Chapter 1: Ruth

Author's Note: I have temporarily restored this, though I do intend to take the whole trilogy down within the next couple of years - as my writing has developed, and as I work on a new large project, I am approaching the point where I will no longer want this trilogy online, though I have loved being able to share Ruth and Tom's stories and the wonderful conversations I have had with those who have enjoyed them.

If you do enjoy this story, you can find me over on bluesky at leonore2.bsky.social - I'm not particularly active there, but am always happy to hear from those who have enjoyed my work. It's a real encouragement as I wrestle with my mammoth current project: an often dark dystopian series set mostly in a post-climate-crisis England caught up in civil war, and inspired heavily by the Reformation and the decades leading up to it.

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Ruth Harwood was no great fan of social injustice, or of the current government, but that didn’t mean she went looking for trouble. She could do more good as a voice of reason, especially as she didn’t have to fight too much to get a platform - being Archbishop of York did that for her. A seat in the House of Lords, and a slot in the news whenever she wanted it, so long as she played by the rules at least most of the time. Besides, she was the establishment.

Wendy Cope had a different perspective on things. A name Ruth had met very early in her term, who she’d come to know perhaps slightly too well. She liked Wendy, a lot, but nobody should be communicating with their bishop quite that much, especially not when they had ten rural churches and a curate to keep them busy. And yet here in Ruth's inbox was another email from her, the contents of which came as no surprise at all.

Dear Archbishop Ruth,

I’m sure you’ve seen this new legislation and you know how it’ll affect Daily Bread. It’ll take weeks, maybe months, before the rubbish gets sorted, I’m sure you agree we can’t close down for that long. Starving people are more important than paperwork, not to mention that we can hardly insist on a background check of all of our recipients. So I thought you should be aware that we’ll be continuing to operate as usual. I’d really appreciate your support.

Blessings,

Wendy

Ruth sighed. The legislation in question was something she’d fought against in the House of Lords. A messy business, the whole thing, arising from a string of charity corruption cases. It had been oversees aid first, and new legislation had hit hard. But then the perpetrators had moved on to their next target, and the result was the current mess. All charitable organisations to provide full evidence of their operations, including details of recipients. All very well for hospices and day centres and the like, but impractical for crisis services like Wendy’s food bank. Drafting a reply took a long time, and she still wasn’t happy with it at the end, but she couldn’t really think of an alternative.

Dear Wendy,

I fully appreciate your situation. As you are aware, I opposed the legislation strongly in the House of Lords, and have stood with other Church of England clergy in expressing our deep concern. However I have to counsel against openly disregarding the law, particularly in this sensitive period. As an initial action I would recommend raising the matter with your local authority to seek special dispensations which take into account the nature of Daily Bread as a front line crisis provider. I and my fellow bishops will continue to campaign for nationwide exclusions to operations such as this.

In the meantime, you could perhaps encourage our supporters to give directly to those in need, as this will not fall under the new charity control legislation. While this is not an ideal solution, as you will not be able to monitor fair distribution and client safety as you do at present, I hope that it will be enough to carry the most vulnerable recipients through this difficult transitional period. I fully understand your frustration.

With prayers for all your ministry,

+Ruth

She picked at the ring on her finger for a moment, still uncomfortable with the response. Breaking the law would get them nowhere. There was no point in keeping Daily Bread running for an extra couple of days for it to then be shut down permanently, and they certainly couldn’t afford to have Wendy arrested, but she still didn’t like it.

Pushing the matter aside, Ruth stood up and reached for her tablet and a notebook. Meetings beckoned. Just before she went, she stuck her head into her chaplain’s office.

“Tom? Hi, could you grab me something for lunch? Standing Committee now, not sure I’ll have time.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be waiting in the car when you overrun. By the way, you’ve had a letter from the York Open Churches team, it’s due to start in two weeks and they’re looking at how the changes will affect it. I’ll update you on the way to Holy Trinity?”

“Thanks.”

She smiled tiredly and passed him, heading down the stairs to the meeting room. At least there were primary school kids this afternoon, which always livened things up. There was so much serious right now, with all the attention on the charities control measure, she needed a break.

The meeting did overrun, with good reason. How to report the finances of the diocese in accordance with the new measures? How to help parishes to do the same? Resourcing and legal teams were looking at it already, but Ruth silently cursed the “effective immediately” part of the new legislation. They needed time, a chance to get it all sorted and to transition. She supposed they’d had the warning that it was coming, but nobody here had quite believed it would happen, and so they were behind. And like everything else about the diocese, their finances were a complex system, built up in ramshackle fashion until nobody really knew how it worked, only that it did work. Now they’d have to meddle with it, which would make it all fall apart.

