by Pam Rhodes
“For heaven’s sake, you two!” grumbled Harry good-naturedly as he came through the kitchen door. “You’re obviously mad about each other, so when are you going to come clean? You make a great couple. How about you just get on with it?”
His arm still resting across Claire’s shoulders, Neil considered Harry’s suggestion carefully.
“You know what it was like before, Harry. The trouble with church life is that everyone wants to know everyone else’s business. I can’t sneeze without half the members of the Ladies’ Guild turning up with jars of Vick and homemade soup.”
“Well,” said Harry as he started to fill the kettle. “Are you sure of your feelings for each other or not?”
Claire and Neil looked at each other fondly.
“Absolutely,” said Neil.
“Then I think it’s time you came out. People know Claire well enough. She may not attend services, but she’s well thought of and liked as the church gardener.”
“Is it going to matter that I’m not signed up as a Christian, though, Harry?” asked Claire. “Neil’s a vicar. Whoever heard of a vicar’s partner not being a Christian?”
“It probably happens more often than you think,” replied Harry. “Besides, isn’t it more important that the relationship between the couple themselves is right? It’s obvious that you love Neil, Claire. You’re talented. You work hard. You run your own business. You’re kind and caring, always the first to lend a helping hand – and you’re a terrific mum to young Sam.”
“In that case,” smiled Claire, kissing Neil’s cheek, “this man is just extremely lucky to have me!”
“Amen to that,” agreed Neil, kissing her back.
“What about this Sunday morning, when Sam’s in the Palm Sunday procession with the rest of his class?” suggested Harry. “Why don’t the three of you just act naturally there, like the unit you really are?”
Neil nodded. “I think you’re right. I know I’m being less than honest by keeping our relationship to ourselves – but it’s felt so precious that we’ve just wanted to enjoy it for a while without having to take everybody else’s opinion on board. But I agree with you, it’s been long enough. So let’s do it, Claire, shall we?”
Claire smiled her agreement before asking, “Do you have to make an announcement or anything?”
“I don’t think so. We’ll just start being ourselves when we’re out together.”
“What about Wendy, though? Would it be best to warn her in advance?”
Neil thought for a while. “I don’t think so. We broke up a long time ago now. If she’s still carrying a flame for me, I’m sorry, because I’d never want to hurt her – but you and I are together. That’s a fact. Probably better that we don’t rub her nose in it by making a big issue of the whole thing. I think we should behave in the same way around Wendy as we do with everyone else.”
“Iris will be here by the weekend,” commented Harry. “Are you going to tell her too?”
“You mean, Harry, that my mother doesn’t already know, bearing in mind how many times she rings you each week?”
Harry grinned. “I might have mentioned it in passing.”
“What did she say?”
“How long have you got?”
“She must approve of Claire,” retorted Neil. “She’s your great-niece!”
“Oh, your mother knows Claire comes from very good stock!” laughed Harry. “Seriously, though, she not only approves, but says she always knew you two would get together. It was, after all, her idea…”
* * *
It’s the tradition in most Anglican churches on Palm Sunday morning for the congregation to gather at a central point in the town, so that they can re-enact Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, when crowds welcomed him with cheers and waving palms. For Christians the occasion is very poignant, because they know that his triumphant arrival in the city was the start of a week of changing fortunes for Jesus: later he was arrested, tried, beaten, then made to carry his own cross up the hill to Calvary to be crucified like a common thief. Three days later, he rose from the dead, and the celebration of his resurrection at Easter is always the most joyful time in the Christian calendar.
Sam was a pupil at the church school attached to St Stephen’s, where the youngest children had always enjoyed dressing up in biblical style to lead the procession of clergy, choir and congregation into the church for the Palm Sunday service.
Sam liked dressing up, but he would rather have been in his Spiderman outfit. The cotton shift his mother had made him for the procession looked far too much like a dress for his liking. The tea towel on his head kept falling off until Claire put a hair clip in it – and everyone knew only girls wore hair clips. All in all, Sam was a bit uncertain about the whole thing.
He felt a great deal better, though, once they’d reached the market square, and he could see that the rest of the boys from his class looked equally daft. That didn’t stop them racing around playing chase until their teacher, Mrs Martin, blew a whistle and organized them into separate lines of boys and girls.
“Now, children, you need to remember that we’re in the centre of the town, and people drive their cars around this square. They won’t be able to stop if silly boys and girls decide to run out into the road, will they? So we’re going to keep safe. Every boy take a girl’s hand…”
“Euck!” shouted Sam, along with just about every other boy in the group.
“No talking, please!”
That delightful old showman, Boy George, had been volunteered to stage-manage the procession. Now in his eighties and the revered leader of the St Stephen’s bell-ringing team, it only took a small glass of sherry to get him reminiscing about his long career in amateur dramatics.
