A Blessing In Disguise (32 page)

‘Especially if it will work in St Mary's,' Richard puts in. ‘Remember, we know St Mary's, and with the best will in the world you don't, not yet. You haven't been here long enough.'

‘I take your point,' I say. ‘What I don't totally accept is that because a congregation – any congregation – hasn't done something in the past it will necessarily be against doing it in the future. It could be that they've never been asked, that the ideas have never been put to them. I would agree that probably most congregations don't move fast or far on their own. They prefer to be led. But once they are, even only initially, it's amazing what they'll do. Given the incentive, which is up to us.'

‘Right!' Henry says. Do I detect a sigh? ‘Let's go through the list and see what we think.'

‘Fine!' I say. ‘But it's not just this specific list I'm interested in, though everything in it could be important to some degree. It's about changing attitudes, getting as many people as possible to be involved, to take responsibility for their own church.'

‘So let's get on with the list,' Henry repeats. ‘Is there any special order?'

‘Not as written,' I say. ‘It was just as things came into my head. But some order's bound to emerge.'

‘Finances will come into it,' Henry says. ‘Especially if Miss Frazer opts out!'

At this point I stop to tell them about the Bishop's call. They are both appalled, not to mention worried about the financial aspects of it. I tell them I'm sorry and they're both decent enough to tell me it's not my fault. ‘Let's face it,' Richard says, ‘Miss Frazer is an unpleasant, bossy woman who if she doesn't get her own way will make trouble wherever she can. It's unfortunate that she has the clout to make financial trouble.'

We go through the list.

‘New form of baptism,' Richard says. ‘Well, that was mentioned at the last PCC meeting. There wasn't much opposition there. I think it's a good idea. So that shouldn't be difficult – at least not to try.'

‘Redecorating the parish hall,' Henry says. ‘No-one can say that's not sorely in need of doing. But whether we'll be able to do it now is another matter.'

‘That's the kind of thing I mean,' I say. ‘Or one of them. We get a working party together, men and women. Someone – I'll have to remember who – told me her husband would always get us paint and suchlike at a discount. We'd use the same method about cleaning the church, only that would have to be a regular roster.' I'd been amazed when I came to St Mary's to find that they paid a cleaning company good money every month to clean the church (rather indifferently at that).

‘We've been cushioned by Miss Frazer's contribution for a long time,' Richard admits.

We continue through the list. Some things are controversial, some are not. For instance, the idea of a music group – guitars, a keyboard, various other musical instruments – is viewed with startled apprehension. ‘People like the organ,' Henry says. ‘They've always been used to it.' I point out that this isn't a meeting for making decisions right now on specific things. The only decision I want here and now is that we should have a PCC within the next ten days, and from that we should aim to have a meeting of as many of the congregation as we can persuade to come, so that I can put my ideas to everyone. ‘And I hope you agree that we don't have to keep something going just because people are used to it,' I say.

I tell them I would like to have the meeting of the congregation in the Vicarage. ‘I know it'll be a squash,' I say, ‘well I hope it will be, and if it's not I'll be disappointed – but I think we'll get a better atmosphere than in the parish hall. I might have to borrow some chairs, and some cups or glasses, but never mind that now!'

It's ten-thirty before we break up. I go to bed in quite a happy frame of mind. And tomorrow, I'm thinking as I put the light out, Becky will be home.

I wakened this morning with the lovely feeling that something good was going to happen. And then I remembered. It's Saturday, and Becky will be coming back. I check the time; it's eight o'clock. I must have slept like a log. This is the first night I've slept at all well since the burglary. I feel great! I jump out of bed with more than my usual alacrity, and draw back the curtains. It's also – a bonus – a lovely day out there. Everything is washed in sunlight. It's too late for there to be any leaves left on the trees, except for one or two holly trees at the bottom of the garden, and the bay tree nearer to the house, but the bare, black, upward-thrusting branches of the sycamores, which are the most common tree around here – there's at least one in almost every garden – are outlined against a clear blue sky.

