Ruth fell in beside Tom on the way up from Morning Prayer. “How was it?”
He shrugged, powering up the stairs. “Over. It’s all life experience.”
“Do you want to post-mortem it? Or should you?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry. Just... in a bad mood.”
“Sure. I take it you’ve had a rejection?”
“Not yet. I’ll know some time later today, apparently.”
“In that case, don’t jump to conclusions. If you’re disappointed in how you did, remember they’re experienced in seeing through nerves and the like. They also have your references and application form, and you don’t know what they’re looking for. If you haven’t got it, there will be plenty more chances, I’m in no hurry to lose you! Try to distract yourself with work or something, until you find out, there’s nothing you can do now but wait. Let me know when you get confirmation either way and I’ll give you the appropriate pep talk, okay?”
He shrugged again, but stopped with his hand on the handle his office door. “It’s like… I was a disabled person and now I’m not. I’m still the same person, but people treat it like I used to be broken and now I’ve been repaired, and if feels like disabled people… are somehow inferior. And we’re- they’re not.”
She waved him into his office and followed him in, pushing the door behind her before leaning against a bookshelf. “This has been bothering you for a while?”
He nodded.
“Well… it had never occurred to me, but I understand what you’re saying, and I only hope I’ve never made you feel that way; I already knew you well enough that it hasn’t changed how I see you or anything, except obviously I’m glad to see you in less pain. If there is anything I'm doing subconsciously, do let me know so I can fix it…”
“Most people are fine really,” he told her, sitting down behind his desk. “I’m just sensitive.”
“Demanding respect for disabled people isn’t being ‘just sensitive’.”
“No.” He kept his eyes down. “Can I be... really open?”
“Of course.”
“There’s a part of this which is a response to… not knowing who I am, exactly. Like, I’m used to planning everything around a crutch. Take a backpack when I go shopping for balance reasons. Allow time to pause for rests. Work out how much I can carry in one hand and not be in danger of stumbling. Calculating time between meds, how long since or until a meal. Remembering to shift position every half hour so it doesn’t seize up. I keep trying to do these things and having to remind myself that I don’t have to: that I don’t need to find out who’s going to assist me in a service and make sure they know what to do. Sometimes I quite liked the sense of proving... why it's worth making things accessible. And then I quite liked being visible, showing other disabled people it’s possible to do whatever you set your mind to, showing everyone else that disabled didn’t mean useless, that it didn’t define my life. I could kind of forget about it, even, I was so used to it. Adjusting at fourteen… that was hard. But it’s like I’m doing it all over again now, after I’d finally gotten used to it. And… yeah, sorry, that’s not what you were asking about.”
“No, thank you for telling me. Adjusting… it just never occurred to me, but it must be a challenge. And on top of that, people treat you differently?”
“It feels like that, yeah. Though logically they’ve got to be pleased that I’m no longer hobbling around and high on meds.” He turned on his computer, still avoiding looking at her. “And then there’s getting a grilling on how your plans have changed now that you’re no longer being held back. And how your experience of disability has altered your approach to ministry. Etcetera. Inspired by nothing more than a couple of passing references in my application. This following the not-particularly-fun topic of why I left parish ministry in the first place, the biggest challenges I’ve faced in ministry. And far too many questions about my time working for you requiring me to find non-confidential examples. So overall, a waste of time and waking up far too many emotions I’d rather have left dormant.” He paused for a second. “Yup, I think that’s all the things I’ve been trying to forget about since yesterday.”
She shook her head. “I can tell you how much I’d like to write a stiff letter…”
“Yeah, don’t.”
“I’m not going to. But I’d like to. And would, in another situation. Might at least manage to subtly demand refresher courses in equality and diversity, and a little reminder of what questions can legally – and reasonably – be asked.”
He took a deep breath and then shrugged. “Well, it’s over. And most of it… well, I know it’s going to come up, I have plenty of answers relating to St Andrews which don’t involve Mick. Doesn’t entirely stop the memories… and most of them were fine, just a couple being very pushy… but yeah, it’s over, give it a couple of days and I’ll forget about it. There are more jobs out there, it was a long shot anyway…”
She smiled encouragingly. “Bear on through. You know where I am, okay?”
“Thanks. Anyway, since I wasn’t working yesterday, I’m sure there’ll be plenty to keep me busy. See you shortly, let me know if there’s anything you need from me…”
“Alright. Don’t push yourself too hard.” She paused. “If they do offer it to you, do you want it?”