She slid into the car twenty minutes later than planned, and Tom passed back a paper bag. Sandwiches, a drink, fruit, and a slice of millionaire’s shortbread. They cruised off down the drive, only the slightest pause at the security gate. Bishopthorpe Palace disappeared out of view and as always, it was like a strange release of tension. Silly, really, as she was still working, but true nonetheless.

Once she’d eaten, she found her tablet and opened up her emails. A reply from Wendy.

Dear Archbishop Ruth,

Thanks for your suggestion, I’ve talked to some of the volunteers and they’ve agreed to continue our work independently for a couple of days while we battle the local authority. It’s not sustainable, though, and we can’t risk missing people who need us. If we haven’t found something that works by the end of the week, we’ll reopen fully.

Blessings,

Wendy

Great. A couple of days before it would turn into Ruth’s problem, that was something. She fired an email back.

Dear Wendy,

Thank you for your understanding. I wish you the best of luck in your campaign, and would recommend that you speak to Mark West. He’s facing similar concerns regarding Open Churches and you may be able to work together. I pray that this will all be resolved quickly so that you and others affected can continue your vital work.

With prayers and warmest wishes,

+Ruth

A couple more emails, including a similar one to the aforementioned Mark West, then she dropped the tablet back into her bag with a sigh, taking out the apple from her lunch instead. “It’s a mess, the whole lot of it,” she told Tom. “Everyone’s panicking, nobody knows what to do, and they’re all asking me. Or threatening to take matters into their own hands, which I guess is worse.”

Tom looked back over his shoulder, displaying his usual trust in the automated driving system. “Let me guess: our dear Incumbent of Everywhere?”

“That’s the one. We have until the end of the week before she abandons all regard for the law.”

“Naturally. Guess her curate’s not settling her, then.”

“As you well know, it just gives her someone to look after the day-to-day.”

He laughed and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. It rotated slightly as the car entered a roundabout, and he leant back so as not to interfere. “Well, It’s not going to go away in a couple of days, I’m here if there’s anything I can do. We’re in London on Friday, and Kath’s booked you in for a meeting with Richard before you go to Lords – he was in touch this morning.”

“I thought he might be. It’ll be an early start, then?”

“I’m afraid so. We’re booked on the 5:34 – only for the Archbishop of Canterbury! Hotel’s booked for afterwards as planned. Train back up on Saturday.”

“Sounds good.”

The car slowed and turned, and a beep called Tom back to his driving duties. A couple of minutes later they were parked, a very enthusiastic headmistress greeting them at reception. Tea duly offered and accepted, and a ten minute breather before the tour began.

It was another world, seemingly separate from the chaotic world of charities and legislation. The renovated sports hall stood, gleaming and still smelling of paint, a ribbon across the doors. They went in through another door and admired the climbing apparatus, and the beautifully organised crates filled with battered beanbags and skipping ropes. Outside again, the headmistress pointed out the solar panels on the roof, and the little meter which showed their output. It was a grey day today, but they would make a big impact when the sun was out, and it was important for the children to see renewable energy in action. Plus, of course, it got the grants.

They gathered the younger children together in the biggest classroom, and Ruth talked to them about church and the Gospel, about helping other people and the parable of the Good Samaritan. Who was the good neighbour?

“The nice person, who helped the man who was hurt, when he didn’t have anything because it had all been taken by the bad thieves. He didn’t have to help but he did, and God says we should help people even if we don’t have to.”

Put that on a postcard and send it to Downing Street, thought Ruth.

There was quite a gathering for the hall opening, most of the village turning out for it. They’d all helped to fundraise, something which from now on would be harder. At least they’d finished on time, escaping the need to worry about extra paperwork. They’d baked cakes and thrown wet sponges at teachers, called on employers and made presentations for funding bodies, to fill the gap the government left. That was how these things were done, how they’d always been done. That was what this law would stop.

She blessed the building, and then cut the ribbon to a resounding cheer. The doors thrown open wide, the kids streaming in to run around screaming at the excitement of newness. The main event over, covers came off the trays on the buffet table. Tom disappeared into a swarm of small children, while Ruth posed for photos.

“We usually have homework club at this time,” said the headmistress beside her. “Then tea at five, free for the tier one free school meals kids, or parents can pay for their children if they work too late to cook. We’re stuck on the free meals kids, though – obviously today is special, but we’re not sure how it’ll work over the next month or so. It’s usually funded by the church, but with the changes we can’t take any donations until we’ve finished the paperwork, and the savings won’t last long. We have twelve children eligible for free tea, and up to six are paid for by their parents. It’ll be difficult if we have to suspend the free meals, right now it’s all confidential so only staff know which children are being paid for and which are not, but if some have to stop coming for a month it’ll be obvious.”