I know the main reason for my uplifted spirits is Becky but remembering last night's meeting with Henry and Richard is also a boost. They might well have dampened my enthusiasm, sent me away with my tail between my legs, but they didn't, and I'm so grateful for that. It's the first hurdle well and truly jumped. They'll get Rose Barker to round everyone up, to inform them it's a three-line whip.

I feel so good that I sing in the shower. ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning' followed by a bit of the Hallelujah Chorus, which is not easy to sing under running water!

After breakfast I go out into the garden. There are still a few plants in flower – dahlias, Michaelmas daisies, hardy fuchsias, the deep pink sedum, Autumn Joy, which I note will need dividing in the spring, and a few late roses – but most of the colour comes from berries and from the red-leaved plants which haven't yet shed their leaves. A
Rhus cotinus
, with its reddish-purple leaves now catching the sun, looks as though it's on fire. But why do gardens, at almost any time of the year, need tidying? This one certainly does.

Once again, I'm interrupted by the telephone. I almost always forget to carry the cordless one around with me so I have to go into the house. It's my mother.

‘Actually,' she says, ‘we're almost ready to leave. Would it be all right if we arrived for lunch instead of later, as planned?'

‘Lovely!' I assure her. ‘Any time you like.'

‘Don't bother to cook,' she says. ‘Something cold will be fine. Or perhaps some soup.'

‘Don't worry, I'll think of something!' I tell her.

I already have, even while she was still talking. At the weekend Gander's sell really good quiches. If I get down there quickly maybe they'll have some left. I can heat them up and we can have them with a salad, or those little new potatoes one seems to be able to buy all the year round. Fruit for pudding. So I leave the garden and set off for the village. I wonder, as I walk down the High Street, whether I might meet with Mark Dover; but I don't. Am I disappointed? I'm not sure. I don't meet with anyone else I know – except that I see Mrs Bateman a little way off, and I'm pretty sure she's seen me and that this is why she crosses to the other side of the road. I don't feel annoyed with Mrs Bateman, just vaguely irritated and rather sorry. Who would want to be in thrall to Miss Frazer? Little Mrs B. needs to be rescued.

When I get back I lay the table in the dining room, wash the salad and the potatoes, and still have time to skim through the
Brampton Echo
which I bought from Mr Chester – who asked after Becky because he hadn't seen her all week. I explained that she'd been with her grandparents. ‘I'll probably bring her in later today,' I told him.

I only get the
Brampton Echo
when I happen to be in the village at the right time but now, reading bits of it, I wonder if I shouldn't put in an order to have it delivered regularly. It would keep me in touch with what's happening, or at least what's happening in the area. It's heavy on local news, though light on national and world affairs, unless it can give them a local slant. ‘Brampton Man in Italian Car Smash!' It has crosswords, agony columns, sports news, astrological predictions (naturally, I check on my star sign, which is Virgo and therefore never very exciting. Virgos, it seems, are work horses and perfectionists), plus two long columns of births, marriages and deaths. I am skipping through these last when my family arrives. Oh, the joy of it!

Becky, who submits to a big hug, looks well, and much happier than when I left her last weekend. My mother says they've had a lovely week, Becky has eaten like a horse (no change there, then), and Dad doesn't say much but looks as contented as ever. He's a happy man, my Dad. Perhaps because he doesn't ask for much?

I'm aware that I have to tell my parents about the burglary, and at some point this weekend I shall have to tell Becky. I can't imagine it not being mentioned at school and I can't let her be unprepared for that. When Becky goes up to her room, not on this occasion to hide away and sulk, but to re-instate her family of soft toys, I take the opportunity to tell my parents. My mother lets out a small scream, quickly stifled lest Becky should hear it. Dad swears at the idea that anyone should do this to his daughter.

‘I'm OK,' I tell them. ‘I'm absolutely OK. And I've got to get it over to Becky that everything goes on as before, so you'll have to help me. The last thing I want is for her to be frightened.'

When she comes downstairs I tell her.

I do it in an almost unconcerned manner. A sort of ‘these things happen' tone of voice. ‘He didn't go in your room,' I tell her. ‘And I don't suppose he'll ever come back. It's not a house with a lot to steal!'

