Chapter 13: Legalities

Anna was efficient and thorough, which were excellent qualities for a solicitor but not necessarily comforting. Ruth found herself perfectly turned out, waiting outside the courtroom with plenty of time to spare. And waiting was not good for the nerves. A short, and somehow infinitely long, wait, before she was called in.

She called Tom first, as soon as she was out.

“Ruth! What happened?”

“A fine, a small one. You can stop worrying.” She smiled privately. Anna was pleased too. It was what they’d been cautiously expecting, and what they’d hoped for – while a discharge would have been nice, this avoided suspicions of bias.

“And your job?”

“Still up for discussion. I’m about to call Richard, he’ll summon the necessary people and they’ll consider it. Which way’ll be better for the Church.”

“Great! Come and see me? I’m in the home, it’s boring.”

“Move go okay?”

“Yeah, lot of unnecessary faff but I’m here now. The other patients are nice.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Awesome. Go call Richie.”

“Richie?”

“Sorry. Losing my mind stuck here. At least I didn't call him Biscuit. You know... Rich Tea, Biscuit, Bishy Biscuit...” Tom tailed off. “Sorry.”

“Still on the pain meds?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

She shook her head, though he couldn't see her. “It's fine. Go do something… formational.”

He laughed, though it sounded strained. “Okay, I’ll let you get on. I’m happy for you.”

“Bye.” She hung up and slumped into the driver's seat. All that preparation, all that worrying, and it was done. Well, almost, there was still the clergy discipline measure…

What would Tom do if she lost her job? What would he do if she kept it? She pushed the thoughts back, not wanting to tackle them now. It was so pointless, all over one stupid lapse of judgement. She remembered Tom's laugh, the pain he'd tried not to show, and prayed it was only physical.

Then, taking a deep breath, she called Richard and gave him the overview.

“Great. I’ll get people over, we’ll see if we can wrap this up in the next couple of days.”

Yeah right, it was the Church of England, it’d take a couple of weeks minimum.

Ruth took the car and drove west, back to the cottage. It was stupid, because she hadn’t done much, but she’d like to sleep for at least three days, preferably longer. Months of stress, the fuss and expense to the Church, the media attention and the public reactions… it had all come down to less than an hour in a courtroom. Why did it have to take so long, so much energy?

And of course, the consequences wouldn’t be over. Not now, perhaps not ever. She climbed the fell, pausing at the rock at which Tom had celebrated the Eucharist for them, had prayed for and blessed her and given her strength to get through those first days. It was a long way back. She carried on up, to the peak, and brushed snow off an outcrop of stone to sit down. Winter was unending. The sky was empty white overhead. Forgive me, she prayed silently. I don’t deserve this. Please, help the people who do deserve it. There are so many. But let me go, let me stop fighting. I’m tired.

The sky was empty white. Far below, a lake glittered. A breath of wind kissed her cheek in silence, and she blinked out a single tear. Everything for nothing. Suffering that never ended. Meaningless worries.

Richard called her the middle of the following morning, while she was driving. She put him through the car’s speaker system.

“Hi, Ruth. We’ve met and reached a decision, paperwork is on the way and we need a meeting. Recent precedent is making things... tricky, it’s only really fair to impose some penalty. Would you accept a rebuke? Penalty by consent, you know. Then we can lift the suspension and you can get back to work.”

She concentrated on the road. “That was quick.”

“No point in hanging around.”

It’s the Church of England, she wanted to say. She considered his suggestion. It made sense.

“Fine. Let me know a time.”

“Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

There was a silence, as if he were waiting for her to say something more. Gratitude? She didn’t have anything else, certainly not gratitude. She was too tired.

“Have a good day. I’m looking forward to working with you again. See you soon.”

“Cool.”

“Um… I’ll email you a time. Do you want to bring Lizzie again?”

“No, it's fine.”

“Okay.”

“See you.”

“Bye.” The call hung on about ten seconds before he hung up. The car carried on, a route she knew too well. The first tents appeared. Should she tell the other volunteers? Nah, not yet. She couldn’t face it yet, because that was admitting it was true.

Tom greeted her later that afternoon with a smile somehow as faint as her own, even that fading at her expression.

Her greeting stuck in her throat. “Can we go somewhere private?”

“Sure.” He stood, leaning heavily on a stick, and led the way outside. “There’s not much privacy, sorry, this’ll have to do. What’s up?”

‘This’ was a small patio by the bin yard, with a single battered bench. She huddled on it, not quite looking at him.

“Richard called me while I was driving down, this morning. They made a decision already, I’ll accept a rebuke and then I’m back in post. Back to being Archbishop of York.”

He looked at her for a minute. “What's bothering you? Is it coming back, the penalty, the... I dunno, something else?”

“The penalty just means I need to not do it again. It’s... coming back, I guess. Right now I'm thinking... I’m tempted to resign anyway, but I’m not going to. At least not yet. If I do, I need to leave things straight for my successor, and I'd like a gap between it and the CDM, for Richard's sake if nothing else. But with everything that's happened...” She picked at the edge of the bench. “These past weeks have been difficult, and I’m incredibly grateful for all that you’ve done. You helped me when I most needed you. If I do decide to resign... I’ll help you however I can. And I'm sorry to... be giving you this to worry about. I just feel like I need to warn you.”