Ruth made sympathetic noises. “I do see your challenge. It’s having effects everywhere, I’ve been talking to the organisers of food banks and emergency shelters already, and they’re very concerned about the effects this will have.”

“I can see the point in making sure donations are going where they’re needed. But the bureaucracy is a nightmare, especially for small projects like ours.”

“I can see that. Please, let me assure you I’m doing everything I can to get this changed, particularly the current implementation. We must pray that everything will be resolved quickly.”

"Indeed. And do whatever it takes to fill the gap in the meantime."

About fifteen minutes later, the children waved her off as Tom took the car gently down the school drive. Then the vehicle took over and he turned around in his seat again.

“One in eighteen of those kids is tier one free school meals,” she said. “Tier one. I hate the tier system, as you well know – what matters isn’t how much they need it, but the fact they need it – but it does show, those are the kids whose parents might not be able to afford to put the heating on in winter. And now they’re losing one of their meals. And everyone will know that they’re tier one, that’s horrible for them and their parents.”

“A lot of people care and are fighting it. It’s a massive setback, but they’re not going to stop fighting.”

“They’re just going to fight harder. I know.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should get back to the emails…”

“See if you’ve anything else from the Incumbent of Everywhere.”

She snorted, and was grateful as ever for his ability to keep everything upbeat. “She only has ten churches, you know, I’ve several vicars with over fifteen.”

“Oh, that’s true enough – officially. Don’t forget she’s pretty much taken over St Stephen’s and St John-in-the-wood for the interregnum.”

“Oh yes. I remember turning a blind eye to that.”

“Keeps her happy.”

“Indeed.”

With that, Ruth picked up her tablet again. A quick look at emails, and then she settled herself more comfortably. Lords on Friday meant briefing documents to read, that was her next job. Yet another way in which this stupid bill was taking over her life, because it was almost unheard of for all of the Lords Spiritual to attend together, as they had started doing every time the topic appeared on the agenda. Oh well, it was a privilege, other people would say. She'd just like if every now and then she could find time for something that wasn’t politics.

© 2021 E G Ferguson

Epilogue - Ruth

York Minster. How right it was, to stand at this altar. How wrong, that it should be for the last time. She needed a maniple, really, to wipe the river of tears that flowed from her eyes!

Afterwards, the party. She'd wanted it after the service to avoid going home to an empty flat, and was glad of that decision now. Wine flowing freely, laughter and sorrow and congratulations and commiserations. Around the walls, display after display, photos dredged out of God-knows-where. She’d already caught a glimpse of some of the Westcott ones. She'd have to take a proper look later. If only she were allowed wine.

First, though, a retreat, to sit near the top of the stairs and lean against the bannister. A moment of quiet relief from the noise and the crowds.

“Do you want company, or would you rather be alone?”

Ruth looked up and considered for a moment. “Hi Isla. Company’d be nice. Your company, at least.”

Isla sat down next to her on the step. “You’re pretending well, just so you know.”

“Good.” Ruth rested her head against the bannister and blinked hard. “I don’t want to go.” It came out strangled, taking her by surprise.

“But you have.”

“Yes.”

You’re not Archbishop anymore, Ruth. It’s over. Officially, properly over.

“So. That’s us. It’s been a good innings.”

“It has. And you’re off to Tom now. I’m glad.”

“Yeah. It’ll be different.”

“Of course it will. Probably the better for it.”

“And you’re off to… what, Turkey?”

“Once I've moved everything to Cambridge and had my last scans. Cleanest break I can manage.”

“Enjoy. I know you will.”

Ruth tried to sit up. “So. All these embarrassing photos…”

Isla pulled a face. “They’re not too bad. Might want a few more drinks before you go that far back down memory lane, though?”

“My thinking exactly. Except my doctor said no.”

“Ah. Well, maybe a bit of quiet time first. Do the crying in private.”

“Not done so well at that so far today. But yeah. I was thinking about going to chapel.”

“Yes. Or a walk round the gardens.”

“What, in this weather?”

“Fair point. Keep forgetting heat wave has snapped. Still, storms are rather fun.”

“I’ve had enough lectures about self care…”

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t be encouraging you. Bad chaplain!”

Ruth half smiled. “I could just go back. Drink wine. Don't tell my doctor...”

“Self care?”

“Hey, I have to get through this somehow…”

“Plead age and take an early night?”