To my utter amazement she takes it entirely in her stride. It seems – why did I never know this? – that two girls in her school in Clipton had burglars, and to hear Becky talk it gave them some sort of status. My daughter is going to make capital out of this. My mother looks at my father with eyebrows which almost disappear into her hair. Dad looks unsurprised. Perhaps he knows Becky better than we do.

I don't prolong the subject because I have something better to say.

‘I'm thinking of getting a dog!' I announce.

There's a stunned silence for a couple of seconds and then Becky gives a wild whoop of true joy. This is the first whoop of joy she's given since we came to Thurston and it's music to my ears.

‘We have something to tell you, also,' my mother says when there's a short pause in the doggy fuss. ‘I hope you'll be pleased, I think you will.' She pauses.

‘So? What is it?' I ask. I can't imagine! A DVD player? A new car? Not before time if that's it.

‘We've been talking it over for a while,' she says, ‘but now we've made up our minds.'

‘So when are you thinking of telling me?' I enquire. ‘Or are you going to keep it secret?'

‘Of course not!' she says, a bit sharply. ‘What it is is that your father and I have decided that we're going to leave Clipton. We're going to sell the house. There's nothing to keep us there now that you live here.'

I feel a sudden, horrible shock! What
are
they going to do? Where are they going? A villa in Spain? A house in France? I never thought of my parents as globe-trotters. I don't like it!

‘Oh Mother!' I cry. ‘Why? Where will you go?'

‘Well, we thought we'd look for a flat in Thurston,' she says calmly, as if there was no other place in the world they'd think of going. ‘That's to say, if you don't mind the idea. We wouldn't intrude, of course, but we could be on hand for Becky when you wanted it.'

‘MIND?' I say. ‘Whatever made you think I'd mind? I'm delighted! I just can't tell you . . .'

‘It's fab!' Becky says. ‘Wicked!'

I go to my mother and give her a hug, and then I do the same to my father, who so far hasn't spoken.

‘Are you happy about it, Dad?' I ask. ‘Tell me you are!'

‘Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be? It makes sense. Anyway, I like Thurston.'

‘He likes the Ewe Lamb,' my mother says. ‘Home from home that'll be! We'll always know where to find him.'

‘Did you know about this?' I ask Becky.

‘Of course not!' she says. ‘Wasn't I just as surprised as you?'

‘Until we'd told you,' my mother says, ‘we didn't tell anyone. You might not have liked the idea.'

‘Oh, Mother, don't be daft!' I say. ‘I think it's wonderful! I'm going to get the bottle of sherry out and we'll all drink to it!'

As it turns out, the sherry bottle is almost empty.

‘Never mind,' I say. ‘I shall nip down to the wine shop and buy a bottle of bubbly! This is really a special occasion!'

Saturday continues to be a very happy day indeed. We talk and talk. My parents decide that they'll put their house on the market as soon as they get back to Clipton on Monday, though Dad, being cautious, says, ‘What happens if we sell our house before we find something in Thurston?'

‘That's no problem, or not a big one,' I say. ‘There's no reason why you shouldn't stay with me until you find somewhere of your own.'

Conversation about the proposed move – shall they start looking for a house in Thurston right away, or would it be better to wait a week or two, see how the land lies on selling the house in Clipton, and what kind of place should they look for in Thurston – a cottage, a flat, a house? – takes us through lunch and well into the afternoon. And then there's the question of the dog. As far as Becky is concerned it's a
fait accompli
. We have only to decide what sort we want and she's convinced it will be there waiting for us. We'll just have to bring it home. We're all agreed we should get one from the Dog Rescue Centre, partly because we have a particularly good one not far from Thurston, and partly because I'm not sure whether I'd be any good at training a puppy. Becky would like us to get in the car right now, and drive over there.

‘It's not like that,' I tell her. ‘We have to make an appointment. And
we
will have to be approved, it's not just a case of us choosing a dog. They'll want to know whether we're suitable to have one.'