Nervous too, she thought - poor man. Well, she'd make it easy for him. "Shall we go through into the conservatory?"
"Yes,.. yes. Thank you, Penny."
There was a long silence as they settled into the wicker furniture, then Penny smiled. "I'm sorry, Vicar. I didn't know you were coming. David just said a friend. I hope everything was all right for you."
"Please,.. call me Andrew."
Andrew was it? But what's that look in your eye now, Andrew? Are you worried about having someone like David call you a friend? I thought you would be flattered. She liked the way he sipped his wine - slow, thoughtful, contemplative. He had excellent manners - very old fashioned, the sort of manners schools seemed to knock out of children at an early age these days, to replace them with insolence.
"This is lovely," he said. "Chardonnay?"
"Yes,.. not that I'm an expert."
"Oh, me neither I'm afraid, but I am rather fond of wine - oh and a nice Brandy." He smiled. "Though not at the same time, of course."
He's showing me how human he is. He'll be telling me he smokes a pipe next and bets on the horses!
"Penny." He lowered his voice. "Actually,.. David asked me to come. He's concerned about your,… spiritual interests,… . your reading. Apparently."
Penny said nothing. Andrew had had all the help she was going to give him. Her intention had been to get him to the point as swiftly as possible, or it might have taken all afternoon. But now, here they were and he was on his own.
"My reading?"
"For some reason it worries him," he said. "And as one of my parishioners that has to concern me. I said I'd speak to you in order to put him at ease."
Penny was determined to relax, to smile politely, to hear the man out, then show him the door. But in relaxing she somehow managed to look like she was hardening, her lips tightening, her face becoming stony. Andrew was alarmed. "Please don't misunderstand," he said. "It's not you I'm worried about, well not directly."
"Oh?"
"Is everything all right between you and David?"
Now this was something she had not expected. "Not really, Andrew. If he'd leave things alone we'd be able to rub along quite nicely and see the children grown. But things have to be perfect, you see? And it's a peculiar image of perfection." She wasn't sure if she'd gone too far and perhaps embarrassed him now, but the words had slipped out, apparently ready formed and when she ran them back through her mind she was rather pleased with the way they'd summed everything up.
He thought for a long time - thought on what she'd said - and she admired him for appearing to take her seriously. "Yes,… it's hard to be ourselves among others - especially among those who would like to mould us into a shape that is against our nature."
She sighed. Intuitive as well as good looking! "So, you've come to burn my books, and lecture me on how Tai Chi is the work of the Devil?"
"I know that's what you thought,… but really, Penny, we live in a more enlightened world, surely?"
"Do we? I would hardly describe the world I live in as enlightened. Is it not your job to convert me?"
He leaned back, the wine relaxing him now. "I can't speak for other men of the cloth of course. I see my job more as encouraging a spiritual outlook. I think that's the best one can do these days, and that alone can be the work of a lifetime. You're clearly interested in exploring such matters, all be it from a different perspective. Is it you I should be worried about then? Or is it those whose interpretation of religion is so narrow as to have squeezed out anything even remotely spiritual?"
Penny raised her eyebrows. Was he actually talking about David? Good looking, intuitive, and surprising! She gave him a cheeky smile: "You should be ashamed of yourself, talking like that. You sound more like a philosopher or a psychologist, than a vicar."
"Actually, my first loves were philosophy and psychology. My divinity studies grew out them."
"And the vicaring?"
"Well,… like so much else in life, the vicaring was more of an accident than the result of a life's ambition. Oh,.. it seems very much my calling now but I've read a lot of books that perhaps a vicar shouldn't, and I'm very fond of Buddhism myself you know - though I find I can't go along with some of the more religious aspects. Actually, I have a few books at home I could lend you if you're interested - or we could discuss it. It depends how serious you are."
Was he trying to be crafty here? Was he trying to draw her out into speaking openly, then he could demolish her with his Oxford intellect?
