by Ivan B
Jo gave Peter a sideways look.
“Not having secret liaisons already are we?”
Peter laughed.
“Definitely not. Jennifer is a record clerk with a penchant for Victorian history. She’s looking to solve an old mystery in our graveyard.”
Jo poured the soup out and she put it on the worktop, Peter suddenly noticed that there were four cups.
“Would you mind fetching the girls?”
Peter went upstairs and found Danielle and Louise in Danielle’s intended bedroom. The room had been transformed into what Peter could only think of as a purple boudoir with a half-decent mural of a seaside scene on one wall. The girls were sitting on double futon that had been folded into a settee and both were wearing earphones that were plugged into a portable CD. The floor of the room looked like a bad rubbish tip; Danielle was obviously moving some of her stuff in. Peter clapped his hands and indicated that there was food downstairs. They took their earphones off and stood up. Danielle turned to face Peter, grinned and pulled up her top, exposing her navel; in it was a small gold ring.
“You didn’t need my help then?” said Peter.
Danielle laughed.
“Mum told me to meet her at the shop yesterday and had Daphne do the deed.”
“Daphne?”
“Mum chickened out. She got everything ready and even swabbed my navel, then she said that she couldn’t do it, not on me, and handed over to Daphne.”
Louise grinned as well, “but she did mine though.”
Peter followed them downstairs. Danielle continued as they descended.
“You should have heard the lecture though. How to keep it all clean; how to help the wound heal, and that it was against her better judgment.”
“And,” said Louise; “we could wait two years before she’d give permission for anything else!”
They walked into the kitchen and Danielle said to her mum, “just telling Peter about my navel ring.”
Jo looked at Peter shaking her head; “I must be losing my touch.”
They talked over the soup and sandwiches and before Jo looked at the clock.
“Can you run me down to the shop please Peter? Janice is giving a tennis player a sports massage and I want to watch.”
Peter said a short prayer to himself.
“I don’t need the Rover this afternoon, why don’t you borrow it?”
“Not yet, maybe later,” she replied in a sort of sheepish voice. Then she added, “I’ll just nip in the loo first.”
When she had gone, Danielle quietly said to Peter in a very adult and protective manner.
“Peter, she doesn’t drive unless she absolutely has to. She absolutely hates it, it’s something to do with the stress of driving. She certainly would not dream of taking your precious Land Rover.”
Peter murmured his thanks before Jo emerged from the toilet and they walked to the car. Once inside Jo poked his arm.
“And what were you two whispering about?”
Peter decided to come clean.
“You and driving.”
Jo looked out of the side window.
“Sorry Peter I should have told you. I hate it, I absolutely loathe it. I’d rather walk.”
Peter grabbed her hand.
“Nothing to be sorry about. I hate flying.”
Jo looked in amazement at Peter and frowned.
“Just how much do you hate flying?
Peter let go of her hand to negotiate a corner.
“Enough that I have done it only twice.”
Jo considered this.
“When is the last time you flew?”
Peter paused to think.
“Twelve years ago. I had to fly; it takes too long to go to Iceland by sea.”
“You’ve been to Iceland?”
“Yes, sorry haven’t I mentioned it? It was on one of those exchange programmes; I went to Iceland for three weeks and one of theirs filled my shoes for three weeks.”
“Like it?”
“Loved it, you should try their snow-mobiles, they’re great fun.”
Jo returned to the subject of flying.
“Would you fly again?”
Peter suddenly sensed that he had disturbed some of Jo’s plans.
“If you were there to hold my hand, yes. Otherwise, no.”
Jo bit her lip and sucked on her lip-ring, always a sign that she was thinking.
“Does our honeymoon involve flying?” He asked.
“I did ask you to renew your passport.”
Peter pulled up as near as he could to Jo’s shop and turned the engine off. He turned to face her and held both her hands.
“I’m serious. If you are beside me I’ll cope. Any chance of knowing where we are off to?”
Jo sighed.
“I was going to keep it a secret, but they say anticipation is half of the fun. We’re going to Budapest for ten days.”
Peter was quite surprised; he’d heard that Budapest was a lovely city, but it would have hardly been top of his list for a romantic honeymoon. Jo must have seen the surprise on his face for she suddenly smiled from ear to ear.
“I have a few excursions planned; for instance on the weekend we are there were going twelve miles north-east of the city to a nice rural location.”
“Oh,” said Peter, “what’s it called?” As they started to walk to the shop.
Jo could hardly contain herself, “The Hungaroring.”
Peter stopped dead.
“How?” he managed to stutter.
“Marjorie. Remember you told me you though you saw her in the pit-lane at Brands Hatch. She has got contacts and we’ve got pit-lane passes and grandstand seats for both days.”
“But that costs a fortune,” said Peter.
Jo shook her head.
“Courtesy of an F-1 team, but which one I will keep secret until we get there! Oh, and we’re having dinner with the team on the Saturday evening.”
Peter was momentarily dumbstruck.
“But it’s got to be a honeymoon for both of us I mean…”
Jo laughed and poked him on the arm again.
