Felburgh

by Ivan B

  “And how do I explain to Lucy an additional £50,000 in our bank account? No, stick it with the rest and we’ll decide what to do with it later.”

  On Thursday Tom placed £200,000 in the bank account, so now they had some £350,000 in the bank and a mere £70,000 in Peter’s filling cabinet. On Saturday Kimberley left the hospital and went to her parents. Damian arrived and cleared the flat, and said that he had informed both the Social Services and the Diocesan Housing Department of her change of circumstances. On Sunday Charmian’s baptism arrangement worked like clockwork. This proved to be a less exuberant service than the previous mass baptism, but it still involved ten adults and ten children and all the attendant Godparents. Like the previous baptism they had all decided to hold a joint party, but this time it was held at the golf club. Both Roger and Muriel were on hand to oversee the operation, and Peter thought that for the first time since he had seen them together they looked like a real couple. The next week went even easier, that is until Thursday when Jasper made one of his unannounced visits. For once there was not a female in the house, or on the driveway. Peter settled him in the lounge, at his request, and made a pot of tea, adding a plateful of biscuits to the tray. Once he had a cup of tea in his hand and a biscuit near his mouth Jasper got round to the reason for his visit.

  “Peter, I thought that I owed it to you to tell you something before it is formally declared.”

  He paused and Peter wondered why Jasper thought he owed him anything. Jasper continued after two custard creams.

  “I am resigning as Archdeacon and taking up a straight forward parish priest’s appointment in Berwick.”

  Peter was quite surprised.

  “When?” He asked, but he really meant ‘why?’

  Jasper polished off a jammy dodger and replied.

  “Not for three months.”

  He ate another biscuit.

  “I suppose you are wondering why?”

  He paused for a slurp of tea.

  “Over the last year I’ve come to realize that I do not make a very good Archdeacon. It’s not that I can’t do the job or cope with the administration; it’s just that my heart is not in it. I suddenly realized that I had no passion for the job. But what does one do? You carry on hoping things will change, but they don’t. Then you invited me to stand in your attic and I realized that I had not only lost the passion, I had forgotten the reason. To cap it all you then verbalized what I had been desperately trying to ignore, namely admitting my failure and going back into parish life; the life I love and the life I was called to.”

  Jasper poured himself another cup of tea, and ignored the last biscuit on the plate.

  “I obviously prayed about this, and often used the hospital chapel, remember I have no church of my own and the chapel is usually quiet at night.”

  Somehow Peter sensed what was coming. Jasper ploughed on.

  “I was praying quietly in the corner when you burst in. In you I saw all the passion that was missing in me. That night I made up my mind to resign. The following day I asked my friend in Alnwick to pray for me and the next thing I know the Bishop of Lindisfarne is inviting me to look round Berwick.”

  “What does you wife think of all this?” Peter managed to ask.

  Jasper finally reached out and took the last biscuit.

  “She burst into tears. She’d been praying that something happened to my job to make my happy. She also loves Northumbria; she was born up there in Burnmouth.”

  Jasper put his cup down and stood up.

  “I’m not sure I’ll see you again before I go, but thanks.”

  Peter smiled and shook his hand.

  “And you visited Kimberley.”

  Jasper smiled.

  “I just had to see how she was doing after all I heard three people praying for her at various times.”

  “Three?”

  “You, a young man I suspect is her beau, and a Matron.”

  When Jasper had gone Peter reflected on what he had said and decided that God did work in mysterious ways.

  Peter spent his Friday off in Ipswich, trying to hunt out every Humphrey Bogart film he could find. In the end he bought over twenty cheap DVDs. To his delight he also found a DVD called ‘The Sterling Moss Years’, this was one he had been searching out for some time. The weekend went well, although he found the Canadian Grand Prix somewhat disappointing. On such a beautiful track the lack of overtaking was a crime. Monday came, and went without incident and soon it was Tuesday, and the day Jo was due back at work. Just before ten Jo walked up the drive, but Peter could see from his study window that the body language was all wrong, it was more like a march to the gallows than popping in to clean the house. Peter’s heart sank. His little declaration of affection after he’d told Jo of his burning bush had obviously had the wrong effect. As she came through the front door he called out ‘Hello’, but gained no response. He did not know what to do. It had been a long time since he’d been willing to open himself up to a woman and he was at a complete loss. ‘Don’t be berks’ he told himself, ‘she’s ten years younger than you and probably has a million suitors’.

  He could hear Jo banging about in the kitchen; that too was wrong; she was normally as quiet as a mouse if he was in the study. In the end he couldn’t bear it no longer and went into the kitchen. Jo’s face was red and puffy.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She virtually screamed at him through closed teeth.

  “Go away, just go away!”

  Peter backed off instantly and spent the next hour and a half in his study, totally bewildered.

  At twelve o’clock he heard here coming down the hall towards the front door, she came and stood in the doorway.

  “It won’t work,” she stated with venom. “You and me, it just won’t work!”

  With that she darted out towards the front door.

  “And you’d better get yourself another cleaner!” And the door slammed.