He rested his head on a hand. “I dunno. I mean, I did, but then yesterday…”
“Understandable. You’ll have to work with the people who interviewed you. But wherever you go you’ll work with a lot of people, and the interviewers won’t necessarily be representative of them. You looked around the place, right, when you applied?”
“Yeah. And visited before, with you, obviously. I did like it.”
“Pray about it, think carefully, so if you do get asked you don’t hang up regretting your answer.”
He nodded. “I’ll… I’ll do that.”
“Whatever you do, you’ll put a lot into it and get a lot out. Being an archdeacon is hard, you’ve seen the kind of things Janice deals with, but you also know how much she enjoys her job, and how much good she does through it. Pray about it, work out what you’re called to. And if they ring up with a rejection, there’ll be something else out there. Come and find me if you need to.”
“Thanks. Will do.”
When she saw him after lunch, and he shrugged yet again in response to her raised eyebrows, she toyed with picking up the phone and asking what they were playing at. But no, that wouldn't be helpful. So instead she just followed Tom to the car, looking for topics of conversation that might distract him. Pancake day, and so on.
Their conversation was interrupted by the buzz of his phone, and he glanced back at her. “Okay if I pull over?”
“Please do.” Her fingers found the rosary in her pocket. He opened his door, holding his phone to his ear as he got out. A "hello, Tom Carter speaking..." before the car door closed and the sound was cut off. She tried not to watch him through the window.
It was several minutes before he returned to the driver's seat, and his expression was unreadable. She kept moving the beads, kept praying, planning what she'd say. If he told her; she couldn't ask.
“That was the bishop.”
“Thought it must be.”
He swallowed hard. “Still secret obviously but... I said yes.
The relief flooded through her. “You got it? I'm so pleased!”
“You thought I should? You could have told me, would have saved some agonising…”
“Of course I couldn’t. I’d have been happy whichever you went for, provided you’d thought about it properly, but I know you wanted this job and I’d have been sorry if yesterday had put you off.”
“I knew I’d regret turning it down.” He grinned. “Now I can learn the secret of the archdeacon’s glare!”
She laughed, shaking her head at him. “I’m so pleased.” She grinned. “I look forward to calling you Venerable.”
“You're not in a position to be playing that game with people.”
“That's true.” She sat back. “Well, I'm sorry to be losing you, but this makes it worth it.”
“You think?”
“I really do. It's right for you, and you'll be an absolute blessing to the diocese of Southwell and Nottingham.” She met his eyes in the mirror. “I mean it.”
“I mentioned to the bishop how I felt about some of the things I was asked. The disability stuff.”
“She took it well?”
“I mean I kind of... wanted to check I wouldn't have to deal with those attitudes if I took the job. She apologised, and is going to organise some senior staff training.”
“Good.”
“It was after how you talked to me this morning and asked if there was anything you were doing that you weren't aware of. I thought... if she's willing to hear it I'm willing to work for her. If not then it's not the environment for me.”
“That's brave, and a great decision on your part. You've started as you mean to go on, and you can feel confident in having made the right decision.”
“That's what I thought.”
“Well done. They're going to be so lucky to have you.”
They turned in to the car park of St Michael and All Angels, Ruth hopping out to move the cone marked ‘Archbishop’ so that Tom could park the car, and then collecting her crozier and case from the boot before he could do it. A young priest darted out of the church to greet them.
“Good morning, Archbishop…”
“Morning, David.” She reached out to shake his hand, smiling down his nerves. She was in a good mood. “How’s it all going?”
“Um, everything’s good, I think? I’ve done a practise with the candidates.”
“Good. We’ll get everything inside and then I’ll come and speak with then. It’s nice to be somewhere local, a luxuriously short drive.” David maybe didn’t see it that way, she realised, this being the far end of the benefice. Ruth worked on larger scales than most parish priests.
She let Tom take some of her things and then gestured for David to lead the way inside. It was a medium church, one of the Church of England’s heritage treasures which sometimes felt more trouble than they were worth. It was lovely, though, with all of the stained glass and gothic arches that one might desire in a church. The flower guild had clearly made the most of this last fling before Lent, too, which completed the image. At the front of the church, a small group of mostly teenagers loitered uncertainly, while parents talked in twos or threes at the back. David, with only a second’s hesitation, led them straight up a side aisle to the vestry. Good, he knew how she liked to work.
She put on her cassock and left Tom to hang up everything else while she went to speak to the confirmation candidates. Nine of them, including two adult baptisms, from half the benefice – a total of five churches. An impressive number of candidates, compared to a lot of places, but then there always were round here.