He was looking at the ground, but raised his head to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve been thinking too, since before the operation, praying about it. I’ve concluded... it’s time I moved on. Whether you stay or not. I'll help you settle back in - once I'm sufficiently recovered - but after that it's time for me to find another job.”

She fidgeted with the ring on her finger. Throughout all this, she’d never taken it off. It was the sign of her consecration, a promise she’d never let go of. The promise that was pulling her back to Bishopthorpe. She wanted to argue, but at the same time it wasn’t her place to do so. This was his decision.

“I’ve thought about it, many times before now and especially since you called me yesterday - I have far too much thinking time right now. I started getting this feeling, before the operation, that... God’s calling me to something else. I’m not quite sure what, but... I think I need to commit, and focus on working it out. Look at other jobs, see what’s right. I’ve been working for you for long enough, a change will do us both good. Someone else, to present you with a different take on things – you’ve already heard my take on everything. As for me, I’m not sure what’s next, but… it’s time to look.”

“I really appreciate you. The way you keep on top of everything at Bishopthorpe, support me day-to-day, keep my life running smoothly. Bring me lunch and make sure I eat it…”

He shook his head. “I’ve worked for you for a long time. It’s time for change, otherwise we get stuck in our ways.”

“Don’t leave because it’s in my interest.”

“It’s in both of our interests, whether we like it or not. I’m going to start doing applications, and depending how long it takes me to find something you can expect my resignation... soonish.”

She stared at the floor.

“It’s not the end,” he pushed her. “It’s not a goodbye. We’ll still meet, maybe work together in future. I’m always up for a chat, you can come and visit. It could be ages until I find something anyway, and then I’ll work out my notice until you’ve found someone else. And more immediately, I certainly hope you’ll keep visiting me while I’m in here. I just wanted to warn you.”

“I’ll do my best - I can come at least once more this week, I’ll make sure of it, whatever is waiting back at Bishopthorpe. And I’m glad you’ll continue while the job is advertised. Get me – and Bishopthorpe - through the transition. I’m going to need you.” She fell silent, fidgeting.

He gave her time before prompting. “Something's bothering you. Maybe I can't help, but do you want to tell me?”

She twisted her ring on her finger. “I climbed the fell yesterday, the one behind the cottage. I went there to escape, I needed to – still do, if I’m honest, but that’s beside the point, it’s not an option. Anyway, I went past the rock where we went, that first Sunday…”

“I remember.”

“You got me through then… and I have to ask..." She was silent for a minute, looking for the words for what she felt. "Will you bless me, now? I don’t know how to face... you know. It. Everything.”

He nodded. “Always,” he told her quietly. “And I will continue to pray for you – it doesn’t have to be my job for me to do that. Shall I lay on hands again?”

“Yeah.” She bowed her head, eyes closed. Last time, she had knelt among frosted grass, on a mountain side away from the world. Now, traffic roared by just the other side of a fence, and she sat on a bench damp with melted snow.

He laid both hands on her head and prayed in silence for a while. She let her anxiety still, let time slip away. A last moment of peace before returning to the real world. Would she get one like this again? Probably not, though she would have to be careful to look from time to time. Her job was so busy, it was hard, even enforcing her hour of private prayer every morning. Other concerns always crept in, things she found hard to entrust to God.

He spoke a blessing, traced the cross on her brow, and then she stood.

“Thank you.”

He smiled silently. They went back inside and talked about nothing in particular, about the weather and life in the convalescent home and his plans for going back to York. And then she said goodbye and stepped outside, where snow was swirling yet again. She had work to do.

© 2021 E G Ferguson

Chapter 12: Hospital

She drove him down to London, the boot full of bottled water and food donated by the group in Penrith. He'd waited in the passenger seat while it was loaded in, watching in the wing mirror as she threw herself into the lifting and carrying. Maybe soon he’d be able to help with stuff like this. Maybe… he held onto the positives.

His first glimpse of the camp seemed to bite deep. Ruth came here all the time, and it was always on TV, but this was the first time he’d seen it in real life. Stressed volunteers running to unload the car, the slick operation which saw everything stacked in neat piles beneath tarpaulins, a fence of waste timber forming a wall for security. The line of people, wrapped in jumpers and coats and ragged, filthy blankets, queuing for food and water. Wide-eyed children, some with grubby teddies clutched tight, staring vacantly into space. Seeing it he understood the effect it had on Ruth, the way she was always on edge when he saw her, the emotions bubbling under the surface. He could almost feel it in the air.

Tom opened the car door and slowly manoeuvred himself down, although in many ways he’d rather have hidden in the car, distracting himself with his phone. The ground was rough, dirty snow turned icy, rutted by vehicles. Perhaps best not to try to walk too far. He sat down on a nearby crate, well aware of people staring. He smiled at a particularly small girl, trying to ignore the bitterness in his throat. She clutched her doll tighter and pressed against the side of a car, almost out of sight.

Slowly, cautiously, a couple of little boys crept up, hovering a few metres away and whispering, and he gave them a minute before saying anything.

“Going to introduce yourselves, then?”

They jumped, creeping forward a few more steps. “Ethan.”

“Steven but you can call me Steve. What's wrong with your leg?”

“A car accident,” he told them. “It was a long time ago. But now I’m on the way to the hospital to have it fixed.”