“It’s literally a party for me.”

“Give it about half an hour and nobody’ll care about that anymore.”

“Fair point.”

“So. Clear path ahead. Eyes to Cambridge.”

“Yup.” Ruth sighed. “It’ll be fun.”

“It will.”

“It’s going to be weird.”

“It is.”

“Not working tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. What am I going to do with myself?”

“Uh, see the world..?”

“Oh yeah. Well, obviously.”

“That feels like plenty to be doing.”

“And house move,”

“Oh yeah. We’ve both got that joy, haven’t we?”

“Yup.”

Isla picked at her trouser leg. “Well. It’s been wonderful working for you.”

“Oh, I’ve been pretty awful, no need to pander.”

“Oh yes, would never claim you’ve been my easiest employer. But still. Or even, with all that. It really has. You taught me so much, and made me who I am now - a better, stronger person.”

“I'm glad I've had the chance to work with you too. Sorry for all the times I’ve been horrible. It’s been a wonderful few years. Do keep in touch, ask if there's anything I can help you with, maybe come visit me?”

“Definitely. The same to you. When you’re not terrorising ordinands.”

“I’m not going to terrorise them!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Isla laughed. “Ah, I know you won’t really. Except when they deserve it. There’s a soft heart under all the spikes.”

“Shh, don’t tell…” She pulled herself to her feet. “It’s right to go now, really, and everything will be fine. I just… really don’t want to, right now.”

“No. Of course you don’t.” Isla stood up too.

“Maybe it’s time to drink wine and go see what horrors Karen and co. have pulled up for me?”

“It’s quite a collection. Slightly terrifying how much they keep in those archives…”

“Oh joy.”

“Some fantastic parish placement ones…”

“Great, I can guess. I spent way too much time in costume. And for some reason allowed people to document it.”

“And ordination photos, of course. And newspaper cuttings. Book extracts. Sermon snippets.”

“Oh come on.”

“Yup.”

“Right. I have to see this thing. Find out whether I have to kill Karen.”

“Don’t do that, you’ve done pretty well until now, don’t wreck it. I mean, I know you like firsts, but…”

Ruth snorted. “Right. Don’t be the first Archbishop arrested for murder. Would I be the first?”

“Not a clue. Come on, let’s get back in there.”

“I guess we should.”

“Good. Let’s go. Assuming you don’t want your quiet time anymore.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I already cried in the Minster.”

“Nothing wrong with crying during the consecration.”

“No. But in front of that many people. Hopefully wasn’t too noticeable?”

“Nah, shouldn’t think so.” Isla grabbed two glasses of elderflower cordial from the table and thrust one of them at Ruth. “Don't moan, I know how much you hate dialysis. Ready to brave the photo boards yet?”

“Let’s go for it.” Ruth caught Karen’s eye and indicated the boards with a jerk of her head.

The publicity officer was over in an instant. “What do you think?”

“Not looked yet. Going to make you come and listen to my running commentary.”

“Most of it wasn’t me, you know. Blame archives. I just directed the putting up, since apparently my lot are the only ones who know how to format.”

“Yeah, yeah, where’s the start? Over there? Oh for goodness’ sake, you got that picture? Seriously? The information age is a terrifying thing…”

Karen laughed. “Well, you know, what happens at theological college... definitely, definitely doesn’t stay at theological college!”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Evidently not. Evidently. Not.”

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson

Chapter 27 - Tom

It had been a few days since the move, and Bishopscroft still didn't feel like home. Furniture was just about in place, thanks to Megan’s ruthless efficiency, but of course every room still had its boxes. They were almost done with the hall and dining room, the important bits of the house which visitors might see. Tom’s office was also progressing well, although there was still a good deal of book sorting to be done. The chaplain’s office, through the connecting door, was the one complete room, still holding desk and chair and filing cabinets left behind after the departure of the previous occupant. That was the one room they didn’t need yet, wouldn’t until his new chaplain was appointed. Or even until Ruth retired, depending on how Isla’s interview went…

Tom picked up a stack of books and slotted them onto a shelf. It would feel like home, in the end; this room at least was already starting to feel that way. And Mika’s room… well, it had her clothes strewn all over the floor, that definitely gave it a lived-in feel. And Mars had plastered his with Notts Outlaws branding, Jos Parker life size in a poster above his bed, signed bat propped against the wall. He was sticking with his loyalties, he insisted, at least for this season. After that he’d think about sharing his support with Yorkshire, but it was a bit early for any allegiance switching. And c’mon, Notts was just better. Larksy’d just got picked for the training squad, wasn’t that just, like, so cool? Like, he was so good, he deserved it…

Tom shook his head at the memory and checked his watch. Bloody postal service, “expected delivery time” and all that nonsense. It was only five minutes past the slot, but…

The doorbell rang and he stopped worrying, half ran to the door and greeted the delivery driver with a warm smile. “Hello. Yes, that’s me. Sign there? Sure, thank you so much…” He accepted the package, only slightly taken aback by the weight, and try not to shut the door too fast. “Mars!”

