Chapter 9: Tom

He should stop bouncing, really, but if he couldn’t be excited now then when could he be? Tom sneaked up behind Megan and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck through her hair. She shook him off and turned around, hands on hips.

“How many months of this do I have to put up with? I might change my mind…”

“I called Ruth, she said yes. She’s sent some dates for us to check with the church, then we can confirm.”

“Fabulous. But first, four children need feeding. And you can either help, or get out of the way.”

“Give me a job, then.”

She sighed and slapped a bag of carrots down in front of him. “How are you so useless?”

He shrugged and got to work, whistling as he did so. Paused for a second. “Oh yeah, she’s going to see us for marriage prep. Obviously.”

“Because it’s so much harder than what we’re doing right now.”

“She wants to meet you.”

Megan mock-sighed. “Guess I’d better meet her then. Because that’ll be really easy to fit in.”

“It’s important.”

“Unquestionably.” She laughed. “Fine, it’s cool. I never thought the Archbishop of York would do my wedding.”

“There’s a lot here I’d never have expected.”

“Obviously.”

The following day, he got the reply back to Ruth: end of June. Was it rushing into things? He’d have looked suspiciously at anyone coming to him so early in a relationship, but he and Megan were already essentially fostering together. They’d looked after Justin together, and handled his death together. And they were that bit older. It was hardly a couple of eighteen-year-olds getting overexcited.

“We’re going to have to get planning.”

“We are.”

Megan rolled her eyes at him. “And you’re going to make me do it all?”

“That’s unfair.”

“So, it’s going to be small. Close friends and family on my side, on yours… half the clergy of the Church of England?”

“They’re not all ordained!”

“Make a list.”

“Are you going for a fancy dress? If I’m allowed to ask?”

“I think not!”

“You don’t want to?”

“I really don’t think I’m that sort of girl, do you?”

“I think you’re a fabulous sort of girl. Anyway, you only get married once. Don’t go away with regrets.”

“I won’t. You never mind what I’m wearing, anyway, there are more important things to worry about. We have a church and an archbishop… is she going to be in full regalia?”

“Cope, mitre, and crozier? Yeah, probably, if that’s okay.”

“Well there goes simplicity.”

“Ruth'll deal with the actual service side of things. What else do weddings need? I’ve been to a few, but I don’t really know… never planned one.”

“What do you think? Reception, food, drinks, entertainment, invitations, flowers…”

“I know lots of people who do flowers.”

“Good. You can deal with that then. Any more connections? Weddings are expensive, and I can think of a lot of other things which need that money more…”

“If I turn up in a cassock I won’t need a suit…”

“I’m not wearing a big dress so you want to do it instead?”

“Hey, I look sexy in a cassock…”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the point of a cassock.”

“I guess…”

She poked him. “Concentrate.”

“Fine. Um, I know people in publicity, I bet there’s someone at Church House who’d make us some mean invitations.”

“Now we’re talking.”

“Cakes are a thing.”

“Yes. Yes they are.”

“You know anyone who bakes cakes?”

“Let me think about that. We need reception and food first.”

It was quarter to eleven when they heard the knock on the door. Tom was quicker to react. “I’ll get it.”

Megan looked up. “It’ll be Charley.”

“It’s quarter to eleven…”

“Is it?” She was on her feet too. “I told her ten…”

Tom took a quick breath. “I assumed she was upstairs, since I got here late.”

“No, I let her go out. With Mark and friends, again. I’ve said no a few times this week, she was getting grumpy.”

Tom opened the door. “Good evening, young lady. Do come in.”

She pushed past him, heading for the stairs.

“Hold it.” Megan was in the way. “What time is it?”

She shrugged. “Just after ten?”

“Almost eleven.”

She looked at her watch nonchalantly. “So it is.”

“What time did I tell you?”

She shrugged. “We lost track of time.”

“Tom and I care about you. We want you to be safe, we’re willing to let you go out if you want to see friends but we have to know where you are and you have to be back by the time we agree. Otherwise we worry.”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Bed.”

