A Blessing In Disguise (34 page)

I'm impressed by it, as I always am by anyone who can take a brush and some paint, or a piece of charcoal, and make something come alive on a piece of paper or a canvas. I could never do that. I am also, in this case, intrigued by the way Mark sees me. It isn't how I see myself. Here is a woman strong and decisive – even though the work isn't far advanced, and so far there's not much colour in it, that's how it comes through to me. I don't dislike that but I hope, as it develops, he'll also see a softer, more feminine side in contrast to the starkness of the cassock and clerical collar which were Mark's choice. The Queen, of course, can choose an utterly ravishing outfit. I say as much to Mark.

‘You have to believe me, Venus,' he says, ‘you look as ravishing in your cassock as the Queen does in her ball gown!' Now that he's stopped painting he's back to his lay-it-on-with-a-trowel flattery.

‘Stay and have some tea,' he says.

‘I'm sorry, I can't, I have to be back for Becky,' I remind him.

‘But you
will
be here Wednesday,' he says. ‘We have to press on with it if I'm to put it in the December exhibition.'

‘I'll be here Wednesday, and Monday next week,' I assure him. He has reckoned he could do it with three sittings.

‘I'm looking forward to the exhibition,' Mark says. ‘The catalogue will say “Venus”, and they'll expect a nude goddess!' There is a gleam in his eye.

‘Instead of which they'll get a clothed-from-top-to-toe, ordinary woman,' I put in.

‘Not ordinary!' Mark says.

I don't need to set eyes on Becky when she comes home from school to know that she is a different girl, or, rather, she is my original Becky restored to me. I am in the kitchen, putting the kettle on, when the front door opens and she calls out.

‘Mum! It's me!'

‘I'm in the kitchen!' I shout – and I hear her hurried footsteps through the hall and then she's in the kitchen with me.

‘Hello, darling,' I say. ‘I'm making a cup of tea. Have you had a good day?'

And that's another thing I don't have to ask. It's there in her clear, bright face, the brightest I've seen her look since we came to Thurston.

‘Yes,' she answers. ‘Not bad!'

From my daughter, ‘Not bad' is high praise.

‘Anything special?' I ask. I'm dying to hear everything, A to Z, but to ask too much is to get to know nothing.

‘Not really,' Becky replies, but there's a note in her voice which says otherwise. ‘I'm sitting at the back now.'

I know that's good. If you sit at the back you can be trusted to behave yourself but if you sit at the front of the class you are under the teacher's beady eye. I would like to ask if the three troublemakers have been moved to the front and separated from each other but I'm not going to.

‘I'm sitting next to Anna,' she says. ‘Doggy said I should.'

‘Doggy?'

‘Mr Beagle,' she explains. ‘Everyone calls him Doggy!'

‘Does he know?' I enquire.

‘I expect so,' she says. ‘We don't say it to his face, of course!'

‘I should hope not!' I say. ‘So do you like “Doggy”?'

‘Oh yes!' she says. ‘He's cool!'

‘Good old Doggy! And I hope he's quite fit again,' I say. If Cool Doggy had not succumbed to a chest infection life in the Vicarage might have been easier, but better late than never.

‘Anna is going to be my best friend,' Becky announces.

‘That's nice,' I say. ‘Does she know? How do you know?'

‘You just do,' she says patiently. ‘Can I ask Anna to tea?'

‘Of course you can!' I say. ‘I'll have a word with her mother.'

‘Can she come on Saturday?' Becky asks.

‘Well,' I say, ‘I do have something else in mind for Saturday . . .'

‘I'd rather have Anna to tea!' Becky says quickly.

‘What I have in mind,' I say, ‘is to ring the Dog Rescue Centre and ask if we could visit on Saturday. Take a look around, find out more about it.'

‘OH, MUM!' she cries. ‘WOW! FANTASTIC!'

This is no calm, restrained response. She flings herself at me and I throw my arms around her, and we are both laughing.

