He’s been the rector of Fiddleford and chair of governors at the village school for over twenty-five years, but never has the Reverend Hodge had to witness squabbles in his own parish being broadcast on the public airwaves before. When he saw Mrs Guppy’s emotional outburst on the local news his heart bled, not only for her and Dane but for the whole of Fiddleford.
He tucked himself into bed last night feeling heavy with sadness, and the sense of personal failure. Reverend Hodge loves Fiddleford; more than he had realised, perhaps. It is his village, his home, and as its rector he feels responsible, at least in part, for its harmony. Now the airwaves are buzzing with acrimony and all the vultures are looming. The governors are at loggerheads, the Diocesan Council’s chief communications officer is hinting that he should consider retirement and the LEA is overtly threatening to close the school. Reverend Hodge feels he has let everybody down.
He lies awake all night trying to think of a solution. As the morning light begins to creep through his bedroom curtains, he still hasn’t found one. But he has prayed for guidance. And he has decided to call the governors back
together again this evening and beg them to help him in his search.
This meeting, he decides, is to be held not at eight at the Old Rectory, where they had all (he thinks in retrospect) been so distracted by the hour, the alcohol and the luxuriant surroundings, but at six o’clock in the village hall. With tea.
He sets about telephoning his fellow governors immediately after breakfast. He calls the school first. Fanny is taking assembly so he speaks to Robert. ‘Sounds like a very good idea, vicar,’ Robert says, blowing his nose. ‘As a matter of fact, there was something else I’ve been wanting to bring up with the governors for some time now. Perhaps we can take a moment—’
‘Certainly, Robert. I’m sure we can,’ Reverend Hodge sounds distracted. ‘And you shan’t forget to mention it to Fanny?’
By noon he’s received confirmation from Fanny but still hasn’t managed to track down Geraldine: no answer at work or at home, and the mobile isn’t taking messages. Maurice Morrison can’t make it. Ditto, of course, the LEA’s Councillor Trumpton, who lives in Exeter. And ditto Grey McShane, who has a very full restaurant tonight, and no Messy, who’s taken the baby Jason to stay with her parents. But the General is available, and so is Kitty.
Kitty is reclining naked on her bed when the vicar calls, being sketched by Louis, goofy with spliff. She tells Reverend Hodge she’s heard not a squeak from Geraldine for a couple of days. ‘However,’ she says, because there is something very erotic about talking to a Reverend under the circumstances, and it puts her in mind to be friendly, ‘
I
, on the other hand, would be delighted to attend your meeting this evening, Reverend.’ She winks at Louis. ‘I’m positively looking forward to it!’
‘Excellent,’ says the Reverend, somewhat taken aback. ‘And I shall see you on Saturday, no doubt, at Mr Creasey’s darts and croquet.’
‘Oh, goodie, are you coming?’ cries Kitty. ‘What fun! It’s going to be the Event of the Summer, I think. Don’t you think?’
Which leaves him with only one more call. To the host of that Event, no less. Reverend Hodge tracks down his final governor
en route
to a convention at the Tate in St Ives. ‘Ah, Mr Creasey. Reverend Hodge here. School governors’ meeting this evening. Six o’clock. Can you make it?’
Solomon’s heart lifts. He’s not sure why, but he feels it. ‘Certainly!’ he says. ‘Oh, bugger! Six o’clock? You can’t make it any later?’
‘I fear not,’ says the Reverend smartly. Though he, like Kitty – like most of the village – anticipates enjoying himself enormously at Mr Creasey’s darts and croquet event this Saturday (Reverend Hodge is quite a killer on the croquet lawn), it doesn’t alter the fact that he can’t quite bring himself to like the man. He is, in fact, with all the best will in the world, offended and bewildered by almost every aspect of him, from the smell of his aftershave to the rumble of his vulgar cars as they purr up and down the village street; from the glamorous, silent girlfriends to the bellowing, boisterous laugh; to the wholly unapologetic, inappropriate
unEnglishness
of him. ‘What a shame,’ the Reverend says. ‘Never mind. I shall see you on Saturday, no doubt. At the party. I must admit, I’m looking forward to it, Mr Creasey. Very much indeed.’
So. No Solomon, no Grey, no Tracey, no Geraldine, and no one from the LEA; for the first half-hour not even Fanny Flynn. It’s a diminished collection of governors in the village hall that evening: only the Reverend, Robert White, Kitty Mozely and the General. They sit in a crooked circle on four ancient metal chairs and listen with varying degrees of politeness while Reverend Hodge describes his dismay at the recent publicity, and his determination that they should work towards a peaceful and private resolution.
