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  Rupert looked away, “One night stands are all together a different proposal. That’s two people seeking mutual physical enjoyment without giving any commitment and that’s a travesty of God’s laws. True fornication in fact.”

  He fixed Norman with his stare again, “So forgive me for being blunt, but are you sleeping with this lady because of an outburst of testosterone or because you love her so much you want to be with her forever?”

  Norman went red in the face, “We haven’t done anybody any harm?”

  Rupert continued his disconcerting stare, “No? What if there’s a child? Does she bring it up alone? Do you bring it up together while living in mutual discontent?”

  Norman became indignant, “Of course there won’t be a child!”

  Rupert resumed looking at his service book, “Sure are we? Taken precautions so that your sin won’t be found out?”

  Norman almost boiled over, “Now look here I came…”

  He tailed off as realisation hit him that indeed he hadn’t taken any precautions whatsoever. He leant back against the vestry wall, “Oh shit – sorry vicar.”

  Rupert turned a couple of pages, “So we add stupidity to fornication.”

  After a thirty second pause Rupert turned and faced Norman, he said quietly, “Look, you don’t need my advice really do you? You’re a grown man; you work out what you want to do. But if you’re looking for me to condemn you and start to throw stones because you’ve made a mistake and let your hormones rule your head you’re looking at the wrong person. We’re all human and we all have emotions; just try to keep your brain engaged when the testosterone starts coursing through your veins and remember Bob Dylan.”

  Now Norman was indeed lost. “Bob Dylan?”

  “He wrote and sang a song called Ninety Miles an Hour Down a Dead End Street. It’s all about what happens when sexual drive gets out of control and the fact that saying ‘no’ early on may prevent an horrendous accident. You brother Mark’s probably got the Album - Down in the Grove if I remember correctly; have a listen.”

  They heard the church door open and people come into the church, Norman nodded his thanks and turned away. Of all the things he’d expected Rupert to say, listen to Bob Dylan was not one of them, but then Rupert never had been what you might call a conventional priest.

  Sarah picked up the two large thermos flasks, a large packet of Fig rolls and staggered out of the vicarage door and across the street. It was such a short trip she didn’t bother with full coat and boots, just a sienna coloured windcheater that she’d found hanging behind the door in the lobby. When she arrived in the church, a nondescript Victorian pile, there were already two burly looking men sitting in a pew with what was obviously their parents. Behind them was a similar burly man with a small woman and her daughter. One glance told Sarah that the men were Julia’s brothers and father. Behind them were an elderly couple and a thin nondescript man. Sarah closed the heavy church door and noticed, right at the back, a thin rat-faced man with a Mohican haircut. She took the thermos flasks, as instructed, through to the vestry. Rupert was in there wearing a white alb over his clerical garb, least it probably was white when it was made. He slipped a green stole over his head and onto his shoulders. “Everybody here?” He Murmured.

  “How would I know?” Replied Sarah.

  He looked mystified for a minute and then smiled, “Sorry, it seems like you’ve been here for ages.”

  Through the crack in the vestry door Sarah saw the church door open and Julia come in with a man who Sarah though must be Buster. Rupert peered out. “Full house I think.”

  Sarah slipped out and into a pew. Julia slipped behind the harmonium and started to pedal. First of all wheezing noises and dust extruded from the instrument followed by the opening chords of How Great Thou Art and the service began.

  Chapter 19

  Rumbles

  As people drank their after-service coffee Buster circulated to Daniel. He sipped his coffee, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Daniel snorted, “And why not?”

  Buster surveyed Daniel’s face. Despite the Mohican haircut his age was beginning to show, crow’s feet around the clear blue eyes, wrinkles across the forehead and flabby skin all the way up the long neck. On the other hand he looked tough and wiry and obviously either deliberately kept in shape of was just naturally healthy. Buster smiled to put him at ease. “Wasn’t your last album called something like ‘Satan’s on the high ground?’”

  Daniel frowned, “Satan’s on higher ground and it’s a reference to the fat cats of commerce who take money from the poor, it’s got nothing to do with being a Satanist.”

