A Blessing In Disguise (10 page)

‘Thank you! Actually I'm going to supper with Doctor Leyton.'

I have not yet learnt that in Thurston you never say exactly whose house you are going to in case the person you're talking to might think she should have been invited, and hasn't been. This, as you can imagine, can lead to complications.

‘Oh, she's a nice lady, Doctor Leyton, though I have Doctor Baines myself. Have you met him? He's quite a dish!' she says with enthusiasm.

‘Yes I have. He seems nice,' I agree.

‘Yes. It's a pity he's one of the St Patrick's lot!'

‘If you want to leave,' I tell her, ‘I'll lock the church. It's nearly time anyway.'

‘Well, if you're sure,' she says.

She closes her book and stands up and I see that she's been sitting on a cushion.

‘Oh!' I say. ‘How sensible! These pews are hard, aren't they?'

‘I always bring my cushion,' Carla says. ‘Otherwise you go home with a numb bottom.'

Back at the Vicarage it seems strange without Becky and my parents. I do miss them. My mother has phoned each day but so far I haven't spoken with Becky. I could be mistaken, but I've decided it's best to let my daughter come round in her own time. No pressure, but I hope it won't be too long. It's a weight on my heart. Apparently everything's OK and they'll be back in Thurston Saturday evening. I tell Mum I'm going out to supper this evening and she's pleased. I also tell her about my new purchase.

I have to say, taking a last critical look at myself before leaving for Sonia's, that I don't look half bad. I've piled on more make-up than I do when I'm walking around the parish. Blusher, eye-shadow, mascara – which I hope won't smudge or park itself in blobs on the end of my eyelashes. I go around the house, switching off some lights, leaving others strategically on, then, checking that my mobile phone is in my handbag, I leave the house in a tingle of excitement.

Now that I have my own parish, and new responsibilities, whenever I leave the Vicarage I take my mobile with me, with the Vicarage phone switched through to it. People need to be able to contact me in an emergency. Because I might be called out I take my car. I hope I won't be called out.

I am the last to arrive, but that's better than being the first.

‘How nice to see you!' Sonia greets me. ‘Did you walk here?'

She takes my jacket and hangs it on a peg in the hall.

‘I'm sorry I'm late,' I apologize.

‘Oh, you're not,' she assures me. ‘Do come and meet everyone.'

She shows me into the living room where a sofa and some comfortable-looking armchairs, most of them occupied, are grouped at one end and a dining table is laid at the other. I'm glad to see the fire is switched on. I'm a bit chilly.

There are four other people in the room, three of them men who rise to their feet, the other is Evelyn Sharp.

‘This is Venus Stanton,' Sonia says. ‘She's the new Vicar at St Mary's. You do already know a couple of people here, Venus,' she says to me.

I smile an acknowledgement at Becky's headmistress and then at Nigel Baines. ‘Hello, Venus!' he says.

That's a good start if it means that people aren't going to address me as ‘Vicar' all evening. Is that because they're not church folk – or as far as I know they're not?

The man sitting next to Mrs Sharp says, ‘I'm Colin Sharp, though usually described as Mrs Sharp's husband!'

‘And I,' says the last man, ‘am Mark Dover.' He takes my hand in a rather lingering grip. He doesn't say where he fits into this gathering, I suppose that's for me to find out in due course.

‘Now, what would everyone like to drink?' Sonia asks. ‘Venus?'

‘A glass of wine, if I may.'

‘Sure!' Sonia says. She asks everyone else then she turns to Nigel. ‘Nigel, can I leave all that to you while I finish off a few things in the kitchen?'

So we sit there pleasantly chatting for twenty minutes or so while Sonia darts in and out. I learn that Colin Sharp is something in computers and has a small company in Brampton and that Mark Dover is a painter with a studio halfway up Fenton Hill.