A young elephant came crashing down the stairs, even younger elephant just behind. Obviously Mika wasn’t going to be left out of the fun.

“This is it?”

“I very much hope so.”

Megan’s head had appeared as well. “Now think how much less stressful this would have been…”

“…if I’d ordered it along with everything else. Yes, I know. But I didn’t. Just glad it’s J&M and I trust them. Now, are we going to have a grand family opening?”

“So it seems.”

He lugged the parcel through to the living room and dumped it down on one of the sofas, family crowding around as he ripped the packaging open. Glimpse of red, sparkle of gold… proper fabric beneath his fingers, solid stuff. He’d helped Ruth with hers enough times, just… never quite imagined something like that for himself. The real deal.

He turned the mitre over in his hands, first. Chewed his lip a second before swinging it onto his head. Better get used to it, make sure you can move around without it falling off.

Mars, impatient, was more interested in the cope, pulling away the remaining packaging, gingerly turning it over to examine the clasp. Megan stepped in to undo it and pick the whole thing up, admiring the fabric and then holding it out for him. “I hope you’ve been working out.”

Tom sighed and fastened it around his shoulders, feeling the solid weight of fabric. “Not the most practical of garments.”

“C’mon, turn around…. Oh yeah. Probably a tad more normal with vestments underneath?”

“Well yeah. Jeans and cope is an odd mix.”

“You look…”

“Completely ridiculous?”

“In a majestic sort of way. It's not bad, as copes go!”

Tom struggled to shrug. “Best we can hope for, I guess? I can assure you I certainly feel ridiculous.”

“And considering the kind of thing you’re used to poncing around in, that’s saying something.”

“Ah well, a chasuble is more appropriate for pretty much everything. Or I can wear choir dress.”

“Bit of a waste, considering what you’ve spent on this thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure the Cathedral will put me in it occasionally. And the odd wedding. Maybe licensings too.” He practised walking. “Hey, Mika? My crozier, in my study? Bring the case, would you mind?”

She jumped up and was back a minute later, and he screwed it together carefully, glancing up at Megan. “Go on, make fun of me, I know this is ridiculous.”

“Less ridiculous than you tripping over your own feet in front of thousands of people in the cathedral.”

“That’s the thinking.” He did a couple of laps of the room, handed the crozier to Mika – “good work, chaplain!” – and then took the mitre off and on a couple of times. It was harder with a cope on. He unclasped it and then held it out to Megan. “Go on Mrs Bishop. You know you want to.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“It’s just regalia. Not like the mitre or anything. Just for looking poncy. Go on.”

“Oh go on then.” She pretended to stagger as he laid it on her shoulders. “Go on. How do I look?”

“Ravishing.”

“By which you mean ridiculous.”

“Hey, I’ve seen worse.”

“Well yes, fortunately you have taste.”

“Or Mars does.”

“Well, between you. Go on, let Mars have a try. Since he picked it out. Come on, before I melt!”

“And me!”

“And you, Mika,” Tom agreed, as he took the cope off Megan and offered it to Mars. “Everyone can have a try, just today. You’re being an excellent chaplain with that crozier, by the way.”

She walked around the room with it. “I’m not the chaplain, I’m the bishop.”

“Hook towards you. Chaplain way round.” He reached out to take it from her as she tried to turn it, unscrewing the parts and returned them to the case, then pacified her scowl by holding out the cope to her. She tried to snatch it, but he shook his head. “Go on, turn around.”

She did as she was told. He lowered it onto her shoulders and held it as she fiddled with the clasp, releasing gently. She wrestled with the fabric, applying great effort to keep it from slipping down. A few steps, allowing it to drag on the floor behind her, before Megan crouched down and arranged it all artistically. “There. Picture perfect. All set for your official royal portrait.”

“I think I need to grow a bit.”

“You might be right there.”

She fought with it a bit more. “Why’s it so heavy?”

“Because it’s posh expensive stuff. Real stuff. And we want it to hang well, not billowing or anything.”

“Cloaks are supposed to swoosh though.”

“Cope, not cloak.” He enunciated the consonants clearly.

She wrestled it off over her head, not bothering to undo the clasp. “It's hot.”