  Buster grinned, “And the previous one, Beelzebub’s a friend of mine?”

  Daniel nibbled his fig-roll with a set of immaculate white teeth, “A reference to the fact that we can never tell what people are thinking. I wrote it after that schoolteacher got convicted of fifteen counts of murder and yet everybody said he was a nice chap.”

  Buster opened his mouth and Daniel grinned, “And don’t even think of mentioning Evil is only a heartbeat away, that was a song about the school shootings in America.”

  Buster chuckled, “Believe it or not I’ve actually seen you perform. You did a gig at my bosses’ nightclub, The Blue Serpent in Manchester. Your rendition of Hotel California was amazing.”

  Daniel looked vacant, “Which year?”

  “Last year, August I think.”

  Daniel shook his head, “That’s festival month. I tend to spend my time criss-crossing the world between open-air festivals and my agent fixes up the odd gig in-between. Believe me if it was in August I won’t remember, I’m usually too tired to hold a cigarette, let alone a guitar.”

  Buster recalled the gig and how desperately tired Daniel and his group had seemed and had to agree. “How do you finding the cottage?”

  He shrugged, “Snow’s making me a bit stir-crazy.”

  “Not been out in it then?”

  Daniel involuntarily shivered, “No fear, this is as far as I’ve been since it started.”

  He tapped his nose, “All’s not lost though. I’ve started writing my next album, it’s going to be called White Blanket of Death.”

  Buster raised an eyebrow, “In reference to…”

  Daniel sniffed and rubbed his red nose, “I haven’t worked that out yet.”

  They both burst into laughter.

  Ella Happleberry cornered Jenny Flosse in the tiny kitchen that used to be the choir vestry. She whispered, well it would have been whispering except that she was partly deaf and her whispers were loud enough to wake the dead. “What’s happened to Rupert? He didn’t lose his place one and I actually understood his sermon.”

  Jenny passed her a teacloth and a pair of wet plates. “Perhaps he’s just getting better.”

  Ella snorted, “Couldn’t understand his sermons before he got ill, so it can’t be getting better; he’s different I tell you.”

  “Perhaps he’s just found a way of dealing with Anna’s death.”

  Ella made a face as if pigs might be on a fly-past and continued to wipe up.

  Harry Flosse sidled up to his son Colin, “You been annoying your mother? She’s like a bull in a Spanish village.”

  Colin shuddered, he’d also caught the rough edge of her tongue, “Search me dad. I haven’t a clue.”

  Harry went off to seek his other sons, one of them must have a clue and he needed to get it sorted before the lunch or he knew it would be living hell across the dining table.

  “And who’s that young woman with the long hair, haven’t seen her here before?” Asked Ella.

  Jenny started on the thermos flasks, “She’s a train driver dear, her train’s stuck in the station; she’s staying with Rupert.”

  Ella paused her wiping operation, “Train Driver? She isn’t big enough to guide a plough let alone drive a train.”

  Jenny sighed, “Nevertheless she’s a train driver dear. You’ll meet her at the big hous
e this afternoon, Julia wants you to be there, they’re having their engagement party.”

  Ella wriggled her ample bottom, “Whose engagement party?”

  Jenny sighed, this was hard work.

  Harry sidled up to Mark and tried his information gathering tactic, once again to no avail. In despair he caught Julia as she went by. Julia raised her eyebrows, mother on the warpath was not a good omen for her engagement party. She patted her father on the shoulder and told him to leave it to her.

  Sarah held her hand out, Rupert hesitated. “I’ve only got the one and I’m sure the order form said ‘dry clean only.’”

  Sarah kept her hand out, “Give.” She commanded.

  He passed over his alb and a two metre long piece of plaited white linen fibre with a tassel at each end. “You will be careful with it won’t you?”

  “I’ll wash it by hand and dry it flat. If it doesn’t get washed soon you’ll catch typhoid from it.”

