Casting the Net

by Pam Rhodes

  “Ellen will have them wrapped around her little finger before they know what’s hit them. And you’re right, the dress is delicate – and quite small too. I suppose when my great-great-grandma made it all those years ago, babies were baptized when they were only a few days old, in case they didn’t last long. That was life then, wasn’t it? Of course, Ellen was small when she was born, coming early like that, so it’ll fit her OK. Jeannie says she’ll just let her wear the gown for the service, then change her into something more practical later on.”

  “Jeannie seems to have taken to being a mum as if she’s done it all her life,” said Margaret. “Considering how difficult that pregnancy was, she’s just looked better and better every time I’ve seen her recently.”

  “That’s contentment for you.” Cyn turned away from the sink to face Neil and Margaret, wiping her hands on the cloth as she spoke. “They waited so long for that little girl. All those miscarriages – it wasn’t just the physical problems. It was hard for Jeannie emotionally, and for Colin too. But they’re strong together. Made for each other, those two. And now, at last, they’re the parents they’ve longed to be, thanks to IVF – and God! Our prayers were certainly answered.”

  “Amen to that,” agreed Margaret quietly. “Now, do you need any help with the catering on Sunday? I could always get Frank to knock up one of his fruit cakes.”

  “What we want is for our new little wonder to be welcomed into the world and the church. And for all our church family to come over to the house and celebrate her safe arrival. It’ll be good to treat you for a change, Margaret. You’ve been great, visiting Jeannie as much as you have, especially when she was so poorly. She was only saying the other day how much receiving Communion meant to her – all those weeks when she was in hospital, and then later when she finally came home with Ellen in her arms. It gave her strength when she needed it.”

  Margaret reached out to squeeze Cyn’s hand, plainly touched by her words.

  “It was a pleasure, honestly, and we’re looking forward very much to Sunday.”

  “Good! Oh, I must go,” replied Cyn, glancing at the cock-eyed clock on the kitchen wall, which had been hanging at an odd angle for months, too high up for anyone to sort it without the help of a ladder. “I’ll see you both at the meeting on Wednesday. Seven o’clock, isn’t it? Must go. Bye!”

  “You OK for St Gabriel’s?” asked Margaret, turning to Neil as Cyn left. “I wonder if a good-looking, newly ordained priest will be more of a draw than I’ve ever been? If you get more than the usual eight, your name will be down for St Gabriel’s every Sunday from now on!”

  “Thanks,” chuckled Neil. “I’ll consider that a challenge.”

  Margaret laid her papers down on the counter and leaned back comfortably, plainly ready to chat.

  “I can’t tell you how nice it is not to have to cover every service myself after all these years. Every priest I know is stretched to breaking point now, with so many churches to look after in every parish. Last year, of course, you were a bit wet behind the ears…”

  Neil grimaced in agreement. “… but now you’ve been ordained priest, it’s good that we can share the load.”

  “I hope so, I really do. I don’t want to let you down.”

  Her smile was kind. “Certainly not so far. Your sermon this morning was right on the button, although I can definitely tell you’re a bit nervous when you lead the Eucharist…”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Neil. It’s early days. You’re still a curate, and your training will continue for at least two or maybe three more years. Just don’t beat yourself up if you lose your way or feel uncertain. That’s why we’re here in this parish together, to support each other. There will be things I’ll go off at the deep end about…”

  “I’ve noticed!”

  “And so I should, if your lack of knowledge or expertise causes trouble for the church or its members – but that would be as much a lesson for me as it is for you. My responsibility is to support you as you learn, to teach you everything I can, then stand by like a parent and watch you become more than I ever could be.”

  There was disbelief in Neil’s reaction.

  “Hardly. You make things look so easy. You’re at ease with everyone, wherever you meet them, in church or in the street. But then, I think you’re naturally a much more confident person than me. I can’t imagine ever being able to get up and give a sermon without writing down every word and reading it verbatim – and I really can’t picture a time when my knees won’t be knocking together like castanets whenever I stand up to lead the Eucharist. I’d love to be able to talk to people like you do – you’re relaxed with everyone. Can you imagine how embarrassing it is to feel myself going bright red the moment I start to think about how I’m probably getting all sorts of things wrong?”

  “You’ll get there. I have no doubts about that.”

  Neil fell silent.

  “Ask if you’re unsure. Sharing is the key. Talk about your worries and concerns – to me, to other Christian friends – to Wendy, perhaps?”

  Neil’s silence went unnoticed as Margaret continued.

  “Wendy’s grown up in the church. She understands church life and its challenges. And from what I know of her, she’s a practical young woman, good at dealing with most situations. Being a teacher in a busy school probably helps – all those doting parents to deal with! You couldn’t have chosen a better partner to talk things through with.”

  When Neil didn’t answer, Margaret looked at him with interest.

  “She is your partner, isn’t she?”

  “It seems that way.”

  “To her, do you mean? What about you? Do you think of the two of you as partners?”