I chose well on the dress front. Evelyn Sharp is wearing a floral silk dress, knee length, rather nice green suede shoes with pointed toes and kitten heels, and lots of make-up. She looks most attractive, not at all like a headmistress – whatever that means. Sonia is wearing a well-cut pants suit in dark blue, fine wool. My outfit slots in nicely between theirs, attractive, but not overdone. The men? Colin Sharp, a dark suit, white shirt, jazzy tie; Nigel Baines looking elegantly casual in well-cut beige trousers and a yellowish linen jacket over a brown-and-white striped shirt, no tie; Mark Dover in black velvet trousers, cream shirt, silk, also no tie. His clothes complement his thick black hair, which is longer than that of the other men, and his smooth olive skin. His hands, though scrubbed clean, are a little paint stained, especially around the cuticles. All in all we are a colourful group.

Sonia comes in from the kitchen. ‘OK,' she says. ‘Shall we eat?' We move to the other end of the room.

I am seated between Colin Sharp and Nigel Baines, with Mark Dover opposite. How clever of Sonia, and in my experience how unusual, to have equal numbers of men and women, not to mention that two of them – as far as I know – are unmarried. I suppose they could be gay. I haven't worked out where she fits in vis-à-vis Mark and Nigel, but possibly nowhere. Nigel is a colleague; Mark could be, probably is, just an old friend.

The first course is already on the table, a concoction of mixed salad leaves, fresh peaches, mozzarella and prosciutto with a lemony dressing. I am a third of the way through mine, everyone is chattering happily, when my mobile rings. The conversation dies away as I take it out of my handbag and listen to the cool voice of the nurse on the other end. ‘Right!' I say. ‘I'll come at once. Mary Parker, Spring Ward.'

I switch off and turn to the others, who are waiting to hear what it's all about.

‘I'm sorry,' I say, ‘I'll have to leave. Brampton Hospital. A lady who apparently lives in this parish. A serious heart attack. Quite ill, and she wants a priest. Her family are there. They told her to ring St Mary's Vicarage. I must go. I'm terribly sorry!'

‘Of course you must!' Sonia says.

‘There's a hospital chaplain,' Nigel interrupts.

‘Apparently he's not available,' I tell him.

‘Then I'll take you,' Nigel says.

‘Oh no!' I protest. ‘I don't want to interrupt your evening still further. I feel bad about this.'

‘No need to,' Sonia says. ‘We're both doctors, we know all about interrupted evenings. And it'll be much better if Nigel takes you. He knows the hospital. I don't suppose you do as yet.'

‘I also know where to park,' Nigel says. ‘It can be the very devil if you don't. Come on, Venus. Let's go!'

He's out of the door while Sonia is helping me on with my coat and when I go out he's in his car with the engine switched on. I suppose it
will
be quicker than going in mine, with him having to direct me every yard of the way.

‘I'll pick up my car as and when,' I call out to Sonia, who is standing on the top step.

‘Oh, but you must come back here if you possibly can. You might not be long. I'll save you both some food.'

She's right. I might not be long. On the other hand I could be a couple of hours. It depends what the family want or whether the medics want me out of the way. ‘I'll ring you from the hospital,' I call out to Sonia as we drive away.

Nigel is a fast driver and doesn't say much but I'm glad of his company, and especially glad when we arrive since the car park looks totally full, but he knows exactly where we can find a place. He parks swiftly and neatly, switches off the engine, and says, ‘I'll come in with you.'

‘No need,' I say, though it would be warmer for him than sitting in the car.

Nigel grins. ‘I really think I'd better,' he says. ‘They don't know you. You'll not be what they're expecting. If I may say so, you don't look in the least like a Vicar, especially in that charming get-up! You might need me to vouch for you!'

‘Oh, I'm sure I'll be OK!' I tell him.

We go through the swing door and present ourselves at the desk.

‘Hello, Doctor Baines,' the receptionist says. Then she gives me a doubtful look. Am I a patient he's bringing in, or am I a girlfriend he doesn't want to leave?

‘Hello, Hazel,' Nigel says. ‘This lady is the Vicar of St Mary's, Thurston. She's been called to a patient in Spring Ward, a Mrs Mary Parker.'

Hazel consults the notes on her desk.

‘Oh yes, we're expecting the Reverend Venus Stanton.' She looks at me again, as if she thinks I might be working an illegal entry.

‘That's right!' I tell her.

‘I must say . . .' she begins, taking in my clothes, my make-up, my hairdo.