Tom stood next to Megan, watching Charley plod up the stairs, waiting until she was in her room and out of earshot.

“She looks rough.”

“Too many late nights. I’d like to meet this boyfriend of hers.”

Tom shrugged. “So would I. I guess pushing will only alienate her, though, and at least she has friends. So much happier than she was.”

“Not this week. She’s been an absolute misery. Skipped school on Tuesday, just grunted at me when I tried to talk to her about it. They've put her on report, which she's doing abysmally at, and they're starting to threaten exclusions. It's only her first year there.”

“She’s been through so much.”

“Oh I know. I wish there was something I could do.”

He nodded. “So do I. But she's run away from home before. All we can really do is… be here. Make sure she knows she’s safe here, that she can talk to us if she needs to.”

“Do you ever wonder if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew?”

“All the time. But at the same time, can you imagine if we’d done nothing?”

The next few days were long, working well into the evening. This meant a few frustrating days away from the children, away from Megan. But on Saturday morning he was finally back, supervising homework while Megan went shopping. Or at least, helping Mars with his English while Charley scowled at the table.

“Anything I can do to help you?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Let me know if that changes.” He got up and wandered out of the kitchen to check on Mika.

“No, Sammy, das not nice. You have to be nice.”

“But I’m a bad dragon.”

“Not anymore. I say you have to be nice, otherwise I won’t be friends with you.”

“But being nice is boring.”

Tom crept silently to the doorway and looked in. Mika, on the floor, surrounding by dolls. Dolls talking to each other. And the moment of uncertainty – reveal his presence, and cut this off? Or creep away silently and let her carry on? He could creep in quietly and wait for her to notice him, but would she feel betrayed by that?

He walked in, taking a teddy from the sofa as he passed. Crouching down to her level to shuffle towards her before she noticed him. Teddy could interrupt.

“Hello, can I be friends? I’m a good bear, I’m always nice to people.”

Her head snapped up, and he wanted to cry at the alarm in her eyes. Should he have left her to it?

“You can come to mine for tea if you want. I have lots of cake, but I don’t have any friends to share it with.” He sat back, cross legged, the bear on his lap. Mika needed to get used to people hearing her voice, needed to realise that there was nothing to fear. “Hello Mika. Bear heard Sammy Dragon and Doll talking and wanted to join in.”

A long, frozen silence before Mika reached out and took the two dolls, starting to play with them distractedly.

“It was nice to hear you talking. Were you having fun?”

She blinked and then nodded, a jolting up-down.

“I know you find it very hard, that’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it. And you’re very good at telling me things without talking, aren’t you?”

She nodded again, thumb straying to her mouth.

“You’re a very brave girl. Now, do you want me to play with you?”

Her nod was enthusiastic now.

“That’s my girl.”

He was used to silent play now, but there was a hope. She was losing the fear, slowly – he could see her mouthing words, every now and then. Tom made the sound effects, roaring for the dragon and then doing the nee-naw of a fire engine swerving in to join the action. Create a positive environment to reduce anxiety, that was what the advice said. In the absence of any source of professional help, he’d just have to do his best.

“I’m going out.”

He looked to the doorway. “You are?”

“Mark texted me.” Charley waved her phone, one he’d apparently given her.

“How’s the homework going?” He rose to stand in the hall, between her and the door.

She scowled. “I’ll do it later.”

“No, you will not.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Charley.” He met her eyes. Please, do as you’re told. Unlike the many clergy under his watch, he had no real power over her. Sometimes, parenting seemed to be a game of bluff.

She pushed past, and he turned to watch her go.

“We can still expect you for lunch?”

She shrugged.

“Have you given me your number for that phone?”

“No.”

“May I have it?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

He added it to his contacts quickly. “Since this is how you want to do things, have fun. Stay safe. Call me and I will be straight over to get you… should we agree a code word?”

“What the hell is a code word?”

“It’s a word that you can say which sounds innocuous but actually means you’re in trouble. If you say it or text it to me I’ll be straight over.”

“I’m fine, why are you so weird?”