  “Well, we do spend a lot of time together. She’s great company, talented too. How could music at St Stephen’s ever manage without her family – Mum running the choir, Dad on the organ? And Wendy’s done wonders with the music group!”

  “That’s true.”

  “And she’s so pretty, really kind and thoughtful.”

  “Very.”

  “She was absolutely wonderful before my ordination. She drove me all the way down to the Retreat House so I didn’t have to bother taking my car. That’s typical of her. She thinks ahead, sorts everything out so that it all goes smoothly…”

  Neil felt Margaret’s eyes fixed on him as she spoke.

  “She loves you. That’s plain to see.”

  “I know she does. She tells me all the time.”

  “And you? Do you love her?”

  Neil considered the question carefully.

  “I think so.”

  “But you’re not completely certain.”

  “I don’t know how to explain my feelings. I definitely fancy her – if I’m allowed to tell my rector that! It’s more than just that, though. I enjoy her company. We’re good friends. We always have a lot to talk about because we share so many interests and experiences. We seem to make a complete unit, because – well – the qualities I lack are ones she has in abundance. She’d make a fantastic vicar’s wife. I know that.”

  “So let me ask you again – do you love her?”

  Neil hesitated.

  “If loving is companionship and compatibility and complementing each other in every way, then yes, I do.”

  “So you’ve thought it all through and decided this is love – but what about your heart, Neil?”

  He groaned. “Oh, I’m hopeless when it comes to affairs of the heart.”

  Margaret eyed him for a moment before moving along the work surface to stand beside him.

  “It’s true that friendship can be the very best basic ingredient in a lifelong partnership. But for a marriage to work – if marriage is what you’re considering – then friendship alone isn’t enough. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing better for riding out the ups and downs of married life than the knowledge that in the end, whatever you throw at each other,
your friendship will see you through. But who wants a marriage where things run so smoothly that there aren’t any bumpy bits? Believe me, you need a bit of passion in marriage. You need the arguments and the times when you don’t speak to each other, because in my experience, what you feel when you hit the depths during any argument is matched by the heights you find in each other when you come together again.”

  Neil couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.

  “Speaking from personal experience, are you?”

  “Most definitely! You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Neil, and that’s never more true than when it comes to the feelings between a husband and wife. No one can know for sure what goes on inside a marriage – or any private relationship. That’s one of the first lessons you have to learn. I know Frank and I look like an odd sort of couple – me all mouth and orders, and him running along behind, getting the jobs done. That’s how it may look, but don’t be fooled into thinking it’s me who has the upper hand. It’s the knocks and bumps along the way that forge a relationship. The wonderful thing about Frank is that he faces up to all my emotional outbursts and tantrums, absorbs them and then makes up his own mind.

  “Frank is the strong one in our marriage. He’s my husband – but he’s also my rock, my companion and my love. There’s passion in our marriage, always has been – and that passion, that love, comes from the way two personalities constantly spark against each other. It comes from the heart, and sweeps you both along with it. If it’s there, you know it. And forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but from what I can see, that kind of feeling isn’t very evident between you and Wendy.”

  “Well, it may be for her…”

  “… but not for you.”

  “Not yet. Not really. I’m not sure…”

  “Not enough, Neil, not nearly enough.”

  “But what about arranged marriages, where compatible couples are matched together, then years later they talk about the deep love that’s grown between them? Compatibility can work. Great marriages can be based on that.”

  “Don’t compromise, Neil. That’s all I’m saying. You’re talking about your choice of partner for life. In human terms, that’s the most important decision you’ll ever make, and you’ll only make it once. Don’t settle for someone who seems right, someone you know you can comfortably live with. Wait for the one you can’t live without, the way I can’t imagine my life without Frank.”

  An image of Frank shot into Neil’s mind – mild-mannered, compliant, put-upon Frank – and Neil found himself lost for words in reply to Margaret’s emotion-charged revelation.

  “So,” she continued, “you need to have a proper talk with Wendy.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “I’d already decided that.”

  “You must be totally honest about your feelings. You owe her that. If what you feel right now is not much more than friendship, then be her friend. Don’t lead her on to believe there could be more until you’re absolutely sure yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sooner rather than later. Anything else would be unethical and unkind.”

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  “Right!” Margaret’s voice became briskly businesslike. “I hope St Gabriel’s goes well. See you at Evensong.”

  “Yes. And Margaret…”

  She turned back on her way to the door.

  “Thank you.”

  With a dismissive shrug of her shoulders and a friendly wave, she closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Margaret’s advice was swimming in his head as Neil made the short walk down Vicarage Gardens to his house, number 96, towards the end on the left. As he passed, he couldn’t help himself slowing down to look towards number 80, the home of Harry Holloway, the elderly parishioner who’d become such a good friend during his year here in Dunbridge. Harry was the first member of the congregation he’d met on the day he took up his post, and when they realized they were neighbours, Harry had welcomed him in every way – which was more than could be said for Harry’s great-niece Claire. From the start, Claire and Neil had got off on the wrong foot, which was particularly difficult when Neil realized that she and her young son, Sam, shared Harry’s home. But over the months, the tension between them had eased, and although their conversations were always challenging and often confrontational, they’d found themselves increasingly drawn to one another. The unexpected pleasure that crept into their companionship surprised them both.

  Not any more, though. Not since the night of Harry’s heart attack, when Neil and Claire had spent those long, dark hours at the hospital reaching out to each other in their worry and fear – and the kiss they’d shared that spoke of longing and promise and so much more…

  But then came the cold light of day, and the recognition that their relationship could never be. She was an atheist. He was a Christian minister, there to offer pastoral support. She was an unmarried mother. He was in a relationship with Wendy. Instinctively both he and Claire had stepped back. Words weren’t necessary. They both just knew. Since then, there had been no communication between them.

  There was a car parked in the driveway of number 80. Neil knew that Felicity, Claire’s mum, had been staying to help during Harry’s illness. Good, that would mean that Claire and her small son, Sam, would be in loving hands. They would need that.

  Walking on, Neil was turning in at his own gate when he saw a cardboard box standing in the porch by his front door. On closer inspection he was touched to see it was packed with an array of obviously home-grown vegetables: new potatoes, lettuce, strawberries, raspberries and an oddly shaped cucumber. Tucked down one side was a note:

  Neil, I’m home! I wasn’t sure if you knew that Felicity brought me back from the nursing home yesterday. I’m feeling much better now, but then they’ve been very firm with my rehabilitation – all these physio exercises! I’m worn out, but so glad to be alive. It changes everything when you face your own death. I’ve been there now, so every day for me is a blessing. I don’t intend to waste a moment.

  This lot is a thank you for the way you were there for us on the night of my attack. Claire told me how wonderful you were, and I am really grateful. As you can see, Claire’s green fingers have kept my veg patch blooming even though I wasn’t here, and I have to say her spuds are the best I’ve ever tasted. I know you’re not much of a cook, so I’ve put in the sort of fruit and veg I think you might be able to cope with yourself. But any time you fancy a proper cooked meal, please come and join us. I know you’ve been on leave after your ordination, but I’ve missed your company. We all have. Come and see us soon.

  Yours,

  Harry

  Warmed by the gift, Neil carried the box inside and put it down on the kitchen table where he could read through the note again. Harry was plainly on the road to recovery, which was the best of news. His invitation to come and spend time with him and his family was kind and very welcome. It would be good to see him again – and young Sam. Neil got on well with the bright, friendly little boy. And he’d always thought he would like Sam’s nan, Harry’s niece Felicity, from everything he’d heard about her in the past. He really ought to go and say hello.

  But, of course, a visit would mean seeing Claire again. They would keep their distance; he knew that. They would be polite and friendly but, without need of discussion, it was clear they both recognized the danger of being any closer. They were so different. Their view of life was at odds, their paths heading in opposite directions. Better to understand that and nip in the bud anything that might become inappropriate or awkward. That’s what they’d do. The first time they met again would be the most difficult, but after that they would simply give each other a wide berth. Easiest all round.

  So why did Neil find his heart thumping at the thought of seeing her again? How could the prospect of being in her company seem daunting on the one hand and yet so completely compelling on the other?

  * * *

  They sat around in the mi
smatched selection of comfy old armchairs and sofas in the Meeting Room, named by Margaret and Frank more in hope than reality. In fact, it should have been the vicarage dining room, but had only ever been used for the storage of unpacked boxes, old books and the odd pieces of furniture that had, over the years, proved so useful for church gatherings like this one. There were several items on the agenda: individual requirements for the fourteen weddings booked before the end of August; rotas for flower arranging, readings, refreshments, house prayer groups, pastoral visits and charitable collections – and, top of the list, their plans for “Back to Church Week”, a national initiative they were due to take part in during the first week in September.

  The two churchwardens were there: Cyn was deep in conversation with palliative-care nurse Val in one corner, while the other warden, Peter Fellowes, sorted through his papers as he discussed an accounting matter with Frank. Peter looks better than I’ve seen him for a while, thought Neil, remembering the older man’s gaunt expression when Glenda, his wife of many years, had announced a couple of months earlier that she was leaving him. In retrospect, her defection after more than three decades of marriage, and her decision to set up home with her tie-salesman boss, caused little surprise. It had now become clear that her marriage to Peter had been failing for some years.

  All Neil knew from his arrival a year earlier, when Glenda first greeted him by wrapping herself around him in a smothering, choking hug, was that he’d found her overpowering and patronizing towards everyone in general, and her husband in particular. Over the weeks since her departure, Peter had begun to look as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He seemed at ease and content – and much of that contentment had to do with the gentle friendship he shared with Val. It was early days, of course, but easy to see that Val was a much more natural companion for Peter than Glenda had ever been.