Rules said you had to be signed out by nine on your day of departure, so Tom was out by quarter to. He had no desire to stay longer than necessary, or to give them any reason to charge him extra. His crutches were dismantled in his bag; maybe Ruth could get them to one of the camp medical centres, or he could find a charity to donate them to. He focussed on using his walking stick as little as possible, and on not limping, trying to break a habit built over more than twenty years.
He caught a train, standard class. Standing room only for the first hour. He briefly considered sticking it out, but made himself ask for a priority seat, aware of lack of practise and to the fact he’d spent the past two weeks recovering from an operation. He wouldn’t push himself too hard, he knew the risks of that all too well.
Arriving in York he went to his flat first, sat down for half an hour, then took a long shower. One of the many things which had disappointed in the home: the weak, lukewarm showers. A hotel would have been cheaper and better quality. He glanced down at his knee, at the healing scar. Strange to think that inside there was no longer his own bone.
He went shopping to restock the kitchen, ate lunch, and had another couple of hours resting before heading to Bishopthorpe. They weren’t expecting him until next week, but he missed the place, and nobody would mind him popping his head in. He strolled up the long drive, up the steps and in through the oversized door. “Afternoon, Holly.”
She looked up. “Tom!” And then she stood and stared him up and down. “Welcome back! You’re looking wonderful.”
“As are you,” he told her, dipping his head. If he stood up straight enough he could pretend the stick was the height of sophistication. “How’s young Nicholas?”
“Doing well. He’s settled into the new school, keeps coming home and telling me all about what they’ve done. Nothing like the last place.”
“Excellent.” The exchange continued a little longer before he continued on. Didn’t take the stairs yet, but turned off, towards the admin and press offices. He was met with satisfying cries of delight.
“Tom, you’re back!”
“It worked!”
“Oh, I’m so happy for you…”
He shook his head. “Anyone would think I’d been on the point of death. Though I’ll admit, this is convenient.” And a blessed relief, walking without pain. The promise of being able to live without pain.
He walked up the stairs, one step at a time, leaning on the bannister, to tap on Ruth’s office door, which was slightly ajar. “Afternoon.”
“Tom! Come in a second.”
He did so, to find her shuffling through papers on an overloaded desk. He’d seen her a few days ago, when she’d visited him in the convalescent home, attracting stares as she walked in wearing purple clericals and pectoral cross. She looked as good as she had then, calm and confident in the face of everything.
“We’ve just confirmed Rachel May as new suffragan bishop of Jarrow.”
“Excellent! Archdeacon of…”
“Nottingham. They’ll be announcing the vacancy in a couple of days. You should apply.”
“Me, archdeacon?”
“You’re kind and protective, of me and of the other staff and everyone else you encounter. Efficient, I’ve seen that the way you keep my day organised, and juggle looking after Bishopthorpe – your job used to be done by three people, you know. Plus you’re something of a perfectionist.”
“A control freak, you mean?”
“No, I don't. You’d make a good archdeacon. The way things are now, clergy need someone they’ll be willing to turn to.”
“I’ll pray about it and look at the ad when it comes out.” He smiled. “The Venerable Tom Carter… feels utterly ridiculous.”
“Good, these titles are supposed to. Humility, you know.”
“Of course, Your Grace. That is, the Most Reverend and Right Honourable Ruth Harwood.”
“That’s Doctor Ruth, thank you.”
He laughed. “I’ll look at the Notts job when it comes out… you think I could master the ‘archdeacon’s glare’?”
“I believe it’s a skill you gain on appointment, otherwise you can ask Janice to teach you. Now, what are you doing here? The answer isn’t ‘working’, I hope.”
He pulled a face. “I just wanted to see people. I’m being responsible - building up slowly.”
“In that case, it’s lovely to see you, not least to know you made the journey safely.”
“I even sat down the whole way.”
“Well done.” She glanced back at her computer screen. “Now, it’s lovely to see you, but I really need to get on...”
“Sure. See you in a few days.”
On Monday morning, when he returned to work properly, the ad was up. He finished a couple of urgent tasks before downloading the form, filling in most of it before checking Ruth’s diary. She was in a meeting but would be back later. He went back to his actual job until she returned.
“Hi Tom,” she looked up with a tired smile.
“Long morning?”
“You could say that. Can I do anything for you, or are you just here to brighten my day?”
“Oh, I’m bringing the sunshine in.”
“Not on my computer screen, please, I do need to be able to see what I’m doing.”
“Really?” He pushed the door shut behind him. “Actually, I’ve been doing the application for the Nottingham job. You’re okay with me putting you down as my reference?”
“Obviously!”
