by James Lark
‘A boyfriend?’
‘I don’t see any other explanation.’
‘But … at the vicarage?’
‘I saw them with my own eyes.’
Harriet Lomas paused in disbelief. ‘I mean,’ she finally said, ‘one wasn’t altogether surprised about … one has had one’s suspicions – an unmarried man, well-dressed, not unattractive, the signs were there – but a boyfriend, that’s quite, quite shocking.’
Sathan Petty-Saphon didn’t feel that Reverend Biddle was, by any set of standards, that well-dressed. But she nodded in agreement with the basic gist of Harriet’s words. Then she remembered that she was on the telephone, so such sentiments needed to be expressed.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ she said, injecting an audible nod of her head into the word ‘unbelievable’. ‘You would at least expect him to feel some shame.’
‘And to take him to the vicarage! Which is paid for by the church!’
‘My worry is quite how brazen Reverend Biddle is being about it – carrying on as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘You don’t think he’s hoping he’ll get away with it?’ gasped Harriet.
‘It would be pretty unbelievable if he did,’ Sathan mused. ‘But then, it’s pretty unbelievable already. And who’s to say that he won’t get away with it?’
‘Oh no, Sathan, you don’t really think …’
‘There are a lot of very impressionable people at St Barnabas,’ Sathan said with an air of foreboding. ‘Once a few people get an idea into their heads, everybody follows like sheep.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t help but wonder – dreadful as it is – whether Reverend Biddle intends to manipulate the congregation into seeing this from his point of view.’
‘But we can’t let him!’ exclaimed Harriet.
‘We certainly can’t. We need to rally as many people as possible, before Reverend Biddle spreads his poison.’
‘There’s a choir rehearsal tonight – if we can get the choir on our side, that would be a start.’
Sathan Petty-Saphon nodded. ‘Yes. Tell me what time it is and I’ll make sure I’m there.’
Bernard Lomas walked into the kitchen where his wife was conducting the conversation. ‘Darling, did I hear you say there was a choir rehearsal tonight?’
‘Don’t interrupt me, I’m on the phone.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, rubbing his hands and leaving the kitchen.
‘So that’s agreed then,’ Harriet said, ‘we’ll have a discussion at the choir rehearsal and work out what to do then.’
‘Yes. And if you get the chance to speak to anybody in the meantime …’
‘Absolutely. It’s important that people know – for prayer purposes.’
Once the conversation had finished and Harriet had taken a few moments to recover from the distressing things she had learned, she went up the stairs to her husband’s study. ‘What’s perfect?’ she asked, leaning round the door.
‘It’s tonight!’ Bernard Lomas announced, his eyes gleaming.
‘What is?’
‘The plan! I’ve got it all worked out!’
It took Harriet a few moments to digest the implications of this statement. Bernard had been working at his diagrams for days, enjoying his little heist fantasy – she hadn’t imagined he would ever finish them.
‘You’re not really going to steal Ted Sloper’s harpsichord?’ she asked.
‘Of course I am. What do you think I’ve been working on all week?’
‘But how?’ she insisted, reasonably. He tapped the side of his nose.
‘I’ve got it all worked out,’ he said again.
Harriet could see that there would be no dissuading him, at least from trying his plan. It would probably go wrong and there would be nothing at all to worry about.
But even if he did succeed in stealing Ted Sloper’s harpsichord, that would surely be justice in any case? Ted Sloper deserved everything he got – he needed to be taught a lesson.
‘When exactly are you planning to make your move?’ Harriet asked.
‘When you’re at choir, tonight,’ Bernard said. ‘Because he’ll be at choir as well. Won’t he?’ A sudden shadow of alarm passed across his features.
‘Yes, he will.’ Bernard’s face cleared.
‘There you go then. I’ve got it all worked out, you see …’
Chapter 18
‘Milne!’ barked the voice on the phone.
‘Bishop Slocombe,’ answered Reverend Alex Milne, calmly. He recognised the tone of voice the Bishop was using and knew that the phone call was unlikely to be about anything good. In fact, it was almost certainly to do with –
‘Biddle.’ The phone crackled in resistance to Slocombe’s abrasive verbal explosions. ‘How long have you known that he’s a poof?’
‘I don’t think that he is a poof,’ Milne calmly responded.
‘What do you mean? Of course he’s a poof, I read it in a newspaper.’
Milne talked as slowly as he could manage. ‘I think that the newspaper might have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
‘If anybody’s been grabbing hold of the wrong end of the stick …’ Slocombe retorted, even in his fury taking some pleasure in the innuendo. ‘It all makes sense. He’s always kept his private life shrouded in secrecy.’
‘Either that or he doesn’t have a private life,’ Milne pointed out.
‘That in itself is suspicious. No women.’
‘That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like women,’ Milne reasoned. ‘If you recall, last time we met, Andy was particularly fervent on the subject of Cher.’
‘Dead giveaway,’ Slocombe shouted triumphantly. ‘She’s a gay icon, isn’t she?’
‘But …’ Milne paused and swallowed. ‘You were very fervent about Cher as well.’
‘What are you suggesting? Don’t you dare make insinuations about me. She’s a fine woman, a beautiful example of the species, that’s all. With Andy it’s a different matter altogether – young, unmarried, relatively attractive …’
‘Bishop Slocombe …’
‘Not that I find him attractive,’ Slocombe hurriedly added. ‘And if he’s so innocent, why isn’t he answering his phone?’
Milne swallowed. If he had known what this conversation was going to entail, he wouldn’t have been answering his phone, either. ‘Bishop Slocombe, I’m young, unmarried and relatively attractive.’
‘Oh my God, you’re not one of them as well?’ blasphemed the Bishop, horrified.
‘No I’m not,’ Milne answered, shortly.
‘When did you last have a – a female partner?’
‘Quite some time ago,’ said Milne, Annalie’s pretty face appearing uninvited in his mind. This was certainly not territory he wanted to discuss with the Bishop.
‘Get one then,’ Slocombe ordered. ‘Better still, get married.’
‘I don’t have time for a relationship, Bishop Slocombe. Not at the moment.’
‘Make time. I’m telling you, make time,’ the Bishop insisted.
‘I don’t think you realise how much time St Andrew’s takes up,’ Milne argued. ‘There’s more to the job than organising the services, it’s …’
‘Oh, I know, it’s also about foot-washing and cleaning toilets,’ Slocombe growled. ‘Well, this week get somebody else to clean the toilets and find some nice young lady to take out on a date.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Milne, hopefully.
‘No. What is it with you?’ Slocombe suddenly exploded again. ‘Do you feel like the minute you put on a dog collar, you suddenly have to stop having fun?’
‘It’s not that,’ Milne replied. ‘I remember the first time I put on a dog collar, I suddenly felt like I was visibly representing God. I didn’t want to mess it up on His behalf. I wanted to serve other people, not myself.’ He paused. ‘Which was pretty extraordinary because I wasn’t even a priest at the time.’
‘Why on earth were you wearing a dog collar before you became a priest?’ dema
nded the Bishop.
‘It … erm … never mind.’ Milne coughed, suddenly remembering he was talking to somebody with considerable influence in the church and a very unpredictable sense of humour.
‘Hah! You were trying on vestments and you still deny that it’s about looking fabulous?’
‘It was only a clerical shirt with a tonsure collar and I did look pretty fabulous,’ Milne sniffed. ‘But that wasn’t the first thing that struck me.’
‘Then maybe you didn’t look fabulous enough,’ snapped Slocombe. ‘Now, get married. This is not just about the image of the church, it’s about learning to enjoy your own life some of the time. Though of course if you get married, you can hopefully keep your job if we have a repeat of any of this unpleasantness.’
‘What do you mean? You’re not thinking that Andy …’ Milne was suddenly worried, but Slocombe had already hung up.
He put the phone down, slowly. What Slocombe had said had resonated more deeply with him than the Bishop had probably meant it to. Had he forgotten how to enjoy his own life? Had he filled his time with his vocation at the expense of something equally important? And if so, why? Was it the collar around his neck, marking him out as a servant of God for all to see and take advantage of?
Or was it just guilt?
He shook his head and walked towards the door. The church toilets needed cleaning.
Biddle had been slightly worried about how he was going to entertain his guest, but he needn’t have worried – Jesus, it turned out, was perfectly happy to entertain himself. It was just as well, really, as Biddle had a number of things to be getting on with.
‘Help yourself to anything you need from the kitchen,’ Biddle cheerfully told the risen Christ, ‘and if you want to listen to any music or watch television …’
Jesus nodded his thanks.
‘There’s not usually much on during the day,’ Biddle continued, ‘but I have a few things on DVD – I’ll show you how to work it if you …?’
Jesus wordlessly shook his head.
‘No, of course, you …’ Biddle swallowed. ‘Well, you know where it is if you want it.’ He stopped talking for a moment, then on reflection added, ‘I have a few old episodes of The Saint on video as well – I don’t know if that would be up your street?’
‘The Saint?’ Jesus repeated.
‘Yes, well, um … it’s not really about a saint, not in the traditional … er … Oh, I’ll tell you what you’d really like, though, there’s a film called The Mission – it’s quite long, but it’s got Jeremy Irons in it.’
‘I’m going to be too busy to watch television, Andy.’
‘Right. Yes.’ Biddle wondered if they might get time later on to watch The Mission together – it was something he felt Jesus ought to see, if possible, and it would be a good way to spend an evening. They could maybe fit in an episode of The Saint afterwards, by way of a contrast. ‘What sort of … er … thing have you got planned?’ he asked, trying to sound offhand and not-really-interested.
‘I’m going to pray.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. Good idea.’ Biddle smiled and nodded enthusiastically. ‘I should probably do a bit of that myself, but you know – things to do!’
Did that sound a bit facetious? Biddle decided not to worry about it. He was feeling increasingly assured in his relationship with Jesus, and they seemed to be essentially on the same wavelength.
‘If you’d like, we could take a look around St Barnabas later on,’ Biddle casually suggested. He was desperately hoping to interest Jesus without sounding desperate – it would, after all, be a great honour to take Jesus around the church. ‘I’d love to show you around the building properly, it has some interesting features.’
‘Yes,’ said Jesus. ‘That would be good.’
‘There’s a choir rehearsal this evening, we’ll have to go after that,’ added Biddle.
‘Why don’t we drop in on the choir rehearsal?’ Jesus asked. ‘I’d like to meet them as well.’
‘Ah …’ Biddle laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea, actually. The man who runs it – he’s lovely, but he doesn’t like to be interrupted – they only get an hour a week to rehearse, you see.’ Almost imperceptibly, Jesus raised an eyebrow. Biddle chuckled, unsure of himself. ‘I’m sure he’d love to meet you, but choir time is choir time – you know what musicians are like!’ Biddle swallowed, awkwardly. ‘Of course, if you really want to …’ Jesus continued to look at him inscrutably. ‘Perhaps we could sneak in at the very end.’ He coughed. ‘Unless you … want to hear them singing …?’
Chapter 19
Ted Sloper experienced a distinct feeling of dread when he saw Sathan Petty-Saphon standing in the church. Please God, she didn’t want to sing in the choir, did she?
‘Evening, Sathan,’ he muttered, bravely approaching her formidable form. ‘Are you … uh … here to watch, or …?’
‘No, Ted. I need to have a quick discussion with the choir.’
‘Do you indeed?’ Ted’s manner abruptly changed as he prepared to move from his defensive position into the attack. ‘Do you mind me asking what about?’
Petty-Saphon smiled condescendingly. ‘I simply need a few minutes to establish what the group’s position is as regards Reverend Biddle’s recent … activities.’
It took Sloper a few moments to work out which activities she was referring to, then the mist cleared. So that was what this was about.
‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘You can do that kind of thing over the telephone, or in the pub, or during the peace on Sunday morning, I don’t know where you lot gossip – but you’re absolutely not doing it in my rehearsal.’
