by Ivan B
“No we own it, or at least we will do so in twenty years, that’s if we can keep up with the mortgage payments.”
“Who owns the other two shops?”
“No I mean we will own it all, the rent we charge for the other two shops exactly equals the mortgage payments. We would like to charge more, but there is no point in driving away the other two shops. The three of us together generate more trade than we would get if we were sandwiched between two antique shops.”
Peter must have looked surprised.
“When Anna and I originally decided to set up the shop all three of these units were up for sale. Old Mr. Hudson had his shop in the last unit and lived in the flat above, but as he had three small children everything was up for sale with him as a sitting tenant. Anna had a little money, but not much; I had the compensation Uncle Sid got me from the shipping company, and Auntie Margaret and Sid chipped in. We had enough for a good deposit and to buy the equipment. When Anna died I realized that I had to release some of my equity from the building so that I could buy a little flat and bring up Danielle properly. It’s ended up that Daphne and I each own 37% with Margaret and Sid owning the rest.”
Just then Daphne appeared out of the kitchen and they all went back to the front to sit down.
“And you never have men customers?”
“Very rarely”, said Daphne, “We never ever conduct a massage on a man, but once, two years ago I did tattoo of a bulldog on a man’s bum.”
“And the playpen?”
Jo smiled.
“Self indulgence and business. When we started Danielle was small and we used to bring her to play here from time to time as we worked.”
Daphne interrupted.
“And my two boys played there too.”
“But the majority of our trade is women under thirty, a large number of them have small children, so the playpen comes in useful, a full body massage takes an hour. Don’t worry we’re legal, Daphne is a registered child minder.”
Peter asked.
“And who is Janice, the woman who covered for you when I took you to Aldeburgh?”
“She’s a student studying physiotherapy and sports massage. She has worked with us for a couple of summers and is currently home from college. She doesn’t do body piercing, but she gives a good massage, you ought to try her sometime.”
Peter spent all morning with the two of them and it was a revelation, the more he talked to them the more he realized that there was a lot more to Jo than met the eye. As they were about to leave a young girl came in the shop and put her hands on her hips.
“I want my nose pierced please, left nostril 4mm up in the middle,” she stated firmly
“How old are you?” Jo asked flatly.
“Old enough”
“Not for this parlour,” Jo replied firmly. “If you want your nose pierced you come back with your mother and then I’ll consider it.”
The girl immediately turned around and marched out the shop.
“We have a saying here,” said Jo. “Body piercing is for life, not just for Christmas”
“Or in my case” said Daphne, “tattoo in haste, regret at leisure.”
Later as they walked along the sea-shore Peter put his arm round her shoulders.
“If you own the shop, and earn money from translation, why clean my house?”
Jo chuckled.
“Cash flow. We had to buy a new sterilization unit; we’re paranoid about hepatitis, so we sterilize just about everything. The business rates have gone up by 15%, Danielle wanted to go on this school trip to London, she also wanted to have a saxophone of her own and not the battered school issue, and the rates plus mortgage on my flat have gone up by 8%. None of these cause problems by themselves, but altogether they cause a cash shortage. I was just going to work for you until I had cleared my credit card of my part in the sterilization unit and Danielle’s new saxophone.”
“So how long do I have” queried Peter
“I cleared the card off two months ago!” laughed Jo.
After a quick snack in The Captain’s Table Peter took Jo to Norwich. They had a fine time looking round the shops, eating dinner in a pub and then going to the theatre. It was midnight before he dropped Jo off at home. He would not see her now untill Saturday, Friday being one of those days in his diary he could not clear. Friday morning and afternoon were spent at Diocesan house. Now that Peter had a curate he was classified as a training incumbent; the day was to bring him up to speed on what was expected of him and to discuss with the Diocesan Training Officer what external training might benefit Charmian. The training officer was impressed with Peter’s idea of a placement with Jane, and for Charmian to use her as a mentor. Peter also managed to get her to agree, and fund, Charmian’s attendance on a two-week course aimed at working in schools. Friday evening was allocated for a church council meeting, and Peter walked into the meeting with his mind slightly elsewhere and little suspecting that he was again about to be attacked, but this time from a different quarter. However, before that meeting started, Bunty waylaid Peter.
“Have you heard the latest?” she said.
“No, tell me,” Peter replied.
“The Estate, well Freddy really, have offered Kimberley the old warden’s house at an unbelievably low rent. It’s only a five year contract, but it would get them a roof over their heads they could afford.”
Peter felt like a hypocrite, but he managed to say that that was remarkably generous.
“Freddy’s calling it part of their estate community action programme,” Bunty replied. “The object of which seems to be to enable estate employees’ affordable housing in the vicinity of the estate itself.”
Peter seriously doubted that anyone else would benefit from this programme.
“When does it all happen?”
“Kimberley’s signed the contract, Freddy was in a dreadful hurry, and she can move in mid-summer. Apparently, the kitchen and bathroom are going to be re-fitted.” She then added, “Doesn’t God work in mysterious ways?”
“Ways more mysterious than we can imagine,” replied Peter.
