by Chrys Cymri
I felt the soft, slightly wet feel of snail shark tentacles on my hand. Clyde looked up at me. ‘Shovel. Images.’
‘He says, “Destroy the carvings”,’ Jago elaborated.
‘What an excellent idea.’ I grabbed the handle and marched over to the two stones. For a moment I hesitated, wondering what English Heritage might say about the discretion of an ancient monument. Then I looked closer at the rocks, noting once again that the edges were too precise for the circle to be more than a few decades old. I raised the spade, and drove the sharp edge into the smooth surface.
Metal grated against stone. I scraped again and again, driving lines through the wings and the left spiral of the snail. My arms were aching by the time I obliterated the image. I took a deep breath, then moved to the second stone to do the same again.
‘Take that,’ I found myself muttering at the reminder of all that Clyde had sacrificed. ‘It’s because of you that snails have been at war. It’s because of you that Clyde’s mother died. And it’s because of you that he’s lost his wings forever. All because of you.’
I found that I was driving the shovel deep into the rock. There was something deeply satisfying at watching grey chips break and scatter, flying past my chest and dropping into the grass. ‘All because of you,’ I said once more, stepping back and nodding in satisfaction. Then I looked down at the spade. The metal was dull, edges bent and twisted. It was no longer good for either defence or digging. I leaned it against the second stone. The shovel might as well stay here.
Clyde made a noise. I glanced over at him. His body was bright pink, and he opened his jaws in his version of a smile. ‘Good.’
Realisation made me lay a hand on the rock to steady myself. Clyde had suggested the destruction of the images not for his sake, but for mine.
Jago cocked his head, glancing between the two of us. ‘Uncle Clyde is very, very clever.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘He is very clever indeed.’
Chapter Eleven
The second thin place was nearly adjacent to the first one. I stepped through, and tried to make a mental note of its placement. Could be a useful way to dispose of garden waste. Simply tip it through to another world.
The gryphons left my shoulders and flew to Clyde’s side. I watched for a moment, reassuring myself that the three could sort out the new snail sharks without human help. Then I went to the back door, dumping my mud-encrusted boots outside and rolling up the bottoms of my equally dirty trousers. Once inside the house, and safely away from any watching eyes, I stripped down to my underwear and stuffed my clothes into the washing machine. Then I went up to my bedroom for a long soak in a hot bath.
Feeling much refreshed, I dressed and glanced at my bedside clock. 5pm. Still plenty of time for dinner before driving over to Rosie’s house. I sent a quick text to Peter to let him know I had returned safely from Lloegyr. With all limbs intact? he asked. I took a full-length selfie in front of the bedroom mirror and sent it in response.
The earthy smell of tomatoes and sweeter tone of garlic drifted up the stairs. I followed my nose to the kitchen. James looked up from the cutting board as I came in. Two pots bubbled away on the cooker top. The spaghetti container rested on the counter, along with a block of cheese and a bottle of olive oil. His eyes were slightly red, and I looked down to see that he’d been chopping up onions.
‘Dinner,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I thought we’d eat early so you can get off to your meeting.’
I walked past him to collect a wine glass. ‘Since when do you know how to cook?’
‘Come on, Sis. How do you think I managed to survive on my own in New Zealand? Of course I know how to cook.’
‘I’ll remember that, next time you make sarky comments about my Sunday roasts.’ I poured myself a small portion of wine from the open bottle and stared at the label. ‘Is this from my stocks?’
‘I know it’s a good one. I’ll replace it, I promise.’ James dumped the onions into the sauce and gave me a grin. ‘I just thought it’d be good to give Skylar a really nice meal. You know, for the first time we all eat together.’
My eyes narrowed. His face was flushed, and I had my suspicions that this was not due to the heat from the cooker. But I said, keeping my tone light, ‘What a lovely idea. I’ll be leaving around six, so you’ll have plenty to time to get to know each other.’
‘Fantastic.’ Then he quickly added, ‘I mean, I hope you have a good meeting with Rosie.’
