Tom flopped at the table opposite Isla, glaring for a moment at his food before attacking it with his fork. “Sorry,” he said without looking up. “Sorry. Being bossy today.”
“She takes it from you.”
He glanced up at her tone, mild questioning in his eyes. “She does. Never known why.”
“You’re just… trustworthy. Like you’re always calm. Always know what to do.”
“I can assure you I don’t.”
“Well. You’re good at pretending.”
“Apparently.” He sighed. “I’m just… who I am, you know? Just a calm sort of person. Can’t take any credit for that.” He shrugged. “So, how are you doing? Keeping Ruth alive…”
“Apparently not too well right now…”
“Oh, it’s definitely not a one-person job.” He shook his head. “I hope you don’t feel like I’m hanging about. I’ve always been worried about that.”
“No, it’s fine…”
“After that call last night… I feel like I have to stick around until I know she's okay. It was pretty horrendous. I love her dearly, Isla, I know you feel the same.”
“And you’ve known each other years. I’m still new.”
“You’re not new at all. But yes, a third of my life she's been there for me. And we’ve known each other in different capacities.” He picked at his food. “One thing you don’t know. When I started working for her, I’d just lost my brother and my mam was terminal - cancer. She helped me through that, though I didn’t entirely realise she was doing so at the time. She is the most wonderful pastor, Isla. It doesn’t always show when you’re working with her, when she’s all efficiency and authority, but when you need her…” he clicked his fingers. “She’s right there.” He drifted into silence, lost in his own world. What had he meant to tell her by this? He wasn’t sure, really. Here she was, feeling inadequate, comparing herself to him… “You know she really likes you?”
Isla kept her eyes down and made a noncommittal noise.
“She does. I can see it, besides which she’s told me so, she likes and admires you. She’s not an open person, she might not let you know it…” He shrugged. “Yeah, you know what she’s like, but I can tell she likes you. Also people from Bishopthorpe, on Sunday. Full of praise. So stop comparing yourself to other people and accept that you’re awesome.”
The corners of her lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “I keep reminding myself you’re the youngest diocesan bishop in the Church of England at the moment, not really a fair comparison for anyone.”
He grimaced. “Please. That doesn’t mean anything, except that a number of people think I have the qualities to be a bishop, and I let them have their way. As to being Ruth’s chaplain, it might have suited me once, but it was right to move on, for me and for her. She’s so much better off with you now.”
“Though I suppose I have to start thinking about what I’ll do next.”
“Oh?” A second before it hit him. “Oh, yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”
“In the nature of the job. There’s some stuff advertised at Church House, I might look at that… and keep an eye on chaplaincy stuff, finding a nice bishop would be wonderful.”
He pulled a face. “Thanks for the reminder. About to close applications for mine, should have a look at them – it’s weird, being on the other side.”
“Oh yeah, I saw that one.”
“And am I expecting your CV?”
“I feel like that would be a bit odd.”
“Not especially, especially in Church of England terms.” He shrugged. “I’ll leave it entirely to your discretion. Where God is calling you to be.”
He saw her look down at the table and busied himself with his food to avoid awkwardness. It was a weird idea but… entirely possible, really. They’d never even worked together, knew each other more by reputation and occasional brief encounters.
He saw her forming the question, slowly. “How would you feel if… hypothetically… I put in an application?”
He took another mouthful and chewed it before answering. “I think that would depend entirely on what you wrote, and on your references, and on your performance at interview. And I think that the fact you got this job implies you’d be a good candidate.”
“So… you’d treat it like any other application?”
“I like to think I’d stick to the rules, yes.”
“And do you think… it could work?”
“I can’t see any particular reason why not. I like you, and from what I know of you so far I reckon I could work with you. It’s down to you whether you feel the same. You might decide you want to head towards Church House, or keep an eye out for stuff with Lizzie. Or even see what happens when Ruth’s successor is appointed.”
“I couldn’t stay at Bishopthorpe with someone else.”
“Fair enough. I get that.”
“When’s your deadline, again?”
“Monday.”
“I’ll have a think.” She licked her lips. “Read the job description. Sleep on it. See how the next few days go with Ruth. Pray.”
“If the deadline’s an issue with Ruth, let me know. Obviously no references from her until she’s better. And if you want to know anything, just ask me.”
Isla sat up purposefully. “We’ll see. Now, this idea of Ruth’s about Saturday…”
“No.”
“You think? It’s a real shame…”
“After last night? And today?” He shook his head firmly. “She’ll kill herself, don’t let her.” A moment’s chill at the words, which he hid. There was definitely another conversation to be had with Ruth, because even if those words had just been a result of illness, there must be something underlying them, something to pick apart and set in the light.