Because this relationship of yours is worrying me, he didn’t say. “I guess I’ve been to too many training days on horrific things happening to ordinary, innocent people. Humour me?”

She sighed loudly. “Mark’s waiting.”

“It needs to be something you can slip in without suspicion. How about you can call or text to ask to stay out late? And if you call me Papa or Megan Mama, we know something’s wrong.”

“Why are you so weird?”

“You’re not going to call either of us that naturally, are you? I mean you can also pretend to order pizza or whatever, that’s a good way of giving your location. If you could tell me where you’re going with Mark now, that’d be really helpful, otherwise you’d have to let me know on the phone.”

“Can we do this later? Mark’s waiting.”

He shrugged. “Call me if you need me.”

She tossed her hair defiantly. “Why do you hate Mark? He cares about me.”

“I’ve just never met him.”

She sighed exaggeratedly. “It's fine, I can look after myself. Bye.”

He watched her go from the door, saw her walk halfway along the road before ducking to get into the passenger seat of a parked car. It pulled out immediately and sped away, and he snapped a photo on his phone. Now it had occurred to him to worry, he couldn’t stop. What fourteen-year-old went to late-night parties at undisclosed locations, with an older boyfriend her parents had never met? She doted on him, and he was certainly generous, but was that necessarily a good thing? She’d been through so much, was obviously vulnerable…

Stop thinking, there’s nothing you can do. Try to stop her and she’ll just run away – she’s done it before, and that without a boyfriend to run to.

Mika tugged at his trouser leg, and he turned around, his face instantly calm. It was a special power, to take a wedding as though one had not just come from the bedside of a dying parishioner. To lock your grief, your fear, your concerns inside where nobody else would be troubled by them. He used that power now, to hide all of his anxiety.

“Sorry, Mika, what did I miss?”

© 2021 E.G. Ferguson

Chapter 8: Ruth

It wasn’t really the best way to spend a day off. Ruth left the surgery an hour later than planned, advice booklet in her bag and hospital consultation in her diary. Why were humans so sensitive about their eyes? Maybe because they were so fragile, and so important. Ruth decided not to think about it until the consultation, when no doubt they’d force her to come face to face with all those details. She’d never thought she was squeamish.

A long walk, for the rest of the afternoon, icy wind to blow worries away. The landscape had been clearer, once, hadn’t it? Worth a bit of nervous anticipation if she could appreciate that again. It was only cataracts – quick, routine, low-risk. The level of her health insurance would make it especially easy.

What was harder was the other challenge Tom had set her, to pick up the phone and try a number she hadn’t called in a couple of years.

“Hi, is Emily there?”

“Sure, who is this?”

“Ruth. Her sister.”

Waiting, hearing half of a shouted conversation in the background, until a new voice took over. “Hello, Ruth. What’s this about?”

“I just wondered how you were doing. We haven’t talked in a while.”

“No. What’s prompted this, then?”

Thankfully she'd anticipated the question. “Just been reflecting and realising I haven’t paid nearly enough attention to the family. How are the kids?

“Lou’s kids? Doing really well, Zackie is almost walking now. Mimi is getting to the age where she has interests, she’s currently obsessed with dinosaurs. Are you thinking about seeing them some time, then?”

“I’ve missed that much? Absolutely, I need to see them. Time disappears fast, doesn’t it?”

“Babies grow up fast. Blink and you miss it. That’s the danger of being so busy.”

Ruth sighed. “I’m definitely realising that now. How about… Rosie? And Jack?” She was surprised she could remember the names, to be honest.

“Haven’t seen Rosie in a few years, she’s getting on well in Tokyo though, looks like she’ll be there permanently. Jack and Louis are still fostering, they’ve three right now, the charity trying to place them is still in chaos so who knows what’s going to happen with them in the next few years – they were supposed to be adopted by now. How about you? Still spending all your time bossing around the brainwashed masses?”

Perhaps there was a reason Ruth had missed so much. “I’m still Archbishop of York. Still doing my best, I won’t bore you with details since I know you’re not interested. Starting to feel my age – cateracts consultation booked today.”

“Ah, I was wondering what prompted you to remember my existence.”