Old thespians, even amateur ones, know old tricks, as the gathered crowd soon discovered when George pulled out a megaphone that looked as elderly as he did. It certainly worked, though, and George briskly snapped out instructions for the children to line up behind the pony – which had been hurriedly brought in as a substitute for the donkey, which no one had managed to find locally. On the pony, cunningly disguised as Jesus, was a girl called Jessica. OK, so Jesus should have been a boy, but it was her pony, and that was the deal.
“Right, the Boys’ Brigade band is next, with the choir and music group members falling in behind them. Churchwardens, servers and clergy – you follow on, leaving the rest of the congregation to form the main part of the procession at the rear.”
“How did Graham take the news?” whispered Wendy to Debs as they made their way towards their positions in the music group.
“Well, let me think – what emotions crossed his face when I told him I was pregnant? Disbelief, shock...”
“Wasn’t he pleased?”
“It took him quite a while to get over being indignant that he’d been caught out. Then it finally began to sink in that he was going to be a dad – and I have to say, in the end, he was all right about that, really.”
“So he’s being supportive?”
Debs grimaced. “This is Graham we’re talking about.”
“You’ll sort him out, though, won’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“So what happened when you told him you wanted to get married?”
“He laughed.”
“And then he came round to the idea?”
“No. He said he doesn’t think marriage is relevant in this day and age, and doesn’t want to be forced into an institution he doesn’t believe in. That’s why I said perhaps just now because that’s my bottom line. If he doesn’t care enough about me to make me his wife, I don’t trust him enough to be the father of my baby.”
“Oh, Debs, I am sorry…” Wendy stopped as she saw her friend’s expression suddenly change as she stared at something in the crowd.
“Can you see what I see?”
Wendy followed her gaze to find a very homely tableau unfolding on the other side of the square. Neil was laughing as he knelt down to put Sam’s hea
ddress back on safely, while a smiling Claire was leaning over them both, her hand comfortably resting on Neil’s shoulder.
“So that’s how it is…” whispered Wendy.
“Right under your nose all the time…”
“She’s so wrong for him.”
“Of course she is!”
“People at St Stephen’s won’t like this,” said Wendy firmly.
“But she’s quite popular there, isn’t she?” asked Debs. “Don’t a lot of them use her as a gardener?”
“Not when I’ve finished with her, they won’t.”
Debs looked at Wendy. “Be careful. Don’t do anything that might rebound on you. Wouldn’t it be better just to let them think you don’t care at all – you know, play for time?”
Wendy looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. I can bide my time because I can assure you that before too long I’m going to sort that little madam out once and for all!”
* * *
The Easter service was packed and joyous. Neil had initiated the idea of keeping the large Christmas tree which had been decorated with sparkling lights in December. It was stripped of its branches and sawn in two, and the pieces brought back into the church on Ash Wednesday looking rough and bare, and fixed together in the shape of a cross. On each Sunday during Lent, the cross was hung with items relevant to the story – a purple cloth, a palm branch, a crown of thorns – until on Good Friday the church echoed to the sound of nails being hammered into its bark in a stark reminder of Christ’s suffering and crucifixion. Then during the Easter Day service, people stepped up to fix fresh flowers onto the cross, often in memory of those they loved and had lost. The end result was moving and glorious, the dead wood covered with living colour. Afterwards the congregation of St Stephen’s went home to their Easter Sunday roast, happily clutching chocolate eggs and greetings cards, which had been exchanged with many hugs during coffee in the church hall.
Later that afternoon Neil looked on in contentment at the group seated around the lunch table. They were all at Harry’s house, although earlier Iris had insisted on throwing everyone out of her kitchen so that she could work her culinary magic without interference. The result was magnificent: a delicious prawn salad starter, followed by lamb roasted to perfection, with home-made ice cream laced with sweet strawberries that Claire had grown in their garden the previous summer. Iris had even tried her hand at making a traditional simnel cake, covered in toasted marzipan adorned by a circle of eleven marzipan balls – a reminder of the eleven disciples who stayed true to Christ after Judas had betrayed him. The cake looked wonderful, although the only one even to consider trying a piece straight after lunch was Sam, who definitely had a sweet tooth. Harry, Claire and Neil finished the washing up and collapsed into comfy chairs, content and replete.
Easter Monday dawned with blue skies and bright, warm sunshine. Iris wanted to look around a local stately home that was known to have a glorious garden full of daffodils and blossom at this time of year, so they all went together. To one side of the garden was an adventure playground and hedge maze to keep youngsters entertained, so Sam was in his element. Neil finally carried the exhausted little boy back to the car at the end of a wonderful, heart-warming day.
Most surprising of all was what happened once Sam was safely tucked up in bed. Neil was just heading to the kitchen when he met his mother in the hall on her way to join the others in the lounge.
“Do you know, Neil, I’ve had a really lovely day!” she said, in a voice which bore no trace of the sarcasm and spite that so often lay behind her words.
“I’m glad,” he smiled back.
“Claire’s lovely. You’ve got a good one there.”
“I think so.”
“Harry’s relieved to see her happy at last.”
“She’s made me happy too; happier than I’ve ever been.”
