Ruth was on the phone in the back seat, leafing through papers. It was, thought Tom, remarkable how she never got travel sick. But then she was remarkable all round – especially now, in the car to London, deciding an appointment by conference call so she could get to the front line as quickly as possible. Empty roads, by some miracle; he prayed they’d stay that way.
“Great. Send me her number. And send the emails to me and I’ll put my name to them. Good work everyone, see you… when I see you. Yes, I’ll keep you updated, Kath… sorry, you might have to deal with the diary. Okay, I’ll phone her and email when I've got an acceptance, then I need to make a few other calls. God bless you all.”
There was a short silence, the soft tapping of Ruth’s fingers on the tablet, before her voice again on the phone.
“Good evening, is that Isla Fayazi? Hello, this is Archbishop Ruth. First of all, thank you for your application, and for attending for interview today. We all enjoyed meeting you and were very impressed, which is why I'm calling to offer you the position as my chaplain.” A short silence. “Wonderful. I very much look forward to getting to know you. Our Head of Staff Kath will send a confirmatory email and will be in touch to discuss practicalities in the next few days, including licensing date and pre-employment checks, do you have any questions for me now? No, that's great. Of course I need to ask you to keep this quiet until the announcement has been made, which should be as soon as the checks are done.” Another short pause. “Thank you. God bless, bye.”
“Right,” Ruth called forwards a minute later. “Recruitment done. You have a successor, Tom, obviously I'm trusting both of you to pretend you never heard that name. Now, what’s the story, Karen?”
The publicity officer half turned in her seat. She’d been monitoring the situation at the camp, besides trying to build up some public awareness, and now she filled Ruth in. Tom listened, staring straight ahead into the swirling snow. Typical, to choose the moment when the media was distracted with football and royal baby speculation. Typical, to see bad and make it worse. It was only a problem if it was visible, that was how politics worked, apparently.
“Okay. Thanks again for coming, it could be a long haul…” Ruth sighed, and Tom could hear the tension in her voice.
Karen shrugged. “It’s not just about doing my job.”
“I know. Right, I’m going to call Richard.”
Karen returned to her tablet, Ruth picked up her phone again, and Tom watched the wipers battle against the onslaught of white.
“Hi Richard.” He heard Ruth speak again, behind him. “You’ve seen the news, about the camp? No? Yes, I know it’s late, they’re dissolving them. Started this afternoon, trying to keep it quiet. I’m heading down, you need to get involved, make some noise – you’re louder than me… yeah, that and the Church of England official accounts. Wake your publicity team up, go on… enough is enough. If the Church of England is really the Church of Christ, it’s time we did something… yeah, still working on what, let me know if you have any ideas, but we can start by making it visible.”
And then she hung up, and they continued in silence. The car was slow, sensors struggling in poor visibility and tires occasionally threatening to skid. Of all the nights to have another blizzard, of course this was the one.
“Evening Prayer,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “Since we left too promptly.”
A sigh from Ruth. “We should, yeah.”
“It’ll be a tough night, once we get there.”
“Shall I lead?”
“If you’re happy to. I can't look at my phone right now.”
“Of course.”
They sank into the familiar rhythm, a point of normality in an otherwise crazy day. The intercessions were for the camp, residents and volunteers in general and by name, as well as those who had ordered the eviction and those enforcing it. Then they continued in silence, the snow thinning and allowing the car to pick up speed.
“Hi Richard…”
Tom started briefly before realising that Ruth was on the phone again.
“About half an hour out. Sure, I’ll see you there… ah, of course she is… that’s a good idea… right, see you shortly.”
“Well,” she said after she’d hung up. “He’s stepping up to the occasion. We’re going to meet just outside and go in together – a show of unity. Bishop Lizzie is already there, of course - it's her patch, after all. She and Richard have been contacting senior London clergy and says they’ve sorted out a few places for people to go, he’s asked all the churches vaguely in the area if they have bits of land. The Abbey is offering part of the Close until something better is found so volunteers can set up there, it won’t take anything like the whole camp but a fair number…”
“What’s the plan when you get there?” asked Karen.
