the meeting here for one reason only: the council members had to sit round the periphery of the room and not in rows, hence when they said anything against someone else’s idea, they had to face them and could not hide by only looking at the chairman. There was some general conversation about the wall paintings and then Peter got down to business and opened the meeting with prayer. Pet
er then looked around the group.
“Well, we’ve prayed about it, and done some preliminary talking. Now we have a scheduled council meeting in just over three weeks, and by then I’d like to be in a position to recommend something to the church; so who wants to go first?”
No one moved and then just as the Major was about to speak Marjorie stood up.
“I’d like to say something.”
This came as a total surprise, in all the precious council meetings Marjorie had not joined in the debate at all, but had just sat in the corner listening.
“Go ahead,” said Peter.
Marjorie pulled out a small reporter’s notebook.
“The problem is,” she said, “that we all get too familiar with the norm and stop seeing things as other people see them. Do you remember how we used to struggle with poor lighting for years, even though we had the money to improve it, until a visitor remarked how dim everything was? We’d just got used to it and didn’t think about it. I was worried that we were doing the same to Felburgh; we get used to the fact that all the fish ‘n’ chip shops shut on Mondays and never question the reason why. Bearing this in mind I asked a young reporter called Hannah to give me her impressions of Felburgh. She stayed here for two weeks while she worked on the exposé on Claude’s funeral parlour.”
“Didn’t make much difference,” said Cameron.
Marjorie looked up from her pad and straight at Cameron.
“Reporters just expose the truth darling; if the grand old British public decides to go on being ripped off, at least you can say they are making an informed decision. Exposés rarely change matters instantly; it’s the reaction to them that matters.”
She looked back at her pad.
“I asked Hannah to list four good things about the town and four areas where she saw there could be problems. She actually gave me a list of six areas for improvement and six good points.”
Marjorie looked up from her pad and the talked to the group.
“The six good points were: almost total lack of street crime; good primary school; excellent cottage hospital; vast range of coffee shops; friendly parking and our vicar.” Marjorie paused and then continued. “I questioned her on the last point, not because I don’t agree with her, but because I was curious as to what made her add it to the list. She said she had never been to a baptismal service where so many were baptized and where everyone obviously enjoyed the experience. She also thought the Mothers and Toddlers groups showed that the church cared, but it was a pity they were held in the vicarage and not in the church itself. She also said that he had had the right to be mad with her, but in effect he was kind to her and had a Christian forgiving spirit.”