‘As I say I’ve had very strong, not to say overt intimations from the LEA that they’re simply not willing to underwrite the cost of a protracted legal dispute. Or of any legal dispute at all, if they can help it. On the contrary. I received the clear impression that, with the tragic fire adding further to their irritation, they are really itching for a pretext to surrender altogether; to close our little school down for good.’ He glances around the group. ‘And it occurs to me that this dreadful dispute is playing right into their hands.’ A gentle, bewildered sigh. ‘Which is why the four of us – and Fanny, if she’s ever good enough to appear –
must
find a way to sort this out…’
He had taken the precaution of arriving at the hall ten minutes earlier than everyone else in order to set out the teacups and, because he always suffers from the cold, to light the enormous Calor heater which now hisses soporifically beside him, and makes the whole drab room stink of gas. By half past six, with the sun still beating down on the corrugated roof above them and all the windows nailed closed, everyone but the vicar is sweltering.
Kitty wriggles in her chair, furious to find herself sitting in it at all; how, she keeps asking herself, had the bloody vicar cajoled her into attending this ridiculous meeting in the first place?
And where the fuck was Fanny?
FUCK, of course, being the operative word, since Louis, who’d pretended he had a job to go to, was obviously with her…
now…
undressing her…caressing her, brushing his glorious lips against her firm, pert,
youthful
—
‘Well, Miss Mozely?’ says the vicar. She jumps. ‘If I may begin with you?’ She gazes back at him blankly. ‘In summary,’ he prompts, ‘do you believe, as I now do, that young Dane should be allowed another chance, that – with some supervision, that is to say
full-time
supervision, of course – he should be reintegrated into the school as soon as possible, in order to continue his studies. Until such a time, that is, as the courts have actually tried him?’ Reverend Hodge offers a small, dreary chuckle. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, Ms Mozely, were you to make such a choice it would, without doubt, bring a swift ending to our current legal difficulties, thereby, I imagine, allaying what I believe to be a genuine threat to the life of our beloved school.’
‘Hmm,’ says Kitty. Louis had said he was on his way to a job in the village of Kidstead-St-Vincent to photograph – she can’t quite remember what. He’d left her bed earlier that afternoon with a kiss on the end of her nose (which had
infuriated her) and a regretful smile on
those lips
. He’d looked into her eyes and muttered something about ‘never wanting to hurt Fanny’, about ‘maybe putting a check on all this’, which Kitty had carefully pretended not to hear. ‘Because, Kit – you’re such fun,’ he’d said. ‘Honest to God. You’re wicked. You’re just adorable…But Fanny…’ And these were the words he had left her with, and they had ripped at her pickled old insides: ‘Well, I love her, you see. Fan’s my best friend in the world.’
‘Miss Mozely?’ the vicar asks again.
‘What? It’s awfully bloody hot in here,’ says Kitty irritably, fanning herself ineffectually with a puffy hand. ‘Do we have to have that heater on?’ The Reverend Hodge inclines his head; a polite but stubborn
yes
. She glances across at the General, who appears to have fallen asleep, and then at Robert, sweltering happily in his polo-neck.
‘What
I
don’t understand is why the little shit was ever granted bail,’ she snarls.
‘Ahh,’ smiles Reverend Hodge. ‘Yes. If only. But he has two very skilled advocates on his side.’
‘You know,’ Robert White interrupts peevishly, ‘Fanny is actually over thirty-five minutes late at this point. I do think it’s a little inconsiderate. Perhaps we should telephone. Find out what the problem is exactly.’
Just then they hear footsteps pelting up the street towards them. ‘Everyone! Everyone!’ she yells out. ‘I was wrong! I got it all
wrong
! We
all
did! We just assumed.
But he didn’t do it
! The police have dumped the charges. Everyone, DANE GUPPY IS INNOCENT!’ The hall doors burst open and Fanny tumbles in, grinning from ear to ear. ‘He didn’t…
do it!
’ she says again.
‘He didn’t?’ says the vicar incredulously. ‘But how do you know?’
She stands a moment, recovering her breath. ‘Russell
Guppy just signed a statement – I’ve just come from his place. And he’s told the police. He says the fire was already roaring by the time Dane noticed it and he rushed out straight away to take a better look, and then…’ Fanny shrugs. ‘Well, Dane obviously realised what a selfish b—man his uncle was. Russell Guppy obviously hadn’t called the fire brigade, so he went to the call-box in the village and called them himself…’
‘Slow down,’ demands Robert irritably. ‘What makes you think Russell Guppy’s suddenly telling the truth? It all sounds very convenient, Fanny.’