  Peter was in total confusion, had he blown it that badly? He watched her from the window; she was walking briskly down the drive and not looking back. But when she reached the gates she stopped, turned, and walked back at an even faster rate. Peter opened the front door.

  “It’s not you it’s me” she half shouted, “People think I am a slut and I am a slut. Slut! Slut! Slut!”

  She went on half singing and half shouting.

  “How can the vicar go out with a slut? Slut! Slut! Slut!”

  Peter was totally taken aback.

  “I never said you were a slut,” he said defensively.

  “You don’t have to; I got the proof this morning! I am definitely a slut. No doubt at all, slut, slut, slut!”

  She was part crying, part shouting, and part laughing, waving her arms up and down and sort of dancing from foot to foot. Every muscle in her body seemed to be moving at the same time.

  “I don’t understand” Peter said. “I don’t understand.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I’ve got Chlamydia.”

  Peter was even more bewildered.

  “What the hell’s Chlamydia?”

  “It’s a sexually transmitted disease; the doctor said you only get it by sleeping around. Slut! Slut! Slut!” she intoned.

  Peter glanced up, two women were passing the gate with their dogs, and it would not be long before they noticed Jo and he did not want them to see her like this. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Lifted her off her feet and into the hall and kicked the door shut. He did not let go. He kissed her on the forehead.

  “I don’t care if you’ve got Bavarian Swine Fever” he said. “And I have never, ever, thought of you as a slut.”

  She pushed herself away from him and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater exposing her forearms. She turned them over exposing a pair of identical tattoos of densely packed miniature red roses, with attendant greenery, that stretched from wrist to elbow. But Peter realized it was not the tattoos she was showing him bu
t the skin they were on; it was scarred all the way up with what had probably been self-inflicted wounds. She turned her arms over again, on the top of her right wrist was a tattoo of another red rose, half way up her left forearm was a tattoo of a black cat.

  “Fancy me now vicar!” she yelled with a sort of common accent.

  Peter grabbed her again; every fiber of her body seemed tense, he had no idea what to do and was totally out of his depth.

  “I’d fancy you anywhere, anytime, anyplace.” he said.

  “You won’t, you’ll grow ashamed of me; I’ve grown ashamed of me so why shouldn’t you”, but this time spoken, not shouted.

  Peter held on, he could physically feel her relaxing; he kissed her on the forehead again.

  “I’d be proud to have you on my arm anywhere”

  “Even on a beach in a swimsuit”.

  “Even in a nudist colony”.

  Jo went quiet then and Peter felt her relax, it was like the uncoiling of a giant spring. Eventually they parted and Jo sat down on the old two-seater pew that was parked in the hall.

  Peter didn’t know what to do next, so he reverted to the old formula.

  “Cup of tea?”

  “Wonderful,” she replied.

  Peter went into the kitchen like a scaled cat, made a pot of tea, checking her while the kettle boiled and moving a small table out of the lounge and placing it in front of the pew. He made a pot of tea and placed it, with a sugar bowl and two mugs on a tray and went back into the hall.

  Jo was still sitting on the pew, but saying, ‘Damn, damn, damn’ to herself in an undertone. Peter sat down beside her. Eventually she sighed.

  “I know all the signs, I’ve been through them many times with the psychiatrist. I should know when I’m approaching the edge by now. Sorry if I scared you”.

  Peter stayed quiet, but put his arm around her shoulders, she did not resist.

  “Want to talk about it” Peter inquired.

  “I should have talked about it” she replied, “that’s the key, but I bottle it up and then…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence but leant forward and poured out two mugs of tea putting milk in hers. That little act reassured Peter, she had remembered he took his tea black. She was back in reality.

  Jo looked at Peter.

  “If we’re to have a chance together I have to tell you everything. I can’t keep things back; if I do they take over my life and then my life takes over me”.

  Peter looked at Jo.

  “If I’m honest with you can you handle it?”

  “Oh I have no trouble with other people’s problems and traumas,” She replied casually. “It’s only my own I can’t handle.”

  Jo paused, sipped the tea, but it was too hot to drink.

  “I’ve had trouble with my waterworks since my long spell in hospital. It may have been the drugs, it may be psychological, and no one seems to know.

  Anyway, I wet the bed at night. Not every night, but three out of five. You learn to live with it, my friendly psychologist says there is no stigma attached to it, but he doesn’t have to live with it. He doesn’t have to try and explain to his daughter that it’s OK for mummy to wet the bed, but little girls shouldn’t.”

  She paused and drank some tea.

  “Over the past couple of years it’s been getting worse and I found I was wetting myself during the day as well as at night, but I didn’t tell anyone or go to the doctor. Then I went to France. On the first Tuesday I woke up itching and passing water was like passing scouring powder. I thought it was Thrush and bought some ointment from the chemist. But it got worse, it was excruciating. In the end Danielle booked a taxi and took me to a local hospital. The doctor was wonderful. I was expecting an emergency appointment for five minutes. She talked to me for an hour and I told her everything. After examining me she said she thought I had developed Urethritis and gave me some antibiotics. She took a swab and set it off for analysis as a matter of routine and said she would e-mail the results to my own GP and I could check them out when I returned home.”

  Another pause; another drink of tea.

