by Chrys Cymri
Irene, the assistant bishop, was seated across the table from Morey. She leaned forward to speak to him. ‘We’ve heard about Seren. Our sorrow for your sorrow.’
‘Thank you,’ Morey said gruffly.
‘I’ve been working with the local police liaison officer,’ I continued. ‘He is assisting in the investigations of the deaths, and I’ve offered pastoral support to the bereaved. I’ve also met with Dominic’s abbot a couple of times.’
I ran through some of the police conclusions, and summarised the conversations I’d had with Father Gerald. At Ian’s request, I outlined some of the issues facing Lloegyr, as races which had once lived far apart were being brought together during their own industrial and technological revolution.
‘I know the hope of Bishop Aeron,’ said Bishop Nigel, ‘is that faith groups could help forge community cohesion.’
Ian chuckled. ‘We’ve said that often enough over here. There’s always that hope, isn’t there?’
‘How involved are you in interfaith forums?’ Bishop Irene asked me.
‘Very little,’ I replied. ‘There aren’t any other centres of worship in Beckeridge.’
‘I think we need to ensure that you join some,’ Bishop Nigel decided. Beside him, his chaplain wrote down the appropriate action note. ‘See first hand how differing faiths can work together in Northamptonshire. Are you happy with that, Penny?’
I hadn’t realised that my mouth had slipped into a frown. ‘Just thinking about the demands of my parish.’
‘But this will come out of the other half of your role.’ The Bishop’s voice was kind but firm. I wondered if he realised that, internally, I was once again groaning with frustration. More time as Vicar General in England, rather than in Lloegyr.
We discussed the problems of snail sharks and how to explain the remains of dragons and harpies to those who found them. ‘I’m in Parliament next week,’ Nigel said. ‘I’ll speak to Sue Harkness, the Minister without Portfolio, about this. Although part of me would like us all to be honest, and simply let everyone know about Lloegyr--’
‘No.’ I took a deep breath, startled to have found myself interrupting my bishop. ‘There are things in Lloegyr which could be dangerous in the wrong hands.’
‘Hitler tried to convince several dragon families to join the Luftwaffe,’ Sally told the group. They nodded, and I realised that this was not news to them. ‘He only stopped when Churchill threatened to recruit some dragons of his own. It was a step too far for both sides.’
‘MAD,’ said Ian. ‘Mutual Assured Dragon.’
We all gave the requisite groan.
‘Dragons don’t like to fight dragons,’ Morey said. ‘They prefer to bluster and threaten, and then to find a way to back down. If they didn’t, with all their flamepower, the results could be catastrophic.’
‘There are dangerous beings in Lloegyr,’ Bishop Nigel agreed. ‘But we need to come up with some better story than hallucinations and drug induced visions.’
‘Particularly when it’s one of our own priests,’ Ian said drily.
After another fifteen minutes I was released. ‘Short break,’ Bishop Nigel announced. ‘I’ll see Penny out.’
Morey and I exchanged a quick glance. He returned to his usual perch, and I followed the Bishop down through the meandering corridors of his home. ‘And how are you, Penny?’ he asked quietly. ‘Really?’
‘Managing.’
‘She had a major row with her brother,’ Morey said.
‘So much for confidentiality,’ I told the gryphon, annoyed at his interference.
‘James?’ Bishop Nigel asked. I nodded, impressed as ever at his ability to recall details of his clergy’s private lives. ‘He’s younger than you, and lives in New Zealand?’
‘He came back a couple of months ago. At the moment, he’s living with me.’
‘And the row was about…?’ Then he halted. We were by the front door, and mercifully near a radiator. I felt a welcome warmth against my left leg. ‘Have you seen him since Alan’s funeral?’
‘He wasn’t at the funeral.’
‘Ah. What kept him away?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ I said bitterly.
The Bishop studied me for a moment. ‘Was he close to Alan?’
‘Yes.’ I was acutely aware that I was keeping a very busy man away from an important meeting, but it was also a relief to be able to talk to someone about my brother. ‘I met Alan when James was six years old. You could say that Alan raised him.’