‘Because he is,’ Fanny says. ‘Because Russell Guppy—’ She stops, glances cautiously around the room. ‘Where’s Geraldine Adams? Not here?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ says the vicar. ‘But Fanny, dear. This is marvellous news! And we’re certain, are we, that Dane had nothing to do with it?’
‘Russell Guppy’s not named anyone, though I get the impression he knows. He’s known all along…But he’s come up with a whole load of evidence which for reasons best known to himself he hasn’t wanted to share until now. So—’
‘So who was it?’ asks Kitty. ‘Do we know?’
Fanny shakes her head. ‘Not at the moment. I spoke to the police. They say they’re “following new leads”, whatever that means.’ She shrugs. ‘They sounded pretty confident they know who it is, I thought. But they wouldn’t tell me…And that’s all I know. I feel terrible. Poor little Dane…’
‘
Intriguing
,’ mutters the General, arms folded across his chest, still in sleep mode, eyes still mostly closed. ‘I imagine what stirred Russell Guppy’s stumps was seeing his dreadful brother and that fat wife being lionised on the box last night. Did you see it? Infuriating. Must have driven him
wild.’ He chuckles. Sits up. ‘Well. That’s excellent news. Good for Dane. We all owe him an almighty apology.’
‘
Don’t we
,’ agrees Fanny, rolling her eyes. ‘God. Don’t we just.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Robert says pettishly. ‘I wasn’t the one trying to kick him out of school.’
‘Not because you thought he was innocent,’ retorts Fanny. ‘God knows what your reasoning was, Robert. But you certainly weren’t doing it for Dane.’
‘No doubt,’ interrupts the General before Robert has a chance to respond, ‘we shall discover the genuine culprit in the fullness of time. In the mean time, can we go? It’s awfully hot in here.’
‘We certainly can!’ shouts Fanny, laughing, throwing her arms open. Kitty notices the easy, fluid way she moves, the wonderful haphazard way she tosses her head back when she laughs. It reminds her of Louis. Of Fanny and Louis. Kitty notices the whiteness of her teeth, the wonderful pertness of her flesh. ‘And of course, it goes without saying, Dane’s welcome back to school any time. As I’ve already told him.’ She laughs again. ‘I told him I owed him more than an apology. I owe him a—’
‘By the way, Fanny,’ Kitty says suddenly, ‘did Louis tell you what he was doing in Kidstead this evening?
He told me
– barely an hour ago. And I feel such a fool because I simply can’t remember…’
Fanny double-takes.
Louis
, she remembers guiltily, had called her mobile during lunch and she hadn’t picked up. Hadn’t even, what with all that was happening, got around to listening to his message. ‘You saw him this afternoon, did you?’ she says stupidly.
Kitty beams. ‘Certainly did!’
‘Certainly did,’ repeats Fanny. ‘Well…Great. Did he say when he’d be back?’
Suddenly, Kitty turns to the vicar. ‘Reverend Hodge,’ she says, ‘I was wondering earlier this afternoon – what is the Anglican line on circumcision?’
‘What’s that?’ snorts the General.
‘I was asking the vicar – since he was here, and the question just sprang to mind – but he’s looking blank. Perhaps you can help me, General. Are you circumcised?’
‘
What?
’
‘I was wondering what was the Anglican line on circumcision. Is there one? Because I think there should be. I think it should be compulsory for everyone. Robert, what about you? Are you—’ She breaks off, gazes at him. Robert’s thin body is crunched in mortification, his thin, white face folded in, hidden somewhere between chest and thighs. ‘Oh. He’s embarrassed,’ she says blandly. ‘Silly billy.’ And turns back to the General. ‘Only, I recently came to the conclusion that there is probably nothing on God’s earth,’ she gives a nod to the vicar, noting the religious reference, ‘more beautiful than a nicely proportioned and circumcised penis. Don’t you think, Fanny?’
‘Has she gone mad?’ asks the General.
‘Perhaps we could move on?’ murmurs a weary Reverend Hodge. ‘I don’t really see what this has to do with anything. In fact, I’m not certain we have anything further to discuss. So! Many thanks, everyone, for turning up at short notice. And perhaps,’ he turns to send a small, scolding look towards Kitty, ‘we all might take a moment to remind ourselves of how blessed we are in having such a wonderful, dedicated head teacher. Who cares so much for her students, who gives so freely of her time, who has done so much for the school and over such a short period. Fanny.
Thank you
, my dear. From all of us. Not least for being the messenger of such felicitous news—’
‘Oh, but wait one moment,’ says Robert, quietly uncoiling
himself. ‘Before we get too carried away. As I mentioned to Reverend Hodge earlier, there is just one other thing I would like to discuss…’