  Rupert sighed; having Sarah around was very pleasing to him, except she did seem to have this fetish about cleanliness. After all he’d had the alb nearly eight years and never caught anything from it.

  Julia poked Norman in the back causing him to break off his conversation with Ella’s husband. “What’s up sis?”

  “Your up, I take it mum’s found out about you and…”

  He hissed, “Keep your voice down!” And took her arm to guide her across to the only unpopulated corner of the church.

  He glanced furtively round, “How do you know?”

  “Mum’s on the warpath and dad’s looking for the culprit.”

  He leant weakly against the wall, “I’m a grow man.”

  Julia flashed him a wicked smile, “Grown you might be, man you might be, but mother’s son you will always be and our particular mother has ways of making her views known.”

  Norman groaned, Julia nodded across the room, “How did she find out?”

  “She took some clothes into my room and Petra was asleep in my bed, well not actually asleep, she’s got the mother of all hangovers.”

  Julia grinned, “And there’s nothing like the odd bit of adultery to get mother going is there?”

  Norman crossed his arms, “It’s not adultery, she’s not married.”

  Julia raised an eyebrow and half-smiled, “Then why is she wearing a wedding ring and engagement ring on her right hand – continental style?”

  Norman half groaned as Julia swiftly leant forward, “Trouble on the starboard bow, dad’s coming this way with a look like he wants to ring somebody’s neck – yours I suspect.”

  Norman grabbed her, “Don’t leave me.”

  She patted him on the shoulder, “You’re a grown man, remember?”

  Buster stood in a corner of the church and surveyed the people round about him. If he looked objectively at this congregation then any of Julia’s brothers, even her father for that matter, could have killed his former employers. However, for the moment he dismissed them from his mind and concentrated on Daniel. After the close encounter he was sure of two things, firstly that he snorted cocaine, his nose and upper lip had that distinctive red appearance despite discrete use of stage make-up. And secondly he was not the sort of man to spend a few weeks in isolation at a cottage in the middle of nowhere. His life-style was notorious and usually entailed large parties at expensive hotels, not self-sufficiency in a fenland cottage. He decided that Daniel was now on the top of his suspect list.

  Jill and Harriet came over to talk to Sarah as soon as Julia left them in search of Norman. Harriet looked her up and down, “That really your train?”

  “Yes, every carriage and truck.”

  “You really staying with Rupert?”

  “Yes, I’m in the bedroom that looks out over the garden.”

  “Scary,” said Harriet in awe.

  Sarah smiled at her, “The house isn’t scary at all, old, but not scary.”

  “Not the house, him.”

  Jill leant over Harriet, “That’s not very nice dear, Rupert has been kind to us.”

  Harriet nodded, “But he’s still scary, he’s like Mr Cranky.”

  Sarah looked at Jill, “Mr Cranky?”

  “A cartoon character that invents marvellous things out of scrap items, but they never quite work properly.”

  Sarah laughed.

  Rupert finished talking to Daniel and looked across the room at Sarah laughing. Something in him made him wish he could share the joke, sharing anything with Sarah somehow made him feel good. He felt a touch on his arm and turned to look into the anxious face of Norman. Rupert felt himself frown. Norman glanced anxiously across the church. “My dad’s looking for me and I’ve got to tell him about Petra before mum does. Don’t suppose you’d stay and give me some moral support?”

  Rupert patted him on the arm, “We reap what we sow. You’re a good farmer, you should know that; we reap what we sow. And the answer is yes, but don’t expect me to support your actions, after all you’re a grown man and knew what you were doing.”

  Norman muttered something and wandered away. Rupert again looked at Sarah with his own words ringing in his mind, ‘we reap what we sow,’ but just what did he want to reap from his relationship – if that’s what you could call it – with her?

  By a clever bluff in pretending to head towards Colin, Harry cornered his son by the font. One look at his face told him that he’d found the reason for his wife’s displeasure. Norman swallowed, “Can we sit down and talk dad?” He managed to say in a sort of strangled voice.