Ruth took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching a fist to stop herself from snapping back. “I have plenty of support, if that’s what you’re implying. I just thought it’d be a shame to miss any more years, but if you’re not interested that’s fine, I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Well, it’s not that easy to just walk back, we have things quite comfortable…”

“You still don’t have space for me, then.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ruth had regretted the words the moment they'd come out of her mouth, but it was too late to take them back. “I’d have loved to be involved in your children’s lives.”

“How'd that have made things for Jack?”

“I’d have liked to get to know them, did I not make that clear? And I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to imply but I’d never, ever have done anything but support them. You know me, I’m your sister. Yes, I believe in God and you don’t, and my job does involve talking about God, that doesn’t mean I go around making everyone believe the same as me. Give me a chance, Emily.”

“You’ve always been clear about your priorities.”

“Just because they’re different to yours doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you care about. Even if you don’t care about my stuff. But I didn’t ring you up to argue. I’m sorry to have bothered you, since I take it you didn’t want to hear from me. You have my number if you ever need anything. Bye.” She hung up the call, breathing hard, and it took a minute for the adrenaline to drain away. She’d tried, right? There was a reason she and Emily didn’t speak anymore, and she should have remembered that. Was it her fault? Had she been unreasonable?

It was good to be back to work on Tuesday, with the distractions of emails and phone calls. Still fending off the last few questions from the press about the Samantha Karner issue. Ruth made herself a memo to check with Janice, that she was keeping an eye on Samantha. They would have to be careful not to be too quick, though - Samantha would need space to work through the inevitable crowd of emotions. Anger, hurt, bitterness perhaps, sorrow, grief, eventually perhaps repentance. She was probably staying with her parents, maybe a friend; she wasn’t that old, and many people now lived at home to forty, or until their parents died and left them the house. Just like medieval times.

She made another memo to check in with one of the new curates, and emailed Isla to ask her to set up a meeting with the Diocesan Healing Advisor. And then her phone rang, and she grinned at the name on the display. Just what she needed to cheer her up.

“Hi, Tom.”

“Good morning, your Grace…”

“You’re in a fine mood today.”

“I certainly am.” A short pause. “Are you due to rush out to something?”

“Meeting the DDO at eleven, until then nothing. You want a chat, or something in particular?”

“Something in particular… Megan will kill me if I put it off any longer. We’re engaged.”

She stared at her hand just a second. No wonder he sounded so happy. She’d seen it coming, really, just not when. “Congratulations! I’m delighted for you both, my best wishes to Megan.”

She could practically see him bouncing. “Thanks Ruth, I’ll pass it on.”

“You’ve been dating since last summer then? Quietly?”

“I wouldn’t say we’ve been very subtle, the amount of time we spend at each other’s places, but then you’re not local. And yes, since just after Easter. Not long to be getting engaged, maybe, but we’ve talked sensibly, a lot, and we’re very sure. I actually wanted to talk to you about my proposal ideas last time we met, but it didn’t seem appropriate when it came to it, and in the end everything worked out just fine.”

“I’d never have guessed. That you were thinking about it, I mean.”

“I wasn’t, really, it was only an idea in my head when you arrived. I do more than pretend I’m paying attention to you, you know!”

“I do know. So, well, congratulations!”

“Well, we agreed we wanted to stay together forever, to make a bigger commitment. We were also hurried up a bit, because we want to adopt some of the kids we’re looking after, and we want a stable home when we do that, those kids deserve the stablest home they can get. So that prompted us to start talking about marriage a few months before we would have anyway. And now, I rang you up with a question…”

“Yes?” She could guess, probably, but did her best not to assume. Anything she could do for him, she'd be delighted.

“I know there are probably rules, so it might not be appropriate, but if it is then would you marry us?”

She grinned. “Of course. Of course I’d be delighted to. Although you know about my diary, and I would need permission from the incumbent of the church. I don’t know where you want, but that’s unlikely to be an issue… even the Minster, if you fancied it. York or Southwell.”