“Oh! Can you just afford it now then?”

He shrugged. “I could walk on it quite well until recently, but now I can’t, so I have to have an operation.”

“Oh.” Steve stared. “That sounds rubbish.”

“Yeah, it is a bit.” He wondered how they’d deal with a broken bone here. There were charities who would help, but few of them, especially as they were still struggling with the new legislation. Waits would be longer than they should be, and that would mean complications.

He glanced at the little girl again, seeing she'd moved a few steps closer, before looking back at the boys. “Who's the young lady over there?”

They glanced round, and Ethan shrugged.

“Just Hope.”

“Has she got a grown-up around?”

Ethan glanced at Steve “Think she's got a dad. Grown-ups are always busy though, we tend to look out for each other.”

“That's very good of you. I just noticed her looking a bit lonely.”

“Is she?”

“Well, I don't know, it's just a guess.”

“Oh.” Ethan scuffed a foot against the ground then nudged Steve. "Go get her."

“Why me.”

“You're nearer.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“You do it.”

Tom shook his head and waited until Ethan backed down and went to get her.

They returned a minute later, Hope trailing behind, doll almost concealing her face. She didn’t have a coat, just a too-big jumper and a blanket trailing round her shoulders. Her trainers had once been pink but were now caked in mud, and she hobbled slightly as though they pinched. Perhaps he could stop at a shop on the way to the hospital. But how would he know what size to get?

“Hi Hope. How are you?”

She drew back further behind Ethan, until he turned and grabbed her arms and pulled her in front of him. Tom frowned at him briefly, before prodding at the mud with a crutch.

“Not much good for snowball fights anymore is it? What do you like to do here while the grown-ups are busy?”

They looked at each other. “Mike has a football,” said Ethan. “We play sometimes, especially when the cars aren’t here so we have space. Or we play hide and seek.”

“Or we go to the edge of the camp and find things for the campfire,” added Steve.

“The grown-ups come too though,” pointed out Ethan. “We used to play fishing too, but the grown-ups say we can’t go near the river now.”

He nodded. “That’s right. So you don’t get ill.”

Hope nodded into her doll’s hair. “Like daddy.”

That was the moment he really understood. A humanitarian disaster, yes. A tragedy. Hope’s innocent words told him that she didn’t know yet, it wasn’t a tragedy for her yet. But it could be, soon, and for others like her it already was.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked them, resorting to his well-practised collection of questions-for-engaging-with-small-children. He just didn’t know how to talk to them, not now he knew how close they were to bereavement, and not without bringing up their surroundings, which he didn’t know if he should or not. He stuck to treating them as much like normal kids as he could.

“I want to fly an aeroplane,” said Steve, glancing up. The clouds were too thick to see anything overhead.

“I was going to be a policeman and keep people safe,” said Ethan, “but maybe I can’t now.”

“And you?” Tom nodded to the little girl, who’d lowered her doll enough that her face was visible

Hope stood on one leg. “A ballerina. Or a singer.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ethan. Tom gave him a look.

“I’m not silly.” She took a step away from the boys. “What do you do?”

“I’m a priest. I look after people and talk to them about God.”

Ethan frowned and kicked at the ground. “Mummy says there isn’t a God.”

“Yes there is,” argued Hope. “Grammy and Gramps said so.”

“Mummy says it’s only for stupid people.”

Steve kicked his ankle and jerked his head in Tom’s direction.

“Some people don’t think so,” said Tom, “but I believe there is and that’s what gets me through when things are difficult.”

Ethan shrugged and looked at Steve, kicking at the other boy’s ankle. “Let’s go find Megan.” He was already backing away.

“Who’s Megan?” asked Tom.

“The lady,” Hope told him. “Like a teacher but not.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Nice to see you. Keep up the dancing.”

She twirled, before glancing around for the boys, who were already leaving. “Bye.”

He watched them go, slipping through the flow of adults to a big marquee, where a woman greeted them and adjusted Hope’s blanket around her shoulders. At least someone cared, thought Tom from a distance - he was just a stranger, but they had others who looked out for them properly. As properly as anyone could in the circumstances. He watched the lady - Megan - from a distance, the way she settled Hope with another child at a table an crouched between them. If it weren’t for his knee he’d go closer, but then again they weren’t here to be gawped at.

Ruth reappeared at the entrance to the store tent, stopping to talk to another volunteer. He set his crutches under his arms and pulled himself up. A pathetic contribution compared to Ruth’s – just talking to a few children, not making a real difference, but at least it had taken his mind off things, and was better than ignoring them. He stared out of the window in silence as Ruth backed out.

“It’s a sad world, isn’t it?” Ruth’s voice was tired. “The little girl you were talking to… she doesn’t have a mother. Her father’s ill, not responding to best efforts. They don’t think he’ll last until evening. That’ll leave her alone, though a lot of the parents share out caring for the children, and there are some volunteers who kind of... coordinate it. Run a bit of a school. Try to find foster placements.”

“She mentioned grandparents…”

“If they’re still around, they’re not here. Colin, the guy I was talking to at the end there, told me. We’ll keep an eye out for her, of course, as we do for all of those lone children.”

Tom looked at his hands. “I had no idea. She seemed so… normal. Like a normal kid of… what is she, three?”

“Three or four, probably.”