  They sat in the back pew. Norman swallowed again as if he were trying to digest something very indigestible. He sighed, “I’ve been a bit of a fool dad.”

  Harry nodded, “Must have been, your mother’s on the warpath good and proper.”

  Norman inwardly groaned, this was going to be the second difficult meeting with his dad in as many days. “She found out that I’ve been sleeping with Petra.”

  Harry nodded, “I thought it must be something… WHAT!”

  Norman closed his eyes, “I didn’t set out to seduce her dad, it just sort of happened.”

  Harry rolled his eyes, “Oh I see, you just happened to be together and accidentally found yourself in the same bed. What do you take me for, some kind of idiot?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that, she was showing me how to do a stage kiss and then…”

  Harry held up his hand, “No more,” he commanded, “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  He took a deep breath, “Just find yourself somewhere else to sleep until this snows gone and then you go with it, and don’t come back until you’ve grown up.”

  Harry stood up and walked out of the church; Norman put his head in his hands.

  Rupert watched Norman depart like a man who’d just heard that the horse they had backed had come in last. He figured that Norman’s back-pew talk with his father had not gone well. Rupert pondered; just suppose Sarah had slipped into bed with him one night, what would he do? He felt emotional stirrings and knew that, despite his strong moral and ethical principles, he would probably not throw her out. He sidled up to Harry just as he was leaving. “Norman look’s a bit down.” He ventured.

  Harry scowled, “Been a pratt.”

  Rupert wondered how to take the conversation on without letting Harry know what Norman has told him earlier on. “All make mistakes Harry.”

  Harry sighed from somewhere deep within, “Not a simple mistake Rupert, a deliberate and unforgivable act.”

  Rupert mused. “Are you sure it was deliberate and not just foolish?”

  Harry opened his mouth and then closed it. Rupert the otherworldly he could cope with, Rupert the profound was more difficult. Rupert licked his lips and said softly, “Just stand back for a moment Harry and consider all the silly things and bad decisions you’ve made in your life. All the muck-ups you’ve made that affected other people. All the times you’ve had a near miss. Wouldn’t it be worse if you were told that these could never be forgiven or
made amends for?”

  Harry blinked, Rupert licked his lips again. “God doesn’t keep a list of the hurt we have caused him if we’ve asked for his forgiveness and understanding. Whatever Norman’s done we shouldn’t put ourselves in the place of judge and jury and condemn him forever.”

  Harry frowned, “But…”

  Rupert ignored him and ploughed on. “Just imagine that, God forbid, Norman walked out of here and got run over. How would you feel about the last words you spoke to him?”

  Harry frowned, “Why you taking his side?”

  Rupert shook his head, “I’m not taking anybody’s side. I’m just grateful that the last time I saw Anna she hugged me and told me that she loved me. I couldn’t have borne the grief if we’d parted on a row.”

  He dropped his voice a little, “I’m also grateful for friends who stood by me and picked me up when I was down, who didn’t condemn, but just helped me through another day.

  Harry sighed again and patter Rupert on the shoulder. “OK Rupert, I’ve got the message.”

  He walked briskly out of the church.

  Sarah watched the interchange from the vestry doorway. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language said it all. Initially Harry was all bristly and full of indignation, by the time Rupert had said a few gentle words he was all understanding. It suddenly occurred to her that prior to Anna’s death he’d been a good vicar, even so she needed to get her hands on his clerical shirt just long enough to give it a reasonable iron.

  Harry caught up with Norman as he entered the farmyard in front of the house. Harry grabbed his elbow and steered him into the small barn. Norman waited for another blast of Harry’s tongue. Instead Harry took a deep breath, “Look lad I might have been a bit hasty. It was just all a bit of a shock. My son, my house and all that, but you’re right, you’re a grown lad and I’ve really no say in the matter.”

  Norman wondered if the snow had affected his hearing. He sat down on the wheel of an old trailer. “But your right it’s your house dad.” He paused and added, “Believe me when I say I didn’t plan this. I didn’t set out to seduce her.”