Tom grimaced. “Oh, I know. Not much fun for summer…”

It wasn’t. Even just cassock and rochet, and he was beginning to overheat as he greeted civic dignitaries and took the last steps of the long procession from the city centre towards the cathedral door. A fine day, probably better than rain, but definitely too hot- although that probably wasn’t the whole reason he was short of breath. The glass doors stood before him, a little more nerve-wracking than the traditional oak. Do not miss. The verger had given him a very long lecture about that. And, like, come on. He could see the congregation through them, they could see him. Didn’t that make the whole thing even more ridiculous than it already was?

He raised the crozier to shoulder height. Fixated on the very centre of the frame. Do. Not. Miss.

He swung, and struck. Once. The doors rattled. Twice. Thrice. A trickle of relief, lowering the rubber ferrule to the ground. No major dents. No broken glass. Cathedrals really did need oak doors for this kind of thing.

But now the doors were open and he was stepping inside, into a blur of faces and voices and oh! It was too hot, too fast. Eyes on the dean. Follow the verger. Read the words on the page. Don’t screw up. This is your big day, everyone’s watching you, judging you, deciding whether they really want you as their bishop or not… There was Megan, in the front row, a child on each side, and Liza. Focus on the dean, don’t miss anything…

Ruth’s eyes caught his and held him, just for a moment. Mouthed words he couldn’t make out, didn’t need to. Calm. Don’t panic. Breathe. Yeah, easy to say, he would if he could. If the entire service wasn’t rushing past him like a river, like floodwater trying to sweep him off his feet. Music swirled around him. He focused on following the verger. Take it steady, get your thoughts together. It’s just what you did in rehearsal.

Okay. Thoughts weren't coming together. Okay then, just read the words on the sheet. Take the bowl and the rosemary, sprinkle the congregation, words on the sheet. Hand on the bible, words on the sheet. You made these oaths only a couple of months ago, no need to think too much this time. Now… sit for a bit. More people talk. Reader read. Listen to the words. Some more singing. Ugh, he should be making memories, drinking in every second.

It was just dizzying. He stood and was led back from his seat to the centre of the cathedral. Could people tell? How could they not? Just fix your eyes on the altar, he told himself. Or indeed the words on the page. They’re probably more useful right now.

There was the kneeler. He knelt, and suddenly the world was a lot more manageable. If he could just stay here, then it might be alright. Then he might be able to take the thick dizzying weight of God pressing all around him. The congregation was out of sight behind him, just the shoes of the bishops ranged around. One moving in, filling his view, and he looked at the familiar cross which swung before his eyes. Someone he knew, at last. Something familiar. Something safe.

The stifling weight of God was still there, but suddenly it wasn’t something to be feared. Why should it be, really? Calm down, Tom, you’re fine. Everyone here is wishing you well. Take Ruth’s blessing – God’s blessing. That’s why God’s here, to bless you. You’re fine. Still small voice of calm. All fine.

It was still a blur, when he stood back up. Glad of the dean’s hand, although it was only a ceremonial leading, as Anna took him closer to the cathedra – his cathedra! Soon to be, anyway. Now, as she placed him in it, gave him this seat in her cathedral. His cathedral. There was a glass of water left here for him, he noticed gratefully, draining it at the first opportunity. No fainting! Still got a sermon to deliver!

“My Lord Bishop of Sheffield.” Ruth greeted him later with a warm hug, once the crowds had dispersed.

He gave Mika a teasing glare. “No, Mika. I told you.”

She pouted and turned the crozier in her hands. Tom returned his attention to Ruth, saw her laugh. “Ever a stickler!”

“Talking about yourself?”

“Even I'm not QUITE that fussy! So. My Lord Bishop of Sheffield.”

“Stop trying to get a rise out of me, you’ll only be disappointed. I’ve nothing left.” He thrust his rochet at her. “Hanger’s over there.”

“Oho! Settled into your new station in life!”

“Well since you’re just here to wind me up, you may as well make yourself useful.” He undid buttons as fast as possible, desperate to not be in the cassock any longer. “Happy August. Autumn soon, right?”

“I certainly hope so.” She hung up his rochet and reached out a hand to take the cassock too. “Go on. I’ll wait on you for a change.”

He didn’t reply, because at that moment his head span again, and he lowered himself to the vestry floor. Saw all the many clergy in the room turn to look at him with alarm, but had no chance to be embarrassed because he was sticking his head between his knees and breathing hard.