“Um… well, it’ll depend what’s going on.”
“You couldn’t possibly give me something more than that?”
“I’m going to do my best to make sure it’s being handled fairly and compassionately.”
“By yelling at the police, or by calming people down?”
“Well, that depends what the police are doing…”
“Calm things down,” Tom interrupted. “There are kids there, vulnerable adults, frightened people.” He could see them in his head, kids he know by name. What were they doing right now, what were they feeling? “Get it in the news, let the general public do the protesting. But look after the victims first.” He dug his nails into the steering wheel. "And sorry to remind you, but you won't get away with a rebuke a second time.”
“Thanks for that.”
He could feel Ruth's glare on the back of his head, and regretted saying it. She didn't need reminding. “Sorry.”
“More importantly,” Karen said, after a moment's awkward silence, “you know they're just itching to associate the residents with violent, lawless rebels - the government have already done enough to perpetuate that image, especially of the migrants among them.”
“I know,” said Ruth. There was a brief, tired pause. “I guess that’s a plan, then.”
Ten minutes later, Tom pulled up behind another car already waiting by the side of the road. The snow was light now, gentle flurries swirling in the path of the headlights. Ruth got out of the car, and both he and Karen followed. The Archbishop of Canterbury stepped out of the car in front, with two of his own staff.
“Ruth, good evening. No surprise to see you here.”
“It's good to be working together again. Any developments?”
“Lizzie’s been keeping me updated. She and some of the others have persuaded the police to allow some time. It’s chaos, apparently, several volunteers arrested and emotions running high.”
“Better go and calm things down then.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that.”
“We’ll get the general public to do the protesting, let’s make it our priority to get the vulnerable people settled safely.” Tom and Karen met each other’s eyes. In normal times it would have been amusing.
“Mikaya here has a list of places. The Sikhs are moving people from the south, so we’ll go in at the north end – that’s where you were involved, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Okay, convoy in?”
“Lead on, you know the way.”
The camp had transformed. This was the time when people should be huddling in tents or around campfires, keeping warm as the cold drew in. Volunteers scrubbing the pans, cleaning up the kitchen, doing a final stock-check for the day, keeping watch over the stores. Performances from the musicians in the community, perhaps, or dramatized reading of stories, stand-up comedy or acrobatics, letting people make use of their skills after everything else had been taken away.
The edges had faded, a trickle of heavily-laden wanderers trudging through mud and snow into a world where even grass verges weren’t open to them. Towards the centre, noise increasing, frightened faces peering from under tarps, or just with hats pulled low over their eyes. Off to the right, a red glow illuminating a plume of smoke. Police in hi-vis and riot shields, blocking the road, forcing Tom to stop. Karen had her camera out, live-streaming to social media.
“Turn around immediately and leave this area, immediately. This is a police restricted zone. Turn around and leave this area immediately. Failure to do so may constitute an offence in a court of law.”
Ruth opened her door and stepped out, and in the wing mirror Tom saw Richard do the same. Each Archbishop followed by their publicity officer, each with a camera in hand. Tom stayed in the car, keeping the headlights on for the extra light. He couldn’t hear the conversation, just see the body language, the two Archbishops side by side, coats left behind so that their clothing made them obvious. A scene from a movie, almost, no doubt even more effective through the cameras. That was how battles were fought, these days – not through brute force, or persuasive rhetoric, but by the power of media. Hopefully that meant that a couple of empty-handed clerics, facing up to fully armed riot police, had an advantage.
A few tense minutes, and Richard was waving Tom forward. He kept the override on and edged forward cautiously, raising a hand in acknowledgement as the police parted to let him through. The archbishops were walking ahead, escorted by two police officers, somehow managing to make it look like a security detail.
The parking area was unusually empty, a single van halfway along one side – the rest had, apparently, been turned away. Leaving the two cars side by side, Tom and Richard’s chaplain both hurried across to the aid station. That was where most action seemed to be, the best indicator at least of Ruth’s whereabouts.
They came up to find not two clergy but a veritable crowd of them, of many denominations. Pushing through, Tom threw Ruth’s coat at her and gave her a pointed look until she put it on. Just a few seconds' grace before she was wading into an argument already going on.
“Yes we can bloody well give them food. You’re driving people out without warning and we’re not even allowed to give them food first? These are human beings, believe it or not. It’s one bloody night and it might make the difference between life or death.” Tom saw her mouth something else which definitely included something stronger than the word “bloody”, but fortunately she didn’t say it out loud. Richard had waded in, and was speaking more quietly – and no doubt more politely. Tom put his hand on Ruth’s arm and she shook him off but took the hint, taking a couple of deep breaths, listening to the argument, her fingers plucking distractedly at her trouser leg. Then she turned on her heel and strode over to the stores, Karen scurrying after her. There were two guards at the entrance to the tent, who looked at each other uncertainly but seemed too nervous to stop her when she marched straight between them.
Tom shook his head slightly. “God, help her, I’m staying out of it,” he whispered. She could get away with things he couldn’t, things he wouldn’t even try. In a way, he wanted to keep an eye on things, but at the same time he'd rather not.
He ducked away from the clearing, into the mess of shelters which was now rather less densely packed than the last time he’d visited. Good, the tent he was looking for was still here. “Marie-Rose!”, he called softly. There was a stir of movement and several small, grubby faces peered out at him. Pushing through from behind them, two women. “Megan!”
“Tom!” A twitch of a smile. “Don’t sound too happy to see me. What are you doing here?”
“I’m working that out as we speak. I came with Ruth, she’s at the station with the Archbishop of Canterbury trying to sort some things out. I knew Marie-Rose and the others would be looking after the kids here so I thought I’d come and… tell funny stories or whatever. Try to make the scariness go away. Sorry, I’m not really that much use, but I don’t just want to sit back and watch.”
“No point making the scariness go away,” Megan told him shortly. “These kids have to wander off into the unknown tomorrow. See if there’s a place big enough for everyone to stick together. A place we’ll be allowed to stay for more than a week. And there’s too much noise to be able to put it away until tomorrow.”
Tom shook his head. “There must be… somewhere.”
“I live in a London studio flat with about six square metres of free floor space and a draconian landlord. Every bit of shelter at the side of a street is lined with metal studs, public verges are out of bounds, and private property is trespassing. What’s left, abandoned warehouses where the roof’s threatening to fall on you and the floor’s littered with used needles? There’s a reason people are here.”
“Sorry.” Tom traced the scars on his arms and glanced over towards the turmoil. Something stirred in him. “How many kids are over here?”
“Thirteen, three adults plus me. That’s in this little corner.”
“Right. If we were up north I could… but we’re not. Give me five minutes.” He moved away a few paces and searched through his contacts. He could go and ask Ruth or Lizzie, but they were busy.
Please be in, please pick up the phone…
“Hello, Father?”
“Hi, Rose…”
“Father! What can I do for you?”
“I’m wondering if you can help me… you’ve seen the news about the camps?”
“Something new, you mean? Not a thing. What’s up?”
“They’re dissolving them. I need a place for… minimum thirteen kids, three or four adults. Anywhere safe, preferably shelter. They’re people I know, I trust them. I wonder if… the church or anything…”
“I’ve two spare rooms with the boys away, not space for seventeen though.”
“Bless you, I don’t mean your house. The floor of St Andrew’s, or something. They’re used to not having beds, warmth would be a rare blessing. I don’t know the current incumbent, you could get her to call me or something…”
“When do you want to get ‘em here?”
“Um… tomorrow morning’s fine, if you can check with all concerned as soon as possible.”
“It’ll be fine, they’re good people.”
He shoved his glasses up his nose and sighed. “Rose. You should definitely check.” We’ve talked about this, he didn’t say. That was a long time ago.
“I’ll call Nikki now. You’re a good half hour away, right? Give me five minutes' warning and I’ll unlock.”
“You’re a godsend. If an unlikely one.”
“And just what you mean by that…”
He rolled his eyes. “See you. Call Nikki and ask. Then call me back, or even better give her my number.”
“See you later.”
He returned to Megan and the rest. “So, I might have a place, at least for the next week or so… don’t get any hopes up, but if this doesn’t work I’ll talk to Lizzie – Bishop of London, she knows people and places.”
“Oh for connections.”
“They go both ways. But for times like now, yeah.”
A few minutes later, his phone rang. A short conversation, in which he apologised to his successor for not staying out of the way and then explained the situation, and then he hung up the phone and turned back to grin at Megan.
“We have a place. It’s a church – I used to be vicar there, I said I’ll vouch for the trustworthiness of you and the other adults in the group. So it’s a safe place, with shelter, and long-term arrangements will need to be confirmed but in the meantime they’ll open it up to you. Nikki, the current incumbent, says they’d be delighted to take as many children as possible, with trustworthy and responsible adults – I’ve promised I can guarantee the trustworthiness of this group at least.”
“Good. Where is it and how do we get there?”
“Out to the East. It’s a half hour drive, thereabouts, it’s a way but I can make several trips if we can’t find another way. There’s a bus stop nearby but public transport wouldn’t be ideal.”
“Well, we won’t be making it tonight, but good to know where we’re going. Just need to find food for now, then.” Megan turned around as she spoke and called the others together. There were several smiles at the plans, as well as confusion.
“We’re going to live in a church?”
“You’re going to sleep in a church, because the people who own it say you can.”
“It’s inside?”
“That’s right. It doesn’t have beds, but there’s a roof.”
“What about all the other people? Are they coming too?”
“They’re going to different places.”
“Why do we have to move anyway?”
Tom crossed back to the volunteer station. He’d done something, anyway, though it was hardly a long-term solution. It had been so easy, why couldn’t they have done it months ago? But you had to dare to ask, and that only happened when there was no other option. And then, of course, there were the remaining thousands, wandering off into a world where you apparently weren’t allowed to exist unless you owned property. What kind of rule was that?
Most of the police had gone. Some semblance of normality reined, though entertainment was absent. Instead, small huddles of people, speaking in hushed voices, brushing away tears as they attempted to work out where they would go and what they would do there.
The dinner queue was still long, so Tom jumped into the kitchen, finding himself a space next to Ruth. “They arrested Esther this afternoon,” she told him shortly. “Offences against the Charity Regulation Act. A couple of the others too, for trying to stop them from taking her.”
“Yet you’re still here.”
“I’ve been restraining myself.”
“Well done.”
She sniffed but didn’t answer, just turned her attention back to the line of hungry people, filling bowl after bowl with mechanical motions. Tom joined her, ladling soup into bowls with words of encouragement.
“St Andrews are taking in some of the kids,” he told her, as the kitchen grew quieter. “Not sure how to get them there but…”
“Use the car, if you can’t find anything better. Richard’s driver might help, if they haven’t found anything else.”
“Thanks, will do. It’ll be a few trips.”
“Deadline to be out is midday, but I doubt it’ll happen. Nobody can relocate this many people, that fast. And we’re going to fight for more time.”
“Cool. What are you doing tonight, once the kitchen’s closed?”
She shrugged. “Wandering, talking to people. Comfort and reassure. Identify those who’ll need help, especially the elderly and sick. Lizzie’s been arguing with all relevant authorities and still is, she’ll say if she wants us to join in but otherwise…” Ruth shrugged again, shifting her weight from foot to foot seemingly subconsciously.
“Sounds like a plan. Then be ready when things heat up tomorrow?”
“Start moving the children out early. Given how things were earlier… I feel like it might get messy.”
“Very good point, I’ll make sure they’re ready.”
They slept for a couple of hours in the car, waking to his alarm a little before the first hint of dawn. The windscreen was completely covered with snow, so he brushed most of it off first to save time. It was a clear morning, the snow underfoot cold enough to crunch. He thrust his hands into his pockets, his gloves insufficient protection.
“It’s supposed to be March!” protested Ruth when he joined her in the kitchen, making him snort.
“Was it three years ago, the last bad one? Snow until Easter?”
“Well, yes, I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise. But you’re just about old enough to have experienced actual seasons, right?”
“Just…”
She shook her head. “How the years vanish. But then think of all the children who don’t remember the NHS.”
“Ah, the good old National Health Service. Rest in peace…”
“And rise in glory?”
“We can dream.”
Her head dropped again, like an invisible barrier. There was something jarring about her, a kind of tension, but that was hardly surprising.
He helped to get the station going for the day, doing a morning check of the stores. Dropping low, since donations had been turned away the previous day. Oh well, anything left over by midday would have to be packed up and taken elsewhere. They brought it all out, shook their heads at just how little there was to go round. Three months, they’d been operating, yet reserves were this low.
He grabbed a big bowl filled with food to take to Marie Rose’s corner. Favouritism, perhaps, but he needed to get the first carload over to St Andrews. Anyway, just because he couldn’t help everyone in the same way didn’t mean he shouldn’t help anyone.
It was strange, returning to his old church. Parking the car, telling the passengers to wait while he went to peer through the iron gate down the passage leading to the vicarage. He texted Nikki that they’d arrived, and a couple of minutes later she appeared, bounding down the steps from the front door. He remembered descending them for the last time, Rose and Anthony taking his bags as he used crutch and banister to make it down one step at a time. Just as well he’d moved, it was about the least accessible residence imaginable.
“Tom, good morning. Nikki, good to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He shook her hand.
“I’ve heard about you, obviously.”
He rolled his eyes. “All about how I managed to mortally offend every member of the congregation and was a meddling fool determined to destroy a system that worked perfectly well?”
“Glad to hear I’m not the first. Funnily enough, they’ve not actually mentioned that bit to me.”
He shrugged. “You know how these things are. Anyway, it’s very strange to be back, I’m looking forward to seeing if you’ve done anything new with the space. Thanks for agreeing to help, can we get these kids inside?”
“Definitely, don’t leave them waiting.”
Tom returned to the car to collect the first load – Michelle, her two children, and one of the young runaways – and Nikki led them along the passage to the vestry door, through and into the main body of the church. The five visitors all stopped to stare around, four of them with rather different expressions than Tom, who was making a mental list of every change. His eye was drawn to the previous incumbents board, and he read his name again and again. Like being a part of history. Was it really so long ago?
“Welcome to St Andrew’s – welcome back, Tom. I’m sorry we can’t offer much in the way of comfort, but I’ve put in the weekly newsletter a request for anyone in the congregation with spare blankets or sleeping mats to bring them. In the meantime, do make yourselves as comfortable as you can, the toilet’s over there and you can use the mini kitchen in that corner, just make sure everything’s washed up and clean before services. It’s pretty basic but there’s a microwave and you can boil water…”
“You managed to get a kitchen?” Tom crossed over to inspect it. “Dare I ask how you pulled that one off?”
“Well, St Martin’s have one in the church hall, and it makes the space that bit more useful for events.”
“Good old competitive spirit. And this little library…”
“Sylvie left a load of books to the church, that started it off. We’re open on Wednesday and Saturday mornings for community coffee, some people like to come in and peruse, plus several of the younger members like to borrow things.”
“I keep forgetting how long I’ve been gone. Well, it’s looking… alive. Good to see.”
“Do we live here now?” A young voice interrupted them.
“This nice vicar’s letting us stay here. It’s a church, so you have to be very good and don’t touch anything that isn’t yours.”
“The kids’ corner is over there,” Nikki interrupted Michelle. “You’ll find toyboxes and children’s books there. Do move the chairs if you want more space to run around. If you could make sure everything’s put back for Sunday services, that’d be great - don’t worry about Morning Prayer, we don’t need much space. This building exists to serve people, not the other way round, and it’s your home for the time being.”
Tom smiled at her. “I should go and get the next few. But I’m delighted to see St Andrews giving a good welcome. See you shortly.”
It wasn’t until he reached the car again that he checked his phone, to see a message from Karen.
Ruth’s been arrested. Again.
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