by Jane Anstey
But what options did he have? Of course, he could leave Whitehill in high dudgeon and give up the religious life as a bad job. That was momentarily attractive, but he had not forgotten the other side of the coin, where a monastic vocation offered the prospect of peace from conflict about his sexuality, among other things. Perhaps Jan was correct to advise him against hasty decisions, though Jan had probably not expected his meditations to result in this type of thinking. That was too bad. Perhaps he had made too much of an idol of the man, he reflected. It was good to have seen the feet of clay before he had committed himself too far.
As his infatuation with Jan began to wither, Clive’s hard-headed realism reasserted itself. There would be a way forward that would work for him and give him the spiritual sustenance he had come to feel he needed, and to which he felt entitled, but clearly he would have to find it for himself.
So what was the alternative? All he could think of at that moment was to make the best of it. He was only staying for a few days, and after that he had a month’s retreat arranged in the Jesuit house in Liverpool, followed by three months’ probation in Birmingham where he was completely unknown. If Jan sent a derogatory report ahead of him, he could always put a better spin on what had happened, saying Jan hadn’t understood him, or making out that Rose herself had sought a separation. He was good at telling things in a way that made people believe him―he had had plenty of practice. If necessary, he could go back home for a few days while he decided what to do next. Rose wouldn’t mind. She and Robert might even be pleased to see him.
He suddenly remembered Jeremy’s Christmas Eve sermon, the punchline of which he had deliberately distorted in making love to Rose, the night when, for the first time, she had responded to him with passion. Now he found solace in viewing the rest of that sermon in just such a mirrored way. You owe me five farthings, the rhyme said. Here I am, thought Clive, giving up everything for God, and it can’t be right not to expect something in return. There’s always a price for everything, and if God wants my devotion, he will have to pay for it.
Thirty-one
Liz alighted from the train in Basingstoke and picked up her car from the station car park, hugging her news to her excitedly. She thought of texting Jeremy but decided on reflection not to bother him. They could celebrate together when she got home―he would be there already, however long he had had to spend at Winchester hospital. She looked at the dashboard clock as she drove out of town towards the A33. Mike would certainly be home from school, as his term had ended at lunchtime, and Lorna and the twins wouldn’t be far behind. She would wait for a moment when Bethan and Chris weren’t listening before she told them. There was too much to discuss, to decide upon, before they aired such a radical change with the twins.
The house was eerily quiet when she opened the front door.
“Remy?” she called. His study door was open, but the room was empty.
She went to the bottom of the stairs. “Mike? Are you there?”
Silence. Typical, she thought. Just when I’ve got some really exciting news, there’s no one to share it with.
She texted Jeremy and waited for a response. Then Mike. Nothing. Feeling rather frustrated, the gilt removed from her emotional gingerbread, she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. I could phone Rose. She’ll be around, and I ought to let her know about the job anyway, since she encouraged me to apply for it.
She dialled the Sundials number but reached only the answer phone, still with Clive’s voice speaking the outgoing message. Rose must have set off for school to meet Robert. She hesitated but decided it wasn’t the kind of news you could leave in an answer phone message, especially one to which Robert, Chris and Bethan’s friend, might listen. She would call Rose later and share it with her personally.
As she put the receiver down she heard a key in the lock.
“Remy!” She rushed out into the hall. “I got the job! I got it!”
“Well done, great news,” he congratulated her. “Did you accept it?”
“Of course I did.” She looked at him. “Oh, God. Did you want me to discuss it with you first? I thought―”
“No, no,” he reassured her quickly. “It’s great. We’ll go. I’m sure it’s the right thing―I’m really pleased.”
“But—?”
“No buts.”
“I can hear a but in your voice. What’s wrong? Where’s Mike? Remy, tell me nothing awful’s happened to Mike?”
“No, it’s fine. But very hush hush. Jan asked us not to tell anyone what happened.” He gave her a brief synopsis of the afternoon’s events. “Mike’s with Simon, quite safe. He’ll drop him home later. Simon was great, you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, I would. Remember what happened with Robert?”
“It’s odd, isn’t it? Simon doesn’t really come over as an Action Man, but when the chips are down, that’s what he does―he acts.”
“I’m very glad he does,” said Liz soberly. “I hope you thanked him properly.”
“I’m not sure I did,” Jeremy admitted. “But we’ll have him to dinner again and make sure he knows how grateful we really are.”
“The next couple of weeks are going to be bedlam,” Liz told him. “You and the children will have to stay here until mid-June at least, I suppose―we can’t move Mike just before his GCSEs, and you can’t just ditch the benefice at a moment’s notice. But I’m starting at the college after Easter, and I’ve got to prepare lessons, pack some stuff and find somewhere to live before then. I won’t have time for entertaining dinner guests.”
“No,” sighed Jeremy. “I suppose not. And Simon’s moving, too, isn’t he? I don’t suppose he’ll have time either. Well, I’ll just have to find some other way. Are we telling the children about your job?”