Iris nodded without comment, then stepped closer to put her arms around him. Neil couldn’t remember the last time his mother had hugged him, and to his shame he certainly couldn’t recall wanting to hug her since he’d been a very small boy. There they stood, mother and son, sharing a moment of togetherness at long last.
* * *
It was an equally glorious spring day when a sleek white Rolls Royce pulled up outside the porch of St Stephen’s. Val stepped out into the sunshine to a ripple of applause from neighbours and friends who had turned out to see the arrival of the bride. She looked elegant in a full-length cream dress and brocade jacket, with a matching fascinator in her hair and a simple bouquet of snow-white lily of the valley. However, everyone agreed that it was the glow of complete happiness that was her most beautiful accessory. There was no doubting that Val marrying Peter was making the pair of them the happiest couple ever.
At the front of the packed church Brian struck up Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” on the organ, and Peter stepped into the aisle, his son John standing smartly at his side. Heads turned to watch Val, on the arm of her proud son Anthony, walking down the aisle to where Peter stood, his eyes shining in a face softened by love. He reached out to kiss her on the cheek as she joined him. Val handed her bouquet to Peter’s daughter Christine, before the couple turned to face Margaret, who was smiling broadly as she introduced the proceedings.
Much later, Margaret would look back on that ceremony as one of the most meaningful she’d ever conducted. The love and delight of the couple as they took their vows was so touching that almost everyone in the church found themselves either reaching for a hankie or taking the hand of the partner with whom they had shared the same vows in the past. The choir sang John Rutter’s arrangement of “The Lord Bless You and Keep You” while the register was being signed, and Wendy’s solo performance of “O Perfect Love” had the older ladies sighing at the romance of it all.
Standing next to Claire in the second row, Neil felt her fingers tighten on his as the bride and groom emerged from the vestry to the strains of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus”. Neil and Claire’s eyes met in complete understanding. One day, this would be them. One day, they would be man and wife. One day soon.
* * *
The newly married Mr and Mrs Fellowes could have had their reception in the hushed, carpeted surroundings of the local hotel, but that wasn’t their choice. They had met through St Stephen’s. The Christian fellowship of St Stephen’s had supported Val through her husband’s death, and Peter through all the upheaval caused by Glenda’s disappearance. It was, therefore, an easy decision for them to throw elegance to the wind in favour of a grand buffet and dance in the church hall to which all congregation members were invited. Warmed by their generosity, the congregation responded generously themselves by fully supporting Beryl’s suggestion that the church community’s gift to the couple should be their wedding breakfast. The magnificence of the resulting buffet was the talk of Dunbridge for many years to come.
Once the meal was over and the hall darkened, the small band began by playing the couple’s chosen first dance number, the Jim Reeves song “I Love You Because”. Faster songs followed, but this was a night when romance was in the air, so many slower melodies were played to entice couples out onto the dance floor to smooch and sway together.
Neil had never been one for dancing, but when Claire took his hand and led him out onto the dance floor, he stepped into her embrace, heads touching, fingers entwined, as they let the music sweep over them. They didn’t notice that just about every member of the Ladies’ Guild was watching the two of them carefully, noting the obvious affection between them. They didn’t see the elbows nudging neighbours to draw attention to what was going on in the life of their popular young curate. Whether there were grumbles of disapproval or smiles of encouragement, all were lost on Neil and Claire, who only had eyes for each other.
They were also blissfully unaware of the mixture of sadness, longing and bleak hatred in the heart of the figure watching them from a darkened corner of the hall. So engrossed was she in peering at the couple that Wendy did
n’t notice Margaret moving across to stand alongside her.
“They look good together, don’t they?”
Wendy didn’t take her eyes off the dance floor as she answered. “She’s so wrong for him.”
“He doesn’t seem to think so.”
Wendy turned to look at Margaret. “We both know Neil has a lot to learn, especially about relationships. I don’t think growing up with a mother like Iris has taught him much in that area. Do you?”
Margaret nodded. “That’s probably true, but I think Neil is very much his own man.”
“He’s naïve and gullible. How can he possibly think it’s proper for an ordained priest to choose as his partner a woman with such loose morals that she got herself pregnant by a man who couldn’t wait to disappear off to the other side of the world rather than stay with her?”
“That, surely, says more about the man than her. I don’t think anyone doubts that Claire is an excellent parent to young Sam.”
“She’s an unmarried mother. Neil’s an Anglican minister, committed to the Christian teaching that sex should only ever be part of a loving marriage. That way children like Sam would have the security of knowing their parents respected each other enough to marry and create a proper home together before bringing them into the world.”
“And that same Christian teaching,” responded Margaret, “tells us that ours is a loving God who recognizes our human failings and yet still holds his arms out to us in understanding and forgiveness.”
“Yes, God can forgive. He has the power and the right to do that. We don’t. Neil doesn’t. Surely, as a priest and moral leader, he should uphold the ethos of our Christian faith, not endorse wrongdoing by blatantly embracing it – like that!” Wendy spat out her final words in the direction of Neil and Claire, who were still totally oblivious as they continued to sway in time to the music.