Page 23 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Thursday came around all too quickly. Ralph was already in the church grounds since he was helping his vicar friend set up the fete– he’d texted as much– so Polly sweetly walked with me, before going on to meet Max.

She’d already asked me about André but not in too much detail, and something told me she and Luke had agreed not to grill me.

To let me go it alone quietly. Again, there were quite a few locals in the church grounds and I looked around anxiously, but not many people I knew went to church, except, as luck would have it– oh deep joy– Anthea did.

I froze. Turned to Polly, appalled. She was head down, texting, no doubt telling Max she’d dropped Mum off and was on her way.

‘She’s here again,’ I hissed.

‘Who?’ Polly glanced about.

‘Anthea Parker. And she saw me at the concert, with André.’

Polly looked across. She smiled politely but then quickly glanced away. ‘Well, Tabitha was the class bully.’

‘I know, and Anthea…’

‘Is a bitch. Ignore her.’

‘Yes but– oh, Ralph, hi.’ I was flustered. Polly sailed in beautifully, offering her hand and a wide smile.

‘Hi, I’m Polly, you must be Ralph. I was just depositing Mum.’

‘Hi, Polly, lovely to meet you.’

‘Gosh, this is quite an event!’ She gestured around with her arm.

And on they chatted, easily, for a few minutes, which gave me a moment to compose myself. Then Polly turned.

‘Bye Mum,’ she hugged me quickly. ‘Have a good time. I’m off to Dalston. See you.’ And off she went to the tube. With a bag over her shoulder, I noticed. For the night, then.

‘So!’ Ralph rubbed his hands in mock excitement, eyes wide. ‘What’s it to be? The tombola or the Bring and Buy? Could it get more riveting? What can I tempt you with?’

I laughed. ‘Well, I haven’t brought anything so I can’t buy, so I guess it’s the tombola.’

‘In time, but first, a drink. What can I get you?’

He steered me towards the bar, which was a table covered with a white cloth, set under an ancient, spreading yew tree. Upon it, the Royal British Legion had set a barrel or two, but also some white wine.

‘For the Sheilas,’ an old boy behind the table told me with a twinkle. ‘Should be sweet sherry, obviously.’ He wore a beret at a jaunty angle, his chest plastered with medals.

‘Let’s hope you haven’t overdone it,’ I countered, old enough to remember the Castlemaine XXXX ad. ‘Don’t want the table collapsing.’ He laughed and handed me a plastic cup.

It was all as low-key as you could possibly wish, which pleased me enormously.

I’ve never been so happy to sip warm white wine in the sunshine and wander across to the tombola to buy a ticket, before pinning the tail on the donkey, hooking the plastic duck on the pond, rolling a ball down a skittle alley, and failing dismally at hoopla.

‘It’s packed,’ I told Ralph admiringly as we laughed at my dreadful attempt to shoot tin cans. He made a face.

‘Well, we only charge a fiver to get in, so if you’re at a loss on a sunny Thursday evening, why not? Colin made nearly two thousand pounds last year, which didn’t exactly fix the roof, but it was a start. Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in some official capacity here? Manning the teddy bear zip wire, or something?’ I glanced at the church spire from which cuddly toys, no doubt donated, were zooming down at an alarming rate and being caught by delighted children as they popped off the end.

‘Absolutely not, not my problem. I’ve come to enjoy his stress, haven’t I, Colin?’ We approached a harassed-looking chap, small, round, bald and in a dog collar– think Friar Tuck– who was trying to fix the wheel of fortune. The hand had come off.

‘Fucking thing snapped,’ he muttered to Ralph, still head down, without clocking me.

‘Colin, this is Annabel, and as luck would have it I spotted Super Glue at the Tombola. Want me to steal it? Thieving and profanity are both specialities in mine and Colin’s parishes,’ he explained to me, with a grin.

‘Oh, crikey, sorry, didn’t realize.’ Colin wiped his hand, which was damp with anxiety, on his jeans. He shook mine heartily. ‘What must you think of us cowboy vicars?’

‘That you’re all mortal like the rest of us, which is a blessed relief, frankly.’

‘Oh, we’re very mortal here,’ Colin assured me dryly.

‘But don’t stray across the river to St Mary’s in Richmond,’ Ralph warned me. ‘Canon Williams thinks he’s God.’

‘Yes, some do, don’t they?’ I said, interested. ‘Which puts people off.’

‘Why d’you think the pair of us have such burgeoning congregations?’ beamed Colin. ‘They like us for our sins. Did Ralph tell you he was turned down three times because he was so unbelievably sinful?’ He grinned at his friend.

‘No! Really?’ I turned. ‘They wouldn’t let you in?’