“Wendy!” Having left the candidates under direction to spend some time before the service praying, she took a direct line to the back corner and a familiar face. “I thought I might see you.”
“Well, you could hardly ask me to miss it. I’ve left all of the organisation to David, just answered his questions and checked he hasn’t forgotten anything. Wonderful things, curates.”
“Well, I wouldn’t describe this as a model curacy, but how many are? He’s doing well with it, anyway. How are things progressing for you? I haven’t been keeping track.”
“Oh, they’ve sent me a few threatening letters, I’m still waiting to go back to court. I informed them I wouldn’t be paying the fine, but they’re being slow with the jail sentence – which is, admittedly, convenient, since prison will rather hinder my work.”
Ruth shook her head. “I won’t bother disagreeing with your approach. If you’ve decided prison is better than paying up and getting on with work.”
“A stipend’s not that big, and I’ve better things to be doing with it.”
“I have many things to say to that, but I’m not going to bother. Good to see you. Don’t hesitate to shout if you need support – pastoral, I’m afraid the legal and financial is your own responsibility.” Though the church hadn’t hesitated when it was Ruth’s own legal defence, even if she’d paid the fine and court costs herself. That was just how things were. And at least she’d cooperated.
“Thank you. And obviously, I wasn’t expecting the Church to have changed that much.”
“God bless you, Wendy.” Ruth nodded to her, before returning to the vestry, to vest and check in with Tom. Glancing back across the church, the seats now starting to fill. Wendy now bent in prayer, apart from the excitement of the growing congregation.
It was a Confirmation service like any other – long, rich, laden with sacraments. Ruth did enjoy doing them, though sometimes they did seem to blend one into another. Her mind drifted to Rachel May, due to be consecrated as a bishop on St Joseph’s Day – the one opportunity to do it during Lent, normally they’d wait but Julia had put forward a convincing case for getting her new suffragan in as soon as possible. Ascension was too far away – too many things to be blessed, too many building openings and school functions and confirmations and the like before then.
Honestly. She wasn’t seeing Confirmations as a chore, was she? She shook herself mentally, sitting up straighter.
Wendy was one of the first to leave at the end, as Ruth stood by the door to greet the departing worshippers. “Not staying for cake?” Ruth asked her.
“Oh, I don’t want to hang around too much. People will start treating me like I’m still incumbent, which would be bad for David if nothing else.”
“Of course. You’re doing a good job – as is he. I take it he took all the confirmation classes too?”
“Oh, he did all the ones for the other half of the benefice in Autumn, for the St Matthew’s service. And helped with last year’s as a deacon. Practically an old hand.”
“Well, it’s good to have one fewer person to worry about. Look after yourself.”
“And you too.”
Ruth watched her turn up the collar of a faded coat, then the crowds within the church demanded her attention. People leaving, a long string – “Goodbye, God bless, safe journey.”
Eventually they escaped, for a working lunch with the Cathedral Chapter and then a long drive across Yorkshire for a spot of guest preaching. It was on the long drive that Ruth voiced her musing – “can you sort out a meeting with Lucy Green for me? I saw her in December but it’d be good to make sure she’s found her feet… make it a nice invitation.”
“Inspired by seeing David?”
“Reminded by a combination of that, and Mark’s absence at Chapter, yes. David looks like he’s doing very well, I’m impressed. Most of the other lone curates are that bit later in their curacies, I’ve had whispers of good things coming in from their churches. Silence where Lucy’s concerned though, and not a clue what’s become of Mark. There should be enough people keeping an eye out for her, but it’s a lot for a deacon of six months, I’d like to see her in person.”
“Well, I took the opportunity to talk to David while you were busy, so I can confirm your feelings as far as he’s concerned. He’s one of those people who thrives on responsibility.”
“Excellent. And Wendy’s keeping an eye on things, so he’s not completely on his own. Right, you sort things with Lucy when you get a chance, get her in soon but not so soon she panics. If I visit her it’ll give me a chance to see how well she’s coping, living quarters are always an indicator of that. And it’ll save her the travel.”
“Got it.”
"Thanks Tom." She gave him a small smile. "You're going to be hard to replace."
"Oh, don't start."
"Sorry."
"I'll leave decent handover notes for my successor, okay?"
"That'd be a great help."
"And if I hand in my notice tomorrow, you can get the ad ready."
She looked at his face in the mirror. "You're excited for it now."
"Yup, I guess I am."
"Good. Then I'm happy for you." On her tablet, she opened the ad she'd started to draft and reread it. Don't spoil his joy, Ruth, she admonished herself. She didn't want to replace him, but he'd given her enough years. It was time.
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