“I don’t know. I think the nurses said he opened his eyes this morning.” Victor had Terry’s phone in his hand. “I think I will download a record of his texts. I can do that even if he has deleted them.”
“Did you bring those lovely flowers?” asked Mumsie nodding to a display of yellow roses on the bedside cabinet.
“No, they arrived yesterday. One his many friends I suppose. I couldn’t find a card or anything. You know what those florists are like.”
“I think he is waking up,” said Mumsie eagerly peering over to take a closer look at Terry’s face. She could see some movement. The dry lips of Terry were mouthing a word, again and again.
“What is he saying?” Mumsie asked. “I can’t make it out.”
“Sounds like ‘name’ or something.” Victor had put down the phone to listen more carefully.
“What does that mean, ‘name’?” Mumsie raised her voice. “You are Terry, and I am Mumsie. Victor is here, as well.” She was holding his hand and squeezed it to draw his attention. It felt limp and cold.
Terry’s eyes opened. They were pale and watery without any sense of focusing or recognition. It was not certain whether he could see through them anymore. The nurses had told them his hearing would still be ok.
Mumsie raised her voice still louder. “What do you want?”
“names, ames, ames,” Terry murmured, but with each word he was getting weaker. His eyes closed again.
“Come on Mumsie,” said Victor perhaps half understanding what Terry was saying. “It is not worth trying to make it out. I think he is just speaking gibberish. It is the drugs you know.”
“I am sure it is something,” she said with a worried look on her face.
“Look, he has gone to sleep again. He just exhausted himself trying to speak. I am sure he was trying to say what a good mother you are!” Victor knew how to please Mumsie, but she remained unconvinced.
Just then some of the family came nosily into the room.
“Hello, my little pups,” squealed Mumsie. “I wondered where you were.”
No one noticed Terry’s eyes open and close again.
“No point being here,” said Victor. “Let’s go the café, I know the coffee is bloody awful but at least it is cheap.” He led the way and they followed.
Terry was left alone lying in the bed. His head rolled to the side and his eyes opened again. If anyone had been there they would have heard him clearly this time. “James, James.”
~~*~~
At the same time a meeting was taking place in the bishop’s study.
“I cannot see why we are discussing this,” the archdeacon was obviously irritated. “There is a full agenda to get through.”
“I just wanted the matter finalised,” said the bishop, somewhat apologetically.
“Well, as far as I am concerned he is out of our hands,” replied the archdeacon. “He chose to resign, and that is that!”
“I just thought at this point...” interjected Richard but he couldn’t finish what he wanted to say.
“Just because someone is dying in the hospice doesn’t mean we can forgive someone else everything he has done,” triumphed the archdeacon.
“Though perhaps, after a year or two, if he is truly repentant, I could see fit to let him look after a group of parishes on The Fens, maybe,” suggested the bishop. “After all they are difficult parishes to fill.”
“Well, that is entirely up to you bishop, but mark my words, people like that James are not to be trusted, and in the end their rebelliousness makes them the worst of vicars.” The archdeacon spoke with a new found confidence. “In my new diocese,” he went on “when I am a bishop, I will make sure that all such cases are dealt with robustly and without nonsense.”
This left an awkward silence in the room.
“Are all the arrangements for your new appointment in place then, archdeacon?” asked Richard eager to mellow the mood. It had always been his role to calm down any excited emotions.
“Well, yes, the enthronement is all sorted,” the archdeacon’s face had changed from anger to excitement. “The house is wonderful, and the decorators are there all this week and next. The garden is huge but I will have a gardener, of course, who will on the special occasions be my driver. And my wife, must keep her happy, is particularly delighted that there is an Agar.”
The bishop and Richard tried show an interest in what he was saying.
“What is more,” he went on, “the Cathedral there is due for a clear out and I am sure I will be able to appoint my own people in the next year or so. Marvellous opportunity for the right man, if you see what I mean.”
Richard had started to listen with a little more interest.
Chapter 16
The text came just after 8.00 in the morning, particularly unusual for a Sunday. It was simple and direct: “Terry died in the night. Just thought you should know. Charles.”
A few nights before James had a premonition. He woke in a sweat in the early hours with a sense of suffocating. His nose was blocked from a cold and he had trouble gasping for air. At first this brought on a sense of panic. He sat up in bed to calm himself and he could see a strange orange glow outside beyond the curtains. He got up to have a look. There in the cold February darkness hung a thick fog, but all he could see was the street light as it battled the swirling mist. It was as if the whole world had gone and he was trapped in a cold damp smothering blanket. He shut the curtains and switched on the bedside light. He sat there reminding himself of the real world, of family and friends, of the dawn that would come, rationalising himself out of the fear that could have possessed him. About an hour later, with the help of the radio, and a prayer, he slid down the sheets and drifted back to sleep.