"You're joking of course."
"Not at all, Penny. Really! It's admirable you take an interest in these matters. I've spent some time in China, you know? Lots of Chinese are Christians, also Moslem - but they practice Buddhism as well, I mean at the same time, and see no conflict in it at all. For myself the only problem I have is the idea of retributive Karma - that we might find ourselves in a miserable existence in this life because we were wrong headed in a the last one - I disagree with that notion on both theological and philosophical grounds."
"I feel the same," she found herself saying, and then: "Look, I'm not going to actually become a Buddhist, you know? I wouldn't know where to start."
"Well, that's up to you of course. I would encourage you to explore your feelings in what ever way you can. Have you read anything on Taoism? It has much in common with Buddhism and yet some fascinating differences. I'm sorry; I'm rambling. But to return to what we were talking about earlier - it's really David I'm worried about."
Penny laughed. "I'm sorry, Andrew - you're not at all what I expected. David worries me too, but I'm not sure there's anything either of us can do about that. He answers to a higher authority than even you. Sorry - I didn't mean to be irreverent."
Andrew nodded and allowed himself a sideways smile. She was not at all what he'd expected either - not the mousy, mild mannered housewife he'd remembered from her last appearance at church. This was a woman who could look after herself - though judging by the slight swelling, the nose piercing was recent and he feared a middle aged woman did not undergo such a thing unless she was reacting violently to forces that were tearing her in opposite directions.
"Did it hurt?"
"This? Yes, it did."
They were laughing, knocking back the last of the wine, when Angela put in an appearance. She was perhaps expecting Penny to have her head in her hands, to be looking downcast, or blushing with indignity. Instead though, she was twirling her hair girlishly, giggling, almost flirting with the Vicar, and the Vicar was enjoying every minute. Angela was not pleased by this - the useless man had not been invited here to enjoy himself, but to rubber-stamp her outrage all over Penny's insolent forehead.
"Everything all right, Angela?"
Angela looked rather cross, then ducked back out.
"That was a bit rude of her," said Penny. "I'm sorry. I hope your Bishop knows how to stand his ground - or they'll be getting rid of you shortly."
"Oh?"
"Your views are far too enlightened."
Andrew laughed again, though he knew she was serious. "Well, from the look on Angela's face, I fear I've rather outstayed my welcome."
"Nonsense, this is my house. Have another glass of wine."
"No,.. really."
"Well, all right. But I've enjoyed talking to you."
"And I've enjoyed talking to you, Penny."
"You're welcome to call any time, so long as you're not after my soul."
"I don't think I need to worry about your soul. It's in good hands already."
"Thank you - it means a lot to hear you say that. I'm not worried either. What I am worried about is the battle for the souls of my children. Worried that in order to save their souls, David and Angela will feel compelled to destroy them both first. "
Andrew sighed. He knew very well what she was talking about, saw at a glance the trap she was in. "Boys grow," he said. "Adam is already a fine young man."
"And no matter what he does it'll never be good enough."
"Good enough for you though!"
"As much as that counts for anything, yes,… whatever he does, whatever either of them do is more than good enough for me, so long as they manage to stay out of trouble. But trouble waits for the unwary, doesn't it? It waits for those who fall off the rails, or those who have no choice but to jump, because they don't like the direction they're being driven in."
In spite of the rather sobering conclusion to her talk with the vicar, Penny found herself singing as she sorted out the washing basket. It was the task she hated the most, heaving the sour smelling garments out, and the basket always seemed to fill up of its own accord the moment her back was turned, so that she could never keep ahead of it.
But for some peculiar reason that evening, she discovered ABBA lightening her mood. "Knowing me, Knowing you,… Ah—haaaa - a!"
It had been an unexpectedly good day, but that was insufficient, and now she wanted to tell someone about it - tell them why it had been a good day. And she could hardly share her reasons with David since he and his mother were at the butt end of it. Do you know what the vicar said to me - after all of that? Do you know what he said, Phil?
Well, why couldn't she tell Phil? Oh, where was he when she needed him? He would have loved the whole story - the vicar turning out to be on her side! Where had he been these last few weeks? She'd been secretly dying to test his reaction to her nose-stud at the class that morning, but he'd been missing again. Then, as she rose from the washing machine the chain gave an unexpected little tug. "Naughty boy, Phil. Don't go tickling me there!"
She'd been moody and childish at the retreat - to say nothing of crazy but, that had been the crisis building up inside of her. It was gone now and she had Phil to thank for it - well, Phil and the Vicar. Amazing! There were some men, it seemed who could look at her, like what they saw and believe in her!
She wanted to apologise to Phil for not saying goodbye to him properly. She'd tried bumping into him at the orchard but it was cold, and barely light enough to see of a morning now. She guessed he'd stopped going. She'd hung on there for a while practising, and Lara had come down to make tea in the Summer House. She'd seemed odd - not exactly unfriendly, but there was something. Did she disapprove, of Penny? Penny had tried to steer the subject onto Phil, but Lara had steadfastly steered it away again. If only she'd given Phil her number! No,… hold on, Penny, what is this? The minute you start to feel light headed you're ready to give him your number!
Where was he? It couldn't be over, could it? All those impossible coincidences: these were things that had changed both their lives! How could they just stop now? Would a different set of coincidences step in and hold them apart, against the odds, like a diabolical tide? No. This all meant something, and so she knew she would see him again, just as soon as she stopped trying.
And that was why she was singing.
Chapter 30
"Phil?"
"Pen?"
It was the following week, in the Co-op when they met. Both were in the wine section, stocking up for a serious night in. She wasn't sure it was him at first - he seemed to have lost all his hair, except on closer inspection she saw he'd shaved it really close - that the dark stubble of his receding hairline was the same as it had always been. She took him in for a moment and decided she rather liked the way he looked, but she was also afraid of the way he was suddenly making her feel. She was moistening, and,… god I'm actually,… itching for him!
"Pen, you look stunning!"
"Mutton dressed as Lamb according to the monster-in law."
"She really didn't say that?"
"Well, not to my face, anyway."
"And I like the ring - I thought you were joking when you said you were having it done."
"I was, but I decided to go for it anyway."
"Good for you!"
"Looks like I'm not the only one who's had a change of image."
Self consciously, Phil smoothed the top of his head. "It's a bit severe, I think."
"No, I like it."
He brightened "Really? Do you think I should keep it?"
"Definitely."
"I thought it made me look like a monk - especially when I'm practising the form - I expect some wise old man to shuffle out of the summerhouse and call me Grasshopper or something."
"Do you still practice? I've not seen you for a while."
"I still practice, yes, of course. I've just not been to the class for a bit. It's been difficult lately - you know how it is?"
"Yes,… I know. Anyway - this part of town's is bit off the beaten track for you isn't it?"
Actually it wasn't. The Co-op was just around the corner from Rick's, and Phil came in here most evenings now. "Well, I try not to visit the same off licence too often," he joked. "I have a guilty conscience - don't want anyone thinking I'm turning into an alcoholic - even though I probably am."
She looked at her basket - two bottles of wine, a bottle of Bacardi and a bottle of Coke. "I know what you mean."
If you made love to me Phil, we'd have no need for this stuff. I'd make you breathless, make you beg for sleep, and I'd fall asleep right on top of you! There'd be no need for all this pathetic booze!
He took a deep breath. "So. How are things? Have you seen anything of Blakedon?"
"No. You?"
"Nothing. And there's been no fallout at home?"
"No. They all have poker faces. I don't know if they know I'm on to them or not. I'm just carrying on as normal. And you?"
"Oh,… same as always, pretty much."