“This operation… it could get the supplies to treat all the cholera patients. How many vaccines could it buy?”

“None, because that’s not how insurance works.” She glanced at him, hands on the wheel. “You told me that when I objected to getting the vaccine myself – which, incidentally, I have booked for later today, on an emergency clause. Archiepiscopal health insurance, it’s embarrassingly thorough. Anyway, once you go down the ‘what is more worthwhile’ route, where do you stop? If we get funds, what is more important, vaccinations or water purification tablets? Treating the sick or preventing sickness? Feeding people or keeping them warm? It’s an impossible conundrum.”

“What do you do?”

“In general, let the giver choose. We don’t get much anyway, only really contributions from the volunteers themselves, in which case it’s usually for a specific piece of equipment. Sam, who’s in charge of the operation at this station, she bought most of the wind turbines and the battery with her own money. We clubbed together for the rest, once the power supply started stuttering – the makers gave us a discount. We have a few running costs, for the portaloos, which are mostly sponsored by individuals. But we can’t really push for donations, we’re stretching the law enough by asking for food.”

He shook his head. “And they’re blaming immigrants for bringing diseases across the channel…”

She stared out of the windscreen, watching fresh snowflakes land and be swept aside by the wiper blades. “Try not to dwell too much. Look for positives and focus on getting well quickly. The camps are horrific, but nobody’s alone and the community is wonderful, or at least as good as we can hope for. Things will get better in the end.”

He looked out of the window until they pulled into the hospital car park. That would be more believable if he hadn’t seen how it affected her, how down she always was at the end of a day in the camp, the emotions that seethed beneath the surface. “Don’t give up,” he said quietly. “Whatever happens, don’t give up.”

“I certainly don’t intend to.”

“I mean… if everything goes wrong.” Dammit, he wanted to be able to protect her. The hospital loomed ahead, foreboding concrete. He’d been enough times, that didn’t make it less terrifying. It would be fine, it would be fine… what if it wasn’t?

She met his eyes, and there was understanding there. “I won’t.”

He nodded. “Good. And let me know when there are more developments on the legal side. It’s a long wait…”

She blinked and nodded. “Of course.” She paused. “I got permission from Richard, by the way. Would you still like me to anoint you?”

He nodded. “Yes. If you would. I didn’t want to ask.”

She dug in her bag, propping the book open on her lap and holding the oil stock in her left hand. “I can do without so much of my ministry, but… not this, now.”

It had been a while since she’d used the prayers, and he could see her resisting tears as she set a hand on his head to pray and then anoint him. He'd felt guilty about her having to ask permission for his sake, but he needed it, hadn't been able to bring himself to ask anyone else.

She took his bag, walking slowly as he crossed the seemingly infinite expanse of salted tarmac. You could tell how long a car had been parked by the thickness of the dusting on its bonnet and roof. Stepping inside, Ruth wiped her feet thoroughly on the mat, then brushed snow from her coat and his. She accompanied him to the desk to check in, and he knew that there would be no backing out now. Tomorrow afternoon, he would be in theatre once again. Hopefully the outcome would be better this time.

She was right about the prayer book – he’d put it in after their conversation despite his usual preference for the Daily Prayer app. Hardback, thick cream-coloured pages, ribbons fraying at the ends. He used the empty time to plait the ends and knot them tightly. In a world which felt too close to his fourteen-year-old experience, Evening Prayer was an anchor to his new life, keeping him in the present and in the awareness of eternity. “He has filled the hungry with good things.” A promise which seemed impossible, contradictory in the face of Tom’s experiences today. A promise they needed.

The lights in the ward dimmed. He stared up at the ceiling, at Mick’s face floating there. Mick, who had died alone, lost in an imaginary world within his brain, lost in the haze of drugs. If he’d had a community like that, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. If he’d had others with him, caring, instead of being alone.

Despite the strange environment, Tom slept. To wake in the morning as the ward was already alive, as the first patient was being prepared for theatre. Breakfast was brought out for those convalescing. Tom felt the pangs of hunger and tried to push them down. At least he was hungry for a reason.

And then at long last, mid-afternoon, they came, and he was being wheeled to theatre, needles inserted, and he was back in Manchester with his arm in a cast, numb pain cloaked by a mist of morphine, whispered voices all around. Helpless once again, drifting into empty silence. Was this how Mick felt as he drifted out at the end? But Tom had doctors and nurse and a trained anaesthetist and this was for a purpose. Mick hadn’t had anyone on hand to wake him up. It would be so easy to not wake up…

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

Words gradually began to seep into Tom’s consciousness. A good reader, well-practised. Familiar.

“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…”

He blinked, a face swimming in and out of focus above him.

“Hayfever. Ants.”

She stared and then laughed. “It’s sweet, though, if you aren’t too pedantic.”

“Who’s pedantic?”

“Welcome back.”

His eyesight wasn’t getting clearer. He was missing something… glasses. He wasn’t wearing glasses or contacts. He tried to turn his head to look for them, but his body was heavy.

“Relax. It’s fine. Everything went well.”

“Glasses…”

“You don’t want to see me, honest, I’m something of a mess.”

“Why the funeral psalm?”

“Sorry, bit morbid for post operation? It was in my head. Hope’s father died yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh.”

His leg ached softly in a cocoon of bandages, a cage keeping the blankets off.

“But you don’t need that kind of news now. I should be positive, you’ll be up and moving soon.”

“A sheltered existence is barely worth the trouble. How’s Hope?”

“Shocked. She knows too much of death, though, they all do. It’s part of life there. Some of the other parents have taken her in. She isn’t the only orphan.”

“No relatives anywhere?” He needed to get moving again, so he could go back. He could see her, grubby doll clutched to her face.

“We don’t have resources for a search. We posted on social media – we always do, when someone dies, looking for relatives to inform. Doesn’t get much reach, though. At least in this case we have a surname.”

They sat in silence.

“What time is it?” he asked in the end.

“Ten past two.”

“I think I woke up before now…”

“The nurse said you ate something this morning.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

“You’re full of drugs.”

Did Mick feel like this? When he lay in his squat, surrounded by filth and empty packets? Had he lost entire days to a haze of uncertainty?

“That’s two instances of the Daily Office missed, then…”

She snorted. “How dare you be insufficiently conscious to say Evening and Morning Prayer! Consider yourself duly chastised… honestly, exceptional circumstances.”

He smirked, not up to a laugh. “I’ll take that as absolution. Seriously, can I have my glasses?”

She rummaged somewhere to the right of his head. He stayed perfectly still as she lowered them onto his face. The world was back in focus. There was a grubby smear on her face where she’d washed in a hurry – no doubt she’d been in the camp again this morning.

“What’s happened in the world? While I’ve been out?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Well, I’m worrying now anyway.” He half turned his head on the pillow to look in her direction.

She looked past him. “Cholera confirmed. Government discussing tightening of borders to reduce the risk of diseases being brought in. Lots of ‘Brexit was supposed to fix this’ protests.”

“People wash in and maybe drink from the same rivers that people shit in. How it that immigrants?”

“You know our government.”

“We get a general election in… soon, right?”

“There’s no opposition. Labour are still ripping themselves apart over the whole EU thing – and everything else. If they got their act together, they could walk it, but they won’t will they? Not with the Lib Dems and the Greens getting so much popularity. You’d think this crisis would help, but it actually means they’re all bickering about the best solution and whether immigration is an issue or not.”

“Best solution… make sure people have places to live and food to eat. And preferably don’t go bankrupt over medical care.”

“They’re accusing each other’s promises of being unrealistic, still. I know, it would help a lot if they actually worried about getting the situation sorted not about insulting each other.”

“We managed it once. Not perfectly, but better than this.”

She shook her head. “Politics. Essentially, it still looks the same – you’re not missing anything by being here.”

“I look forward to getting back out into it…”

“I’m sure you do.” She fidgeted. “I should tell you. I’m in front of the magistrate on Friday.”

He blinked hard. “That’s soon. They’ve only just told you?”

She hesitated.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve been protecting me, of course. Well, I’m glad you’ve told me now. It’s the worst timing – a few days later and I’d be able to get out…”

“I’m glad it isn’t a few days later, then. I’d rather know you were down here, recovering well.”

“I hate leaving you alone.”

“I won’t be. I have Anna.”

He was too dizzy to think straight. “You’re still planning on pleading guilty?”

“Yeah.”

He went to hospital and when he came out his world was changed. That was how it worked.

She sighed. “Stop worrying about me. You’re the one who’s just had an operation, let’s worry about you for a bit.”

“I don’t like worrying about me.”

“We all have to do things we don’t like.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this. I don’t feel like I’m here properly.”

“It’ll wear off. Get some rest.”

“Boring.” Rest was tempting, though. He was tired, his thoughts a confusing muddle such that it wasn’t worth sorting through them. Dumb to be tired, having spent so little time conscious in the past twenty-four hours.

“Let me read to you, or something.”

“Did everything go okay? The operation?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll be up and moving again soon. They said they want you walking in the next couple of days, you have physio on Thursday, it's very positive.”

Like the accident never happened, they’d said. “What will you read?” He let his eyes defocus. “Can you take… glasses off?”

Cool fingers brushed his temples, and everything was a blur again. “What would you like? I have e-books on my tablet if you want anything fun.”

“Not insisting on scripture?”

“Ha ha.” A pause, while she presumably found her phone. “Right, what do we have… The House on Pooh Corner? Complete Works of St John of the Cross? Barchester Chronicles? I don't really have anything new...”

“Fifty Shades?”

“There are limits.”

“It’s a classic.”

“No.”

“Okay… I’m kidding.”

She laughed gently. “I know.”

“Yeah… you choose.”

If she did end up choosing something, he didn’t know. He was already asleep.

© 2021 E G Ferguson

Chapter 11: Richard

“Are you trying to rip the Church apart?”

“No.” All that she’d said to Tom, about not hating him, was being stretched, though perhaps it wasn’t his fault she’d brushed off his attempts at niceness. “I’m answering a call, to help those in need. There are many forms of ministry, and since I have lost the ones I was accustomed to, I have had to look elsewhere. If the people like to praise me for it, that’s none of my doing, because God knows I haven’t been crying to the press. Believe me, I have no desire to pull the Church of England apart.”

“This is you not trying? People may love a rebel, but that’s not what we need. We need stability.”

“I disagree: we need truth. And we need to practise what we preach, if we’re to be taken seriously.”

“But without rioting or breaking the law. I thought we agreed on that.”

“And what, you’ve called me here to give me a telling off? Because I didn’t come here to listen to one. Did Jesus get Himself crucified for doing as He was told? And the martyrs? What if the law said we couldn’t worship, couldn’t preach, couldn’t baptise? Would we still have to follow the law then?”

He sighed. “We can’t do anything if we’re all in prison, or if the Church gets disestablished.”

“Once again, I refer you to the saints.”

“We are not living in the first century! We have inherited something bigger than us, built up over hundreds of years. None of us has the right to destroy that.”

“You think we can destroy the Church? You think I alone can destroy it? I’m not that big, Richard.” She breathed in slowly, and exhaled again, realising that she was getting worked up. The camp was getting to her, the boiling pot of emotions which seemed to hang in the air. She glanced at Lizzie. “I honestly don’t want to fight with you. We’ve done good things together, it’s a shame we disagree so much on this. I came here determined to listen to your side. You’re the one who will have to carry this forward, after all.”

“You’re only suspended, until the legal stuff is done, we’ll be working together again soon.”

She set her chin, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll have a criminal conviction, actually. You’ll be clear to make it permanent and start proceedings to find my successor. Have you started thinking about it? Obviously you’ll have influence.”

“You climbed on a wall and made a speech, is that really a crime?”

“Involvement in an unapproved protest is.”

“Surely it’s just free speech?”

She laughed bitterly. “Look at the state of the nation. When did we last have free speech? Anyway, surely the legal team have explained the situation. The marchers were asked to move along just before I arrived and spoke, so I defied that.”

“You’re good at arguing, I thought you and your solicitor would have found a line to battle it. It’s borderline whether it’s a crime at all – you weren’t there when they were asked to move on...”

“I’m not naïve enough to think I can encourage people to break the law and get away with it. As you said when all this started, we are citizens of this nation and bound by its laws. Anyway, why are you so keen to keep me on? God knows we have enough disagreements. Surely you’d rather have someone who’ll actually back you up?”

He sighed. “Please give me credit, I don’t want a puppet for a colleague, I want a partner. You’ve been an excellent Archbishop, and you will be again. And as I said, we need stability. We need experienced people with the confidence to push through. Even without this right now, the Church is in a mess. You’re popular, if you go, especially involuntarily, there will be a lot of anger. I and the rest of the Church will take the blame.”

“I hope you know that this is the last thing I want. If you ask me to resign, I will do so – I’ve found other things which I will turn to quite happily. I’d like to continue to minister as a priest, in some context – to be able to celebrate the Eucharist, to baptise, to bless and absolve, because I truly believe that is at the heart of what God is calling me to do. If that is threatened then,” she glanced at Lizzie again, “I will appeal, and I will bring up every issue in your handling of this case, which others have explained to me.” She forced herself to pause a moment, to let the silence weigh heavy between them. “But for all I’ve just said, I will do what I can to support you. I will resign as quickly and as far as you ask me to. I’ll make sure it’s known that I’m happy about it, too: that I’m going to other, valuable, work, stuff I feel strongly about.”

“Do you want to, though?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to think about it, because what if I decide and then the choice is taken away? I might not get a choice. Imprisonment is grounds for dismissal for a Bishop – because I could hardly keep on in that situation. And the precedent we've set recently hardly helps.”

“How likely is it?”

“Anna says we’re pushing for a fine, or community service. A caution, and legal costs, would be ideal. A few others, from the same protest, are up before me on the same day, so we’ll have an idea from them, but naturally every case is different. I could get anything up to six months.”

“Dismissals are never automatic. It’s between me and the senior bishops, whether to pursue this further. A few weeks for a minor indiscretion, and one of this nature, I’m not convinced that would be enough to exclude you from the position. Enough to prevent you in the selection process, maybe, but you’re known now.”

“Don’t make exceptions for me. It wouldn’t be helpful, for me or you or the Church.”

“Losing you would be less helpful. Honestly, even without your many merits, we just don’t have the time and resources for a vacancy right now. It’s bad enough when everything’s running well, not when a quarter of sees are vacant and most of the other senior bishops hate my guts.”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s clear you don’t care much for me personally, so I may as well be open. I need you to know how important you are, how much we need you.”

That sank deep. More so, because he was rarely direct. An excellent politician, good at working everything he said in a way that wouldn’t let you disagree. She had to admire him, the way he got things done. She looked down. “I don’t hate you, believe me. I just disagree with you, on some fairly core things.”

“And I suppose I will have to be satisfied with that.” He shrugged. “Well… whatever happens, I will do whatever I need to do to ensure you retain the office of a priest. I’m not going to do anything yet, until we know which way things have gone, but I promise you that.”

She dipped her head. “Thank you.” A quick glance at his chaplain, who sat silently taking notes. Perhaps he shouldn't have made the promise, but he had and it was in writing now. She hoped she didn't have to use that, but as both Tom and Lizzie had impressed on her, she would be glad of all the ammunition if the worst happened.

Richard watched her for a minute, hands steepled together. “I have to go and celebrate the midday Eucharist in chapel shortly. Will you attend? The same invitation to you, Lizzie, though I expect you're busy.”

Lizzie shook her head. "I am indeed."

Would she? She could easily say she had to go, there was always work to be done at the camp. But she really should stay.