‘Didn’t like that I’d worked in the City for years, whereas the fact that Colin had been a publican was fine, apparently. Incidentally, Colin, this wine is filthy. Worse than Communion.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he said happily. ‘It’s leftover Chardonnay from Bob Turner’s daughter’s wedding. I bought it for a song, but it’s disappearing at two pounds a cup, and the more you drink, the less you notice how grim it is. Shall I abandon the wheel?’

‘I would. You’ve run out of prizes anyway, unless you really think someone wants yours and Mike’s old table mats,’ he eyed them knowingly.

‘Good plan.’ He hastily began to disassemble the wheel. ‘And anyway, there’s a plan B for this stall.’ He flipped the notice board over. On the other side it read: ‘Guess the Weight of the Vicar’.

Colin pulled up a chair and sat plumply upon it, his hands clasped across his ample chest, a set of scales before him. More than a few people were already interested. They laughed and came across with glee.

‘Twenty stone?’ piped up a passing lad.

‘Wash your mouth out!’ Colin roared, which provoked more laughter. ‘Way out,’ he muttered to the pair of us. Ralph was adjusting the sign so that it was directly above him, the scales in front: it all lined up neatly.

‘And the correct answer is?’ he asked.

‘I’m approaching eighteen, if you must know.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But I’m not telling you from which direction.’

We laughed and moved on, strolling amongst the stalls and the families with children sucking toffee apples.

‘He’s nice,’ I remarked.

‘Very. One of the best.’

‘Simple pleasures,’ I observed admiringly as we passed the candy floss stall: there was quite a long queue.

‘I know, isn’t it funny? In this high-tech age. It seems to bring joy.’

We watched two parents roar with pleasure as their son hooked a floating duck and turned with eyes alight. ‘Mum! Look!’

‘Better than a screen,’ I agreed.

And then, as we approached the hot dog stand, bought a couple, and then found a space on the bank on which to sit and eat them, we got on to more complex matters, as I knew we would, eventually. Like why we were both single. As I explained about David, Ralph listened carefully.

‘That’s terrible. Truly awful. So young. And he was clearly the most delightful man. I’m afraid my wife left me because she thought she’d married a high-flying City executive, not a vicar.’

‘Oh… but surely…?’ I tailed off.

‘We had a bit of money by then? We did, but not enough. She liked skiing, Barbados, you know. And who doesn’t? I can’t blame her. And we’re not divorced yet.’

‘Right.’

‘The children need a bit more time to adjust. Not so much Sam, but Tilly, in particular. So we’re holding off for the minute. Just separated.’

‘And you’re sad she’s gone?’

‘Weirdly, no. I’d fallen out of love some years ago but stayed for the children– and for her– and threw myself into work.

Then this, the priesthood. I was brought up to think– well, bad luck, you got it wrong, but you’ve made your bed, you lie on it.

Very old-fashioned, I know. I was surprised when she took the decision, but agreed. ’

‘Oh, so it’s amicable. That’s good.’

‘Sadly, no. She, I think, thought if she left me, I’d come to my senses. Leave the church, return to the City and ask her back. I didn’t do any of those things.’

‘Ah. So… she’d like you back?’

‘Yes. But I’m afraid… well, it was her decision, not mine. I’d never have left. But now I’m happier.’

I nodded. Although I’d had terrible, crippling, overwhelming grief, I’d never had these sorts of complications.

Children torn between warring parents. Just…

my head began to fill with the dreadful vision of Polly and Luke’s faces, after the doctor had called me into a room on my own, and then I had to go out to the corridor and tell them.

For a moment it threatened to overwhelm me, so I shook my head, banishing it.

‘Well, here’s to moving on,’ I said cheerfully, raising my glass– or cup– and then I blushed, as that sounded like the two of us moving on together, not separately, which is what I’d meant.

‘Absolutely,’ he said, raising his beer. ‘Life has to go on, for everyone.’

I was relieved he’d taken it in that spirit and realized I’d overthought it as usual. Ralph’s head whipped round suddenly.

‘Oh Lord, now he is in trouble.’ Colin was trying to disentangle a child from the zip wire: she’d somehow become caught up while attempting to grab a teddy. ‘Excuse me a mo, I’d better give him a hand.’

He put his cup of beer on the grass and trotted off to help his friend, who’d gathered a small crowd of interested, more than concerned, onlookers.

The child was laughing now, so clearly unhurt.

I watched him go with a smile. By the time he got there Colin had disentangled the child, but the zip wire needed attention and Ralph was on hand to help sort it out.

I watched them discuss the mechanism together and realized I was very happy sitting here on this grassy bank waiting for him to come back: the evening sun on my back, the river in the distance.

I sat mooning into space, possibly even with a slight smile on my lips.

It was at that moment that Anthea Parker seized her chance. She beetled across, an alarmingly shiny glint to her eyes, and stood before me. Her body blocked out the sun.