“Hey. Hey, Tom. It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” It was Megan’s voice, Megan’s fingers undoing the studs which held his collar, undoing his top button. He made a slight attempt at raising his head and winced. Nope. Still seeing stars.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” said Megan softly, the continued with then a sharp change in tone. “Well? Stop gawping, someone get some water. Forty bloody degrees is far too hot for poncing around in that many layers. And I suppose you want to rush him off to go do more parading around at some fancy dinner!”

No reply. Nothing but Megan’s hand on his back, the stars starting to fade.

“Is daddy okay?”

“Obviously not.” Mars tight and dismissive.

“He’ll be fine.” Megan crushed them both. “Mika, you’ve got the bag. I put a banana in there.”

“Water.”

“Thanks.”

His head drawn up, the cool rim of a glass pressed against his lips. Sip. Sip. Don’t let teeth chatter too hard. Another sip. World drifting back, slowly. A few more sips, and then reaching up to take the glass himself, although Megan kept a hand on it to be safe.

He drained it before blinking around. “Sorry.” Still gawping, despite Megan’s tirade. Yay, great start to a new working relationship. “Let’s try that again. Hi everyone, I’m your new bishop and I totally didn’t just almost pass out. Thanks, Mika. Anyone got any more water?” He peeled the banana and took a large bite. Don’t even bother trying to pretend, it’s a bit late for that.

“You’re okay?” Anna now, crouching down with more water.

He smiled wearily. “Long day. Especially with the walk through the city first, think that did for me. I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern. Cold shower when I get home, think we’re all dreaming of that.” Their concern began to ease at the joke, and he settled himself into a more nonchalant position, leaning against the cupboard.

“Would you like a chair?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“If there’s anything you need…”

“Cheers.” He drained the second glass in one. Great start. Bishop who can barely get through a big service. How does that bode for ordinations next summer? “Gorgeous service, thank you. All a little bit overwhelming, I’ll admit.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Sympathetic looks. Awed looks. Yup, that’s the trick, remind them what it’s like to be overawed by God. They’ve all experienced it, to some degree.

“So, anything else I can do for you, my Lord Bishop?” Ruth was still there, leaning casually against a table.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Take that crozier off my daughter? Since she clearly doesn’t know how to hold it properly.”

Mika jumped and relinquished the staff reluctantly.

“I’ll put it in the case for you.”

“Ta. Well, nice to meet you all. Do carry on with your lives.” He beckoned Mika and patted the floor beside him, and she shuffled over. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m okay. And I’m not cross, just teasing so they stop worrying about me. You can get it out at home for a bit if you want. Cuddle?”

She hesitated a moment then dived in against him. He put an arm around her, dropped a kiss on top of her head. The half of chapter who had been gathered staring relaxed and started to drift away.

“Well. You excelled yourself there.” Ruth waited until the vestry was empty before moving to stand over him.

Megan glared up defensively, but Tom placed a hand on her arm. “I made it through the service, didn’t I?”

“Looked absolutely shell-shocked throughout. But yes, you did. Well done.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated. “Was my sermon okay?”

“Very good. Few tiny stumbles in delivery at points, which was rather endearing really. Excellent content, which is what matters most. I’m sorry the whole thing wasn’t as good an experience as you might have hoped.”

“Nah, it was good. Just like… always crazy when God’s around. Thank you for your blessing.”

She nodded acknowledgement, her usual response to that statement. “And now you’ve taken up residence on the vestry floor.”

“So it seems. Overcome by the heat... I always did go in for following your example.”

“Go home, you idiot. Nap before party.”

He nodded, and then grinned drunkenly, as emotion settled like a blanket of clarity. “I’m a bishop. I’m bishop of Sheffield. I’m the bloody bishop of Sheffield!”

“Yes. Yes you are. Sort yourself out.”

“I’m the bishop of Sheffield. That’s wild. That’s just wild.”

Megan punched his arm. “And rapidly becoming bishop of blithering idiot.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Inside he was laughing now. I’m a bishop now! I’m actually a bishop! And I’m just so full of God!

“Ready to stand up yet?”

“I guess we can see?” Oh God, I love you! I love you I love you I love you. He shook his head slightly and nudged Mika away, taking the offered hands and letting them pull him upright. The world span, and then settled. He fixed his collar, hooked his cross to the button of his shirt. “Right. Party time?”

“I thought you were going to have a cold shower and a nap.”

“Okay. Shower at least. Fresh shirt.” He blinked hard. Be sensible despite the euphoria. Though… now it had hit, he was just so happy. Overwhelmed happy.

“Drunk on God?” Ruth voiced it for him, quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s a crazy day.” He reached for his vestments, to find Mars had already gathered them up.