“No,” she heard her voice saying, though she was still uncertain. “I... need to go, get back to work.” She forced herself to look at him. “You should come and visit the camps – one of them, at least.”

“You don’t think you have that side covered?”

Just like that, the emotions bubbled back up. “The camps are important. Just because I’m working in them, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t visit. You need to see.”

“Ruth's right,” added Lizzie, beside her. “I've only been once, but... you should go.”

Ruth glanced at her, and Lizzie replied with a small nod, reminding Ruth of the conversation they'd had earlier. Even Lizzie hadn't really understood, though she'd tried.

“I’ll look into finding a time.” Richard stood up. “Let me know when you get a verdict.”

“Will do. And you'll let me know what you decide? Ideally before the rest of the country.”

He looked away tiredly “I expected Anna to tell you. And yes, I know I made a few mistakes, they've been highlighted to me - including by yourself already. We don't all have your instinct for bureaucracy.”

“It's not instinct, it's training,” she told him. “You make it sound like you think following policy is optional.”

“Obviously that's not what I'm saying.”

“I hope not.”

“As I said, Anna was supposed to tell you. I had to announce it, the press were clamouring for news. It was Anna and your chaplain who decided to wait.”

“One might almost think Anna and I had been focused on other things.”

He shook his head. “The sarcasm doesn't become you.”

“I'm not trying to be comely.” She felt Lizzie's hand brush against her arm and stopped herself before she said anything else. Too much rested on him.

“Can I pray for you?”

She stepped away towards the door and Lizzie. “I hope we always pray for one another.”

“Of course.”

“The other thing...” Lizzie prompted her gently, looking between them. “You mentioned you wanted to ask.”

Oh. Yeah. Ruth took another slow breath. She seemed to have so little patience at the moment, and Richard managed to stretch her at the best of times. Of all the people to need favours from, why did it have to be him? “Thanks for reminding me. I need... permission. I'm not entirely sure if it's possible, I doubt there's any precedent, but if possible I would like permission... to offer prayer with anointing, before my chaplain has an operation. Under the terms of my suspension I don't believe I'm allowed. He can go to someone else, but... he'd like it to be me, for pastoral reasons, and so would I, if there's any way it would be possible.”

“I... can't see why not,” said Richard, after a moment's silence. “Though if you're not sure if it's possible, I have no idea how I would...”

“Ask the provincial registrar?” suggested Lizzie.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The fact he'd had to have it suggested said a lot, thought Ruth. “Thank you for considering it.” No thanks for making me have to ask, thought Ruth. But no. She understood his decision. “Let me know.”

“I will.”

Perhaps, she thought as she and Lizzie made their way through the corridors, she should have stayed for the Eucharist. After all, it was so easy, and wasn't it the best thing to be doing? But there was something, a feeling in her stomach, that had stopped her, and she couldn't place it. For a moment she contemplated mentioning it to Lizzie, but that wasn't the sort of relationship they had, so instead she just said goodbye outside Lambeth, thanking her for her support, and they parted ways.

She caught a bus in the direction of the camps, and then walked the rest of the way. Through the edge of the city, then into the wasteland, about a mile between tents and cardboard huts until she reached the aid station. The service would be about over by now. What was Richard thinking? How eminently reasonable he'd been, how... indulgent. Making her feel stupid with no effort at all. And she'd snapped back, risking what little goodwill he might have had left towards her.

“Ruth!”

She'd arrived at the aid station, when the call broke through her musings. Something was definitely wrong.

“What’s up?”

It was Esther, one of the team leaders. “They reckon there’s cholera at East Station. One of the first aiders is a retired doctor, diagnosed it. They’ve had a death – an immigrant, probably the one who brought it in - and five more ill, that they’ve identified so far. All the most qualified medics are meeting now to discuss and confirm the diagnosis. They’ve also told the authorities but you know what they’re like, putting everything down to natural causes…”

“Murder’s natural. If you stab someone so they sustain massive blood loss, naturally they’re going to die.”

“Charming, you're in a good mood today. Anyway, this obviously means more work for us.”

“Just what we need.”

Since Ruth had started working here, they’d improved the setup a little, combining with a couple of other small stations for improved efficiency and acquiring additional equipment. That was definitely needed now. They were trying to cook the usual meals on eight camping stoves, the remaining four having been repurposed to boil water – until they knew for sure, and had a proper strategy, they’d rather not trust the standpipes.

From the first aid tent, the sound of retching. Ruth and Esther looked at each other.

Esther said it. “We’ve tried so hard. If it's the hygiene, what else can we do?”

Ruth forced calm over herself. “If it’s the water, the water companies should be responsible. But looking at the state of every public service in this country…”

“People use the river to wash and do laundry, too. And we know that isn’t clean. We’ve been careful about warning them, just for the Weil’s disease risk. We’ve tried so hard to keep the rats down…”

“Yeah, I thought Weil's would be the issue too.” Ruth scrubbed and sanitised her hand, then grabbed a crate of carrots. “I can’t say I know much about cholera, but it’s certainly not something I expected to be hearing about in this country in the twenty-first century.”

“Apparently the biggest issue is rapid dehydration. Which sucks, when the danger is in the water.”

“What’s the treatment?”