‘And that you did as well.’
‘I’m his sister, not his mother.’
Nigel smiled gently. ‘You once told me that your parents died when he was only four years old. So who raised him?’
I slipped cold hands into warm trouser pockets. ‘I’m not his mother. I don’t want to be his mother.’
‘Or perhaps you don’t want to have to act like a mother?’ he asked. ‘But the responsibilities given to us are not often of our own choosing. I think, Penny, you have to be the adult now. Put the argument behind you. Speak to James. You both lost Alan. Don’t lose each other as well.’
Morey waited until we were in the car to comment, ‘I like your bishop.’
‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I like yours.’
‘I’d trade yours for mine and throw in the change.’
And yet Bishop Aeron had come to assist with Seren’s exhumation. It would obviously take more than that for Morey to forgive her. I started the car and we headed back home.
<><><><><><>
The rest of the farming community of Northamptonshire had decided that their friends needed company. When I emerged from the car, ninety minutes later, I was in desperate need of food and a cup of tea. Morey peeled off to fly to the office while I went through to the kitchen.
No sign that James had returned. No messages left on my answerphone nor had there been any on my mobile. I made my cheese sandwich, allowed myself an extra helping of crisps, and took two mugs of tea into the office.
Clyde pressed himself against the glass wall of his terrarium. ‘Neighbours.’
‘What’s wrong with the neighbours?’ I asked.
‘Not the neighbours, Neighbours,’ Morey explained. ‘He wants to come with me to watch it in the lounge.’
I glared at Morey. ‘You’ve introduced him to Australian soap operas?’
‘Neighbours,’ Morey said stiffly, ‘is recommended viewing for understanding human culture.’
‘And that is so wrong on so many levels.’ Then a thought struck me. ‘How does Clyde normally watch TV?’
‘I use the “on-demand” from your computer. I sit on the desk, and he watches it from his tank.’
I put down my cup of tea. ‘I leave the computer on for you to do your work, not to watch what happens with Charlene and Scott.’
Morey lifted his beak from his tea. ‘Who are they?’
‘Oh, fame is so fleeting.’ I looked at the snail shark. His tentacles waved at me, mouth cracking open in his version of a smile. The sight of the rows of teeth reminded me why Clyde lived in a terrarium. On the other hand, knowing that the pup enjoyed watching TV might give some disciplinary leverage. ‘I’ll put the computer on. I can work on my laptop in the kitchen.’
The phone rang as the Macbook was powering up. ‘Penny White,’ I answered automatically.
‘Is that the Vicar?’
‘Yes, Penny White, Vicar of Beckeridge.’
‘Vicar, it’s me, Roy.’
I tried to place the voice, and ended up hedging, ‘Yes.’
‘Roy, what lives up the street from church.’
Still none the wiser, I gave him another drawn out, ‘Yes.’
‘Me and the missus are still grateful you called round when our Dezzie was sick.’
Now I placed him. ‘Your daughter. Yes. How is she?’
‘Doing great. What I’m calling for, Vicar, is about Des. Desmond Fletcher. You know he’s been ill?’
‘No,’ I
said with regret. Not living in the village meant I often didn’t hear such news.
‘Well, I was visiting him, you see. And he starts talking about funerals and coffins and the like. So I said to him, “Des, you need the Vicar.” Can you go see him?’
‘Certainly.’ I clicked through to my on-line calendar. ‘Where is he?’
‘In Northampton General. The docs don’t think he’s got that long left.’
‘I’ll go now,’ I promised. The afternoon governors’ meeting would have to do without me. ‘Which ward?’
I wrote down the details and picked up my mobile phone. ‘No need for you to come,’ I told Morey. ‘I’ll leave the computer on. Enjoy Neighbours.’
With all the farmers concentrating their tractors on the stretch between Towcester and Nenehampton, I had a pretty clear run to the hospital, but then I couldn’t find parking. Traffic cones blocked the entrance to the main car park, a note warning ‘Car Park Full’. The smaller areas were similarly packed. I felt myself begin to sweat. The man I had come to see had not much time left, and here I was, trying to find a place to dump the car.