‘Perhaps Anna could come back with you after school on Friday?' I say. ‘I'll call her mother. If the number's in the book I'll do it right now.' It is, and I do. ‘That would be lovely!' Mrs Brent says. ‘And if you like I'll collect her afterwards.'

I also phone the Dog Rescue and they give me an appointment for twelve noon on Saturday.

‘I think you should take another look at the library books,' I say to Becky. ‘We want to be as well informed as possible, don't we?'

Thursday evening is the time for the special PCC meeting. I've already consulted with the churchwardens and the treasurer and we've decided that this is the time and place to inform the other members about Miss Frazer's withdrawal of her financial support – together, at my insistence, with her reasons why. It will have a bearing on some of the things I'm going to suggest but I don't want the subject of Miss Frazer to dominate the meeting. We shall survive Miss Frazer and all her machinations. I want us all to be certain of that. Nor do I intend to let this meeting be dominated by finance. Far too many meetings are, and I have other things in mind which will have very little, if at all, to do with money but, more importantly, a lot to do with the life of the church.

So when we're all assembled and we've given due attention to talking about the weather – which is blustery and unpleasant so I thank them for turning out on such a night – Rose Barker hands out copies of a short agenda.

‘Half-a-dozen items,' I say. ‘One or two of them facts, one or two which have already been touched on briefly at the last PCC meeting, one or two new. Some possibly controversial, some not. What I want is a chance to let the whole of St Mary's congregation know what this new Vicar has in mind for our church in the months – and indeed in the years – ahead of us.'

They listen, so far, in a respectful silence, so far no shaking of heads in disagreement. I expect the latter will come, it would be too much to expect otherwise.

‘There's no particular order of importance in the way these things are listed,' I tell them. ‘Except for one, which will come first. What I want is for you as PCC members to have a chance to think about them before I put them to the congregation. But in the end I want everyone to feel they have a part in their church that is not confined only to the PCC, important though you are, and we couldn't function without you. And I want us to consider not only what part St Mary's already plays in the community, but what part we think it could and should play.'

I have more in my mind, like what impact, if any at all, do we have on those who don't share our beliefs? Are we Christians just an inward-looking, pleasant group of people, content and cosy in our faith, happy with each other? Does the world outside the church know, really really know, what we're on about? Do they want to know? Do we have any impact, and does that matter? Well yes, it does, because one of the things the Gospels tell us is that we must give our faith to the world, and since the Gospels are what we try to live by, there's no get-out there. And if I don't think that's important, then what am I doing here right now? It's the foundation of my life.

‘What we will do on this occasion,' I say, ‘is to take the financial item first, because it will have a bearing on some of the other things on the list. George, as treasurer, will read you a letter he has recently received which will throw a new light on our finances.'

‘Well, I'll just read the facts from it,' George says.

‘No, George,' I say. ‘Please read the whole letter. It gives the writer's reasons behind the facts.'

‘I don't think . . .' George begins.

‘
Please
, George!' I repeat. ‘Cards on the table! If you don't want to read it, I will.'

So he reads out the bit where Miss Frazer has instructed her bank to cancel all her subscriptions to anything to do with St Mary's, and then he hesitates, and glances at me, and I give him a vigorous nod. He flushes slightly as he reads the next bit, lowering his voice, reading it too quickly, but such is the hush that no-one misses a word.

‘“Not one penny piece more will St Mary's get from me while it allows itself to be led by a heretic, a woman masquerading as a priest of God.”'

A murmur goes around the room; a murmur which is made up of sharp gasps, quick cries of indignation, and ‘Oh!' and ‘No!' I am thankful not to hear any cries of ‘Yes! Yes!' but perhaps that might come later. And then I immediately tell myself not to start thinking like a victim. I am not a victim, nor will I ever go down that road. Miss Tordoff, in a voice trembling with emotion, is the first to speak up.

‘That is
diabolical
,' she says, ‘
totally diabolical
! And I would like Madam Secretary to note my exact words in the minutes!'

‘Which I will do with the greatest pleasure!' Rose Barker says.