“Don’t worry, Budapest has enough art galleries and museums to keep me going, and I’m told the city centre shops are fantastic.”
They arrived at the shop and Peter kissed her goodbye before she ran inside. As he turned to go he noticed that there was another photograph in the window. It showed the top of a woman’s arm and tattooed on it was a little pink heart with a red arrow through it. Written above the heart was one word – Peter.
Tuesday evening Peter did not know what to expect. The following night the Major and Henry had invited him out for a stag night, so on the Tuesday evening Peter, Jo and Danielle (plus Louise of course) had been invited to The Fisherman’s Friend for a pre-wedding reception. When they arrived they found a sign on the pub door that read, ‘sorry, closed for the evening – private party’. On entering they found the pub virtually full of both the regulars and the Saturday evening group. Bunting and posters had transformed the dingy bar and there was a banner above the bar proclaiming ‘congratulations to Jo and Peter’.
Peter began to have serious doubts about what lay in store, but everyone cheered as they came in and Taffy lined up a half of St Cedd’s for Peter, Perrier water for Jo and two Colas for the girls. Peter soon found out that in the rear bar there was a finger buffet. After they had been there about ten minutes, Taffy rang the bar-bell for silence and then proposed a toast for Peter and Jo. He then announced the back room open. Again everyone cheered and Peter and Jo were guided towards the room. Once inside they stopped just inside the door. Fully three-quarters of the floor area was taken up by the biggest model-racing car circuit Peter had ever seen. The model cars were each about twenty centimeters long and radio controlled, although they were obviously also on guide rails sunk into the track. Taffy saw the look on their faces.
“Thought we’d have some fun, and settle whether or not women are better drivers than men.�
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Four people could race at a time and soon races were under way and some sort of knockout competition started. It proved to be a wonderful evening; everyone seemed to enjoy having a go on the race track and just mingling and talking for the rest of the time. The grand finale ended up between Damian, Louise and Taffy; Damian won. During the evening a number of people came up and gave individual congratulations to Peter and Jo; about half way through the evening Kimberley and Damian did just that. As they were talking Kimberley suddenly produced a small parcel and gave it to Jo.
“This is from us – I hope that you are as happy as we are.”
In the parcel was a wooden pepper mill. Kimberley looked embarrassed.
“We didn’t know what to get and… ”
Jo reached out and held her hand.
“Thank you Kimberley, it’s just what we need.” She then gave Kimberley a hug.
Peter looked at Kimberley, her hair had grown back and she looked totally normal, you would not have thought that just a few weeks ago she was at death’s door. He leant towards her.
“How are you?”
She blushed.
“Very happy. I have a lovely house, a wonderful husband, a smashing daughter and I’m alive.”
“Is everything OK now?” Jo asked.
Kimberley shrugged her shoulders.
“I feel fine. The doctor’s say that I have made a complete recovery and that there should be no lasting effects. Except that I have a few holes in my memory.”
“You mean around the time of the accident?”
“Yes and no. I still can’t remember the accident, but I also can’t remember a thing about my last two years in junior school. I was showing some old photographs to Damian and when we got to those years I didn’t recognize a thing.”
“Are you worried about it?”
Kimberley smiled.
“On no. It’s just one of those things, but the consultant finds it interesting as he cannot explain why this should be; apparently it’s quite unusual.”
Peter finally dropped Jo and Danielle home just after midnight. As he drove home Peter wondered what the post-wedding reception was going to be like; the congregation at St Nathaniel’s had said that they wanted to lay this on, especially as they had not had a vicar married while at St Nathaniel’s in living memory. Wednesday was spent largely making sure that everything was in place to cover for Peter during his time on honeymoon. He did not think it fair to leave it all to Charmian and so had arranged for a couple of retired ministers to help her out with the mid-week communions. He had just sat back in his chair when he saw Charmian virtually running up his drive; there was something in her demeanour that told him that he might just have to re-arrange everything again. He let her in, she was virtually breathless.
“Peter I’ve had an e-mail from Angus.”
“Is it special?”
She sat down on the pew in the hall.
“He’s in Scotland at his base; apparently they had to come back for something of other. He’s going to be there for a week or so.”
Her face said it all.
“And you want to go and see him?”
She nodded. Peter contemplated what it must be like. He knew how he would feel if Jo disappeared for months on end. He’d want to take every chance he could get to see her.
“Then go.”
He could see that she was torn between duty, and love.
“I said go. There is nothing here that I can’t re-arrange. There is an old Jewish proverb, you must take the opportunity of a lifetime within the lifetime of the opportunity, so go.”
She squirmed on the pew.
“I’ve booked a number of people in my diary to visit this week, and… ”
Peter cut her short.
“Give me the diary pages, I will sort it out, now go.”
She opened her small backpack and withdrew her loose-leaf diary, extracted the pages and gave them to Peter. She asked sheepishly how long she could have.
Peter smiled.
“Up to three weeks; no let’s say a month max.”
She shook her head.
“If he says no more than two weeks he’ll be gone before they’re up.”
She picked up her backpack and gave Peter a small parcel.
“I was going to give this to Jo tonight. I hope you are both very happy.”