“Thought it’s polite to check…”
“I’m glad you’re applying. Let me know if there’s anything I can do… besides a reference, of course, and nothing dishonest.”
“Thanks. They might prefer someone with more parish experience but… worth a try.”
“Definitely. If you don’t happen to get it, there are a lot of other good positions out there, both parish and chaplaincy.”
“I’ll keep looking around. Anything I can do for you, for now?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve a lot to read through and a couple of calls to make before Archbishop’s Council. Scheduled such that I unfortunately won’t be at midday Eucharist. I’ll yell if I need anything.”
He nodded understanding. “Don’t work too hard.”
“You can’t talk, you’re not even supposed to be here. Anyway, I’m driving down to the camps tomorrow afternoon, need to get everything done before then.”
“You’re still doing that?” Of course she was.
“Occasional days. I’ll looking at moving to one of the Northern ones, but they’re smaller and with less concerted relief efforts. And I need to be careful about interactions with my own clergy, round here. But I should really be staying in my own province.”
“Not treading on Richard’s toes?”
“Something like that. Not stealing his responsibilities…”
Tom sighed. “Get on with your work, then. I’ll get everything lined up for the Council.”
“Could you grab me something for lunch too?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” She hesitated. “I’ve started thinking about the job ad for your successor, so it can go up promptly when you handed in your notice. If there’s anything you think should be included…it’d be helpful to know. You don’t have to, obviously, if you’d rather not.”
He swallowed. “Cool. Will do.”
“Thanks. In your own time, no pressure.”
“Cool. I’ll go and sort the Council stuff for you, do a bit more admin, and then have another look at the vacancies over lunch.”
She smiled gently, sadly. “There’s one for residentiary canon at Bradford. Quite a few good parish positions. And a couple of openings for university chaplains, off the top of my head I know Liverpool is one of them, there's one in Cambridge if you’re interested in going further -competitive, of course. But it’s a question of where God’s calling you.”
“I know.” If he had any way of telling what God had in mind. Was leaving really the right move? He still thought so, just about. He opened the door. “See you shortly.”
In his office, he closed the door – something he didn’t usually do – and put his head down on the desk. It made sense to leave, it was the best thing to do. And he’d been in this job so long it was time for a change. But he’d been in this job so long, dammit. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to have to go hunting for what came next, straining to hear that whisper of a voice. It was his choice to go, it was the right time, but that didn’t make it any easier. He had so much to do here, like three jobs rolled into one, and he loved them all.
A wave of tiredness rolled in. Squashing it down, he got up and half-opened the door so that it looked welcoming, and then sat down to sort out everything for Archbishop’s Council. Half an hour until he needed to go and prepare for the midday Eucharist. His knee was starting to ache again, and he probed it gently before dragging himself to the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, which he took down to chapel with him. It was so frustrating, but he had to be patient. It’d get there.
Ruth nodded thanks when he delivered her lunch, hot soup and a sandwich. He hoped his successor would learn quickly what Ruth preferred – seeing through her claims of ‘I don’t mind, anything’, because she did mind really, she just didn’t say so. And that they’d be pushy, get her more than she asked for, tease her into eating it when she forgot...
Pushing away the thoughts, he returned to his office and opened up the application form, and returned to working on some of the longer and more difficult questions. The ones which required research, into the current state of the archdeaconry of Nottingham, and into the Southwell and Nottingham diocesan mission statements – the latter of which he then proceeded to ignore, but it was as well to have looked.
He was most of the way done by the end of his lunch hour, when he saved the document and returned to his official work, though he increasingly found himself struggling to string words together, blinking at the text which blurred on the screen. Oh well, it was his first day back. Just push through and tomorrow would be better.
“Go home.”
He turned his head to blink up at Ruth, who had appeared in the doorway. “Hello to you too.”
“Seriously.”
“After Council.”
“Absolutely not, you're not coming. You need to be in bed.”
“I’m not that bad.”
She shook her head. “I've been standing at the door for a minute, and that's long enough for me to have made a judgement. It’s your first day back. Be responsible, go home, it’s the most useful thing you can do right now. Build back up gently. I can manage Council without you, funnily enough.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He stood up and swayed, leaning on the edge of the desk. He was more tired than he’d thought, and his brain seemed fuzzy. He blinked at Ruth, who frowned in return.
“On second thoughts, I’ll drop you home later. You can nap on my sofa until then.”
“Yeah. That would probably be wise. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.”
He followed her, to sit on her sofa and reach down to untie his shoe laces. She went round the room closing the curtains, then hovered in the doorway for a minute. “Look after yourself. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Just take it easy, you’ll feel better soon.
“Hope Council goes well.”
“Bye.”