Peter then called the meeting to order and started off with the usual preliminaries. Then he announced that he and Charmian were considering a monthly evensong and asked the meeting for their comments. There was a stony silence. Eventually the Major harrumphed.
“Can we discuss something else first?”
Peter was mystified.
“What else, exactly?”
Cameron spat out.
“You, your last parish and the trouble you caused there with the children.”
Peter was stunned, but Cameron pressed home his attack.
“Is it true you were asked to leave, and that your then Bishop refused to place you in his Diocese?”
Peter was trying to gather his thoughts to come up with a suitable answer when Cameron fired another volley,
“Come on man, it can’t be that difficult, just say if you’ve messed about with children or not.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Marjorie stood up.
“I wish to make a confession,” she began.
Cameron sneered, “It’s not your confession we’re after darling, it’s his!”
Marjorie appeared unfazed.
“When Peter first arrived I felt there was something wrong. His arrival was too quick and his former parishioners too willing to avoid saying why he moved.”
“Something wicked this way comes,” taunted Cameron.
Marjorie ignored him.
“So I investigated Peter’s past with the help of a journalist I knew who was familiar with the way the church works.”
“You mean papers over its cracks,” added Cameron.
“We came to the conclusion that there was nothing in Peter’s past that was being deliberately covered up. It is true that once he lost an entire Sunday School on an outing; it is also true that through a peculiar quirk of circumstances he was blamed for burning down a church. But there
is absolutely no truth in any rumour that he ever interfered with children, or was ever accused of interfering with children or for that matter was ever suspected of interfering with children. In fact, apart from the small matters I have mentioned, oh and the unfortunate demise of a mouse during a morning sermon, Peter came to us with an entirely clean bill of moral health. My confession is that I investigated Peter behind his back, I should have approached him openly,” she looked straight at Peter, “and I’m sorry about that.”
Cameron was not to be easily deflected.
“So we’re saying there’s no smoke without fire are we?”
The Major interjected.
“Cameron we have no proof, or evidence, of what you are saying.”
Cameron merely smirked.
“But he hasn’t answered the question has he?”
Suddenly Charmian leapt to her feet.
“I must say something,” she said.
Cameron retorted.
“I’m asking the master, not his lap-dog.”
This comment was a step too far for Henry.
“Shut up Cameron, you’re too rude for your own sake.” He said loudly. “This is a church meeting not a bawdyhouse.”
There were other murmurs of discontent, Charmian remained standing.
“I must say something. A couple of weeks ago I first heard of the rumours about Peter and children. I thought that they were malicious and I resolved to track down the perpetrator of them. It’s not too difficult if you get in early; you just ask A, where they heard it first and then track back to B, and ask the same question and so on. It proved all too easy. The rumours spreading round St Cedd’s parents and the rumours in the church both tracked back to a single source.”
She paused.
“Cameron’s wife.”
Cameron interrupted.
“Are you calling my wife a liar?”
Charmian fixed Cameron with a stare.
“No. I asked your wife yesterday where she heard the rumour, she says you told it to her. So I am asking you now, where did you hear it from?”
Cameron suddenly looked shifty.
“Just around.”
The Major harrumphed again.
“But you must remember where, you would not forget hearing a rumour like that for the first time.”
Cameron went into overdrive and bullying mode.
“But I don’t remember and I’m not the one on trial here. Do you want to get rid of him or not?”
“I have made no secret of the fact that I am not sure if Peter is the right person for us, but maligning his integrity is not on my agenda.” The Major replied tartly.
There were general murmurs of agreement with this. Peter stood up and the room went quiet.
“Let me state quite clearly that I have nothing to hide and I don’t mind who pries into my past, but I do thank Marjorie for her honesty and the fact that she was willing to share her findings with you. But I repeat, I have never been accused of molesting children and, as far as I am aware, there has never, ever, been a hint that any parent has been unhappy with the treatment of their child in any church in any of my previous parishes.” He paused, “Marjorie is right that during my tenure in my last parish that the church burnt down while I was giving a demonstration to the Sunday school. She is also right that due to an unfortunate coach mix-up I temporarily lost a Sunday School. Again she is correct about the unexpected demise of a mouse. But I reiterate, that is all.”
Peter sat down.
But Cameron was not going to give up without a fight.
“Well Peter, in view of the rumours, is it wise for you to have the Mothers and Toddlers meetings in your house? I mean it would be convenient for you if you were not as you seem.”
Bunty jumped to her feet, but Peter held up his hand to stop here speaking.
“The Mothers and Toddlers group is not organized by me; my lounge is merely the meeting place, in fact for the last few meetings I have not even popped in as I have left that the Charmian.”
Marjorie stood up again, Cameron taunted.
“Oh no not another speech from not so little miss prim.”
Marjorie held up her hand.
“I’m going for a second confession. I opposed the Mothers and Toddlers group when they wanted to use the North Aisle, and I was wrong to do so. I withdraw my objections and propose that we allow its use at any time on any weekday by the Mothers and Toddlers as long as it does not infringe on any other meetings in the church.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Albert
“I don’t think you could have Mothers and Toddlers running at the same time as a Good Friday meditation.”
“Seconded,” said Henry
“All in favour?” Said Bunty before Peter could say anything.
Apart from Cameron, who probably wouldn’t support anything Marjorie proposed, it was carried unanimously. Peter waved his hand for silence.
“I hate to say it, but that item was not on the agenda so I should not allow it through, but because of the overwhelming feeling of the meeting I am minded to let it stand, but I will bring the matter up for review this time next year.”
Peter paused.
“But I am also going to end the meeting here. What has happened this evening has been potentially divisive and I do not think we can go on and sensibly talk about another matter about which feelings could run high. So I am suspending this meeting, we will resume at the same time in a fortnight’s time.”
“You mean you’re calling yet another meeting?” said Cameron. “Won’t you let us make up our own minds when we want?”
“I’ve not called another meeting, I’ve suspended this one,” Peter replied. “We resume in a fortnight where we left of the agenda today. Any objections?”
Predictably there was only one, Cameron. As Peter gathered up his things he heard Henry talking to Cameron.
“It’s not Peter who should consider his position, but you. You were out of order this evening and totally destructive in your approach. If you don’t resign from the council I will personally get together a special church meeting and get you voted off. Your conduct is contemptible and despicable.”
Peter left actually feeling relieved, his past was now out in the open and, he hoped, the rumours quashed. Perhaps now he could get on with his ministry.
Peter managed to clear his weekday diary completely for the rest of the fortnight. He and Jo spent the most of the rest of the time together. The deadline was 3 o’clock on Saturday as that was when they had to travel to London for the concert and to pick up Danielle afterwards. During the days they had they went to the cinema – three times, the zoo, the theatre, but most of the time they just walked or sat in the countryside talking. They talked about anything and everything, from Jo’s life on the farm to Peter’s abrupt end to playing rugby, and from the merits of hot massage to clergy stress. As the days progressed Peter noticed that they had developed an unwritten code of carefulness, he never went into her flat when he saw her home and she never expected to go back to the rectory in the evening. Come Saturday morning Peter was a contented man. He had not been so happy in years. He wasn’t’ meeting Jo ‘till lunchtime as she said she desperately needed to catch up on the washing before Danielle came back. Peter didn’t mind as he had to go out to Woodbridge as the garage had ‘phoned and said that the Rover was ready. He was just about to leave when he saw three people walking up his drive. The Major, John an ex-churchwarden, and Derek, one of the new council members. They all looked serious and were soon at the front door. Peter showed them into the lounge. They declined tea – always a bad sign. The last two times this had happened to Peter he had been virtually forced to ‘move on’.
The Major started.
“It’s been noticed that you have been going around with Miss Joanne Clarke.” He paused to make a harrumph sound. “We don’t think that this is a suitable thing for you to do.”
Derek chipped in.
“You haven’t been around long e
nough you know. She’s quite unstable; were you aware she attacked a man with her handbag at a young farmer’s do, and without any provocation?”
“And spent years in a mental home” said John. “Mental instability runs in the family, her father committed suicide.”
Back to the Major, they had obviously planned to take it in turns so that Peter could not accuse any one person of being vindictive. “And she’s a masseur working at the back of a tattoo parlour.”
“Looks like a tart” remarked John
“Single mum too, and you know what that means.” volunteered Derek.
Peter had had enough.
“What does it mean?”
Derek shuffled his feet.
“It means that she had sex out of wedlock”.
John interrupted.
“Goodness knows what she does in the back room of the parlour”
Peter began to lose his temper.
“Been there have you?”
“Goodness gracious no, wouldn’t catch me in a place like that”.
“Like what?” snapped Peter
“It’s a massage parlour,” said the Major. “Grow up man, what do you think men go to a massage parlour for! Certainly not massage!”
Total trollop,” said Derek. “You go out with a strumpet like her and it rubs off on the church’s reputation in the town.”
Peter stood up, walked to the front door and opened it.
“I don’t want to hear any more of this bigotry” he said forcibly. They trooped out, but the Major had to have the last word.
“It will all end in tears you know, we can’t have a vicar hanging about with the likes of her sort”.
“Well write to the Bishop” said Peter, “but don’t bring your poison in here.” And he slammed the door behind them.
Peter stormed out of the back of the house and into the Vitara, just stopping long enough to let Aquinas in the back. He roared round the house and very nearly ran the terrible trio over; they had stopped to regroup in the middle of his drive. He drove to miss them, just, but they all cattishly leapt out of his way. It took Peter virtually all of the drive to Woodbridge to calm down. About an hour later Peter was knocking on the door of Jo’s flat. He had parked the Land Rover a little way down the road. Jo opened the door, obviously not ready. Peter went in. She had on the dress she had worn when they went to Aldeburgh Cinema, but as yet no stockings. Another red rose tattoo, though somewhat larger than the one on her wrist, was visible on the outside of her left leg, halfway between knee and ankle. She did not try to hide it from Peter. She was also not wearing her cardigan at the moment.