Penny caught his reply like a hook in the eye - the lie was so obvious. She'd heard his words but was painfully conscious of the fact that they did not match what she'd read in his face. She'd no idea what it was, but something had happened.
She gave him an enquiring look: "Phil?"
He was searching for a way out now. Eyes twitching, from side to side. What was he going to do? Make run for it? He was - he was looking for a way out!
"I'll perhaps see you on Sunday, Pen," he said.
It wasn't her business. There was nothing between them. They were married to other people for pity's sake, and if he wanted to bolt away like a frightened rabbit that was up to him, and she had to let him go. But if all that was true then why was she suddenly hanging on to his basket so tightly the wires were digging into her fingers. "You won't be there on Sunday!" she said.
Phil looked at her fingers clamped there, holding on to the basket, holding on to him. There seemed to be something urgent, something desperate in her grip. "I,.. I should be able to make it."
"No you won't. You're avoiding me again."
He feigned surprise, but badly. "I am not."
"Don't come the innocent with me. And anyway its pointless! You know what happens when we try avoiding each other."
"What?"
"We hit the hundred thousand to one jackpot, and bump into each other,… well,… like this!"
He hung his head and Penny was dismayed. Don't do that Phil. You should hold you head up! It's a fine face, a face to be proud of, a face that makes me proud!
"Really, I'm not avoiding you."
"And you're a crap liar too."
He smiled, but he was crying - not sobbing out loud, but his eyes had filled and she could see him holding back. There was only one thing she could think of that might have caused it. He'd been so calm, so sure, so centred of late - not like the weary Phil she'd first met so long ago. Oh, God - it had finally happened! Sally had kicked him out!
"You've split up," she said. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I've not seen you. And anyway, there's nothing to tell."
"Where are you living? Are you with your brother?"
"Pen,… how do you know all this?"
"I guessed! What happened? Tell me!"
Phil looked at her - looked hard. She was fantasy made flesh, for surely nothing real could ever be so vital, so valuable and sweet as this. And she was right: there was no point in hiding. He could deny th
ings all he wanted, lie to protect her, to stop her from throwing her marriage away by throwing herself at him - he could have joined the Foreign Legion, emigrated, or joined the circus, but all to no avail: something would have happened, something impossible would have brought them back together like this - for this:
"Sally thinks we're having an affair," he said. "She confronted me with it and I walked out."
He waited for her reaction but Penny couldn't speak. It was one thing to have an intuition but quite another to have it confirmed. Phil ploughed on into the silence. "Perhaps I should have stayed. Do you think I should have stayed? She didn't actually tell me to go. She only said we'd nothing to talk about - because I wouldn't admit to it, you see? But she didn't tell me to go. Mind you she didn't stop me from going either,… ."
Penny shook his basket to stop him from rambling. "What made her think it in the first place?"
"Eh? Oh,… that was Trevor. He wrote a kind of love-token and planted it round at my house, made it look like it was me who wrote it. It had your name all over it."
"Trevor? That's your father in law, isn't it? But, how would he know about me? How would he know my name?"
"I don't know, Pen. I can't imagine."
"How do you know it was Trevor?"
"It can't have been anyone else. I've not spoken to him - he'd only deny it - and I've not seen Sally in nearly a month now. Or perhaps I did write it. I've wondered if I might have done it unconsciously - like sometimes when you put your car-keys in the refrigerator. Have you ever done that?"
Penny shook his basket again so that his wine bottles chinked together. "But,… the children, Phil."
"I can't think about them. I'm all right as long as I don't think about them."
"Put down your basket."
"I can't. You're holding onto it."
"Put down your basket and come with me."
"Where?"
"We'll go and talk to Sally. We'll sort this out - I'm so sorry Phil. You don't deserve this."
Phil was suddenly blind with terror at the prospect of seeing Sally. "She won't believe a word we say. You were right before: it's like they want us to be having an affair in order to fit some peculiar view they have of reality. If we turn up together, that'll only confirm things."
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