by Ivan B
Brian hedged, “He happens to be on the board of governors for my school.”
Amy tapped the table with a spoon, “Wouldn’t convince a fly. Spill the beans.”
Brian knew he was caught in a pincer movement and held up his hands. “OK, OK I give up.”
“Well,” said Bau.
“Well,” said Amy.
“Well I’m seeking a move. I’ve been a teacher at the school for ages and I’m never going to progress anywhere. I’m an adequate teacher, but my hearts not in all the administration and suchlike faculty heads have to cope with. And budgets, oh how I hate budgets. Besides I think God’s calling me elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“Where?”
It was like living with a double echo. “Actually here, this parish. The two Bishops have this idea. That’s the regional Bishop who oversees the portion of Essex just down the road and the Local Bishop, Bishop Dermot, who’s taking the lead on the project.”
He checked he was being listened to; he needn’t have bothered as both sets of eyes were still fastened on him. “Just down the road and spanning the Diocesan boundary, is one of the largest gypsy camps in the country. Well it’s probably not full of true gypsies, more like modern day travellers. But as far as the church is concerned they’re totally neglected, so the Bishops want a priest to try and reach out to that community. It’s not a full time position though, so to make up the other half I’d have to take on the three churches of this parish as well; Burston, Burston Tye, and Burston Ford.”
Amy’s eyes opened wide, “Does my gran know?”
Brian shook his head. “I thought it was all in an embryonic stage, but the astute diocesan secretary has pulled in some funding from the EU. However, the funding is time limited, either we start legitimately claiming by September, or the money goes elsewhere.”
Amy started to giggle, “Oh I want to be there when she gets told you’re coming, you should have heard what she called you when she came to book you to speak and found Bau here!”
Bau’s brow furrowed again, “Hang on. I don’t know much about the Church of England, but don’t the parish have a say?”
“Usually,” said Brian, “but last year the church here voted to allow the Bishop to have the whole say and put someone in at his behest on a half-time basis. It was either that or combine with the next benefice and apparently they’ve’ been at war for generations.”
Amy continued giggling, “I remember gran when the Bishop suggested we combine with Hawstonne, and I thought I was the only member of the family who could throw a wobbly!”
Bau continued to frown, “Why you, wouldn’t one of the travelling community be best?”
“Certainly would and there is a chap just starting theological college who might eventually fit the bill, but that’s five years down the line. I guess I’ve been singled out as I’ve been working with a travelling community near my school since I’ve been there. It takes a long time to build up trust, but I guess they accept me now, as much as the ever will. Nub of it is that the little site near my school is being closed down and it’s expected that the people who used it as a stopping point and temporary base will come here.”
Bau was not convinced. “What if the church here really kick up a stink, would the Bishop still send you here?”
He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Bishops are inventive people; if Verity proves to be an insurmountable object and I can’t come here they’ll find another way.”
“But you’d rather it was here?”
Brian opened his mouth and Bau snapped, “Don’t say anything, your face says it all!”
Brian regrouped and reached the other way across the table until he was holding both women’s hands. “I’m not letting you two go. I don’t care if I have to live in a tent, I’m not letting you go, is that understood?”
“Don’t fancy a tent,” said Bau.
“Me neither,” chorused Amy, “On the other hand, one of those huge shiny caravans with mountains of chrome… ”
The women fell into a fit of giggles and Brian smiled while wondering just how he was going to explain all this to the Bishop.
He didn’t feel anything like as confident just under two hours later. He was meeting Bishop Dermot at the Cathedral out of mutual convenience and the imposing building impressed upon him the might and seriousness of the church. Twice he almost walked straight out, only his concern about deserting the travelling community stopped him from going. Eventually the Bishop came to the door of a little waiting room and beckoned him in. The room was tiny, but that befitted the Bishop for he was also small, small and thin.
Brian sat down opposite him and wondered, for the umpteenth time, what Dermot was doing as a Bishop. His half-cut glasses, wispy grey hair, piercing blue eyes and sallow cheeks made him look like more like a leprechaun than the academic theologian he was reputed to be. “How’s the holiday going,” Asked the Bishop in his rich Yorkshire accent.
For some reason Brian sensed that this was not a pleasantly, but a loaded question. “Fine thank you, Burston is a delightful place.”
The Bishop stared over his glasses at Brian, who immediately felt like a naughty schoolboy. The Bishop sighed through his nose, “Actually Brian, to my utter amazement, I’ve had a complaint about you.”
Brian was staggered. “Me? From the school?”
“No, from the churchwarden at Burston. Let me see,” he picked up a neatly typed letter, “she accuses you of living with a woman of lose morals, seducing her daughter away from home, sorry granddaughter, and living an immoral life with both of them. Can this possibly be true?”
Brian opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish. Eventually he pulled himself together and went on the defensive. “She’s not a woman of loose morals but a musician. Amy, that’s the granddaughter was foisted on me by Verity Jones, the complainant I assume, who moved her granddaughter into my house with the aid of her son and his undertaking companions.” He took a breath, “As for the implication of…”
The Bishop held up his hands, “Slow down. Tell me about the musician, how come she’s in the house in the first place?”
Brian chose his words carefully. “Her name’s Bau Didly and she’s out on licence from prison awaiting a judicial review of her conviction for murder brought about by her sick daughter’s early demise. She was living in a squalid cottage without any means of support and we became friends.”
The Bishop put his head on one side. “You don’t mean Bau Didly from the Rocqettes do you?”
Brian was surprised that the Bishop, a man seeped in operatic arias, had ever heard of her. “Yes.”
The Bishop chuckled, “Well it’s a small world. My niece is Heidi Brown alias Lorna Richard; she was their rhythm guitarist. They used to practice in my brother’s double garage until they became an overnight success and an even greater overnight failure. She runs a pair of bookshops now.”
He took his glasses of and swung them from side to side by rolling the arm between his fingers. “Bau was the one who made a stand about the change of image, Heidi says now, but hindsight is a wonderful thing, that she wished that she’d seen the sense of her words. I also know the case you’re talking about, the child choked to death and the prosecution claimed it was deliberate; Heidi followed ever press report and kept me informed.”
He put his glasses back on, “Running into danger though aren’t we, as the prayer book would say? Single woman, ex-prisoner, with an uncertain moral background – I believe she never married the child’s father - and possibly keen on seeking male solace?”
Brian licked his lips; he was still on his back foot. “That’s why I’m glad Amy’s with us now, there’s safety in numbers.”
The Bishop gave a raucous laugh. “Oh come on, do you think I was born yesterday?”
He flicked the letter, “Says here that your rock musician seduced Amy into a lesbian relationship and turned her mind so that she had a nervous breakdown.”
He read part of the let
ter to himself. “By this account a severe nervous breakdown with resulting permanent overtones of mental instability.”
Brian cleared his throat, “Amy does occasional do things that might be seen as irrational, but to her they are the product of her logic, distorted logic maybe, but not the acts of total insanity.”
The Bishop whooped with delight and laughter. “I’ve met Amy. My wife and I were camping at Hawstonne and went to the local supermarket.”
Brian’s heart sank. The Bishop nodded, “But I have to agree with you about her form of logic. She asked me if I could intervene in Bau’s case and I replied that it was unlikely that I’d have any effect if I did. She then asked me if I’d like to feel her wobbly bits, the rationale being that if she pleased me I might act on Bau’s behalf.”
The Bishop gave a rye smile, “Actually she did have the right effect. When I got back after the holiday I wrote to the chaplain of the prison and asked her to take a special interest in Bau as I was concerned for her health, if I remember correctly she was always underweight and showing signs of anorexia.”
The Bishop ran his fingers over a buff folder, “You know that this traveller’s project is close to our hearts don’t you, and that we’ve probably only got one shot at it in the medium term? And I don’t want it ruined by some ghastly scandal involving our choice of candidate to run it. Nor do I particularly want trouble at Burston.”
Brian sighed, “So it’s a no-go for me then.”
The Bishop raised his eyebrows in a semaphore signal of disapproval; “Did I say that? Actually Brian you are still the prime choice for this post. The travelling community, or the local part of it, seem to trust you and respect you. Nobody else fits that criteria. However, I want your assurance that there will be no scandal, that you will find some way of making peace with Mrs Jones, or at least encourage her to take a pragmatic view of you in her parish. And that you will not bring the church into disrepute. The last thing I need is some tabloid revelation about polygamous vicars or the moral laxity of ministers. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” croaked Brian.
“Have you slept with either of them?” He bluntly asked before throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t answer that! It’s probably best I don’t know the answer. However, if you have I expect either a resignation or a marriage.”
“We’re all sinners,” started Brian.
The Bishop wagged his finger, “Save it for a sermon. I know we’re all sinners and I also know that God has the grace to forgive, but we are mere mortals and find it a little harder, especially where hypocrisy is involved. I’m not a fool Brian. I know that things happen in the heat of a moment. The trick is to turn what could be a disaster into a moral victory. Do you understand?”
“No.” There was a message there somewhere, but he missed it.
The Bishop sighed. “I don’t know your relationship to this woman. But if she’s been in prison for some time you could both be forgiven for letting your emotions run away with you and allowing the natural sequences of courtship to be temporarily out of phase. As long as the right outcome is eventually attained I don’t particularly want to know the sequence of individual events. Understand now?”
Brian thought he did. “Are you saying that if I have slept with her you’ll turn a blind eye as long as we eventually tie the knot?”
“Alleluia,” cried the Bishop, “give the man a coconut. I’m not saying I condone back to front sequences mind, but it is the personal commitment of man and woman to each other that has overall importance in my mind.”
Brian blinked, “And the job.”
The Bishop tapped the file; “It’s yours, if there is peace and harmony in Burston, or at least silence. I can’t stand getting letters like this, all innuendo and no substance.”
Brian wondered, not for the first time, if he had an over-active guardian angel. The Bishop wrote on a little notepad by his side. “Changing hats for a moment, and becoming a school governor, you will give the appropriate notice won’t you?”
Brian blinked and did a mental calculation. “That means by the end of next week.”
The Bishop smiled, “Then I want to hear from you by 10am next Friday or before. Now go away and get your ducks in a row. Sort out your private life, do something to get Verity Jones off of my back, and off of yours. And prayerfully consider whether you actually want this position. In some ways you’d be putting yourself up to be shot down both by the anti-traveller brigade and the travellers themselves if they decided you’re an outsider and not to be trusted.”
Brian stood up, “Thank you Bishop, for being so understanding.”
He left while the going was good feeling somewhat relieved and on more stable ground than he had dared imagine.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so relieved if he’d been a fly on the tree at the riverbank near the old rectory. Bau and Amy had walked down the footpath and were sitting on a grassy bank watching the river life. “You’ve no idea how good this feels,” said Bau softly and wistfully, “freedom to sit in the open and not be hassled by a guard or another prisoner.”
“No rivers in prison then?”
Bau laughed, “Just a manky old pond in what is supposed to be the prison garden, more like a prison cesspit.”
They watched a flycatcher weave its high-speed way over the pond surface.
“Brian’s nice,” Amy remarked casually.
“You like him?”
“Good man, beautiful hands, have you seen the size of them.”
“Felt the size of them,” laughed Bau.
Amy made a simpering face, “You going to marry him then?”
“Could do. I know after last night he’ll probably ask me, but more out of moral rectitude than love. He’s still in the besotted stage.”
Amy persisted. “So will you say yes?”
Bau sighed, “I don’t know Amy. I did think I would yesterday, in the heat of the moment so to speak”
She sighed, “He’s a wonderful man and greatly in his favour is that he wants to care for me when the rest of the world seems to want to pass by on the other side. I know I could love him more than any other man; I’m already starting to dream of him. However, I’m not sure that I’d be the right woman for him; I love music too much. I want to be out on the road again, playing and singing.”
She lay back. “I know that he’d probably accept that. Letting me travel around on tours and then come home to him from time to time as an exhausted wreck to be loved and cared for. I also know that he’d trust me to be faithful and I know even now that I would be faithful.” She sighed again, “But he needs a different kind of woman, a vicar’s wife, someone who’d stand side by side with him every day of every week and I know that’s not me.”
They were silent for a couple of minutes with only the sound of bees humming to disturb the peace. “I wouldn’t mind being a vicar’s wife,” said Amy all of a sudden.
Bau rolled over onto her stomach to face Amy. “Pardon?”
Amy’s eyes narrowed, “You’re not hearing. You been to your auralogist recently? I think your hearing is getting worse.”
Bau sighed, “Don’t nag me Amy, it’s not a day for nagging. I’m coping.”
Amy persisted, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you sit with your right ear to Brian, or that sometimes you stare at his lips.”
Bau rolled her eyes, “I’ll go to a specialist if I don’t get sent back to prison, is that OK?”
“Promise.”
“Promise.” Bau paused to recollect her thoughts, “now what did you say?”
“Wasn’t important,” said Amy defensively.
Bau replied softly, “What you say is always important.”
Amy shrugged, “I just said that I wouldn’t mind being a vicar’s wife.”
“Can’t imagine you in a floral dress dispensing tea on the lawn,” Bau laughed.
Amy screwed up her face, “No law says that vicar’s wives have to wear a floral dress is there? Vicar’s wife o
ver at Kiln Mill wears jodhpurs and denim tops.”
Bau grinned, “You’d make a darn sight better vicar’s wife than me. I can just imagine you cooking mounds of pink muffins for the garden fête!”
Amy made a face at her. Bau rolled back onto her back and stared at the sky. “Well why don’t you marry Brain then, just as long as I could come to you two when I’m not touring, or in need of respite or, as they always say, resting between gigs.”
There was no answer and Bau turned to look at Amy, who was sitting dead still with no sign of life in her body of on her face. Bau half shouted. “Amy? Amy! Are you with me?”
Amy gave a start, “Sorry just fantasising. Me as Brian’s wife and all that.”
“Well was it good?”
“It was wonderful,” she sighed.
“You marry him then.” Announced Bau.
“You can’t mean that.”
“You’d be better for him than me.”
Amy sat transfixed at the notion. “I’d still love you,” she eventually stated.
Bau grinned and reached out to hold her hand. “I know that, and I’d still love you.”
Amy gazed into Bau’s eyes, still living the fantasy. “When you come back off of all those tours you’re going to have. I wouldn’t mind if he slept with you.”
Bau furrowed her brow, where was this conversation going? “Yes you would, he’d be your husband not my beau, if you’ll excuse the pun.”
Amy shook her head, “Sharing him with you would be an act of love.”
“He might not agree.”
“He’s a man.”
They both laughed while knowing that there was some serious undercurrent to their idle chatter. Bau sat up and held Amy’s hand tight. “If you’re his wife he’d expect to sleep with you as well, could you cope with that?”
She gave a cautious grin, “Once I’d managed the first time, yes.”
Bau kissed Amy on the lips, “Then it’s agreed. You marry Brian and I’ll be his mistress.”
Amy shook her head, “I’m not having you called that. Mistresses are evil, you’re not evil, you’d be his…” She sort for the right word, “concubine, you’d be his concubine. A sort of additional wife.”