The rest of the choir had started to arrive, getting their music out from the folders in the choir stalls and waiting expectantly for the rehearsal to begin.
Sloper looked back at Sathan Petty-Saphon, whose fixed smile was now tinged with disbelief at the affront of being told that she could not do something. ‘Perhaps, Ted, you should ask your choir whether they would like to discuss the issue? After all, it isn’t only your opinion here that counts.’
‘It is when it comes to deciding what I’m going to use the next hour for,’ said Ted, stubbornly. He had no intention at all of letting his rehearsal become some kind of committee meeting about the recent newspaper revelations – as far as he was concerned, the vicar could do what he jolly well liked in private, and he certainly wasn’t going to let that woman foist her homophobic knee-jerk responses onto people while he was in charge, double-barrelled surname or not.
‘Oh, Sathan,’ called Harriet Lomas, hurrying in and joining Petty-Saphon. ‘Have we started the … discussion … yet?’
‘No we bloody haven’t,’ said Ted Sloper, ‘and we’re not going to, either. We’re going to try and knock some music into shape, though I doubt there’s any bloody chance we’ll even get close to achieving that.’
The choir took their positions in the stalls. At the organ, Anne Hudson looked up from her novel, disappointed that what looked like developing into a lengthy argument was being curtailed. She was in the middle of a particularly salacious chapter involving an impoverished but handsome taxi driver called Harry and the glamorous and wealthy Lady Psmith-Ainsley.
‘Oh, but …’ Harriet said, ‘we surely ought to talk about … it? Don’t you think?’
‘No, Harriet,’ Petty-Saphon loudly announced, ‘Ted is right. This is his rehearsal and if he doesn’t wish us to discuss Reverend Biddle’s morally questionable and potentially damaging behaviour, then we should respect that.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Noreen Ponty exclaimed. ‘Reverend Biddle was in the newspaper! Did anybody else see it?’
A general murmur rose throughout the choir, which indicated that they had indeed seen Reverend Biddle in the newspaper.
‘Well, I for one think that it’s an absolute outrage,’ Harriet Lomas declared. Another, slightly quieter, murmur in the choir stalls indicated that this view was shared by at least some of the other s
ingers. ‘It’s bad enough that this kind of ambiguous and unhealthy sexuality is promoted on television and in magazines, but to have it in the church!’
‘That’s right,’ Noreen Ponty agreed, ‘there is an awful lot of sexuality on television these days.’
‘Wait,’ Ted Sloper interjected, unwilling to be dragged into an argument but determined not to let Lomas go unchallenged, ‘how do you mean, “unhealthy”?’
Anne Hudson cheerfully picked up her novel again, happy in the knowledge that there was time enough for Harry to deliver Lady Psmith-Ainsley to her destination and no doubt pick up a more than adequate fare.
‘I mean,’ Harriet patiently explained, ‘that there are certain lifestyle choices that are not within the normative … er … pattern, as far as what is intended for … for humanity.’
‘You mean gays?’ Sloper clarified.
‘I am indeed referring to homosexuals, as you are well aware,’ Harriet nodded.
‘In that case, I think that everything you just said is bollocks.’
‘We all know what the Bible says about homosexuality,’ she angrily retorted.
‘Bollocks,’ insisted Ted. ‘If we took everything the Bible said literally, then we’d all be Jewish.’
Harriet Lomas looked at Ted Sloper with loathing, all of a sudden feeling immensely satisfied that, even as they were talking, his harpsichord was possibly being removed from his house without his knowledge. For the first time, she began to hope that Bernard’s plan would actually work.
‘The Bible is very clear that—’
‘No it’s not very clear!’ Sloper shouted. ‘Why do you think theologians spend hours arguing over the bloody thing? It’s not just to give them something to do.’
‘Well, I’m not a theologian,’ Harriet continued, ‘but as I read it, it’s very clear that those who indulge in sexual deviancy shall not inherit a place in the kingdom of heaven.’