‘I told her she might need me to vouch for her,' Nigel says, laughing. ‘It's OK. She's who she says she is! Shall I show her the way to Spring Ward?'

‘If you wouldn't mind, Doctor Baines,' she says. ‘We're short-staffed – as ever.' I get the feeling she'd have been loath to let me wander around unaccompanied.

We walk along a corridor, take the lift, get out at the second floor, and the short corridor to Spring Ward is in front of us. Staff Nurse walks towards us.

‘Hello, Doctor Baines,' she says. ‘I'm not expecting you, am I?'

‘No, not me,' he says. ‘This lady is the Vicar of St Mary's, Thurston.'

She looks, for the moment, thrown – much as the receptionist did.

‘Can I leave my coat with you?' I ask. ‘It's deliciously warm in here.'

When I take off my jacket I see her note my dress.

‘I was at a dinner party,' I explain.

‘Oh! What a shame!' she says – and then she's all professional efficiency again. ‘Mrs Parker is quite ill. She had a heart attack at home and her family called the ambulance. She's been seen by a doctor. She's very poorly. I hope you can do something for her.'

‘I'll do whatever I can,' I promise.

Mrs Parker's bed is right by the entrance to the ward. Floral-patterned curtains are drawn around the drama of life, and possibly death, which is taking place behind them, cutting it off from the patients in the ward. Staff Nurse ushers me through the curtains and immediately draws them close again.

‘This lady is the Vicar of Thurston,' she says. ‘I'll leave her with you for a little while. I'll be quite close if you want me.'

The man and woman sitting by the bedside, at a guess they're the patient's husband and possibly her daughter, give me a brief nod. They show no surprise at how I'm dressed. They have more important things on their minds.

Mrs Parker looks terrible. Her face is waxy, a yellowy colour. She is propped up in bed with tubes and wires attached to her. Her eyes, blue-lidded, are closed.

‘It's the new lady Vicar, Mum!' the young woman says. ‘You wanted to see the Vicar, didn't you?'

Mrs Parker's eyelids move fractionally. I know she's aware, even though she hasn't the strength to speak. I know that hearing is the last of the senses to go.

‘Mum isn't a churchgoer,' the daughter says. ‘None of us are, but she was insistent she wanted to see you.' She herself seems puzzled as to why.

‘That's all right,' I say.

Mrs Parker is now trying hard to say something. Her lips move but almost no sound comes out. The daughter bends her ear to her mother's lips, then looks up at me.

‘I think she says “Sunday School” and then “Married”,' the daughter says. ‘That's all I can make out.'

‘That'll be it!' Mr Parker speaks for the first time. ‘She used to go to church at one time. She was a Sunday School teacher when I first knew her. And we were married in church. It's a long time ago.'

So far I've been standing but now I move to take the empty chair by the head of the bed, which I suspect Staff Nurse put there for me. I sit down and I put my hands over Mrs Parker's, which are together on the sheet. They are as cold as ice. There are things I would do if I felt that they would be what this lady wanted – I would anoint her with the holy oil, I would, if she wished, hear her confession, I would give her the last rites, but in my opinion this is not what she wants from me. I look at her husband and her daughter. ‘Shall we say the Lord's Prayer, all of us together?' I ask. So we do. Mrs Parker can't join in but I know she hears us. Then I lay my hands on the top of her head, after which I make the sign of the cross and I give her a blessing, using the old one which isn't heard as often nowadays but I guess she will have known it. It's what God said to Moses.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, then I speak into her ear.

‘I'm wondering what hymns you sang when you were a Sunday School teacher. Did you sing “All Things Bright and Beautiful”?'

Again, I can tell by the faint flicker of her eyelids that she's trying to say ‘Yes'.

‘Then we'll sing a bit of it for you!' I tell her.

And we do. Quite quietly, the three of us. Very badly too. We are not exactly a choir of angels. And when we're almost through Staff Nurse comes in, and finding us singing she joins in, again very quietly, but she has a lovely voice. At the end she says, ‘The doctor is here to see Mrs Parker. I'll have to ask you . . .'

‘I'm on my way,' I tell her. Then I turn to Mr Parker and the daughter. ‘I'll ring you in the morning. If you want me before then let me know and I'll be with you. Don't hesitate!'