Left alone, he piled cushions at one end of the sofa and lay down, aware now of the pounding of his head. It wasn’t far off how he’d felt last week, after the move to the convalescent home. Then again, he’d done a lot more today than he had then. Build up slowly, the doctor had said. He’d thought he was doing so, that sitting at his desk wouldn’t be too hard, but apparently not.
“Hey.” A gentle squeeze of his shoulder, brought him back to some level of consciousness. Where was he? He tried to place the voice.
“Hey mam...”
“We’ll stick to ‘Reverend Mother in God’, shall we?”
Oops. “Sorry. Forgot where I was.”
“I know.”
He blinked a few times, before sitting up slowly. “How late is it?”
“We just finished evening prayer.”
“Oh.” He swayed slightly. “You could have woken me before now.”
“I glanced in a couple of times but you looked pretty deep asleep. Anyway, I’ve been busy all afternoon.” She sat in her usual armchair and pointed at a mug. “Tea. Drink it and then I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“I choose to.” She picked up her own mug, watching him raise his in two hands. “Once you’ve woken up properly we’ll have a chat about your work schedule.”
He blew on his tea gently. “I guess I shouldn’t be coming in.”
“No, not really.” She smiled gently. “I know you want to. How about half days?”
“Yeah, that sounds... sensible.”
“Morning or afternoon, as you prefer, just let me know. And if you can’t face coming in some days, drop me a text. You can always work from home a bit if you’re that bored. And you’re on desk work only for the next couple of weeks, okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks. That sounds... sensible.”
“Good. We’ll give it a go and adjust as necessary, okay?”
“Yup.” He stared into his tea. “I just really want to be normal again.”
“You’ll get there.”
“I know. I’m being impatient.”
“That’s okay. Are you able to cook right now?”
“Quick things. Ready meals, and pasta. It’s okay.”
“I’ll fill you some Tupperware, to give you a change. And you can come round for dinner on Sunday if you like. Half past six.”
“Thanks, I’d like that. Don’t go to any effort.”
“It’s as easy to cook for two as one.”
“I appreciate it.”
She drained her mug, then watched him for a minute. “We should think about getting you home.”
“I think I’m okay now.”
“Alright. Text me when you get there so I know you’re not lying unconscious at the side of the road.” She paused. “When shall I expect you in tomorrow?”
He thought for a minute. “Morning prayer. I’ll go home at lunchtime.”
“Alright, see you then. You’ve got something at home to eat tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll give you a couple of tubs tomorrow, you can freeze them if you like.”
“Thanks.” He smiled. “Mam used to do that, for people at church, when they had babies or whatever. Used to take me with her to drop them off. They did it for her too when... you know.”
“Sounds like a good church family.”
He scratched at his knee gently, which only made it itch more. “You’re making me sorry I’m leaving.”
“Leave it alone.” She shook her head. “You took your time deciding. It’s the right thing to do, you’re hardly going to stay as my chaplain for the rest of your life - or even mine! God’s calling you to something else, and it’s going to be amazing when you’ve worked out what it is. And as you reassured me, it doesn’t mean we won’t see each other anymore.”
“No.” He found his stick and stood up slowly. “I should go home.”
“Yes, you should. Text me when you get there, unless you want a lift.”
“Will do.”
“God bless you, Tom.” A squeeze of her hand on his shoulder as he passed her, and then she watched him until the lift doors closed behind him.
He tapped his walking stick against the side of the lift as it descended, then made his way out of the building and down the steps. It wasn’t far to the car, and the automation would do the work to get him home. He was supposed to be as active as possible, the doctor said, but he was having difficulty working out what that meant - he’d hardly done anything this morning, yet he’d ended up sleeping for three hours on Ruth’s sofa. He had to remind herself she didn’t mind, especially after the days they’d spent together in Ian’s cottage. That she was looking after him because she wanted to, and he’d do the same for anyone in his situation. One day, he’d get to be the one offering help, instead of the one accepting it.
For a second, he remembered when she’d woken him with a hand on his shoulder. When, for a moment, he’d been convinced he was fourteen, mam waking him from a nap in the weeks after the accident. But he was grown up now, and she’d been buried a long time. He should go and visit her grave again, really.
For a moment, he wished he’d had longer, that Ruth had let him stay in the past for a few seconds more. But the past was gone, and the present wasn’t so bad. Wouldn’t be, once this damn leg had healed and he didn’t feel like he’d been hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer.
He let himself in through his front door and tipped pasta into a pan, lining up a jar of sauce and some pre-grated cheese to make it feel more like a meal. He was, he thought, looking forward to Ruth’s Tupperware full of food tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment