by Pam Rhodes
At twenty past six they arrived: a joyous, chattering group of about fifteen people plus two toddlers, who all wandered down the aisle in no hurry to begin the rehearsal until greetings and hugs had been exchanged all round.
It was one of the most chaotic but enjoyable wedding rehearsals Neil had ever tried to organize. The hardest job was simply making himself heard over the babble of excited conversation taking place not just at the front of the aisle where he was trying to give directions, but also among small groups of people nattering or trying to control the tantrums of tired toddlers in every corner of the church.
By seven o’clock, with a semblance of a rehearsal completed, an exhausted Neil raised his voice in the hope of claiming everyone’s attention.
“The wedding starts at three o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Please allow yourselves plenty of time.”
He nodded in the direction of the groom’s thirteen-year-old sister, Pattie, who was going to sing a solo while the register was being signed.
“Please can you be here half an hour before, so that you can run through your song with our organist, Brian Lambert? Ushers!”
At least one of the group of six ushers raised his head to listen.
“Be here at half past two, so that you’re ready to greet any guests who arrive early. The groom and best man should be in their places by quarter to three, and all congregation members must be sitting by five to three at the absolute latest. The bridesmaids’ car will arrive a few minutes before the hour, so that the bride and her father can make their entrance at three o’clock sharp. OK?”
Sophie and Chris, who were standing in front of Neil, held hands and giggled.
There were sounds of agreement all round, as slowly, very slowly, ladies picked up babies and handbags, ushers checked their mobiles, and Great Grandma, who’d been propped up comfortably in a corner, was roused and guided back to the car. As Neil finally closed the heavy church door on the last of them, he had the feeling they would be saying goodbye by the porch gate for quite a while.
His stomach rumbled and he realized he was both weary and hungry – not surprising, as his day had begun with Morning Prayer at eight o’clock, and he’d been constantly on the move ever since, with nothing more than a sandwich hurriedly eaten in his car between one location and the next. He thought about the meagre supplies in his fridge and freezer, then made an instant decision to head straight for the pub.
He was aware that some of the older parishioners at St Stephen’s disapproved of their curate being a familiar face in the town’s pubs. He had long since stopped worrying about that. It was a fact that he mainly went there for a pint of real ale and a decently cooked meal (which definitely had appeal for a man whose culinary heights didn’t extend beyond putting a ready-made pizza into the oven), but it hadn’t taken him long to realize the positive effect his dog collar had on other locals in the pub. In spite of his natural shyness, he often found himself drawn into conversation with people who saw a chance to unburden themselves of the problems they were facing in their own lives. He welcomed the chance to listen to an outpouring from fellow drinkers of every age and circumstance – dads who were estranged from their children; couples struggling to make ends meet; emotional turmoil; declining health; neighbours from hell; lack of work – and even, once in a while, a spiritual question about prayer or the existence of God. He began to realize that this was an important part of his ministry, to be visible and active wherever people actually were. And, of course, the beer was good…
His local was the Wheatsheaf, an old coaching inn that stood on one side of the market square. He’d wandered in on his first night as curate at St Stephen’s a year earlier, and met the man who had since become his best friend in Dunbridge: Graham Paterson, Deputy Head of Maths at Dunbridge Upper School. However, since Graham had moved into the flat of his policewoman girlfriend, Debbie (the girl-next-door he’d known all his life – it had taken years for Debbie to make him realize they were made for each other!), Graham didn’t often eat at the pub these days. Besides, Neil remembered that Thursday was Graham’s football practice night, so he decided to try a pub he rarely visited, at the other end of the square. The Horseshoe could also trace its history back to coaching days, but its current owner had given it a facelift about ten years previously, installing large screens in the back bar for sports enthusiasts while music videos were constantly playing in the lounge.
Neil was surprised at how busy the Horseshoe was that night, especially in the lounge bar, where a group of about a dozen young women were in high spirits. They were dressed for clubbing in sparkling tops, short skirts and cripplingly high platform shoes. They’d also clearly been downing shots to get into the party spirit for some time before he arrived.
His dog collar attracted their attention immediately, and the moment he settled at the bar, he was surrounded as the girls shrieked at him and about him, their arms on his shoulders, the heady mix of their different perfumes practically bowling him over.
In fact, they were a nice crowd, especially Tash who, with a frilly net veil on her head and a notice saying “I’M GETTING MARRIED!” pinned to her back, didn’t really need to explain that this was her hen party.
“We’re taking her out for her last night of freedom!” trilled Bea, who introduced herself as Tash’s chief bridesmaid. “She’s my best friend, aren’t you, Tash? My very best friend! I’ve known her for ever!”
Deeply emotional at the thought, Bea looked near to tears as she threw her arms around Tash’s neck.
“He’s taking you away from me, that John, and I’m never going to see you again!”
“It’s only Portsmouth. Sailors always live in Portsmouth,” said Tash soothingly. “There’s a train that goes there and I’ll come back to visit my mum, so I’ll see you then.”
