It could be. But it won’t.
‘Nice skirt, by the way,’ he says, leaning over to kiss her hair.
She leans away.
He picks up his pint.
‘Pretty crappy day at school today.’ He takes a couple of swigs from his drink. ‘Some of the girls driving me mental. Snapchatting each other all the way through class. Had to threaten to send half a dozen to the head. Again.’
Margot tenses. Cyd. Taboo between them.
‘There Must Be an Angel’ rings out from the table between them. Felix’s little joke. He snatches it up before she can stop him.
‘Reverend Goodwin’s office?’
She grabs it back in terror.
‘Hello?’
‘Is this Margot?’
A stranger on this number?
‘This is Brian. Marshall.’
She struggles to remember.
‘The guy you were supposed to be meeting at the Odeon last night.’
‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry.’
Doubly so, because he’s in Clarissa’s research team at the university. Hand-picked.
Felix watches her quizzically, dabbing up some nut shards
‘Clarissa said you were really keen to meet,’ says Brian.
Of course she did.
‘I’m sorry, Brian.’ Her mind is racing. ‘I wasn’t feeling well and totally forgot to message you.’
There’s a long pause.
‘So you want to meet up another time or what?’
‘Can I give you a call in a day or two?’
He gives a hard laugh.
‘If you can spare the time. Sounds like you’re busy.’
She stares at the phone. Clarissa will not forgive this one.
‘Anything you want to tell me?’ Felix leans back against the bench.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Right.’
‘Just helping out a friend.’ She can feel herself reddening. ‘It’s a bit complicated.’
‘But complicated nothing?’
He has every right to challenge her. But where to start? She’s demanded such extreme measures of secrecy from him. And yet has been arm-twisted into seeing a random stream of strangers from a dating site. She drops her head. Right now, she has no choice but not to tell him.
‘Everything in your life seems complicated, Margot,’ says Felix, draining his pint.
Later this evening, she’ll have to slip back into Aberdeen Avenue, tense from the risk of sliding her key in the lock, desperately hoping she won’t run into Nathan asking her if she’s back from a very late prayer group, or Cyd materialising in the corridor, saying nothing, saying everything with her eyes.
She’d like nothing more right now than to be cradled his arms.
How long before he turns round and says she’s not worth the effort?
Danny, can I come up and see you sometime soon? I want to talk to out about Dad and this whole marriage thing. Margot xx
We already did that, Margot. Time to deal with it now? Danny
It’s not the marriage, Danny, it’s the fact that Dad wants me to take the service. I can’t. I’m not allowed to. xx
Why don’t you just do it as their wedding present? Here endeth the lesson. D
After her mother died, the Goodwins simply imploded, fragments of family and memory scattered like grapeshot.
Dan’s hostility baffles Margot, shames her. He seems to be nursing some profound sense of injustice, a wound still festering long after they’ve both left that challenging childhood behind. What exactly is he blaming her for? Leaving him alone with her father when she left home for university? Because he had no one with whom he could share the pain? Or did she do something when they were both very young that caused this lifelong grudge? So many concentric circles of hurt.
Does he still sometimes do that same honking laugh, a sound so infectious she once found herself rolling around on the rug next to him, unable to speak for at least five minutes? Does he still mix apricot and strawberry jam together on his toast? Is he happy? Will she ever be able to reach him again?
‘Morning, everyone.’
Her head is packed with steel wool as she walks into the vestry two weeks later.
Tommy looks up with a smile; Roderick ignores her.
She loops her coat above his greasy rain jacket and takes her seat. Someone has left a coffee ring on her St James’s Bible, her leaving gift from the principal. No prizes for guessing who.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’
She holds her breath.
‘The hospital called. Arthur Davies is not doing so well, sadly. He had a fall a couple of days ago and has picked up some chest infection. They said he’s going downhill fast.’
Arthur’s her talisman and friend.
‘You might want to call in, if you have time?’
She flushes. She hasn’t been to see Arthur in over three weeks.
‘I’ll come too.’
‘No need, Roderick.’
‘Grave times call for seniority,’ he croaks, looking over at Jeremy, who’s studiously folding the tea towel back into squares.
‘I think we’re best leaving Margot to handle this one, Roderick.’
There’s a rattle on the doorknob. They all look over expectantly to see Fabian stride in. He nods at Jeremy and Roderick.
‘Hello all. On my way to a board meeting, but I wanted a quick word with you, vicar, if I may.’ He purses his lips. ‘In private.’
Several glances criss-cross the room.
The door clicks shut behind Jeremy and his golden-boy fundraiser.
It’s mid evening by the time she gets back home. It’s still very light, yet another reminder of the summer fast approaching, unstoppable.
Five weeks to get through.
She comes to a stop on the front doorstep. Through the open windows, she can hear Nathan and Cyd having a furious row upstairs.
She slips inside and takes off her shoes. They’re on the landing, right outside the boys’ rooms.
‘Stop stalking me.’
‘Stalking? Don’t you dare talk to me like that.’
‘You’re always in my fucking space.’
