Fisher of Men

by Pam Rhodes

  “Good! Can you set the table then, Neil?”

  Neil looked across at the kitchen table, which was covered in a tottering mountain of bits and pieces.

  “No, not that table,” retorted Margaret, following his gaze. “The one in the dining room. Here’s the cutlery drawer. The table mats are on the sideboard. It’s beef, isn’t it, dear?”

  Frank nodded that it was.

  “Horseradish, then!” she announced, stretching up to a wall cupboard to hand down salt, pepper and a jar of sauce to Neil. “And if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to call our daughter Sarah, as I usually do at this time on a Sunday. She and her husband Martin have provided us with our first grandchild, haven’t they, Frank?”

  Frank nodded in agreement as Margaret barely drew breath before continuing.

  “Edward Francis. Named after his grandfather! His second birthday will be coming up soon – and he’s already so advanced for his age! I’ll give them your love, Frank, and tell them you’ll probably ring later.”

  Margaret was almost out of the kitchen door when she suddenly turned round.

  “And I think we should break open a bottle of red, don’t you? See you at dinner!”

  With a flourish, she was gone, leaving the two men in a room which felt suddenly empty without her larger-than-life presence.

  “I know,” said Frank at last. “You wonder why I put up with her, don’t you?”

  “She’s a very positive personality…” replied Neil carefully.

  “We’ve been married a long time. There’s a lot of shorthand in a relationship like ours. Sometimes she’s got so much on her mind that she doesn’t give any thought to how her comments come across. She might sound abrupt, but I know how to read between the lines.”

  “You’re retired now, are you, Frank?”

  “I used to work for British Rail. Reached sixty-five and was pensioned off with a gold watch nearly four years ago. I was in the accounts office, which wasn’t the most stimulating of work, but it paid the bills and I had some good friends there.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Frank’s hand hovered above the cabbage as he gazed out the window.

  “Sometimes,” he answered at last. “I don’t miss working in London, though, and all that commuting at each end of the day.”

  “How long have you been here in Dunbridge?”

  “We came here soon after I retired. This is Margaret’s second parish, and you can see what a good job she’s making of it.”

  “Did she have another career before she started training for the ministry?”

  “Well, she’d brought up our two children, so didn’t go out to work when they were young – but by the time they’d left home, she was itching to get involved with something really fulfilling. And she felt called. She’d had that sense of vocation for several years, so I knew it was only a matter of time before she realized for herself that being in the ministry was the route she must take. And she’s doing so well, even though there’s far too much work for just one minister here. She’s wonderful with all the parishioners. She makes time for everyone, and is always willing to go the extra mile. Oh, I know she may not be the most organized of people…”

  Frank stopped when he saw the smile that crossed Neil’s face.

  “You’re right!” he laughed back, “and Margaret would be the first to admit that she’s a nightmare when it comes to tidiness and keeping track of things. But when it counts, she’s on the button. You’ll find that while you’re here, Neil. There are so many claims on her time, she’s torn in all directions – so although she may not always be right by your side, you will have her solid, unfailing support and encouragement. She’ll train you well – perhaps not in record keeping or where to find things – but how to listen, how to read between the lines, how to get alongside people when they’re hurting or fearful, how to show the love of God to those around you – that’s the sort of thing you will learn in abundance from my very dear wife!”

  “And I’m looking forward to that. But what about you, Frank? After all, she’s the one with the official position here, and yet it’s clear it would be very hard for her to accomplish all she does without your support and help.”

  “I’m like the Vicar’s wife, aren’t I!” said Frank with a grin. “Tied to the kitchen sink, dinner always in the oven. I’m her backroom boy, and I am glad for that. There’s too much for her to get through on her own.”

  “But didn’t you have your own thoughts about what you might like to spend your time doing in retirement? Were you going to build a model train set or take up travelling?”

  Frank turned to look at Neil.

  “My greatest love is Margaret. She’s like a steamroller sometimes, but there’s more to her than most people see.”

  “Of course,” nodded Neil.

  “Besides,” added Frank with a smile, “she’s a lousy cook! Heaven help us if we relied on her for meals!”

  “Frank!” Margaret’s voice echoed down the stairs from her upstairs study. “Where’s the phone number of that couple who rang this morning about getting married here?”

  “On the pad by the phone, dear. Do you want me to bring it up to you?”

  “Oh, would you? That will be a great help! And a cup of tea would be nice…”

  Frank dried his hands, flicked down the switch on the kettle, then turned towards Neil with a wry smile. “You see, I’m a great help – and that’s OK with me.”

  “Well, now I’m here, hopefully I can be a great help too,” replied Neil – and he picked up the knife to take over the cabbage chopping from where Frank had left off.

  It was gone seven, after Evensong, when Neil finally made his way home, his mind reeling at the events of the day. Images of the many people he’d met at the morning service; lunch with Frank and Margaret followed by hours of very constructive chat about his role in the parish team and how his training would be organized – and finally, the warm fellowship he’d felt as he worshipped with the small group who gathered in the church for Evensong. Already, he could feel himself relaxing into this community as he learned more about the role he was called to play. There was so much to learn, such a lot to do – but he instinctively knew that this was where God wanted him to be, and it was up to him to rise to the challenge.

  He was lost in thought as he walked up Vicarage Gardens towards Number 96, until he noticed Harry was still hard at work in his own front garden. This time, though, he was not alone. He had a very small, fair-haired assistant, a little boy who looked oddly familiar. It was when Harry called Neil over to introduce the two of them, and the youngster looked up at him with pale-green eyes, that Neil remembered with a sense of dread where he’d seen the boy before. So, when Harry had mentioned “the kid” – the niece who helped him with his garden – the girl he actually meant was…

  “You’re staring again!”

  Neil felt rooted to the pavement as he found himself once more under the disdainful scrutiny of the young woman he’d met in the graveyard, the one whose attractive rear view he had inadvertently been admiring in the church hall. Well, she was very attractive in an unusual sort of way, even in the old jeans and baggy T-shirt she was wearing at that moment. Her naturally pale skin was tanned from the outdoor life she plainly enjoyed, and her cropped sandy-coloured hair curled rebelliously around her face as she stood up from the flowerbed she was weeding to put her arm protectively around the boy’s shoulders.

  “Oh!” said Harry with a smile, “so you know each other? Well, of course, you do – through the church! Claire looks after the church grounds, Neil, but you probably already know that.”

  “Ah,” started Neil hesitantly, “we have met once or twice, but we haven’t really been introduced.”

  “Well,” continued Harry as he slipped his arm round the girl’s waist, “this is my niece…”

  “Great-niece,” corrected Claire.

  “Great-niece,” agreed Harry. “Her grandfather was my older brother, Arthur,
God rest him.”

  “And my name is Arthur too,” interjected the boy. “Samuel Arthur Holloway. She’s my Mum!”

  Neil smiled down at the earnest expression on the young boy’s face.

  “And are you usually called Samuel? Or just Sam?”

  “It depends. When Mum’s mad at me, she calls me Samuel. I like Sam best, though.”

  “So do I,” agreed Neil, “and I am really very pleased to meet you properly, Claire.”

  She didn’t reply, but turned instead towards Harry.

  “You’ve been at this for ages. Are you ready to stop for some tea now?”

  “Great idea!” replied Harry. “Fancy a cuppa, Neil?”

  “Oh no, don’t worry.” Neil’s voice stuttered slightly with embarrassment. “I don’t want to intrude, and I’ve got work to get on with tonight.”

  “It’s Sunday, the day of rest!” replied Harry. “Come round the back and sit on our patio for a while before the sun goes down. We’ve got one of those seats that swing, you know. I can never sit on it for more than five minutes before I’m nodding off.”

  Neil grinned. “Sounds like my kind of chair!”

  “Then I can show you the pond Claire built from scratch for me last summer. She went to agricultural college to study horticulture, didn’t you, love? She’s very talented.”

  “And we’ve got fishes,” enthused Sam, “big red ones, and a black one with goggle eyes!”

  “Goggle eyes?” Neil struggled not to chuckle as he looked down at Sam. “Surely not! That’s something I have to see!”

  And as Sam grabbed his hand to take him round the back, Neil tried to ignore the resigned sigh from Claire before she left them to it.

  With Sam and Harry leading the way, Neil was towed around the side of the house until they all emerged into the most glorious back garden he’d ever seen. It was longer than he expected, and appeared to stretch further still into the parkland beyond. It was a picture of colour, shape and texture, with graceful shrubs and bushes arching over vibrant beds of flowering plants interspersed with gravel paths and patches of forest bark. Right at the centre, a series of ponds sparkled with water that leaped and tumbled through reeds and water lilies.

  “They’re here!” exclaimed Sam excitedly. “There’s Goggle Eyes! Over there, see?”

  Harry settled himself on one of the rustic benches to the side of the largest pond, and watched them both with an indulgent smile.

  “Claire did all this, you know. It took her months last summer, but look how it’s matured in just a year.”

  “She’s obviously very talented,” agreed Neil, who was genuinely impressed by the skilful planning and planting which must have gone into creating the garden’s crowning glory.

  “And Mum and I think that Goggle Eyes is a bit lonely because he’s the only black fish. We’re going to find a girlfriend for him.”

  “I bet he’ll like that,” said Neil gravely. “Where will you go to get Mrs Goggle Eyes?”

  “Where will we go, Mum?”

  “To the big fish centre, Sam, where we got the others, do you remember?” Neil hadn’t realized until that moment that Claire had come through the kitchen to join them – or more likely, to keep a wary eye on him!

  “Are we going to get her now?”

  “Not right now,” replied Claire. “It’s nearly your bedtime.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “Can you come?” Sam asked Neil.

  “Well,” replied Neil, very conscious of Claire’s disapproving stare, which challenged him to do anything but turn down Sam’s invitation. “I have a lot of work to do, and I may be busy when you and Mum are able to go…”

  “Well, Grandad’s coming too, aren’t you, Grandad? We could all go together. Mum would like that, wouldn’t you, Mum?”

  “Tell you what,” ventured Neil, “I’d love to have a look round the rest of your garden. Will you take me, Sam?”

  The little boy’s face lit up.

  “I could show you the greenhouse. I found a caterpillar in there. It had yellow stripes and sticky-up hairs!”

  “Oh dear, I don’t suppose your Mum wants caterpillars crawling over her plants in the greenhouse,” smiled Neil.

  “Why not?” asked Sam with a puzzled expression.

  “Because they’ll eat all the leaves!” said Claire.

  “When? I haven’t seen them eating leaves!”

  “Well, believe me, they love them – for breakfast, dinner and tea!”

  “They’ll get very fat,” replied the little boy, his face troubled.

  “They’ll be very flat, if I have anything to do with it…” murmured Claire under her breath, and when Neil caught her eye, he thought for just a moment she almost smiled.

  “Tell you what, Sam,” interjected Harry with a laugh, “as it’s nearly your bedtime, how about you show Neil the greenhouse another day? If you get into your pyjamas nice and quick, I’ll give you a game of Snap!”

  Caterpillars forgotten, Sam began to run towards the house, calling over his shoulder to Neil, “Do you want to play Snap too?”

  “Oh no, you’ve all got things to do. I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

  “You’ll only be a nuisance if you’re too good at Snap and don’t let Sam win every time,” muttered Harry.

  “Do you mean cheat?” Neil’s face was a picture of mock outrage.

  “Exactly!” agreed Harry.

  “That’s OK, then. I’m good at that!” And Neil grinned as he caught up with Harry to walk back into the house.

  One hour and five games of Snap later, Sam was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

  “Come on, little man,” said Claire quietly as she scooped him up into her arms. “Time for bed!”

  “Can I have a story?”

  Sam’s voice was drowsy with sleep.

  “If you stay awake that long,” whispered his Mum as she started to carry him up the stairs.

  Both men watched them go – and almost as if Harry had read Neil’s unasked question, he said, “Claire and Sam live here. They have done since she knew she was expecting.”

  “And Sam’s Dad?”

  “In Australia. I mean, he is an Australian. Ben was here for a gap year before he went back to university. He and Claire were joined at the hip for the ten months or so that he was here – but he still went back home, even though he knew Sam was on the way.”

  “How caring and responsible of him!”

  “Well, they were both so young – and I think there was quite a bit of pressure from his parents for him to go back and get on with his studies.”

  “Did they know about Claire? About their grandchild?”

  “They don’t keep in touch at all, so possibly not.”

  “And Ben? Does he support his son?”

  “Claire hasn’t heard from him for years.”

  “Does she mind?”

  “She did in the beginning. He broke her heart. She’s not got a very good opinion of men at all now.”

  “I noticed!”

  Harry grinned. “You too, eh! Well, you’re not alone. To be fair, I think she’s got her hands full, what with Sam and working all hours too. That’s why it’s good for the two of them to be living with me. I can look after Sam when she’s busy – and she can look after me in return!”

  “I can see it works really well.”

  “Well, Rose and I were never blessed with children of our own. We had a tragedy early on in our marriage when Rose got pregnant. We were so excited when we found out she was expecting, but then our son was born premature and stillborn. Rose never really recovered from that. It was a sadness that stayed with her – with both of us, really.”

  “So what about Claire’s parents? Do they live near here?”

  “Her Dad, Trevor, was a Navy man. He married my niece, Felicity, after a whirlwind romance. Now, let me think, they got married after Christmas – in ’84, that must have been. She got pregnant
really soon. Turned out, though, that he was also promised to a woman up in Faslane, and that’s where he disappeared off to one night. Felicity tracked him down eventually and went up there to see him, taking Claire with her – but he wasn’t interested. It turned out he already had a three-year-old son by the other woman. Felicity didn’t want him when she knew how much of a creep he really was. She wouldn’t even keep his name and reverted to her maiden name as soon as the divorce came through. That’s why Claire and Sam are Holloways, like me.”

  “So Felicity brought Claire up on her own?”

  “Like daughter, like mother! Yes, Felicity was a good Mum. They lived down the other end of the town, so Rose and I saw them often.”

  “And is she still there?”

  “Well, Felicity’s story has a happy ending. She didn’t marry for years. Then, when Claire was at agricultural college – she would have been about nineteen then – Felicity met a lovely fella called David. She worked in the offices of a big insurance company that’s based near here, and he’s a financial advisor up in Yorkshire who used to talk to her on the phone several times a week. They must have got to know each other quite well during their calls, because when he finally drove down to meet her, it was love at first sight! He proposed within a couple of months, and not long before Claire’s twentieth birthday, David married Felicity and whisked her off to live in Scarborough.”

  “How did Claire feel about that?”

  “Delighted! She wanted her Mum to be happy, and it freed her up to get on with her own life.”

  “And then along came Ben?”

  “That’s right, a couple of years later – and he scarpered back home as soon as Claire told him she was pregnant.”

  “Poor Claire…”

  “Do you know, I think, whatever reservations she had at the time, Claire would say now that Sam is the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She’s a great Mum. She’s happy, I think.”

  “She gets all the hours she needs as a gardener?”

  “Well, Margaret has been good to her. She gets paid for all the work she does at the church. And people see her out digging and notice how nice the flowerbeds look since she’s been giving them a bit of attention, so a few more jobs have come in on the back of that. She does all right.”