We sat down at the kitchen table half an hour later. Skylar tucked into the spaghetti with gusto, and I tried not to watch them enjoy the red wine. Morey and Taryn came through the cat flap and, after greeting us, left the kitchen. Jago appeared just as I was putting my plate in the dishwasher and, much to James’ obvious disappointment, settled on my brother’s left shoulder. I turned my head to hide my smile. I couldn't think of a better chaperone.
I reminded James that the modern miracle known as the dishwasher didn’t load itself, and then I grabbed car keys and headed out. Since Rosie’s place was between my house and Peter’s, it hadn’t made sense for him to come and collect me. But as I drove into Northampton, I wished we’d decided to be impractical. It felt strange to travel separately to talk about our wedding day.
Peter’s Volvo was already parked on the sloping street outside the house when I arrived. I managed to find a spot nearby, then hurried through the gate and up the path.
Linda answered the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said as she took my coat. ‘Peter’s only been here a few minutes. Coffee? Tea?’
‘Tea, please.’ Rosie’s partner was the younger one, her hair still partially brown rather than fully grey. ‘How are you both?’
‘Doing fine.’ Linda pointed at a nearby door. ‘If you want to join them, I’ll bring your drink through in a minute.’
Peter rose to his feet as I entered the narrow room. I took a seat on the sofa, and he settled back down next to me. Rosie gave me a smile from her comfortable looking armchair. Magnificat was curled up near the gas fire, her fur gleaming in the light from the low flames. Linda brought in my tea, checked that we were not in need of anything else, and then left the room again.
We exchanged some small talk to start with, falling back on the British standards of the weather, the price of petrol, and what our chances were for a Wimbledon champion this year. Then Rosie laughed. ‘Well, let’s talk about the ceremony, shall we? What hymns are you planning to have? “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and “Lord of the Dance”?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said firmly. My hand had slipped into Peter’s, and he gave my fingers a squeeze. ‘I’ve picked “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” and “Lord of All Hopefulness”.’
‘And Penny has agreed that we can finish with “Jerusalem”,’ Peter said. ‘But we won’t wave any flags.’
‘It’s a wedding, not the Last Night of the Proms,’ I reminded him.
‘I did want “Fight the Good Fight”, but Penny put her foot down.’
‘I sometimes include a session on “Fighting Fair” when I do marriage preparation,’ Rosie said. ‘But I don’t think you two need it. From what I’ve seen, you’re two mature individuals who know that marriage takes hard work and dedication.’
Peter nodded. ‘I’ve certainly learned from the mistakes I made with Sam.’
‘And I’ve forgiven myself over what happened to Alan,’ I said. ‘The perytons saw to that.’
Rosie pulled out a green covered book. ‘So, you both want to use the modern wedding ceremony? Penny probably knows it by heart, and Peter, you’ve had a look at it? Good. We’ll still go through it at the rehearsal. What readings have you chosen?’
‘Song of Songs 8: 6-7,’ I answered. ‘I love the bit which goes, “Many waters cannot quench love.”’
‘And for the second reading, well, I’m going to write a poem.’ Peter flushed slightly as we both stared at him. ‘Yes, I write poetry, sometimes. When I feel inspired. And I’m feeling pretty inspired.’
I leaned over to give him a quick kiss. ‘Are you going to read it out yourself?’
‘You must be joking. I’d be in bits. I’ll ask my cousin to do it. He’s good at public speaking.’
‘Are you each having a ring?’ At our nods, Rosie continued, ‘I don’t suppose Morey’s going to swoop through the church to bring them to the best man?’
‘Let’s not give him and James any ideas,’ I said as Peter chuckled. ‘But we’ll put Jago in charge of making sure James doesn’t leave them at the house.’
‘Knowing Jago,’ Peter said, ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to keep him away from the wedding. And, of course, we want Taryn and Morey to be there. Most people won’t be able to see them.’
‘Make sure one of them gives me the Sight beforehand.’ Rosie flipped through her service book. ‘Now, the prayers. I have a set which I use, but I like to check it out with couples beforehand. One is a prayer asking for forgiveness for mistakes in previous relationships. Would you like that one?’
‘Yes, please,’ Peter said. Now it was my turn to give his hand a squeeze.
‘I’m also happy to pray for anyone by name who “can’t be with us today.” Usually that’s someone deceased, like a parent or grandparent.’
‘My parents,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll warn James in advance.’
‘Then there’s a prayer asking that the marriage be given the gift of children. Do you want that prayer?’
‘No,’ I said, at the very same moment that Peter answered, ‘Yes.’
Rosie leaned back in her chair. ‘Penny, maybe you could tell us why you’re not comfortable with that prayer?’
I felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. ‘Well, there’s our ages, for one thing.’
Peter turned to me. ‘So what if you’re thirty-six, and I’m the wrong side of forty? I know plenty of people who have children later on in life. I’d prefer us to have them naturally, but we can always look at IVF if that doesn’t happen. Or unicorn horn, if you’re happy to go down that route.’
‘Peter, Penny,’ Rosie asked softly, ‘do you both want to have children?’
‘Yes,’ Peter declared.
And now there was no escape. I took a deep breath. ‘No.’
Rosie closed her book. ‘I think you two have something very serious to discuss between now and August.’ She held up a hand. ‘But not now. At least one of you has been caught by surprise. Take time to come to terms with this. Then arrange to have a good long chat. Let me know if I can be of any help.’
We arranged the date and time for the rehearsal. ‘I’d better go,’ Peter said, sliding his iPhone into his jacket pocket as he rose from the settee. ‘Early start tomorrow.’
‘Have a good day,’ I said, smiling up at him. But he left the room without meeting my eyes.
‘Let him go,’ Rosie told me as I started after him. ‘He’s had a shock. How long have you known?’
I lowered myself back down. ‘Known what?’
Rosie sighed. ‘Penny, not saying how you truly feel can be an asset in ministry. But it’s not very helpful in a personal relationship.’
My tea had long gone cold, but I sipped from it anyway. ‘We’ve not really discussed it. Children.’
‘That was obvious,’ Rosie said drily. ‘But, from where I was sitting, only one of you was surprised. And it wasn’t you. You knew that Peter wants a family.’
‘I’ll talk to him about it.’
‘Yes. Do. And if you want someone else there, a neutral third party, let me know. That can help.’ She waved at my mug. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks.’ I stood. ‘It’s time I went home. James cooked dinner for Skylar, and I think they planned to finish a bottle of wine together.’
‘James? And Skylar?’ Rosie tilted her head for a moment. Then she grinned. ‘Now, that would be interesting. Do let me know what happens.’
It was a relief to laugh. ‘Are priests supposed to gossip?’
‘Only between ourselves. Never to parishioners.’
I drove home, put the car in the garage, and marched through the connecting door to the kitchen. A pile of dirty dishes were strewn across the kitchen counter. I ignored them as I collected a glass and a bottle of blended whisky. Voices called out from the living room as I walked down the hallway, but I only grunted a response before heading up to my bedroom. The only company I wanted was that of a Scottish gentleman called Johnnie Walker.
<><><><><><>
Although I didn’t stumble downstairs until 9am, the same pile of plates and pots stood in silent testimony to my brother’s laziness. I took a seat at the table and concentrated on ingesting black coffee and ibuprofen.
Morey flew into the room and landed by my elbow. ‘Where have you been? We missed you at Morning Prayer.’
‘You did it without me?’
‘Clyde insisted. We let Skylar lead.’ Morey pointed his beak towards the window. ‘He’s taken her outside to meet the other snail sharks.’
‘Jolly good.’
He rose up on his hind legs and gave me a good sniff. ‘Hmm, you were drinking to forget.’
I pulled back. ‘What do you mean?’
Claws clicked on wood as he dropped back down. ‘You picked out the cheap stuff.’
I might be hungover, but I still had my pride. ‘I don’t buy cheap stuff.’
‘Perhaps not, but that’s what your congregation gives you. So, what happened?’
‘Later, Morey.’ The painkillers had started to kick in. I decided to risk eating a breakfast bar. Then I groaned. ‘I have a funeral meeting in an hour.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll come with you and help.’
I nearly choked on my coffee. ‘Help. Really.’
‘Black, it’s about time we plugged ourselves back into this parish. And I'm part of your ministry here.’
‘The parish is full of humans,’ I pointed out, ‘and they can’t see you.’
‘The church houses vampires,’ he countered, ‘and they can.’
I couldn't summon the energy to argue. ‘We leave in forty minutes. Be ready.’
<><><><><><>
The two women who met with me were, of course, not churchgoers. They escorted me through the large bungalow to a conservatory which overlooked a massive garden. As we sat and sipped coffee, the widow explained that she and her husband had been married in St Wulfram’s. I nodded and tried to work out her age from her nearly white hair.
‘That was fifty-three years ago,’ the sister-in-law explained helpfully. Her hair, in contrast, had been dyed a bright red. I glanced down at my notes. Margaret. And the widow’s name was Rose. ‘They’ve been so happy together, haven’t you, my dear? And a wonderful uncle and aunt to my children.’
‘Never had any of our own, you see,’ Rose said. Her eyes had that glittering quality of someone determined not to cry. Her carefully styled hair, tailored skirt suit, and polished black shoes made me feel underdressed in my usual ensemble of black trousers and grey fleece. I tucked my feet under the wicker chair in an attempt to hide my dark trainers.
‘They tried and tried,’ Margaret added, picking at a stray thread in her brown jumper. ‘And we prayed and prayed. But God doesn’t always answer prayer the way you’d like, does he, Mother Penny?’
‘Mother,’ Morey snorted from his place on my right shoulder.
I shifted uncomfortably. ‘No, he doesn’t. Not even for priests.’
The conversation moved on to their memories of Leonard. I took notes, particularly of the Golden Anniversary celebrations. Selecting hymns took awhile, as neither of them could remember any, and I was desperate to avoid using the usual choices. But after twenty minutes, I found myself saying, ‘Well, of course, there’s always “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and “Morning has Broken”.’
‘Oh, I remember those from school!’ Margaret said happily. Then she turned to her sister-in-law. ‘But, of course, it must be your decision.’
‘Everyone will know those,’ Rose said. ‘I’m happy with them.’
Next hurdle was the Bible reading. I suggested a number of options, and they settled on Ecclesiastes 3. ‘And if there’s a poem or something that speaks to you,’ I added, ‘just let me know. We can include that in the service as well.’
I tried to meet Rose’s eyes, but her gaze was fixed on my left hand. ‘Mother, I’m sorry to ask, but is that--is that a ring? An engagement ring?’
‘I’m getting married in August,’ I managed to say with a straight face.
‘You’re allowed to marry?’
‘Well, yes.’ A sudden thought came to me. ‘I’m a Church of England vicar.’
‘You’re not Catholic?’ Rose asked.
‘Oh, dear,’ Morey muttered. ‘Careful, Black. This could get tricky.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I answered. ‘But neither is St Wulfram’s.’
Rose frowned. ‘Since when?’
‘Since 1534, followed by the first Act of Supremacy in 1536,’ Morey said promptly. ‘King Henry VIII. Surely she’s heard of the Protestant Reformation?’
‘Several centuries ago,’ I said.
‘Leonard and I were baptised as Catholics,’ Margaret explained. ‘He stopped going to church, well, long before he met you, didn’t he, Rose? I used to go on Christmas Eve, but not since the children grew up and left home.’
‘It’d be good to have something for the Catholics from your side of the family,’ Rose said. She turned to me. ‘There’s this thing with bread and wine that you can do, isn’t there?’
Morey’s claws dug deep into my shoulder as he arched his back. ‘“This thing with bread and wine”? Does she mean the sacrifice, sacrament, and communion in which our Lord Jesus Christ becomes present in body, blood, soul, and divinity under the appearances of bread and wine?’