Margot’s shoulders slump. What exactly is her role here? Mediation? Distraction? Or just leave them to it and protect her boundaries at all costs?’
‘Christ, Cyd, you’re fifteen. The boys are more mature than you. Do you not understand how serious this all is? What the hell were you playing at?’
‘That place is like a prison.’
‘You’d rather be stacking shelves in bloody Asda?’
‘Maybe I would.’
‘One of these days, Cydney, you won’t know what’s hit you. My parents would have gone ballistic if I’d skived off school for one day, let alone eighteen. Eighteen!’
Margot goes cold.
‘Whatever.’
‘I’ve had it up to here with your stupid— oh God, sorry, Margot, I didn’t see you there.’
Cyd seizes her chance, racing up the stairs to the attic.
‘I can see why Mum ran off with Eric,’ she shouts down, before the door slams shut.
‘WHAT DID YOU SAY?’
Margot charges up to the landing, but he’s already at the top, hammering on the door.
She hears a rustling behind her and turns to see the boys cowering, chalk-faced, just inside the bathroom. She races over and gathers them into her arms.
‘Hey, you two,’ she whispers into their huddle, ‘how about a quick story down in my room? I may even have some Smarties left.’
She is able to do this at least. The three of them head downstairs, attached at the waist like crabs.
Much later, there’s a quiet knock on her door. She glances behind her, where the twins are both fast asleep, sprawled across the duvet.
Nathan looks as though he’s forgotten how to stand vertical.
‘I’m so sorry about that, Margot.’
‘Families,’ she shrugs.
He beckon
s her into the hall.
‘Christ.’
He rubs his forehead.
‘The school called. As you probably gathered. Cyd’s been bunking on and off for months apparently.’
Her pulse quickens. It’s coming closer.
‘They’ve issued a formal warning. One more strike and she’s out.’
She should have seen it. It’s not as though there weren’t any clues.
‘Was it the head who called?’
Nathan looks at her a moment.
‘I don’t remember, to be honest. All I know is that we’re pretty much screwed unless she starts pulling it together. He was furious, whoever it was.’
Margot glances over her shoulder at the boys, curled up together like prawns.
‘He didn’t pull any punches about how serious it all is.’
She looks down at her feet.
‘I’m so sorry.’
He slumps back against the wall, looking like he’s on the point of tears.
‘That’s not all.’ He gives a shaky sigh. ‘Cyd just told me, though I don’t know why she didn’t say so before – her mother’s pregnant.’
It’s Margot’s turn to steady herself.
‘Can you believe it? I haven’t got the slightest idea how I’m going to break it to the boys. And Cyd seems to be hurtling off the rails so fast, I won’t be able to stop her.’
Hugging is out of bounds. But it’s the only possible response.
Chapter 19
Mid-May
The hospice where they’ve moved Arthur is on the far side of Stoke Newington. She’s dreading it, because she knows exactly what to expect. She’s already visited a handful of other people here. There’s only so much of a shell you can form.
It’s not the smells. Or the tired smiles of the staff. It’s the sense of overwhelming helplessness. Plus, this time it’s personal. Arthur has been her steadying anchor with his constant affectionate teasing, all those anecdotes from his youth about the dodgy on-street betting cartel run by Humperty-Back Jim and the scrapes with the rozzers, his pitch-perfect Roderick impersonations.
She dreads seeing him reduced.
‘Got a miracle for me in that handbag of yours, vicar?’
The nurse glances up from refilling the water jug.
He is propped against three large pillows in a small, light room right at the far end of the corridor. A lattice of watery sunlight patterns the lino. Someone’s left a large unopened box of Maltesers on the bedside table.
‘Oi, hands off,’ he laughs, ‘Matron gave me them. She’s a poppet, just like you.’
‘How are you, Arthur?’ She pulls a chair alongside the bed.
‘Could be worse, ducks.’
His voice has the texture of baking paper. There’s a pale gleam to his cheeks, the skin stretched taut. He must have lost a stone since she last saw him.
‘Grub’s a bit runny.’
The small wink squeezes her heart. Does he know how ill he is?
‘You’re looking a little bit peaky, missy. That vicar being a slave driver is he? Or you been out on the razz too much?’
‘Well, I––’
‘Just kidding, lovey,’ he chuckles, ‘take no notice of me. You just look after yourself. You’re special, you are.’
His hand is canary-light in hers. His fingers return a tiny pulse of pressure.
‘Come here a tick, will you?’
He leans in.
‘I’d like you to do it.’ Coughing convulses him and Margot waits while he wipes his mouth. ‘If you don’t mind?’
She takes in the small, sterile space around them. Is he asking her to perform the last rites, when the time comes?
‘I told the boys already and they’re fine with it, you know, with you being a girl and all that. They said it would make a nice change if that’s what I wanted.’
‘Oh, yes’ she says. ‘Of course, Arthur.’
No tears. She owes him that.
‘I know you’ll do me proud.’ He pats her hand. His touch flutters like a small child’s. ‘Only sorry I won’t be there to see you in action.’ He pokes her arm gently.