“We’ll tell Mike and Lorna,” she said. “But I’d rather not broadcast the news too far and wide for the moment. Can the twins be trusted, do you think?” She thought for a moment. “How about taking the family up to Oxford for the day next week so we can look at places to rent? We could tell them then―it’ll be more exciting for them if they’ve actually seen the place.”
“That sounds good, if you can keep it from them that long. You know what they’re like.”
He hesitated. “You’ll have to forgive me, Liz,” he said apologetically, “if I’m not much help to you over the next few days.”
“Holy Week isn’t the best time to be taking on anything more than your own workload, is it?”
“Next week, though, after the Easter weekend is out of the way, then I’m your man. A trip to Oxford to find accommodation and show the kids, packing, and anything else you want help with.”
She gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Remy. And thanks for supporting me in all this. I’m truly grateful.”
He shook his head. “I’m the one who’s grateful. This is the most amazing thing, for all of us. And great timing. Mike can start sixth form in a new school in September, Lorna will be in Year Ten and starting her GCSE courses, and the twins will have two years in primary school before they move again.”
“And what will you do, Remy? I can earn enough for all of us, but will you be happy with that? I can’t really see you as a house husband, somehow.”
“Oh, I’ll find something to do,” he assured her cheerfully. “Freedom to look about me and find the next step. Marvellous. I can’t wait.”
Relieved, Liz re-boiled the kettle and made tea for them all. The twins came home from school, closely followed by Lorna, who asked―mercifully out of earshot of her younger brother and sister―the upshot of the job interview. She seemed as happy as Jeremy had been, and Mike, when he arrived an hour later, was incandescent with happiness, brushing aside her anxious queries about his traumatic experience to give her a bear hug of congratulation and pleasure.
“What’s so special about going to Oxford, Mike?” his father asked him when Liz had gone back to the kitchen to cook supper.
“Dad, it’s the best. Mr
Hellyer is leaving college―he told us today in our lesson. And guess where he’s going? Oxford.”
Jeremy smiled. It was inevitable, he supposed, that Simon’s star should have risen even further with Mike after the events of the day. A teacher who encouraged you, shared his knowledge and interests with you, and then was on hand to rescue you from a madman with a knife was surely a fit object for hero-worship. He was very glad their friendship with Simon was not doomed to end when they left St Martin.
Liz cooked the family’s favourite pasta dish in sunny euphoria and they ate it together, planning their day trip to Oxford and putting it on the family calendar before Jeremy became immersed in the Holy Week run of services.
“It’s almost as bad as Christmas,” she said to him severely as they washed up after dinner.
“It’s worse!” he retorted. “Five services in four days, if you count two Eucharists on Sunday, and two of those days mark the major events in the Church’s year. But I shall make the most of it,” he added. “It may be the last time I’ll be in charge, after all.”
She nodded, and tried to listen sympathetically. But it seemed he didn’t seem to mind giving up parish ministry, even though it meant, to all intents and purposes, halting his clerical career in mid-stream. Besides, she had too much to sort out and plan in a very short time to react to anything but a serious crisis. And in the welter of lists, letters to write, forms to fill in, and internet accommodation searches to make, she quite forgot to call Rose.
~ * ~
For Rose, the holiday weekend seemed interminable. In a normal Easter, she would have focused on the seasonal services at church, which had always meant a lot to her. There was something reassuringly familiar, yet at the same time highly charged, about the build-up to the crucifixion on Good Friday, then the sad wait through Saturday until Easter morning dawned with its affirmations of “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!” This year, she had no reason to take part in any of these events. They belonged to a set of beliefs on which she had turned her back. Yet her past involvement in them seemed to cling around her, reminding her that at any particular time Jeremy would be celebrating the evening Maundy Thursday Eucharist or leading the Way of the Cross around the carved stations in the church on Good Friday afternoon, or declaring there was hope in the darkness at the Easter Vigil on Saturday evening.
On Easter Sunday, she left Robert at the rectory for half an hour and went to ring for the morning communion service that marked the peak of the Church’s calendar. She might no longer be a Christian, but she was still a member of the tower, with responsibilities that included turning up to support the ringing band, something she had failed to do far too often in the last few weeks. Watching the bells rung up together in peal, with Simon as usual setting the pace from the tenor, she wondered whether she would go on ringing once he had gone.
She had learned the art at first to please Clive, who had volunteered her services to Geoff in a spirit of vicarious generosity, but it no longer mattered whether she pleased her husband or not. Nor did the idea of calling the faithful to prayer on a Sunday rank high on her list of priorities, now that she no longer felt called to prayer herself. And if Simon wasn’t there to encourage her and inspire her, there seemed very little point in coming even to practices. She knew it would leave Geoff shorter than ever of ringers to keep the tower going, but that couldn’t be helped. You owe me five farthings, the bells seemed to sing to her reproachfully as the ringers embarked on some call changes. I am not rich enough to pay, she thought sadly. And I doubt whether I will ever be.