In desperation, I drove through and to the car park of a small office building. I left the car in one of their staff bays, pulled down my fleece to make my dog collar obvious, and rang the bell on the front door.
A tall woman answered. ‘Yes, can I help you?’
‘I hope so,’ I said in a rush. ‘I’m trying to visit someone from my village. He’s dying in hospital, and I couldn’t find any parking. That’s my car over there, the red Ford. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll pay whatever charge you like.’
‘Wait a moment.’ She disappeared inside. When she returned, she handed me a branded notice and a smaller piece of paper. ‘Put that on the dashboard. Stay as long as you need. The gate will be put down after five, but I’ve written the code down for you, and here’s my mobile number in case you need help.’
I felt my eyes prickle. Unexpected kindness always does that to me. ‘Thank you. Very much.’
The nurses on the ward showed me to Desmond. He was lying on a bed in an end cubicle, a car magazine propped up on his shrunken stomach. He looked up as I approached.
‘Penny White,’ I introduced myself. ‘Roy suggested that I come to see you.’
His face had been thinned by whatever was affecting him, but the hair was still thick, albeit more grey than brown. He lowered the magazine onto the bed. ‘Yes, well, he likes you, Vicar. Says you’re someone easy to talk to.’
I pulled up a chair and sat down, bringing our eyes level. ‘And Roy said you wanted to talk to me?’
‘Yes, well, I suppose.’
I could understand his hesitation. I didn’t think we’d ever met before. Somehow I needed to establish a connection. Dear God, I prayed, help me out here.
The pale eyes rested on a spot above my left breast. ‘Talisker,’ he said, reading the logo sewn in black over the grey. ‘You like Talisker?’
‘It’s my favourite.’
‘You have good taste, Vicar.’ Suddenly he grinned. ‘I’ve been to Skye three times. Always dropped by the distillery. You?’
‘I’ve been twice.’ I touched the fleece with my hand. ‘Bought this when I visited last spring. Have you walked past the warehouses? You can smell the angels’ share rising into the air.’
We compared whisky notes, agreeing that the peaty ones were our favourites, and discovering a mutual appreciation for Penderyn. Then on to holidays, both in Scotland and further afield. I kept my tone friendly, chatty, but I was also listening closely for the moment when I could try to broach the far more serious reason of why I was at his hospital bedside.
‘But that was my favourite holiday,’ Des said. ‘Me and Sarah and Charlie, on that canal boat. Two weeks of just being together. Fantastic.’
‘Charlie?’ I repeated. ‘Your son?’
‘Daughter.’ His smile took years off his face. ‘We only had the one. But she’s been all we could ever have wanted. And all I asked for was to live long enough to see my grandson born. And he was. Alfie Desmond Anderson, just a week ago. I’ve seen my grandson.’
So I slipped in, quietly, ‘What do the doctors say?’
‘Maybe a month. Or maybe tomorrow.’ Des coughed. ‘Sometimes I wish I was already gone. But other times…’
‘Other times?’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready.’ His thin hands plucked at his blanket. ‘You see, I’ve not had much doings with God. I’ve not really bothered about him. So I’m not sure he’s going to be that bothered about me.’
Help me, I prayed. Help me now. And I leaned forward. ‘The Bible tells us that God is our father. Our father, who loves us.’ He was still not looking at me, lips pressed together, obviously unconvinced. ‘Your daughter. What if she had gone off the rails? Left you and Sarah, said she never wanted to see you again. Gone to live somewhere else, spent all her money, and maybe even fell into the wrong crowd. Drugs, drink, the wrong men.’
‘I’d’ve done anything to find her.’
‘But what if, when she’d hit rock bottom, she’d picked up the phone to you? Picked up the phone and said, “Dad, I’m really sorry. I know I don’t deserve you, but will you please come and get me?” What would you have done?’