I'm slightly surprised that this objection to Miss Frazer's words should have come from Miss Tordoff. She is a nice lady, not – so far as I know her – given to stating strong views. Moreover she is rather old-fashioned and in church matters, I would say, traditionalist. Exactly someone who would not welcome a woman priest. On the other hand she is a courteous, well-mannered woman, and it is perhaps Miss Frazer's rudeness which has provoked her, and that might be the attitude of quite a few people in St Mary's. I might not be their choice, but they won't go so far as to be rude to me. Well, I can live with that!

‘George will give you the details of what Miss Frazer's decision will mean to us in hard cash, and he'll tell you that it's a considerable sum which covers several areas, both large and small. For instance, there is the annual children's outing at Easter, and there's the children's pantomime visit at Christmas. Those are only two of the smaller things, but very popular I'm told. One has to say that Miss Frazer was extremely generous in many areas . . .'

‘Well, we won't let those go!' someone interrupts. ‘We'll find ways!'

‘Of course we will!' I agree. I'm also pleased that they seem willing to move on from what's so personal to me, not to discuss it further.

We go through the other items on the list. Some are easy; for instance there had been a roster for visiting the sick and the housebound but it has fallen into abeyance. It is agreed that it should be revised. The proposed new place for baptism in the Sunday morning Eucharist is more or less agreed – but only for a trial period. I also raise the subject of early communion for children, another reform I would dearly like to bring in. As I expected, there is debate over this one.

‘The Bishop is in favour of it,' I say. I am myself, but I think the Bishop's opinion will carry more weight.

‘We were always confirmed at thirteen or fourteen, and we didn't receive communion until we were confirmed,' someone says. ‘I think the children should wait until then, and make up their own minds!'

I wait in hope for someone to say what I believe, that at thirteen both boys and girls are a mass of surging hormones, mainly sexual, and they have so much on their minds that they're not able, or indeed inclined, to make up their minds about whether it's the time to be confirmed. Church doesn't figure large in their lives. But no-one comes forward with this view, nor do I make it right now. We'll discuss it later with more members of the congregation – which is exactly what I want.

The formation of a music group with the possibility of singing being led by youths on guitars or, God forbid, actually beating drums is a no-go area. ‘And in any case what about Mr Blatchford?' someone asks. ‘He's been our organist at St Mary's for thirty-five years! We can't let Mr Blatchford down!'

By the time the meeting closes, I have the feeling that it's all been worthwhile. We haven't leapt ahead, but we've taken steps. And as they leave people say things like, ‘Now don't you worry about Miss Frazer!' and ‘Miss Frazer is a silly old woman, she thinks she can have everything her own way!' Not all of them, of course, but enough to cheer me up if I needed it. Lots to look forward to!

A large envelope from the Dog Rescue Centre comes in this morning's post and I think as I pick it up from the mat that it's as well Becky has left for school or I'd never have got her off. It's stuffed with leaflets, booklets and information sheets and there's no way I can resist starting to read them, ignoring the household chores, but reminding myself that this morning I have what you might call a post-bereavement visit I've promised to make.

Sometimes, if I feel the family – especially if it's the husband or wife of the one who's died – might be helped by a visit I'll go back, even if it's a while, after the funeral. I've had Mrs Leigh, widow of Maurice-known-as-Ronnie, in my mind. I'm not sure why except that I haven't seen her around and I did wonder how she was getting on. One of the things about going to church regularly, perhaps especially if it's in a village, is that if you miss a Sunday or two someone, often the parish priest, notices, and finds out why. You can call this nosey but I prefer to see it as caring.

But Mrs Leigh isn't a churchgoer. It was just that I had a feeling about her. So I phoned, said I'd be in her area on Friday morning, and should I drop in and say hello? She said yes, that would be very nice. So now, I also have an eye on the clock and quite soon I have to put the leaflets aside. Becky can read them when she comes home from school. She's bringing Anna Brent to tea and I daresay they'll be happy to look at them together.

Mrs Leigh is once again looking out of the window, watching for me. I feel sorry about this. What it says to me is that there's not a lot going for her if a visit from someone like me, the Vicar she hardly knows, gives her such anticipation.