The thought that this might be her last ringing session seemed to inspire her and set aside for once her fear of failure. She rang the treble competently for a touch of St Martin’s Doubles and was praised for it by Geoff.
“Just a short practice on Wednesday,” Geoff told them as the bells swung gently to rest at the end of the half hour, leaving Lesley chiming the treble. “It’s Simon’s last day with us, and I thought we’d take him down to The Bell to say goodbye after ringing.”
Simon did not appear particularly thrilled at this idea, though he nodded acceptance.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to be here on Wednesday,” said Rose, not sure whether to be glad or sorry. It would be difficult to get a babysitter, now that Maddie had proved a broken reed, and this gave her a reasonable excuse. Going to the pub with Simon, even in company, was something she couldn’t face. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He must have heard on the grapevine that Clive had left her, but he hadn’t tried to contact her. Against all her instincts, her mind told her that the thing was better left alone. You can’t go back, she told herself firmly. I have to let him move on, if that’s what he wants. I’ve messed him about and hurt him enough already. On the other hand, bidding a final goodbye to him here, in the next few minutes, with the rest of the ringers around them, seemed unthinkable. What could they possibly say to each other?
“That’s a shame, Rose,” said Geoff. “Isn’t it, Simon?”
Simon looked up, full at Rose, and caught off-guard she found herself meeting his eyes. He said nothing, but suddenly, without a shadow of doubt, she knew that the fallout from their relationship wasn’t over for him, any more than it was for her. In his eyes, unmistakably, were longing and misery, mixed with a desperate anger and humiliation that made him strive to hide his feelings as soon as their eyes met. He looked away quickly, murmuring something conventional in response to Geoff’s words, but just for a moment his heart had lain naked before her, aching, vulnerable, full of rejection and bitterness. Had he seen her longing for him in return? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t know how to respond anyway. The hurts and struggles of the past few months lay between them, and the gulf was too wide to bridge.
No, she told herself. It was no good. The die was cast. He was leaving, making a new life for himself, and there was no room in it for her. He might mind about their parting―clearly he did, she had seen that. He might still be feeling hurt and angry. But he had accepted her decision before Christmas, he had said his farewells on the ringing outing, and surely that was that.
The chiming stopped, and Lesley, Janice and old Ben went through into the nave to join the worshippers. Rose noticed that Ben leaned heavily on a stick as he walked, and she wondered sadly how long he would be able to continue even occasional participation in tower activities. It was spring, however, she reminded herself, and bronchitic chests often improve with the better weather. Ben was an institution, as much part of St Martin’s church as the lychgate, the stained glass rose window at the east end of the chancel, or the candles on the altar.
Geoff opened the west door of the tower and ushered Rose out with old-fashioned courtesy, followed by Ken and Simon. The four of them took the path that came out by the south door of the church. Unconsciously, it seemed, they divided into pairs, Geoff with his son followed by Rose with Simon. Simon didn’t touch her, or speak, but something subliminal held them together, attracted and repelled in equal measure, the tension between them almost palpable.
By the church door, they met Robert and the twins with Lorna, who had been in charge of all three youngsters while Rose was ringing the bells. Robert ran up to her and asked enthusiastically whether the twins could come to play.
“You didn’t want to go to the service, did you, Mummy?” he asked, cheerfully. “Chris says it’s sung Eucharist, whatever that is, and it doesn’t sound very interesting.”
Beside her, Rose felt Simon move away, following Geoff and Ken towards the car park. She half-turned towards him, irresolutely, longing even then to make him stay but unable to find the words to ask.
“Lorna says she and Mike want to go to church with Liz,” Robert burbled on. “Especially this year, she said. So the twins will have to go too unless we have them to play at our house. Can they come, Mummy? Please.”
She turned back towards her son, heavy-hearted, but making an effort to engage with his concerns. “The twins can come to play, of course. Have
they asked, though? Lorna, is it all right with your parents?”
Lorna grinned at her. “I’ll tell Mum. She won’t mind, I’m sure. We’ve got lots to be thankful for today, but the twins won’t be bothered about that. I’d better go in, or I’ll miss the first hymn.”
“Yes, of course,” said Rose quickly, wondering what in particular the Swansons had to be thankful for. Or perhaps Easter was a time when they always went to church together? She couldn’t remember.
She shepherded the three youngsters down the path, through the lychgate and on to Church Lane. The bellringers had already disappeared into the car park across the road as she turned up the lane towards Sundials, with Robert and the twins running along ahead of her. Behind them, she heard an engine in low gear turning out of the car park. She called a warning to the children, who had reached the end of the pavement and were walking along the edge of the narrow road. Simon’s car drew level with her and slowed. For a moment, she thought he was going to stop beside her, and she paused, turning towards him. But the Longmans’ car was close behind, and he drove on.
Thirty-two
Jeremy stood at the door of the vestry, watching the congregation assemble for the triumphant Easter Eucharist, the highlight of the Church’s year. It was a strange thought that this was probably the last Easter Day service he would preside over in this church. Where will I be next Easter? he wondered.