Wailing dramatically, Bea was instantly revived by a drink passed along the bar to her by another girl in the group. The tragedy of losing her best friend was soon forgotten as Bea joined in a chorus of “Angels” when the music video of Robbie Williams’s hit came on the screen.
“It’s here!” screamed one of the girls, who had her nose to the window. “It’s here – and it’s huge – and so pink!”
Curious to know what she was talking about, Neil strained to see what the girls were looking at as they crowded round the window. Seconds later, squealing with excitement, they were all grabbing their belongings and heading out of the door towards the longest, pinkest limousine Neil had ever seen.
“Come with us!” Bea squealed in Neil’s ear, giving him one last hug as they were leaving.
Neil laughed. “I’m a fella – and fellas don’t go to hen parties!”
“You can come to mine,” grinned Tash. “You might keep me on the straight and narrow!”
“I somehow doubt it!” retorted Neil. “It’s very kind of you to ask me, but you just have a good time tonight! Take care, and I hope you have a long and happy marriage ahead of you. Bye, girls!”
The Horseshoe seemed very quiet once they’d left. Neil made his choice from the menu, and was making his way over to a free table when he noticed an elderly man sitting alone in the corner, scanning the horse-racing pages of the newspaper. The man looked up at Neil curiously.
“Did they go without you?”
“Who?”
“That other crowd. Going to a Vicars and Tarts party, aren’t you?”
Neil couldn’t think of an answer to that. He just chose a leather, high-backed seat, took a long sip of real ale, then sat back with his eyes closed.
His was a funny old life…
* * *
Saturday afternoon was glorious, just perfect for a wedding. St Stephen’s was playing host to two ceremonies that day. Margaret had married the couple in the morning, and Neil was all prepared for Sophie and Chris’s wedding at three that afternoon.
He opened up the church at two, just to make sure there was plenty of time to spare. Rosemary, Sophie’s mum, hurried in with her hair in roll
ers to make a few final checks at quarter past two, then rushed out again. The two ushers from the bride’s side of the family arrived bang on half past two. Brian Lambert settled himself at the organ ready to run through Pattie’s song – and perhaps it was when Pattie didn’t turn up on time that Neil felt the first flutter of foreboding.
By ten to three, the bride’s side of the church was completely full. On the other side, there was no one, not even the groom or best man. At three minutes to three, the two bridesmaids from Sophie’s side of the family, plus two excited flower girls, had arrived. The other bridesmaid, Delia, was travelling with the groom’s family.
With one minute to go, Neil let out a sigh of relief as Chris appeared at the church door. His best man walked in first, hurriedly handing a buttonhole to the groom before checking every pocket in his hired suit to find where he’d put the rings. Apart from them, there were still no guests on Chris’s side of the church.
The bride and her father arrived in a horse-drawn carriage at exactly three o’clock. After five minutes of retouching makeup and hair, five minutes of photos, and another five minutes of the bride anxiously biting her manicured nails, Neil suggested they might like to go round the block again.
It was just as the horse and carriage was pulling out that a huge coach arrived, its horn blasting. The doors opened to reveal Chris’s family, more than forty of them, a colourful picture in their wedding finery. They tumbled out carrying bags and wedding presents, and waved affectionately at Sophie as they hurried into the church. Neil, who was on the point of calling the whole thing off, couldn’t have been happier to see them – and minutes later, once they were all settled, the bridal party glided down the aisle past a beaming crowd of good-natured guests on one side of the church, and a very relieved, slightly disapproving family on the other.
The bride giggled throughout the whole ceremony and the groom fluffed his vows, but when Neil announced that they were man and wife and Chris could kiss his bride, the church erupted with applause and cheering. This was obviously a very popular couple.
While Chris and Sophie signed the register, Brian’s fingers hovered nervously over the keyboard as Pattie stepped up to the mike having had no proper rehearsal. With a confidence beyond her years, she started to sing a love song that had climbed the charts after being featured in a recent film. Everyone in the church fell silent under the spell of her haunting, compelling performance, and their appreciation was more than clear when they whistled, stamped and pleaded for more once the song was over. Having just given the performance of a seasoned professional, Pattie became a girly teenager again as she acknowledged their praise, then went over to join her friends in one of the front pews.
The bride and groom had chosen a piece of recorded music to be played as they walked down the aisle and left the church. The sunshine of the Caribbean wafted into Dunbridge as Bob Marley’s rendition of “One Love” filled the church. The congregation on both sides of the aisle danced out of St Stephen’s on a euphoric cloud.
Just as Neil was about to head back to the vestry to de-robe, Chris’s sister Delia hurried back in to search for Great Grandma – who was found still snoozing gently at the end of one of the pews. How she could have been overlooked while she was wearing such a vibrant orange suit with a matching feathered hat was a bit of a mystery, but Delia scooped her up and propelled the sleepy matriarch towards the door. Then, to Neil’s surprise, as Delia drew level, she stopped, smiled sweetly at him, then threw her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the lips. Neil stared after her in delighted astonishment – just as Brian walked by.
“Your lipstick’s a bit red.”
