The womans lips were still moving. Sally tried to blot out the stream of increasingly obscene curses. In the congregation, more and more heads craned towards the back of the church. Some of them belonged to children. It wasnt right that children should hear this.
She was aware of Michael standing up, passing Lucy to Dereks wife in the pew in front, and stepping into the aisle. She was aware, too, of Stella walking westwards down the nave towards the woman in the raincoat. Stella was one of the churchwardens, a tall, stately black woman who appeared never to be in a hurry.
Everything Sally saw, even Lucy and Michael, seemed both physically remote and to belong to a lesser order of importance. It impinged on her no more than the flickering images on a television set with the sound turned down. Her mind was focused on the woman in the beret and raincoat, not on her appearance or what she was saying but on the deeper reality beneath. Sally tried with all her might to get through to her. She found herself visualizing a stone wall topped with strands of barbed wire.
Michael and Stella had reached the woman now. Like an obliging child confronted by her parents, she held out her arms, giving one hand to Michael and one to Stella; she closed her mouth at last but her eyes were still on Sally. For an instant Michael, Stella and the woman made a strangely familiar tableau: a scene from a Renaissance painting, perhaps, showing a martyr about to be dragged uncomplainingly to the stake, with her eyes staring past the invisible face of the artist, standing where her accuser would be, to the equally invisible heavenly radiance beyond.
The tableau destroyed itself. Stella scooped up the carrier bag with her free hand. She and Michael drew the woman along the pew and walked with her towards the west door. Their shoes clattered on the bright Victorian tiles and rang on the central-heating gratings. The woman did not struggle but she twisted herself round until she was walking sideways. This allowed her to turn her head as far as she could and continue to stare at Sally.
The heavy oak door opened. The sound of traffic poured into the church. Sally glimpsed sunlit buildings, black railings and a blue sky. The door closed with a dull, rolling boom. For an instant the boom didnt sound like a closing door at all: it was more like the whirr of great wings beating the air.
Sally took a deep breath. As she exhaled, a picture filled her mind: an angel, stern and heavily feathered, the detail hard and glittering, the wings flexing and rippling. She pushed the picture away.
God does not change, she said again, her voice grim. But we do.
Afterwards Derek said, These days we need bouncers, not churchwardens.
Sally turned to look at him combing his thinning hair in the vestry mirror. Seriously?
We wouldnt be the first. His reflection gave her one of his pastoral smiles. I dont mean it, of course. But youll have to get used to these interruptions. We get all sorts in Kensal Vale. Its not some snug little suburb.
This was a dig at Sallys last parish, a predominantly middle-class enclave in the diocese of St Albans. Derek took a perverse pride in the statistics of Kensal Vales suffering.
She needs help, Sally said.
Perhaps. I suspect shes done this before. There have been similar reports elsewhere in the diocese. Someone with a bee in her bonnet about women in holy orders. He slipped the comb into his pocket and turned to face her. Plenty of them around, Im afraid. We just have to grin and bear it. Or rather them. We get worse interruptions than dotty old ladies, after all drunks, drug addicts and nutters in all shapes and sizes. He smiled, pulling back his lips to reveal teeth so perfect they looked false. Maybe bouncers arent such a bad idea after all.
Sally bit back a reply to the effect that it was a shame they couldnt do something more constructive. It was early days yet. She had only just started her curacy at St Georges, Kensal Vale. Salaried parish jobs for women deacons were scarce, and she would be a fool to antagonize Derek before her first Sunday was over. Perhaps, too, she was being unfair to him.
She checked her appearance in the mirror. After all this time the dog collar still felt unnatural against her neck. She had wanted what the collar symbolized for so long. Now she wasnt sure.
Derek was too shrewd a manager to let dislike fester unnecessarily. I liked your sermon. A splendid beginning to your work here. Do you think we should make more of the parallels between feminism and the antislavery movement?
A few minutes later Sally followed him through the church to the Parish Room, which occupied what had once been the Lady Chapel. Its conversion last year had been largely due to Dereks gift for indefatigable fund-raising. About thirty people had lingered after the service to drink grey, watery coffee and meet their new curate.