She waits for the wheezing to subside.
‘Would you like us to pray a little, Arthur?’
‘Nah, don’t worry, sweetie. Why spoil things?’
They sit, quiet, still, holding hands. Somewhere along the corridor, a nurse is issuing instructions, accompanied by a bass line of syncopated beeps.
‘How about I read to you for a bit,’ she suggests, glancing over at the pile of magazines on the windowsill.
‘You’re all right, darling. I like it nice and peaceful just like this.’
He gives her a smile and closes his eyes. She watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath the baggy checked pyjamas.
The Arthurs are the reason she does this job, she thinks, as she strokes his fingers.
She can’t go straight back to the vestry afterwards. The I/thou red line only takes you so far. This may be her job, but it’s so much more than that. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise hasn’t committed to it heart and soul.
It’s not just Arthur weighing her down. It’s Cyd and the rest of the Armstrongs and what they all must be suffering after hearing about the mother’s pregnancy. Their pain eats away at the back of her mind like paint-stripper. A new baby. A tiny cuckoo in the nest.
She hesitates, then pulls out her phone.
Can you slip out in an hour or so for a quick coffee? I’d really like to chat xxxxx
‘OK, so what’s up?’
Margot is so shocked, she sloshes coffee all over Jeremy’s diocesan quinquennial vicarage inspection report. The brusqueness of the question has also stemmed the chatter of the group squashed in next to her.
‘Oh, hi! How––’
‘I’ve left thousands of messages.’
She looks dreadful. Concave contours, yellowish skin, stains all over her black jumper.
A vice is pressing down on Margot’s temples. She doesn’t need to check the clock to sense the danger.
‘I’m so sorry, Clariss. I’ve been drowning in work.’ She waves the quinquennial report feebly. ‘What with Easter and Holy Week and then Whitsun coming up and––’
‘I’m familiar with the clerical calendar, thanks.’
Margot’s head feels light.
‘Brian sends his love.’
Margot drags her papers together.
‘Clariss, do you mind if we––’
He’s there in two strides before she can stop him. Pushing past the queue at the counter and bending to kiss her.
‘God, I’ve missed you, Gogo.’
‘For nothing is secret than shall not be made manifest, neither anything hid that shall not be known and come to light.’
Felix gapes at Clarissa.
‘You two haven’t met.’ Margot steadies herself. ‘Felix, this is my oldest friend, Clarissa. Clariss, this is—’
Clarissa pushes Jeremy’s report off the bench and thumps down next to Margot. Felix hesitates, then lowers himself down on Clarissa’s left.
‘So. Felix.’ Clarissa angles towards him in a furious curve. ‘Tell me about yourself. You know what Margot – sorry, “Gogo” – is like. Plays those cards so very close to her chest.’
Felix and Margot walk back along Holloway Road in silence.
‘She’s really one of your oldest friends?’ he asks finally.
She can’t even look at him.
Short of quizzing them about their favourite positions, Clarissa displayed all the tact and sensitive of a rack operator. Felix repeatedly glanced over at Margot for some kind of lifeline, but she was seasick with shock.
‘You don’t know her.’
He turns to face her.
‘I’d be careful if I were you.’
Vic-i-leaks: Scenes from Parish Life, 20 May 2017
Brexit Schmexit. I’ve got enough politics to deal with here in the vestry without listening to May and Corbyn pontificating abo
ut what’s going to happen two years down the line. I mean, surely whether we buy the clergy biscuits in Lidl or Tesco is of more real significance, guys? Although some people should keep an eye on their waistline. Just saying.
She can’t stop checking. And the postings are becoming increasingly frequent. It’s like watching her career hit the barriers in slow motion.
Vic-i-leaks: Scenes from Parish Life, 20 May 2017
Hell’s friggin bells. Some of this lot are enough to turn you atheist. Pack ’em off to a nursing home pronto, I say. I’ve had enough of hearing about surgical stockings and the failings of the NHS. I need fun, fun, fun. Their idea of which is snuggling down with a bumper issue of the Radio Times and a vat of Ovaltine. What I need is a hot guy to take my mind off things…
Margot feels like retching, the sensation of being spied on is so intense.
Clarissa. It has to be. No, impossible. She’s her oldest friend. They’ve been through too much together over the years. She may be short-fused and controlling and possibly going through some tough stuff right now, but she’s never do anything as vicious and damaging as this.
Margot flushes at even entertaining the possibility.
There are three texts waiting for her when she gets out of the shower the next day.
The worst thing is that you didn’t even look sorry. Nine years of friendship and then to be humiliated like that?
Margot’s slumps on the bed. She’s right. What kind of friend behaves like that? What kind of hypocrite?
The second is Ricky.
Linda’s really upset about the handfasting. Surely you can bend the rules for once in your life, Margot?
Hypocrite and prig.
Margot, please call me as soon as you get this, J.
Complete lost cause.
‘You don’t have to, Margot. Really, it’s completely your call.’ His kindness stiffens her resolve. ‘I could ask Roderick.’
The Girls' Book of Priesthood Page 18