Neil rubbed his lips furiously, knowing he’d been caught on the back foot yet again by the Lambert family. He knew exactly how Wendy would react when her dad reported this to her. From now on, she could add “wearing lipstick” to her growing list of his misdemeanours.
CHAPTER 4
“How’s your mother, Neil?”
Neil was just coming through to the vicarage kitchen with a tray full of used supper dishes. Frank had cooked. Frank always cooked – and thank goodness for that, because he was not only an excellent chef, but Margaret would probably fade away from hunger if meals in their household were left entirely to her.
In spite of the delicious meal, the mention of Iris wiped all sense of contentment from Neil’s mind.
“Oh, her sciatica is playing her up. Her neighbours are a nightmare. Standards at her local shops have gone down, while the prices have all gone up. Her only son is a great disappointment to her because he’s chosen to be a minister rather than an accountant – and to add to her despair, he’s not planning to marry any time soon and give her grandchildren. Apart from that, she’s fine.”
Frank’s laughter was joined by Margaret’s as she came into the kitchen, obviously searching for something she’d lost.
“OK,” said Frank, “I know that look. What’s gone missing?”
“That Back to Church schedule for next week, the one Neil gave me yesterday. I know I put it somewhere safe…”
“You just can’t remember which particular safe place that was.”
There was no reply as Margaret disappeared under the kitchen table to rummage through the boxes that stood haphazardly underneath.
“Not on top of the table, is it, dear?”
“Can you see it there?” was Margaret’s curt answer.
As one, Neil and Frank looked across at the table, which was piled at least a foot high with a disorganized array of books, boxes and papers.
“Not immediately, no.”
“Well, that’s where I put it.” Margaret’s voice wafted towards them from under the table.
“And someone has moved it?”
“They must have – and that someone, dearest Frank, can only be you!”
“Hold on!” interrupted Neil. “Didn’t you have that on the lounge table earlier on?”
“Why on earth did you move it there, Frank? I do wish you’d leave any papers to do with church business alone. It’s so frustrating if I can’t find them where I left them.”
Frank shot a wry smile in Neil’s direction. They both knew that Margaret was the untidiest person they’d ever come across – which made it all the more difficult for Neil to understand why Frank was so long-suffering and willing to take whatever blame and flak Margaret chose to lay on him.
“Anyway,” said Neil, digging into his briefcase, “I’ve got another copy here. I think it’s all settled now. It’s got all the details we need – about worshippers from all the different denominations being actively encouraged to go along to services at churches other than their own, and how we hope the different styles of worship might encourage lapsed Christians, or even potential new believers, to come along and experience Christianity for themselves.”
“And we’re all set for the big opening service at St Stephen’s on Sunday morning?”
“I think so. I’ve been talking to Garry, the pastor of the evangelical church, all week about what they need. We’ve never had a television screen right at the front of the church before, so it’ll be interesting to sing words from there rather than the hymn books.”
“And they don’t need any printed order of service?”
“Apparently not. I gather they don’t plan too much in advance, but prefer to wait for the Spirit to move them.”
“Hmm.” Margaret looked thoughtful. “I can just imagine the reaction of some of the more traditional members of our congregation to that!”
Neither man felt the need to reply; they shared Margaret’s reservations.
“So that’s Sunday. Are we all sorted for our Evensong service on Wednesday evening using the Book of Common Prayer?”
“It’s been well publicized,” responded Neil, “and I’ve had a surprising number of people ask me about it. I was even stopped in the market square the other day by an elderly lady who said that the last time she’d been to church, the Book of Common Prayer was all the
y used. She may have disliked it then, but it’s plainly enough of a draw now to entice her back into a church again.”
“And you’re still happy to lead that?”
“I’d like to, yes – unless you’d prefer to do it.”
Margaret’s face brightened. “Actually, what I’d prefer is for you to do all the work that evening, so that I can just sit in the body of the church as a normal congregation member, worshipping along with those wonderful old words I grew up on.”
“That’s settled, then.” Neil caught sight of the kitchen clock. “Heavens, I didn’t realize it was so late. I said I’d drop the service schedule round to Harry tonight. He’s getting quite excited about the Back to Church idea. I’m still not convinced he’s well enough to do much chasing around, but he’s certainly keen to come to the two services at St Stephen’s.”
“Then give him our love and I’ll see you in the morning, Neil. Eight o’clock sharp!”
It only took Neil a few minutes to reach Harry’s house, and he hesitated for a few seconds before opening the front gate. He hadn’t seen Claire since her starring role in the “trifle incident”, and the mere thought of that embarrassment still gave him nightmares and had him breaking out in hot and cold sweats.
That thought was still in his mind when the door was opened by Claire herself. Her instant smile when she saw him was quickly followed by a formal invitation to come through to the lounge where Harry and her mother were chatting.
“Neil, you’ve met Mum, haven’t you?”
“Felicity,” greeted Neil, his hand outstretched towards her. “It’s good to see you again.”
He was struck by how alike mother and daughter were. Claire had plainly inherited her sandy blonde hair, creamy skin and light green eyes from her mum.