“She’ll be heartbroken.”
“She’ll deal with it.” It sounded harsher than he meant it. “I mean, I do feel sorry for her. It’s horrible timing, and not going to help when she’s already sad to be leaving. But, well… illness happens, and this is a serious one. And she’s reasonable enough to recognise that it’s a privilege she’s had many times before which unfortunately she’ll miss out on this time. A shame it had to be her last opportunity. But oh what a joy for Ian! She’ll recognise that, once she’s made it through the initial disappointment.”
“You set high expectations.”
“I suppose I do. Something I learnt from her.”
It was harder to hold onto the convictions on Saturday, as he returned to Scarborough hospital and to the room where Ruth sat gazing listlessly out of the window. He squeezed her shoulder in greeting, removing his hand quickly when she flinched, then pulled another chair closer beside her. This time next year, God willing, he would be in his own cathedral, preparing for or perhaps celebrating the very service which Ruth was now to miss.
“Hey.”
“They’re not releasing me.”
“No.”
“The way you said that sounds like you were involved in the decision.”
“Oh, no. I just guessed.”
“Just one of them. I’ll sit in a wheelchair the whole time.”
“It’s too far, too long, too soon. I’m sorry.”
“Today, of all days. My last one.”
“Isn’t it better, that when you did your last you didn’t know it would be your last? Nothing to colour your memories of it.” He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. “And think of Ian. Offer up your sorrow for Ian’s joy.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t look at him. “Just this one. Just this last one.”
“God’s in charge.”
“You said that last time. If it’s supposed to be comforting, it’s not.”
“No, probably not.” He shrugged. “We’ve a lot to talk about…”
“Right.”
“Agreed?”
“How about you stop pushing me around just for today and let me do what I desperately want to do?”
“It’s not my decision.”
“But you could help. Instead of sitting there preaching.”
That cut. He bowed his head and kneaded his forehead with his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said in the end. “Sorry. It sucks, it’s horrible, it’s unfair, and you have every right to be upset.”
She kicked her heels in frustration. “I could do it, I know I could. And I’m not able to because other people won’t let me, and because I’m not just getting up and doing it anyway.” She glared at him. “You could put me in your car and drive me there right now.”
“However my conscience will not allow me to, and I will not.”
“Today. Just today.”
“No, Ruth, I will not.”
“You know how much it means…”
He shook his head. “I can’t. You can ask a hundred times and I will not.”
“I could call a taxi.”
“You’re better than that.”
“I have never wanted to hit you so much in my life.”
“I’ll hold no grudge if you do.” He took the cross from around his neck and let it dangle on its chain from his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m being a poor friend to you right now.”
“You are. I’m sitting up now, why do I have to sit here doing nothing when I could be sitting in York Minster?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
“No. You’ll just tell me about wisdom of doctors and medical supervision and risk and how if I were in York Minster I wouldn’t be doing nothing.”
He let the cross swing in silence.
“Put that bloody thing back round your neck.”
“Sorry.”
She turned her face away from him. “I am determined not to cry.”
“You may as well, anyone else would.”
“I’m not anyone else.”
“No.”
“Are you just here to make it worse?”
“No.”
“Can I have a hug?”
Her tone hadn’t changed, and it took him a moment to register what she had said. “Of course.” Reaching over, he placed his arms around her, letting her bury her head in his shoulder. When she sat up again, his shirt was damp.
She turned her head away to wipe her eyes and then looked out of the window again, sniffing and forcing a resolute smile. “Being silly. Sorry. That’s enough of that.”
He raised his eyebrows in return. “I’m afraid there’s a conversation we need to have…”
“What now?”
“A phone call.”
“Oh.” She didn’t look at him. “Do we have to?”
“I’m afraid I quite insist.”
“And I insist not?”
He just raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Obviously I was pretty out of it.”
“I know. Still.”
“I’d really prefer not to.”
“And you want me to respect your wishes and leave it festering in both of our minds, unresolved? Please don’t do that to me, Ruth.” He looked at his hands. “If it’s not really anything, we can just reassure ourselves of that, surely? And if it is something, I’d really appreciate if you could at least reassure me of exactly how you plan to deal with it.”
She sighed, and he thought she might refuse, but in the end she answered without looking at him. “I was upset about Dot. About being alone, no family or anything, and about retiring. Losing the one place where I belong, and all the people I consider friends. I mean, they’ll still be there, but… it’ll be different, not really a place for me anymore. And then… heatstroke blew everything out of proportion. I guess all I could think about was how sad I was, how much it hurt, how alone I felt. And maybe I... knew I was dying, and that was the only way my brain could rationalise it. It feels ridiculous now, I’m not actually going to… you know, do anything.”
“Thank you. I hoped you’d say… something like that. Can I just tell you, you’re not alone? I hope you don’t feel like that, there are so many people who like you and who value you just for who you are. Like me. And I’m going to beg you – never, ever, ever do that to me. Please.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I mean, I’m glad you did call. That you feel you can do that. But no more pointless deaths, I’m tired of them.”
“No. I won’t. I never would. It’s… it’s scary, that my brain made that kind of leap.”
“It is. Healthy brain would never do it.” He hesitated. “I promised you, several times, that I would hear your confession. I will keep that promise if I must, though as I said I would prefer not to.”
“No, I'm not holding you to that, and I'm sorry for asking. When I get out of here, I will go to my regular confessor. I asked you because... I thought you would be an easier target than him, which thankfully you weren't. Your promise... it helped me when I needed it, but you were right to resist. It made me keep going when I didn't want to.”
“I do know some of that feeling. After Grace… well, it’s subconscious. Just wanting to escape from the pain. I told you, didn't I, that I wanted to die? You can even know it’s wrong and still feel it.”
She twisted her ring. “What you must think of me. So upset over a dog when you’ve suffered that.”
“You had heatstroke, which I think is the main factor. And you knew Dot, I never properly met Grace. Let’s not compete over validity of grief.”
“Yeah, I’m not allowing that argument.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“No.” She stared into space. “I’m proud of you.”
“Oh?” He laughed. “After all you had to put up with a couple of weeks ago…”
“Okay, not for that…” She reached out to place a hand on his arm. “You’re a bishop now. Not just by name, either, you’ve… well, you know how unimaginable it was. You wouldn’t even put on the shirt until the last minute. Now, when you get your mitre… you’ve ordered it, right?”
“Yup. Had a consultation, made the decisions. Stupid expensive things.”
“You’ll be able to put it on, without fuss. You might have been a bishop a year, you’ve just accepted it.”
“I’d be freaking out if I had time.”
She laughed. “Fair enough, that’s a familiar feeling. But yeah, you have authority now, and you seem to have accepted that; I hope so, because the Church needs you to. And… yeah. I’m proud of you. Brother bishop.” A sigh. “And, I suppose, you’re the last person I’ll ordain. That’s quite nice, in a way, however sad. Good way to go out.”
“You’re not going out yet.”
“Two months isn’t long at all, especially with a couple of weeks of it stuck recuperating.”
“Oh, and there’s something, this isn’t going to help…”
“What?” She glared at him suspiciously.
“Your chaplain. Might be asking you for a reference.”
“Oh, I told her to feel free to just put me down. But yeah, all change.” She raised her eyebrows. “That wasn’t an innocent observation, was it?”
He twisted his ring, as he’d seen her do so many times. “She wasn’t going to apply but… she wants to be a bishop’s chaplain. There aren’t many bishops advertising. We had a conversation, I told her she was welcome to apply if she wanted.”
“Wonderful. She’s great.”
“I look forward to reading a lovely reference telling me just that…”
“You do things properly, don’t you?”
“You know it.” He stuck his tongue out, making her shake her head.
“You’re so worried about looking after me, and then you’re making me do more work?”
“I told Isla I’d understand if you couldn’t make the deadline.”
“I preferred it when you used that thoroughness to help me…”
“Sorry.”
She laughed. “Nah, it’s fine, I’d be more disappointed if you didn't. And it won’t really be any trouble, I can probably do it to keep myself occupied while waiting to be let out of this place. But honestly…” she shook her head. “Stealing my chaplain! Really…”
“Not until you’ve finished with her! And subject to application, interviews, etcetera.”
“If she isn’t good enough for you, good luck…”
He held up his hands. “Oh, I’m sure. However, due process to be followed. And obviously I don’t know for sure she’s applying yet.”
“And we shouldn’t even really be discussing it now.” Ruth grinned at him. “I’d be happy if you ended up with her, though. I’d know you were in safe hands.”
“Stick that in her reference and she’s sorted.” He paused and sighed, looking out of the window. “I really am sorry about today, by the way.”
“I could say there’s still time but instead I’m just going to accept it. Sadly.”
“It’s just really, really bad luck.”
“Any timing would have been bad. At least it wasn’t last week.”
“That would have been a real shame.” He smiled. “It is nice, though, knowing that I’m your last.”
“Indeed. My last ordinand. There are worse ways to go out.”