Now he was meeting my eyes. ‘Gone to get her. Like a shot.’
I reached out and took his hand into mine. ‘Why would God be any different?’
The hand shivered in my grip. He blinked away the tears he refused to shed. ‘You think so?’
‘I rely on it.’
A moment of silence. Then Des said, ‘I also like a good brandy. What about you?’
I allowed the conversation to return to a lighter level. Des wasn’t the first dying person with whom I’d had this dance. We compared notes about different regions of France, and mourned together the necessity of closing Lacaux to visitors.
He was getting tired. I could hear it in his voice. So I gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I’m going to leave you in peace, Des. But may I pray for you and give you my blessing?’
There was the briefest of nods. So I prayed for him and his family, asking God’s forgiveness for any wrongs, peace over any regrets, and love and acceptance into the heavenly kingdom. Then I laid a hand on his forehead, tracing the sign of the cross on his clammy skin as I gave him my blessing.
The story of the Prodigal Son swam through my head as I drove home. The father of the story, accepting back his wayward son despite all the ways in which the boy had dishonoured him. If James apologises, I told myself, of course I’ll welcome him back. It’s not that much to ask. Just apologise for not making the effort to come to Alan’s funeral, and I’ll never mention it again.
But when I got home and went up to James’ room, his suitcases were gone and the wardrobes were empty. A terse note had been left on the unmade bed. Gone to Miranda’s. Don’t call me.
I sat down on the bed, the torn piece of paper trembling in my hand.
A blur of purple, and Morey landed beside me. ‘I tried to reason with him,’ he said glumly. ‘But James was insistent.’
‘I thought you’d be glad to see him go,’ I said unsteadily. ‘The fledgling flying the nest.’
‘I wanted him to stay for your sake, not mine.’
‘I’m alone again, Morey.’ I blinked back tears. ‘Now he’s left home.’
The gryphon cocked his head, red-brown eyes studying me. ‘Alone? Really? This is also my home, Penelope Black. Because home is where the people you care about live.’
I stared at him for a moment. Then he squawked as I reached out and pulled him to my chest. I buried my face into his warm feathers, and he purred a comforting tune.
Chapter Twenty Two
The mug of Earl Grey had been abandoned as I delved into the sorry tale of how James had come to leave my home for that of Miranda. As I concluded with the note left for me, I reached out and took the nearly cold tea into my hands. ‘And that’s that,’ I told Gregory. ‘Rath
er than apologise, he simply moved out.’
My spiritual director tapped a finger against his chin. ‘And this was immediately after you’d comforted a dying man with the story of the Prodigal Son?’
‘Yes. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm.’ Blue eyes searched mine for a moment. ‘Do you think God was trying to send you a message with that story?’
‘I got the message,’ I said bitterly. ‘An apology. That’s all I asked for. Nothing for all the time and money I’ve spent putting James through university, or the years he’s lived under my roof. Just a simple apology for not being there when I needed him.’
‘Just like the father of the Prodigal Son waited for an apology?’
‘Well, no.’ I shifted in my seat. ‘He saw his son while still far off, and ran to meet him.’
‘And the father insisted on an apology before greeting the son.’
‘No. Not really. He hugged him before the son said anything.’
‘What a strange father. Doesn’t demand apologies or explanations. He was just happy to have his child home again.’
I slurped some tea. ‘Maybe parents are like that. James is my brother, not my son.’
‘Who has been to a far country…’ Gregory mused. ‘You do have to admire him for that. Did he enjoy his time in New Zealand?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve never really discussed it with him. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance, not now.’
‘You know exactly where he is, and how to contact him,’ Gregory said mildly. ‘You might have to be one who runs towards him.’
The mug was empty, so I no longer had any excuse to hide my face behind it. ‘If I get the time. Bishop Nigel wants me to join the local interfaith forum.’
‘You’re not interested?’
‘You know I’m liberal when it comes to other faiths.’ I shrugged. ‘But it’s just something else to fit into the diary.’
He smiled. ‘You could have said no.’