Peter took the parcel and thanked her, he then said, “Do I have to say it again?”
She laughed, “No, I’m going.” She virtually ran down the drive and out of sight.
Peter then spent an hour re-arranging his cover and phoning round explaining about Charmian’s non-visits. Virtually every parishioner said the same thing, that she ought to see Angus; only one gave a frosty reply, but then that particular one always believed that every cloud had a black lining. Eventually Peter opened Charmian’s small parcel; it was a wooden salt-mill, the exact twin of Kimberley and Damian’s pepper mill.
Later that day Peter climbed into the Major’s Volvo with some apprehension. He had no idea what lay in store and the fact that they had insisted on driving him just made matters worse. Eventually, at just before 8pm, they ended up at a very posh country house restaurant a couple of miles the other side of Ipswich. Henry said that were on a bit of a tight time-scale, so the had to order for him, but had taken some soundings from Jo. They went almost straight into the restaurant and already seated at a large round table were Sam, Roger, Mark, Dan and Tom. The meal was exquisite and the company jovial, but the pièce de résistance for Peter was the pudding. They had cooked bread and butter pudding especially for him. By the time they had finished the coffee it was nearly 10pm and Peter began to wonder what sort of time-scale Henry had alluded to. At precisely 10pm the Major looked at his watch.
“Time for phase two.” He announced.
They took Peter outside and drove him to Christchurch Park in Ipswich. Part of the park is a natural amphitheatre and Peter was taken to this and sat down on a small hillside overlooking the stage below. Henrycoughed.
“Jo said that you liked Shakespeare, the Royal Shakespeare Company are doing an open-air performance of Henry V, but they were performing earlier at Colchester Castle, hence the late start.”
Just then a trumpet sounded and the performance began. Henry V was not one of Peter’s favourite plays, but he enjoyed it thoroughly. Also enjoyable were the pseudo-Elizabethan jesters than entertained the crowd during the interval. The whole affair finished around 2am. As they were walking back to the car Peter noticed Henry on his mobile phone; he smiled at Peter.
“Phase three” was all he would say.
They drove back to Felburgh and along to Felburgh Creek finishing up in the golf-club car park. However, they did not take him to the clubhouse but to the beach below. On the beach was Sam, Roger, Mark, Dan and Tom plus a campfire with some fish grilling on sticks over the fire.
“Thought that we’d finish with breakfast on the beach,” said the Major, “nice bit of symbolism and all that.”
Peter finally got home just as the dawn chorus was starting, well fed and well cared for. As he flopped into bed he was content, especially as he had no appointments on Thursday except Jo coming for lunch.
Peter was woken by his mobile phone ringing. He sleepily answered to hear Jo say that she would be round for lunch in half an hour and sorry she was late. He managed a cheery “that’s OK” before looking at his watch. He then tried to break the world record for getting ready in the shortest time; he made it, fully washed and dressed, to the kitchen a full three minutes before Jo turned up. She eyed him suspiciously.
“Good night?”
He replied in the affirmative. “Thought so,” so said, “you’ve got your sweatshirt on inside out.”
They both laughed and exchanged stories. Jo had had her hen night the night before as well. Apparently Jo, Daphne, Lucy, Margaret, Janice, Wendy and Marjorie had all gone to the health Spa. They had all had a sauna and a massage followed by a fresh orange juice. On th
e way home they had then stopped at an Indian restaurant and had a giant curry. Peter thought on previous conversations.
“I thought Margaret was taking Danielle shopping today?”
“She is and she has, we’re not all like you and sleep in to lunch-time at the first opportunity.”
Peter then told of his stag night and the late finish, Jo eventually agreed that there were extenuating circumstances. When they had eaten their lunch Peter asked if Danielle had moved into Margaret and Sid’s yet: she was staying there while they had their honeymoon. Jo smiled.
“Change of plans. Margaret and Sid have booked the four of them on a holiday. While we leave for Budapest, they leave for Cornwall.”
“Four of them?”
Jo laughed.
“They’re taking Louise, who else? Margaret figured it would be the only way they could get some peace!”
Peter then told Jo of Charmian’s hurried exit and showed her the salt-mill. She grinned.
“There’s a conspiracy somewhere here. Janice has just given me her wedding present. It’s a spice mill, and guess what? It exactly matches the other two mills!”
Friday morning Peter was walking Aquinas in the churchyard before delivering him to Jane, who was looking after him for the next two weeks. As he rounded the church he found Jennifer by the walled graves. She seemed more excited than usual. The walled graves were now free of brambles and Peter could see the headstones lying inside. Jennifer could hardly contain her excitement.
“There are five memorials in here – five!”
“Not four as you expected?”
She shook her head whilst bouncing up and down with excitement.
“As I expected there are the headstones of Tomas, Emma and Joe, but there are also two smaller stone tables. One for an Anna Stokes and one for a William Jefferson.”
So they had children,” said Peter.
Jennifer continued to bounce up and down.
“That’s not all the tablets give the parents. Anna was born of Joe and Emma, more or less as you would expect; and William was born of Tomas and Queenie.”
“Who’s Queenie?” Peter asked.