“You’ve still got two months to survive without doing any of them!”
“Less than that, with all this time lost being ill.”
“Less opportunity to embarrass yourself?” He grinned. “Looking forward to the send-off? Complete with montage of everything the archivists and publicity can pull together from your entire ministry to date?”
“Oh great…”
“It’ll be a long montage, won’t it?”
“Stop it.”
“All those years, all those thrones…”
“Behave.”
“All those aisles you’ve walked up… all those clips of you being badass and yelling at people and getting arrested…”
“And in your book that’s being badass?”
“Oh, definitely. Sounds much more snappy that fighting for social justice…”
“Well, there’ll be some variety in the newspaper cuttings.”
“There certainly will. And in the photos Karen's asked me to send her.”
“You didn't...”
He smiled sweetly. “Have you thought about writing an autobiography?”
“Absolutely not. No.”
“Okay, give it a year or two.” He grinned. “You owe it to future historians.”
“Oh hell no.”
An exaggerated sigh. “Ah well. I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”
“Alternatively, you could not.”
“I suppose I’ll just have to outlive you.”
She gave him a stern look, then shrugged and gave up. “So long as it’s not within my lifetime.”
“You should do your own.” He rested a hand on the arm of her chair. “Think of all people would get from it. Because obviously something like that, it’s less about you than about God. But… not until you want to, I guess.”
“We’ll see. I won’t say never because we know how God takes that.” She smiled. “I have far more exciting things to write first.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Well, if I’m going to be in a place of learning…”
“Ah yes, something terrifyingly clever about sacraments. I’m not sure why I asked.”
“Hey, I could write about the development of the threefold order of church ministry through the ages…”
“Holy Orders.”
“True.”
“I love that you’re not arguing that it’s going to be something clever.”
“Hey, I’ve done a few bits on spirituality for normal people.”
“For incredibly geeky normal people. Who know biblical Greek. And Hebrew. And Latin.”
“The meanings were clear from context! And I didn’t use all three in the same book. Did I?”
“Okay no, in general you weren’t that bad…”
“My editor wouldn’t let me.”
“Good. Accessibility. The laity matter too.”
She shrugged. “Nothing limiting language learning to the clergy…”
“You are impossible.”
“Thank you.”
He sighed. “So, plans when you get released? Is that sorted now?”
“Other than reference writing?”
“Yes, other than one task that’ll take you maybe ten minutes.”
“Few days in Whitby. They always welcome me, it’s more than I deserve, they found out and insisted. Then… I dunno, twiddle my thumbs until I’m allowed to get on? Get ahead on sermons?”
“Rest and regain your strength?”
“I can do that while continuing to exercise my brain.”
“And here is the reason we all worry about you…”
She sighed and fidgeted with her ring. “I only have two months left. A week’s a big chunk, and there's a risk it'll be more.”
“I know. But your brain's one of the bits we were most worried about.”
“And there was me thinking it was my kidneys trying to shut down.” She played with the cross around her neck. “I suppose it’s a good lesson. In not taking it for granted. And in not thinking of myself as indispensable. It’s like a reminder. That I have it all through grace and it can be taken away just like that. God laughs at plans.”
“And it’s also a lesson in not pushing yourself too hard, and not ignoring symptoms.”
“I’ve had the self-care lecture enough times already, thank you, Tom.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s all grace. Every good thing, all those blessings small and large. All those years with Dot. All those moments of wonder I’ve had as archbishop. All the care I’m getting now. All the love I’m being shown by you, and Isla, and Emily, and the nurses, and everyone. It’s all stuff to be grateful for. All God’s grace.” She tailed off to stare into the distance.
All grace, in spite of the knife twisted in his heart every time she said the word. That cut into him, still. There it was, the fact he knew but found so hard to accept: that God’s goodness could be found even through the pain. He dragged himself back to the present. “You’re a brave person.”
“Nothing like you.”
“Oh, miles beyond me.”
She looked at him keenly but said nothing, just laid a hand on his. “Okay, we’ll not compare. Just walk together, through pain and joy alike.”
He squeezed her hand in return. “You’ll make good use of this week.”
“I’ll do my best.” She sighed and attempted a smile. “I’m going to call Ian. Maybe ask if he’ll allow me a brief video chat with the candidates at some point, just since I was the one who saw them through to this point. Then I'll be due another round of bloody injections and stuff. And then… sit here and pray for them and work on getting well as quickly as possible before I miss any more. Might go back to bed for a few hours, just to help with that…”
Tom smiled, nodding. “That’s a wonderful plan, and brave. Well done.”
“It’s nothing much.”
“Still.”
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