Lucy saw her mother first. She ran across the floor and flung her arms around Sallys thighs.
I wanted you, Lucy muttered in an accusing whisper. She was holding her doll Jimmy clamped to her nose, a sign of either tiredness or stress. I wanted you. I didnt like that nasty old woman.
Sally patted Lucys back. Im here, darling, Im here.
Stella towed Michael towards them. She was in her forties, a good woman, Sally suspected, but one who dealt in certainties and liked the sound of her own voice and the authority her position gave her in the affairs of the parish. Michael looked dazed.
We were just talking about you, Stella announced with pride, as though the circumstance conferred merit on all concerned. Great sermon. She dug a long forefinger into Michaels ribcage. I hope youre cooking the Sunday lunch after all that.
Sally took the coffee which Michael held out to her. What happened to the old woman? she asked. Did you find out where she lives?
Stella shook her head. She just kept telling us to go away and leave her in peace.
Ironic, when you think about it, Michael said, apparently addressing his cup.
And then a bus came along, Stella continued, and she hopped on. Short of putting an armlock on her, there wasnt much we could do.
Shes not a regular, then?
Never seen her before. Dont take it to heart. Nothing personal.
Lucy tugged Sallys arm, and coffee slopped into the saucer. She should go to prison. Shes a witch.
Shes done nothing bad, Sally said. Shes just unhappy. You dont send people to prison for being unhappy, do you?
Unhappy? Why?
Unhappy? Derek Cutter appeared beside Stella and ruffled Lucys hair. A young lady like you shouldnt be unhappy. Its not allowed.
Pink and horrified, Lucy squirmed behind her mother.
Sally tells me this was once the Lady Chapel, Michael said, diverting Dereks attention from Lucy. Times change.
We were lucky to be able to use the space so constructively. And in keeping with the spirit of the place, too. Derek beckoned a middle-aged man, small and sharp-eyed, a balding cherub. Sally, Id like you to meet Frank Howell. Frank, this is Sally Appleyard, our new curate, and her husband Michael.
Detective Sergeant, isnt it? Howells eyes were red-rimmed.
Michael nodded.
Theres a piece about your lady wife in the local rag. They mentioned it there.
Derek coughed. I suppose you could say all of us are professionally nosy in our different ways. Franks a freelance journalist.
Michael nodded.
Theres a piece about your lady wife in the local rag. They mentioned it there.
Derek coughed. I suppose you could say all of us are professionally nosy in our different ways. Franks a freelance journalist.
Howell was shaking hands with Stella. For my sins, eh?
In fact, Frank was telling me he was wondering whether we at St Georges might form the basis of a feature. The Church of England at work in modern London. Dereks nose twitched. Old wine in new bottles, one might say.
Amazing, when you think about it. Howell grinned at them. Here we are, in an increasingly godless society, but Joe Public just cant get enough of the good old C of E.
I dont know if Id agree with you there, Frank. Derek flashed his teeth in a conciliatory smile. Sometimes I think we are not as godless as some of us like to think. Attendance figures are actually increasing I can find you the statistic, if you want. You have to hand it to the Evangelicals, they have turned the tide. Of course, at St Georges we try to have something for everyone a broad, non-sectarian approach. We see ourselves as
Youre doing a fine job, all right. Howell kept his eyes on Sally. But at the end of the day, what sells a feature is human interest. Its the people who count, eh? So maybe we could have a chat sometime. He glanced round the little circle of faces. With all of you, that is.
Delighted, Derek replied for them all. I
Good. Ill give you a ring then, set something up. Howell glanced at his watch. Good Lord is that the time? Must love you and leave you.
Derek watched him go. Frank was very helpful over the conversion of the Lady Chapel, he murmured to Sally, patting her arm. He did a piece on the opening ceremony. We had the bishop, you know. Suddenly he stood on tiptoe, and waved vigorously at his wife. Theres Margaret I know she wanted a word with you, Sally. I think she may have found you a baby-sitter. Shes not one of ours, but a lovely woman, all the same. Utterly reliable, too. Her names Carla Vaughan.
On the way home to Hercules Road, Michael and Sally conducted an argument in whispers in the front of the car while Lucy, strapped into the back seat, sang along with Puff the Magic Dragon on the stereo. It was not so much an argument as a quarrel with gloves on.
Arent we going rather fast? Sally asked.
I didnt realize we were going to be so late.
Nor did I. The service took longer than I expected, and
Im worried about lunch. I left it on quite high.
Sally remembered all the meals which had been spoiled because Michaels job had made him late. She counted to five to keep her temper in check.
This Carla woman, Sal the child minder.
What about her?
I wish we knew a bit more.
She sounds fine to me. Anyway, Ill see her before we decide.
I wish
You wish what?
He accelerated through changing traffic lights. I wish she wasnt necessary.
Weve been through all this, havent we?
I suppose I thought your job might be more flexible.
Well, its not. Im sorry but there it is.
He reacted to her tone as much as to her words. What about Lucy?
Shes your daughter too. Sally began to count to ten.
I know. And I know we agreed right from the start we both wanted to work. But
Sally reached eight before her control snapped. Youd like me to be something sensible like a teacher, wouldnt you? Something safe, something that wouldnt embarrass you. Something that would fit in with having children. Or better still, youd like me to be just a wife and mother.
A child needs her parents. Thats all Im saying.
This child has two parents. If youre so concerned
And whats going to happen when shes older? Do you want her to be a latchkey kid?
Ive got a job to do, and so have you. Other people manage.
Do they?
Sally glanced in the mirror at the back of the sun visor. Lucy was still singing along with a robust indifference to the tune, but she had Jimmy pushed against her cheek; she sensed that her parents were arguing.
Listen, Michael. Being ordained is a vocation. Its not something I can just ignore.
He did not reply, which fuelled her worst fears. He used silence as a weapon of offence.
Anyway, we talked about all this before we married. I know the reality is harder than we thought. But we agreed. Remember?
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. That was different. That was before we had Lucy. Youre always tired now.
Too tired for sex, among other things: another reason for guilt. At first they had made a joke of it, but even the best jokes wore thin with repetition.
Thats not the point.
Of course its the point, love, he said. Youre trying to do too much.
There was another silence. Puff the Magic Dragon gave way to The Wheels on the Bus. Lucy kicked out the rhythm on the back of Sallys seat, attention-seeking behaviour. This should have been a time of celebration after Sallys first service at St Georges. Now she wondered whether she was fit to be in orders at all.
Youd rather I wasnt ordained, Sally said to Michael, voicing a fear rather than a fact. In your heart of hearts, you think women clergy are unnatural.
I never said that.
You dont need to say it. Youre just the same as Uncle David. Go on, admit it.
He stared at the road ahead and pushed the car over the speed limit. Mentioning Uncle David had been a mistake. Mentioning Uncle David was always a mistake.
Come on. Sally would have liked to shake him.
Talk to me.
They finished the journey in silence. In an effort to use the time constructively, Sally tried to pray for the old woman who had cursed her. She felt as if her prayers were falling into a dark vacuum.
Your will be done, she said again and again in the silence of her mind; and the words were merely sounds emptied of meaning. It was as if she were talking into a telephone and not knowing whether the person on the other end was listening or even there at all. She tried to persuade herself that this was due to the stress of the moment. Soon the stress would pass, she told herself, and normal telephonic reception would be restored. It would be childish to suppose that the problem was caused by the old womans curse.
Shit, said Michael, as they turned into Hercules Road. Someone had usurped their parking space.
Its all right, Sally said, hoping that Lucy had not heard. Theres a space further up.
Michael reversed the Rover into it, jolting the nearside rear wheel against the kerb. He waited on the pavement, jingling his keys, while Sally extracted Lucy and her belongings.
Whats for lunch? Lucy demanded. Im hungry.
Ask your father.
A sort of lamb casserole with haricot beans. Michael tended to cook what he liked to eat.
Yuk. Can I have Frosties instead?
Their flat was in a small, purpose-built block dating from the 1930s. Michael had bought it before their marriage. It was spacious for one person, comfortable for two and just large enough to accommodate a small child as well. As Sally opened the front door, the smell of burning rushed out to greet them.