  “The itching went away in a couple of days and the scouring powder feeling by the end of the first week. When I came home I went to my own doctor’s surgery and found that my own GP was on holiday, but the results of my test had arrived and I saw the locum. He was a GP well past his sell by date and he said I had Chlamydia and that in women there were usually no symptoms. He said that Urethritis was usually a by-product of it and that it could also make me infertile or prone to fallopian tube pregnancies. The pompous so and so then went on to give me a lecture on the perils of the promiscuous lifestyle and told me to be careful whom I slept with. He finished by telling me in no uncertain terms that I had a responsibility to tell all the men that I had slept with over the past year that they might have Chlamydia too. He then virtually threw me out of the surgery saying that I would be hearing from the Gynecological Unit at Ipswich Hospital as I should really have a full examination.”

  She stopped.

  “And the infection?” Peter asked while she studied her tea.

  “Gone completely, and my waterworks have improved as a bonus.” She smiled her first smile of the day. “I haven’t been sleeping around Peter. I haven’t had a man since Philip, but I think a man may have had me.”

  She paused and looked at Peter to see if there was a reaction, Peter just squeezed her shoulders.

  “Two years ago Danielle went on a school trip to Wales, one of those multi-sports weeks. Normally we couldn’t afford such a thing, but Sid and Margaret paid, you’d be surprise how much Sid and Margaret have financially supported us. While Danielle was away I went to the cinema. I met a man there who I thought I could trust and I let him take me out for a drink afterwards. I don’t normally drink, but Danielle was away and I thought ‘why not’. Somehow I ended up blind drunk, we got tipsy in the pub and then he took me back to my place and I got legless, I still don’t know how as I’m sure I did not have that much to drink. I woke up alone the following morning feeling like the inside of a food mixer and I found small change in my bed, just a few coins, but I don’t usually take money to bed with me. My clothes were all over the place and I wasn’t wearing my nighttime knickers so I had wet the bed in a major way. My breasts were sore and I felt like I had been mugged.”

  “I tackled him about what had happened next time I saw him, on Sunday outside the church as we were both leaving. You know what, he leered at me and said that it was for him to know and me to imagine, but if I fancied being his mistress I might be considered for the position. I ran away from him and pushed it down . I just pushed it down inside; I didn’t want to think about it, so somehow I blotted it out. I should have known better. And the pig gave me Chlamydia as a going away present. Two years Peter, I’ve had the wretched disease two years!”

  She went quite.

  “So what now Peter, have we got a future?”

  Peter replied, without hesitation.

  “More of a future that ever. Our feelings for each other are out in the open and…” he paused not knowing now to continue. “And it ought to be me asking you if you are prepared to be seen with a vicar. People don’t think we’re normal you know, and this particular one has a burnt down church!”

  With that he pulled her towards him and kissed her, not for long, but this time it was a proper kiss. Peter then looked at Jo carefully - she seemed shattered.

  “I think what you need now is a sleep” he said.

  But before he could get her to pursue this course of action, Jo spoke to him softly

  “Peter I can’t face him. I ought to tell him he could have Chlamydia, but I can’t face him. Would you tell him? Or is that asking too much?”

  “Of course.” Then he paused not wanting the answer to the question he had to ask.

  “before you ask it’s Freddy.” She said softly.

  “Freddy the major’s son? But he’s got a wife and two children!”

/>   “I know; that’s why I pushed it down. She was away when it happened and I haven’t been able to face her ever since.” She looked at her boots. “If you don’t mind I will have a nap. Could you tell him while I sleep? I don’t want it left in the air.”

  “OK” said Peter leading her into the sitting room and settling her on the three-seat settee.

  “But you must still be here when I return. Promise?”

  “I promise”

  Peter got her settled and went to leave the room; she suddenly half sat up.

  “You would mind”

  “Mind what?”

  “Mind if I had Bavarian Swine fever, you’d wonder which Bavarian Swine I caught it from.”

  Peter laughed.

  “At least I know you’ve still got your sense of humor”.

  He closed the door, and then suddenly opened it again as a thought struck him.

  “Mind if I leave Aquinas with you?”

  “No that’s OK,” came the sleepy reply.

  Peter went and sat in his study. He knew that Freddy worked on the Felburgh Estate, he thought that he managed all the land rentals. He rang the estate office and they said he was in. Peter then had a pray about what he was going to do, asking God for help. How did you tell a man he might have a venereal disease caught from your girlfriend? He smiled, he was already thinking of Jo as ‘his girl’. Peter left quietly and drove to the estate to parked outside the office. He asked at reception which way to go and headed off to Freddy’s office. In the anti-room were a small desk and a bored looking secretary. She would probably be attractive if she smiled thought Peter, but he wouldn’t have wanted to work in an office either. He’d tried it once and he had got out as soon as he could, the office politics drove him mad.

  “Freddy in?” he asked.

  He got that look when people answer him, looking at his collar and not at his eyes.

  “I don’t think he’s available,” she said.

  “He’ll be available to me” replied Peter.

  At that the secretary walked at a pace a tortoise would have been proud of and entered Freddy’s office, closing the door behind her. She appeared almost directly.