James stared at the text message that had just arrived. He was grateful for being informed, for they so easily could have forgotten to tell him. It satisfied Charles to be the messenger, regardless of his motives.
Gratitude quickly moved on to anger. James felt denied. He had not been there to see Terry slip away, to hold his hand while the grip loosened, to listen anxiously to the heavy gasps for air expecting each to be the last. He could only imagine what the end had really been like, for there was no one who would ever tell him.
Two days later James read in the paper when and where the funeral was to take place. They had chosen the parish church where James had sat in the churchyard on the day of Terry’s party. A burial had always been Terry’s desire and at least this wish was being fulfilled.
On the day itself he arrived early, before everyone else. When he opened the church door, he found one of the undertakers placing orders of service on the chairs.
“It is not for another hour, you know,” said the young man dressed in a black suit and tie.
“I know, I just thought I would come early,” replied James. He felt strange, not wanting to be there but also unable to stay away.
“Are you family?” asked the young man.
“No,” replied James a bit too quickly. “Just someone who knew him once.”
“Well, you can’t sit in this section because it is family and friends, but anywhere at the back is fine.”
“I will sit right at the back, out of the way. I think I will still be able to see from there.”
James found a pew on the back wall and sat there in silence. For a while he had the church to himself as the young man had gone outside, probably, thought James, to have a cigarette.
James put his hand in his pocket and brought out the small bag of stones. He tipped them out onto his palm and inspected them carefully. They had been with him for well over a year, his constant talisman through every stage of his relationship with Terry. Entrusted to him at perhaps the height of their happiness they had been some comfort to him when he needed to know Terry still loved him. Now with Terry dead they seemed strangely redundant. The only other person in the world who understood their significance had gone, and the secret bond they represented did not seem to matter anym
ore. James quickly put them back in the bag and into his pocket.
People were beginning to arrive, and slowly the pews near him began to fill. One or two who saw him nodded as if to say hello, but no one sought to disturb him. They chatted amongst themselves, as people do at funerals to cover their nervousness. Some were laughing, others giggled, but most sat quietly respectful for the place and occasion.
James did not want to engage with anyone. He was there for one purpose alone.
He looked at the building about him. The stained glass windows had biblical scenes of God’s judgment and love. ‘Blessed are the pure in heart’ proclaimed one, underneath a scene of Jesus and some well-behaved children. That was a Victorian fantasy, thought James.
Another window gave the command: ‘Love one another.’ Does anyone read these texts, thought James, or in reading them actually believe them? There was nothing there to warn people of the dangers of love, of how it can ruin your life, and almost drive you to insanity.
The church was getting fuller. The organist had arrived and was rehearsing with a small choir. James remembered how he and Terry had planned this service months before, choosing hymns and readings. Psalm 42 was to be one of the key elements, and James smiled as he thought how only he will know the significance of such a reading.
A few minutes later the congregation shifted into an expectant silence. The family and close friends could be heard waiting outside for the coffin to arrive. Their chatting and laughter filtered into the church where everyone had gone quiet. James felt a sense of panic sweep over him. It was either the prospect of seeing the family again or the sight of the wooden box that contained Terry’s mortal body. He put his hand into his pocket to steady himself and squeezed the bag of stones.
A shadow paused at the church door, and muffed feet in the porch announced the arrival of the coffin. The vicar stepped nervously across the threshold and began intoning words from the bible.
In response everyone stood, not with any liturgical preciseness but a reluctant pulling up of their bodies. It reminded James of when he was at school and the children casually rising to their feet as the teacher came in.
“We brought nothing into the world, and we take nothing out,” spoke the vicar in a monotone voice. “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
After the coffin came the family. Walking side by side was Mumsie and Victor. They stared blankly ahead of them, looking tired but proud. Today they were impeachable.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
The entourage came next. Sisters and partners, children of all ages, some in buggies, others pulling at their parent’s arms, followed by more relations and the friends. Most looked round as they entered through the door and shuffled towards their seats. Some smiled when they saw people they knew and gave a quick wave.
“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him.”
James then noticed most of them were carrying a single red rose, obviously distributed by someone at the door. It was a badge of honour to show they were the chief mourners, proof they loved Terry and Terry loved them.
It took a while for them to find their seats and to be settled. The vicar continued with his monologue of scripture to cover the awkwardness of the delay. A child started screaming, and the vicar quickly announced the first hymn.
From where James was standing he could see the heads of the family and the friends. The coffin was out of view but he did not mind. In a sense he felt detached from what was going on, observing from afar a ceremony which didn’t seem to relate to the Terry he once knew.
After the hymn finished and the noise of the congregation finding their seats faded away, the vicar welcomed everyone to the church. At least the child had stopped screaming sometime during the hymn. The vicar went on to apologise because he was only a stand-in, the local vicar being on holiday, and as a consequence he never had the privilege of knowing Terrance. James thought how unprofessional it was not even to pretend to know the deceased; after all it is what the local vicar would have done.
Prayers followed and then the readings. This was the point James had been waiting for. The vicar read from St. John Chapter 14; “Let not your hearts be troubled”
At the end he paused and looked up from the lectern.
“Now a member of the family will read the psalm.”
There followed an embarrassing silence. There was no response from the family bloc that stared back at him with bewilderment. None of them had ever read in church. No one had been prepared to do it.
“Oh well,” the vicar went on, not disguising his annoyance, “I thought there was going to be a reading from a psalm, but never mind, we will sing the next hymn.”
James felt completely cheated. Psalm 42 was crucial to the whole service. Perhaps the words would mean nothing to most people, but to him they summed up the last two years of his life. ‘As the deer pants for the streams’ would show how Terry had loved and been loved, and how that made his life worth celebrating. For an instant he felt like marching to the front and reading it himself, but before he could build up the courage, the next hymn had begun.
The vicar spoke a short eulogy with information probably gleaned from a quick meeting with the family. Terrance had been, according to him, a loveable character, always eager to help, kind to all in his short life. Nothing was too much for Terrance and so everyone admired him.
“Perhaps,” said the vicar as he brought his reflection to a close, “the word to sum up Terrance is ‘winsome’. Let us pray.”
The prayers concluded with the Lord’s Prayer, more mumbled than said. Another hymn and the service in the church was over. The vicar set off towards the door with the bearers carrying the coffin close behind. As they drew closer a strong feeling of sorrow swept over James. Here before him in the box was the body of the man he had loved. Step by step he was coming nearer to him than he had been for several months.
Then he saw Mumsie and Victor. The first was crying into a white handkerchief, muffling her subs. James thought it may have been for the benefit of the crowd, but he wanted to believe she was genuinely distraught. He recognised the handkerchief as one of those he had ironed many times, and he wondered whether it might even be his.
Victor looked stony faced without any sign of emotion. His blond hair was arranged immaculately on his head. He either could not summon the tears or was very much in control.
As the entourage passed one of the sisters caught sight of James. She turned as if to make a gesture, but James could not work out whether it was friendly or otherwise. Quickly the sister was swept on with the others and James was left feeling uneasy. At least someone had noticed he was there, but he didn’t want any encounters.
The congregation poured out of the church. James held back until everyone had gone through the door. He wanted to be as insulated from the family as much as he could. Once outside he could see across the churchyard to the family gathered around the grave. It was impossible to see if they had lowered the coffin into the ground but he imaged that was soon to happen.
James moved from the church porch and found a place to stand near a church buttress. It shielded him from view but he could still see what was going on. The coffin must have been put into the ground for the vicar was raising his hand in a blessing. Almost instantly the family moved away from the grave side. Thankfully, they were not coming back to the church but headed for the church gate. There was, James heard, to be sandwiches in the local pub, the very place where Terry had had his party. No doubt the walls would be adorned with those photographs again.
Within minutes the churchyard had emptied. The exit had been so quick not even the sexton had returned to fill in the grave. James walked over to the hole in the ground. It was shallow with the coffin quite close to the surface, not dug deep to make room for others.
“No one is going to be joining you in there then,” said Ja
mes as if someone could hear. “You said you wanted me to be buried on top. Another lie, I suppose.”
James was surprised at his own anger, but it was only part of his emotion.
“I loved you Terry, with all my heart. You changed my life completely, and I will never forget you.” James felt the tears well up in his eyes.
He knelt down on the ground. It did not matter he wore his best suit and the grass was muddy. He reached down into the grave and touched the coffin lid. It was almost as if he touched Terry. Only a plank of wood separated them. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the bag of stones. For a moment he closed his weeping eyes and held the bag tightly in this hand. Then he tossed it into the grave and it landed with a thud on the coffin lid.
“I am giving these back to you, Terry. A bit of ancient Egypt in this English churchyard. I don’t need them anymore.”
James reached down to push them off the lid. He had a fear someone might see them and take them out. They slid to the depths of the grave, now unretrievable.
“Good-bye, my love, and God bless.”
James stood to his feet and brushed his hands together to get rid of some of the dirt. He stood for a moment silently looking at the coffin and then turned to walk away.
In his blurred vision he suddenly noticed someone else by the church. The figure was coming towards him. He had thought he was alone and very much did not want to share this moment with anyone else.
He quickly wiped his eyes and nose with his handkerchief, and noticed the stains of mud on it. He could now make out the person as someone he knew.
“James, there you are,” said Charles as he drew close. “I saw you in the church.”
“Hello, Charles,” replied James in a subdued voice. He wondered why Charles had sought him out. Perhaps the family would like him to join them at the pub, but that was a ridiculous idea. Then he noticed Charles was carrying something in his hand.
“I have got this for you. I wasn’t sure I would see you again so I thought I would give it to you now,” Charles said anxiously.
Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church Page 20