“Nah, wouldn’t want it. No, there’s a nice church nearby, where Megan goes on Sundays, and I go when I’m not doing visitations and the like. We’ve had quiet words with the incumbent already, he’s open to the fact I have several episcopal connections who I might ask to preside – first and foremost, you. As for dates, we were thinking about summer or early autumn, Megan agreed that if you’ll do it we’ll work to fit your diary.”

“Well… that makes everything much easier. You have a preference for days of the week?”

“Saturday, of course. Friday if we have to, the church doesn’t get many weddings in but obviously Saturdays are popular.”

“I’ll email you dates. Let me know as soon as possible and I’ll make it a hard block in my diary.”

“I’m honoured.”

“There’s no way I’m missing it if I can possibly help it. Obviously once we’ve found a date, we’ll need to schedule two or three preparation sessions – ideally three. Obviously I know you, but I don’t know Megan so well and I don’t know the pair of you together.”

“I know the rules.”

“Of course you do. Are the invitations going to have ‘the Venerable’ on them?”

“Hell no.”

“Good.”

They both laughed.

“Okay, I’ll send you those dates tonight and warn Isla and Kath that I’m going to be stealing a Saturday. Get back to me as soon as possible and I’ll block it in, then we can talk details. Anything particular you've already discussed?”

“Well, we’ve talked about everything. We'd like a Eucharist, I think, and for Steve - Megan's vicar - to deacon, though we haven't asked him yet. And we want to walk in together.”

“Well I’m more than happy with all of that.”

“Excellent. I’ll tell Megan. She’ll be delighted, she remembers you from the camp.”

“Have a wonderful evening – and few weeks, even. See you in… three weeks, is it now? Time flies…”

“It’ll be Lent before we know it. See you then, let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thank you. And congratulations again.”

Of course she’d seen it coming. She settled down with a book and a mug of camomile tea. You’re old, Ruth, she told herself, and acting it. Oh well, might as well make the most of it, and enjoy watching the young people doing exciting things. Tom, who’d stuck by her side since she’d moved to York, and even before that, who’d always planned everything around her diary. Now building a life of his own.

© 2021 E.G. Ferguson

Chapter 7: Lucy

There were only so many times Lucy could bring herself to ignore a phone call.

“Hello.”

“Hi Lucy. It’s Sam…”

“I know.”

“Yeah…”

Knew, and was trying to avoid talking to you.

“What is it?”

“How much do you know?”

“Know? More than enough, I’m avoiding the whole thing now. Anyway, I have to go to a hospice visit…”

“I had a meeting with the archbishop…”

“Ruth?” It wasn’t the best context for a meeting with your bishop, and while Lucy knew how kind Ruth could be, she'd hate to see the other side of her.

“Yeah. And Janice was there.”

“Formal.”

“Yeah. Look, Lucy… can I come and see you, please?”

“I’m really busy.”

“Just half an hour or something…”

“Look. Sam. I don’t know why I’m talking to you. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m disgusted by the whole thing and I’m only having this conversation now because I’m too soft not to. I thought you were decent enough and now… I don’t know what to make of you.”

“I had to resign.”

That cut Lucy off. If she’d known, she might have been more sympathetic… slightly. It was deserved, and hardly a surprising conclusion, but still unpleasant.

“They took my license. I have two weeks left to move out.”

“Ah.” It was very hard to change tone so abruptly, the perils of being unkind. “Um, you want to come over for a chat?”

“Yes please.”

“This week? Tomorrow? Today?”

“I’ve nothing to do, it’s less than an hour’s drive.”

“I’m doing parish work until five, then evening prayer, but nothing this evening. Free from… say seven? About the same tomorrow, also I have an hour’s gap after lunch.”

“Tonight wouldn’t be too inconvenient?”

“Bring pyjamas if you like, I have a spare bed.” Damn, she needed to stop being nice. Going from ‘I don’t want anything to do with you’ to ‘stay the night’ in the course of about a minute.

“I don’t want to be any trouble, just a chat is fine. I have packing to do anyway.”

“Well. See you tonight.”

Like parish work wasn’t hard enough, without thinking of Sam – whose life should be very similar to Lucy’s, but now wasn’t. There wasn’t really any other way it could have resolved, but that didn’t make it easier.

“Oh, Lucy.” Anna, grinning broadly, delighted to see her. “Oh it is my lucky day. How are you, my dear?”

“Wonderful, thank you, Anna. And how are you doing? They looking after you well?”

“Oh, wonderfully, it’s like a hotel, only with more gadgets.”

Anna was one of the lucky ones, though Lucy was careful not to hint at that. The benefice varied so widely, as did the different hospices and care homes. This was one of the good ones, with price tag to match.

“How are you feeling?”

“Calm. Relaxed. Determined to make the most of things while I’m still here.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. The flowers are from your children?”

“Nick was here a couple of hours ago, he’s bringing Stephie tomorrow. They won’t let me get lonely.”

If only all of Lucy’s parishioners were so contented. The rest of the afternoon held tears in excess, depressed lethargies and anxieties. She left the hospital after the last one massaging feeling back into her hand. She’d done her best, offered every reassurance she could find, to no avail. Now to wrap up the day with evening prayer, and then… she should get to go home and relax. Instead, she’d get to try to deal with Samantha, and all the complexities that entailed.

“Sam. Come in.” She held the door open, reflecting that she should have changed out of clericals. Not that she’d had time, but Sam might feel she was rubbing it in.

Samantha’s hair had escaped its bun and was straggling around her face; a surprise in itself, Samantha looking anything but perfect. Makeup untidy, as if hastily patched in the car. Lucy almost directed her through to the sitting room, then realised how that would feel, and led the way into the kitchen instead, so as not to make it like a parish meeting. She snuck the plastic tab out of her collar and left it on a counter.

“Hot chocolate? Fruit tea? It’s late.” She waved the hot chocolate pot at Samantha, who nodded slightly. Lucy perched on a stool while they waited for the milk to heat up, indicating that Samantha should do the same. “We’ll go through to the lounge as soon as it’s ready, it’s comfier there.”

“Thanks for letting me come.”

“Sorry for being so short with you earlier.”

“I’m used to it, you’re actually talking to me anyway which is… thank you.”

And suddenly she was crying, and Lucy was round the other side of the table with her arms around her, rocking her gently. There was nothing really to say.

“Sorry… it’s just…”

“Come to the living room and tell me everything. I have the whole evening.”

By the time they made it through, Sam was crying again. Lucy perched beside her, offering tissues, an arm around her as the best comfort she could offer.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just…”

“Nothing wrong with crying. You’re fine.”

“I just… I have no idea what to do. What I’m doing. I wanted this so much and then I… went and screwed it all up. Where do I go next? The whole country hates me, the Church has thrown me out...”

“Only from your job.”

“I broke my ordination vows.”

Lucy didn’t really have answers. Why did it have to come to her?

“You’ve talked about how nice Ruth is and all but she… it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever done. She said… she said… I betrayed God.”

“Oh. That’s….” Horrible. Deserved. “I’ve never known her be anything but endlessly patient. I'm sorry you didn't get that side.”

“You’re a good person.”

“No I’m not, I’m a normal person. Like you.”

“You’d never try to tell someone that God doesn’t love them.”

“Well…” No. “You thought at the time it was the right thing, right?”

Sam nodded.

“I mean… it wasn’t. But you know that now.”

“If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

“I know.”

“There’s no coming back now. I know that.”

“There’s always something.”

“The whole country knows what happened, and that’s my fault. Nobody’s going to hire me now. Not for anything.”

Lucy thought for a minute. No response to that. “What are you doing now? Short-term?”

“Dunno.”

“You have somewhere to move to?”

“No.”

“Can you go home, to your parents?”

“I’m thirty-six.”

“Still.”

“I guess I have to… bring myself to ask.”

“Do you want to come here? Just for a couple of weeks, while you work out what to do next?”

Why did she offer these things? The words just seemed to come out of her mouth.

“You mean it?”

Lucy nodded, unable to take it back now.

“Thank you so much. I mean… just a couple of weeks. While I work it out. It’s all so quick…”

Lucy nodded sympathetically. Leaving CKC had been quick, and that with some warning and a place to go. She’d had support.

“Did you bring pyjamas?

Samantha nodded.

“Well, go get them, and I’ll show you the spare bedroom. Then we can sit on the sofa for an hour or so and talk shit about the government or whatever. Have you eaten?”

Samantha shrugged. “Not really hungry.”

“You’ll keep me company though, right? I made so much bolognese yesterday, I have enough left for a week if you don't help.”

“I guess.”

Lucy had to struggle to eat slowly, as Sam picked at her food. She was reading the warning signs, and while she couldn’t do much, she could at least see Sam fed and then chased off to bed. Rolling over shortly after midnight, she tried to shut out the sobbing through the wall.

Samantha was still asleep when Lucy’s alarm woke her, so she left a note on the table, alongside breakfast things.

    Off to morning prayer, will be back for half an hour at nine, help yourself to food. -Lucy

Not that there was much point going to St Matthew’s for Morning Prayer, given Tim was still on holiday and nobody else ever came, but she was supposed to go so she did. Came back to find Samantha just stirring, coming out of the bathroom in a nightdress.

“Morning.” A casual greeting, as Lucy went through to her study to sort out everything she needed for the day. A couple of parish visits, then Eucharist at St Mary the Virgin, then back for lunch. She paused and glanced back. “Are you okay, what happened?”

Three cuts, parallel, half-healed. Samantha flung her towel over her shoulder to cover them.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just a scrape.”

“If you’re sure… make sure you have some breakfast…”

How woefully inadequate Lucy was, that for all the time she spent trying to help people, she didn’t really have a clue how. Just be there, listen, supply them with tea and tissues… it wasn’t really helping, was it? Just pretending. She spent the morning driving along country lanes to visit lonely farmers, a stop off at a coffee club mid-morning. Presided at St Mary’s and then returned to find Sam gone, another note on the table.

Thanks for letting me stay. Gone home to pack. See you on Saturday night unless you change your mind. -Sam

Wouldn’t it be painful to Sam, to see Lucy living the life she’d lost? But if she wanted to come, she could. Saturday was quiet, devoted mostly to sermon writing, giving her time to cook and to plan things for Sam to do - keep her busy, she’d need it. Chicken in the oven, a bottle of white in the fridge to chill. She went through the bathroom for razors, moving them to her bedroom.

The doorbell rang five minutes early, and Lucy showed Samantha in, first helping her take a suitcase to the bedroom then moving to the kitchen. Checked her phone subtly, just to make sure nothing had happened. Nope, all good.

“Wine? Since it’s Saturday?”

“That’d be lovely.”

Though Lucy would have to be up in time for the 8 AM at Bart’s, so Saturday wasn’t really a night for too much relaxation. Ideally, there’d be some left in the bottle for tomorrow evening, after evensong.

They talked for a while about nothing in particular, about old friends from college and about how the weather would affect the farming community, through dinner and then dessert, before Lucy finally broached the questions really weighing on her.

“What are your plans, for next steps? Any ideas yet?”

Samantha shrugged defeatedly. “Anything that’ll take me? I’ve got a bit of savings, to help with deposits and stuff. There aren’t really any jobs anywhere, though. If I could just get one thing it’d be easier to move on, it wouldn’t be the curacy thing on top of my application forms, but it’s getting that first thing. I could do further study, but no funding. I dunno. There’s nothing, really. Couch surf until everyone’s tired of me?”

Lucy shook her head. “Something will work out. In the end.”

“Sure. How?”

“I don’t know. It will.”

“God already gave me this, I fucked it up completely. It’s not like I deserve another chance.”

Lucy put the wine bottle back in the fridge. Two glasses for Sam, one and a half for her, that was quite enough.

“What did you do, before college?”

“Librarian. Academic library stuff, classic Arts graduate path.”

“You can’t go back to that? Local or academic?”

“Maybe.”

“Try.”

Samantha stood up. “I’m tired. Guess you have to get up tomorrow.” So bitter. Lucy couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah, early. Won’t disturb you unless you want me to, I’ll show you where the breakfast stuff is now… you want to come to a service tomorrow? Nearest is St James at nine, but I’m doing an eight, a ten, and eleven fifteen at St Luke's. St Luke’s is low – low as it comes out here - the ten o’clock is high, the others kind of… normal by C of E standards. All communion, the ones I’m doing.”

“Rather not.”

Lucy, hands submerged in hot soapy water, paused in washing up to look around. “Really? You should. The eight o'clock'll be quiet, if you want to avoid people.”

“No.”

What could she do except shrug. “Okay. There’s evensong at five. St James'. Tim’s doing benediction at St Mary’s, not my thing but…”

“I’m fine.”

No. No, you’re not. “Well, as you like. See you some time tomorrow. I’ll be back about half twelve, maybe one, parish schedule and map is on the board in the hall if you change your mind.”

“I could put lunch on for you?”

“That’d be great. Couple of pizzas in the fridge, I’ll text you when I leave St Luke’s so you can time it perfectly.”

“Night.”

It really wasn’t ideal, for Samantha to be staying with a curate just after losing her own place. Lucy should have thought of that. What could she have done, though? Surely if Sam had been able to find somewhere else, she’d have done so? All Lucy could do was offer her a bed and food, and help as much as possible while getting on with her job. Being a curate was most of her life, she could hardly be subtle about it. She'd have to talk to Tim in their next supervision, get his advice.

They were running out of things to talk about, by the time Lucy was slumped on the sofa eating pizza. She’d been busy, taken three services already, but she couldn’t talk about that. And Sam hadn’t done anything either, she just shrugged at the question.

“Walk? After lunch? It’s cold but… exercise is good.”

Sam shrugged. “Sure.”

“There’s a nice track, turns off the road about twenty meters along. I’ve been thinking of getting a dog, but not sure if it’d be fair on the poor thing, I’m out most of the time. Could come with me, but it’d have to be quiet, how do you test that before committing?”

“Dunno. Could get a trial period, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe that's a thing. Could look into it next time I get a quiet spell…” She tailed off. Everything was awkward. “Walk?”

Along the top of the moor, wind threatening to blow them off the path. Not necessarily a bad thing, when it meant they could laugh at that instead of struggling for conversation. Lucy watched the clouds, reflecting back over the morning’s services. Her sermon had been a rush job, she needed to improve on that. That hairy moment, when a missing organist had delayed the ten o’clock by five minutes, making the gap between that service and the next impossibly short. She hated speeding, even if the police didn’t have the resources to enforce it around here, even if – as Tim said – the worst that would happen was a fine and a routine telling off from the archdeacon. They all did it, he said, so long as they didn’t have cars fancy enough to prevent them. That didn’t make it okay, though.

“Come to evensong. It’s Epiphany.”

“I’m good.”

“With me, or benediction at St Mary’s.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should.”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk to Tim? He’s good.”

“No.”

“You should.”

“I’ve talked to the archbishop herself.”

“Context.”

“Give up. Have fun at evensong.”

Lucy gave up. What else could she do? There was evensong to sing, and then an unexpected conversation with a parishioner afterwards. A long, quiet evening in front of the TV, finishing the previous night’s wine, before she made the first move to bed. Or at least, to read a book in bed, and write her journal, to pray and reflect on the day gone by. Every day had its conversations. Mostly, round here, concerns about redundancy. Superfarms growing, shutting down the locals, using robots instead of machine operatives. Crops instead of animals, too, that move towards sustainability which failed to take into account the place of livestock in places like this. What was a hillside without a flock of sheep? A morning, without the lowing of cattle coming in for milking? Farmland, without farmers? The woman she’d spoken to this evening, worried about having to sell the farm she’d inherited from her parents.

Sam was crying again, on the other side of the wall. Lucy picked up her book and concentrated on it, trying to shut out the sound. There was only so much she could do, only so much she had the energy to do. Time would have to do the healing.

© 2021 E.G. Ferguson