“Mostly rehydration, you can get special sachets to add to the water to help. And antibiotics in severe cases, if we can get them. And there’s a vaccine, there’s no way we can organise it for this many people though. You’d be talking tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of pounds.”

“It needs to be the government doing it, this being a health emergency.”

“They’re more likely to shut down the camps. Call them a health risk.”

Ruth stared down at her chopping board. “How is that even a conceivable option? Less disease, more starvation. Loss of the poor attempt at healthcare we’re currently offering. Less solidarity.”

Esther nudged her with an elbow. “Come on, you've had the morning off, you're supposed to be fresh and ready to go. We’re still waiting on the confirmation from the doctors. It might be nothing.”

It was on the news that evening: suspected cholera in the London homeless camp. Believed to be brought in by an immigrant from the Middle East. The dark side of social media sprang to life: the dangers of immigration, retold.

“Have you booked your vaccination yet?”, Tom asked her that night when she told him about it.

“It’s not official…”

“Since when have we relied on the government to tell us anything, especially not in a timely fashion? Your insurance will cover it, you have all the extras included, and your provider’s so good you won’t have to wait more than a couple of days. I looked it up – it’s a drink, not even needles for you to worry about. But it takes a couple of weeks for the effects to take hold properly.”

She looked at the floor. “I have good insurance, but the people I’m working with don’t. Why should I leave them to take risks I’m not willing to face myself?”

“You already have the insurance, not using it isn’t going to change anything. As for solidarity…” he shook his head. “You’re giving plenty of that just by going along there most days. But you’re not sleeping in a cardboard box surrounded by snow, are you? And that is not inspiration for you to do so! You can’t be of any use unless you look after yourself.”

“I don’t want to use unnecessary resources. Anyway, we have more work than ever now, I can’t afford the time…”

“I’m about to go in for my operation. If you don’t have the vaccine, you won’t be visiting me. Can’t risk bringing it into a hospital, right?”

“It doesn’t spread like…”

“Stop being stubborn and get it, you fool,” he snapped, taking her aback.

She held up her hands. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

He sighed. “Sorry. Now, how did the meeting go?”

The memories, pushed back by the events of the afternoon, rushed back in.

“I’m an idiot, Tom.”

“I know that. What did you do this time?”

“We had a good meeting. Better than I thought. He… he actually wanted me to return as Archbishop of York. Even if his reasons were purely pragmatic. Obviously that depends on outcome of the court stuff, and discussions with other senior bishops. But he said…” There was a lump in her throat. “He said that I could be a priest again.”

He grinned. “That’s great! Surely?” His face sank again. “So what went wrong?”

“I was just so... irritable, the whole time. Like he said something and I couldn't help but snap. And then he invited me to attend the midday eucharist.”

“But it was too much for you?”

“I just… couldn’t take the thought of it, made some stupid excuse, snapped at him, and fled with Lizzie.”

He sat back in silence for a moment, and she wished she could run away again.

“You,” he said slowly, “need to be gentle on yourself. I know you want to believe it’s all fine, but you’re under a lot of pressure, it’s natural for you to be stressed. If Richard can’t see that, he’s more insensitive that I thought. I’m fully sympathetic with you just getting out of the situation.”

“It ought to be a joy,” she told him. “It should have felt like that, but... I just couldn't. And I wonder if it's that I’m so used to leading I can’t… not lead, anymore.”

“You’ve not had a problem sitting in my congregation, this past couple of weeks, today was the only time you've avoided it. And you literally spend most of every day chopping veg in a homeless camp, your problem is not humility.”

“Then what is it? I mean obviously I don't expect you to know but... it bothers me.”

“Why?”

“Well… because it was the Eucharist.”

“Now, without denying the importance of the Sacrament… you went to other work just as important. For “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink. When? When you did it for the least of these.” Right? Jesus is not only found in bread and wine. Just to reassure yourself, you can always pop into the city after you've dropped me off at hospital and find a nice midweek communion.”

“Good idea.” She smiled slightly. “I’m tempted to correct your quotations.”

“I’m fully aware it’s a paraphrase. Just as Jesus is found in many places, so scripture may be expressed in many ways!” He stuck his tongue out at her.

Ruth snorted. “It was entirely reasonable until you used that phrase.” She laughed and changed the subject. “Thanks for making me feel better. Ready to go to the hospital tomorrow?”

He pulled a rather less playful face. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”

“All packed?”

“I think so. It’s only two weeks, and the first of those I’ll be confined to a hospital ward, it’s not like I’m going out to meet anyone…”

“Got your Bible and prayer book?” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll just use the app. I’m going to have my bones hacked apart and you’re worried about whether I’ll be flaunting Canon.”

“I suppose the one after you have your operation might be considered exceptional circumstances. As for the rest, you’ll need something to keep you occupied!”

“For someone who is not currently an Archbishop, you are far too strict. I thought you said you were my friend…”

She turned serious. “I am, and that’s why. I’m not worried about the rules – God knows that’s the most broken Canon out there, I broke it enough often enough myself. I’m worried about you staying sane, and I’m not sure crosswords and romance novels will quite address your emotions. There is a psalm for everything.”

“I will keep his bones so that not one of them is broken?”

“Not that one.” She sighed. “I’ll see you in the morning. Keep up the positivity. And keep believing.” 

© 2021 E G Ferguson