“It really is. Being here, amongst the people, amongst all those committed to your care. Being trusted with this much authority. Taking on promises which are far beyond you. And then all the weight of history, pressing close around you. It’s wild and wonderful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Right. I’m going to clear off and let you have a wild one with your new colleagues. Don't push yourself too hard, if the heat's really getting to you then take it seriously and show up at A&E sooner rather than later. Unless of course you fancy hanging out with me in a hospital outpatient unit every week. I mean, fun as the hospital concelebration was, I'm not convinced it would be worth it for a repeat...”

He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, not planning on it.” Then he looked her up and down quickly. “How's it all going? Body still knitting itself back together properly?”

“Thankfully, yes. Another couple of months of treatment ahead, but there's hope of an end in sight. You know, my least favourite thing is not being allowed to moan because it's my own stupid fault.”

“Well, you look... not well, but better.”

“That's good to hear. Might mean I escape this constant fussing.”

He rolled his eyes but relented and moved on. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Have fun being thrown in the deep end. Yell if you need me, all the other bishops do.”

“Thanks boss.”

“Sister. Not boss.”

“Bossy older sister.”

“Wait are you, like, siblings?” Mika broke in, confused.

“Brother and sister bishops, Mika,” Tom explained. “Like you might call a priest Mother or Father. Related by God, not blood.”

“Like Godmummy Ruth’s my godmother?”

“A bit like that, yes.”

“It’s a way of saying we’re equal,” Ruth added. “Rather than having any one person in charge.”

“But you’re still more important, right? I mean, you’re an archbishop. Dad’s only a bishop.”

“Only!” Ruth laughed. “No. We might say “first among equals”. But that’s more like your dad said, like an older sister. They don’t need my permission for things, they can disagree with me.”

“I mean, whether that’s wise or not…”

“Tom…”

“Sorry.”

“I’m getting out of your hair and letting you settle in. See you! Bye Mika – oh, I met my great-niece a couple of weeks ago, she’s the same age as you and thanks to you I could pretend I knew all the in things and be a cool grown-up! So thanks. Right, bye Mars, Megan. See you. Don't push yourself too hard. God bless.”

Tom shook his head as she disappeared, then made an effort to straighten his shoulders as he saw the dean coming towards him. “Thanks, Anna.”

“You’re okay now?”

“Much better, thank you. See you tonight?”

“Of course. There won’t be any problem..?”

“No, no. It’ll be fine after a shower and maybe a quick nap. See you there.”

“And you too, Megan?”

“Not too late, work training thingy tomorrow, but yes.”

“See you there, then.”

Tom nodded towards her and carried on, towards the side door away from any lingering tourists. In his head the rousing chorus still rising upwards, even up the spire, to its very tip. Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see…

He opened the door and the sun struck him, dazzled him, gleaming even off the grimy paving slabs, off graffitied stonework and bent iron railings. And he smiled, as he silently repeated his blessing from earlier. His city. His diocese. His own charge. Something to care for. He put his arms round Megan’s shoulders and squeezed her close. “It’s going to be awesome. I just know it. It’s going to be awesome.”

In one of the flats high above, a baby was crying. A breeze lifted up, just for a second, kissed his face, ruffled his hair. He took Megan’s hand and squeezed it, an arm around his daughter and a smile at his son. Here they all were, together, and it was going to be okay. Awesome. It was going to be awesome.

A young woman leant against the cathedral wall, cigarette trailing pitifully from her fingers. She glanced up at their approach and then froze. New bishop, in clericals, big deal. He nodded in greeting and blessing, hesitating a moment as something niggled at the edge of his giddy brain, something confirmed when he felt Megan’s hand tighten on his arm.

“Um, hi.” Her voice was tight, nervous, and she stood almost skeletal in too-big top and skirt.

“Charley?” It was Megan’s whisper, even as Tom was still trying to process.

She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her foot. “Hi. Saw the news. Dunno, just thought, worth a try? You might walk by?”

Tom saw her swallow, fight to keep the tears from escaping, from making another track on her already-ruined makeup. He swallowed, before nudging Mika towards Megan and holding out his hand. “Charley. Oh Charley. I’m so glad you did.”

“I just thought… I dunno.”

“Things not going too well?”

A shake of her head. “Things sort of… went a bit wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“You warned me, I know.”

“Cup of tea and a chat?”

She nodded slightly in response. “That… that’d be nice.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You remember what I said?”

“I can always come back?” She swallowed. “I mean, I don’t expect… I’ve been getting by okay.”

“Let’s have a good catch-up.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

And the sun glinted off the parked cars all around, and his giddy soul sang. What a day.

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson