Guilt & Redemption Ch. 04

For the next few months I lived a split life.

I enjoyed my work at the uni putting in far more time than was necessary, but even the more sarcastic colleagues could understand someone temporary trying to make sure she got a job. What I did not tell them was that it was better than going home to an empty flat. Suddenly Ruth, who had been the centre of my life for the best part of five years was gone; just like that.

I saw a piece in the Saturday Guardian about Ruth and her success, and there was a picture of her with her "glamorous young assistant, the promising novelist Milly." Perhaps there is something wrong with me, but I was glad she looked happy. I blamed myself for what had gone wrong. How could I compete with someone like Milly? I'd been fortunate to have had her, and needed to get on with my life.

I sent off a couple of academic articles, after showing them to Karen and another colleague. It was three months before I heard they'd both been accepted, but that was, Karen said, good for such journals, and it would do me a "power of good." It did. When they discussed whether to extend my contract in the summer, it turned out that the fact I could be submitted for the Research Excellence Framework was the decisive factor. The Dean of Research, a brainy Economist with degrees from a top university, and as such not very popular with colleagues who envied his intellect, said I was "brilliant" and they should hire me. They did. What a nice man. He now has at least one fan!

I settled into a routine. I began going back to East Anglia for week-ends, and Ma seemed pleased to see me. Slowly, as spring turned into summer, our relationship began to blossom again. I'd hated being on bad terms. I loved her, and so wanted her to accept me and love me again.

I enjoyed the summer term. I got to take classes outdoors under the trees near the river, and the students were sweet and welcoming, accepting my oddities, and working hard for me. Once news I was permanent got around the department, I got little cards from colleagues, and the Dean even threw a welcome party for me. I felt accepted. It's odd how appearance matters, even in academia. No one saw little me as a rival, and they liked the fact I took on extra work without complaint.

Slowly the shape of my new life became clear. Long days at work, some days in the libraries or archives, and then evenings writing things up, and week-ends with Ma. My father came over from Hamburg and gave me a slap-up dinner at a West End restaurant. He warmed my heart by saying he was proud of me. He asked if I wanted to buy a flat. We discussed money. He liked discussing money, almost as much as he liked spending it.

I explained about the money I had from Ruth and the publishers. I could get a flat with a mortgage I could afford near where I worked, but I'd struggle to make the deposit, even with my savings and Ruth's blood money. He told me he'd meet the shortfall, and the legal fees. Sure, he could afford it, but his Mistress and lifestyle did not come cheap, and he didn't have to give it to me. There was one stipulation, I was not to tell Ma, or she'd insist my sister Ella got the same. She was married to a rich banker, and she was going to inherit from Ma. My father did not want an argument with Ma, but nor did he want to give Ella money.

So, again, I found myself telling my mother a version of the truth. She just seemed relieved I could manage, but said nothing about helping me.

I spent the summer back at home in the Big House, and soon slipped back into the role of dutiful daughter. Ma gave me acres of space to spread my writing, and was happy to accommodate my small mountain of books.

I got to work on "the book of the thesis" which a publisher had accepted, I strengthened my weak ankles by country walks, and I did two contradictory things. I started going back to church, usually the eight o'clock Morning Prayers, but sometimes to Communion at ten with Ma. after all, as she said, as I was no longer in a sinful relationship, why not? At the same time I sublimated my sexual needs by writing erotic stories for a website which seemed happy to take them, and where some readers were kind enough to comment.

I discovered, after a while, that there was a chat section, where, usually to chill out after writing, I would venture and talk with others. It was a way of meeting my needs, but also, to my delight, of meeting some wonderful people; some of the men were terribly sweet about my writing. Writing there, and in my book, consumed much of the summer, but even I needed a break.

Watching my pennies, I spent a week in Paris in a small apartment off the Boul' St Michel owned by an old friend of Ma's, and disported myself along the banks of the Seine, loving the atmosphere and exploring Notre Dame - oh the memories of that time, and the sadness of that great cathedral now!

After an exhilarating week I found myself back in East Anglia, and, having done my writing, just relaxed, going back to London to prepare for the new academic year. I started to confine my erotic writings to the night time, but sometimes longed for what I had lost, even though I knew it had been bad for me.

From my time with Ruth and from my longings, I would spin stories, which sometimes surprised even me. It was as though some deep volcano was burning up inside me and spewing out molten lava. I knew if a story was ready by the state of my knickers. I would not allow myself the pleasure of touching my wetness when I was writing, which seemed to make the molten lava even hotter. But afterwards I would retire to the chat room and chill. Occasionally I was fortunate enough to find a cyber-lover whose needs I could fulfil and who was kind and skilled enough to help me meet my somewhat esoteric ones. On such rare nights I'd have extra towels for the laundry the next morning. But again, like work, it was a substitute for what I did not have, though, in my fiction I could reward myself with the ONE, the woman who would want me and whom I would want. I wrote myself off as a hopeless Romantic, and tried to get on with real life.

I found a flat within half an hour's walk of the Univerity. Dad gave me the deposit and I moved in. That was the end of foreign travel for a while, money would be tight, but Karen the Dean said that I was doing well and would get a pay rise; so as long as I was careful that was fine. I settled into a long working day followed by an evening relaxing with my erotic writing. It filled the gap - but it did not assuage the ache.

I began to get invitations to conferences, although my grant applications were, oddly, all unsuccessful - Ruth's reach was a wide one. My students seemed to enjoy my teaching, and my colleagues were, for the most part, friendly. I would go back some week ends to see Ma, and at others would visit Ella and Rich in Hampshire. But perhaps oddly, my favourite week ends were the ones I spent alone at home. Rising early, I'd go for walks along the Thames path and watch the sun rise. If I left at six in the summer, I could have four hours communing with nature. I began praying the Rosary as I walked. It was a comfort.

But nothing could disguise from me the realisation that all of this amounted to fairly desperate attempts to fill the huge void left in my life by Ruth. I stopped listening to Radio 4 because it seemed almost every time I turned the radio on she was reading from one of her books or discussing the "state of the novel". What finally pushed me was hearing her and Milly on "Woman's Hour" on "new female novelists". Enough, I thought, and thenceforth Radio 3 and classical music it was.

The Sunday after my return from Paris I awoke, early as usual. Sundays stretched out endlessly sometimes. Semester, and a new academic year were approaching, but I was up to date with my preparations, and my article was doing well. I decided to do my favourite walk by the river.

The Thames path was, even at 6:30 in the morning, replete with joggers and dog-walkers. I seemed to be the sole solitary walker. As so often, I wished I knew more about birds. I could recognise the heron of course, so majestic as she swooped down from her perch high in one of the oaks which lined the river at that point, but the bird song was so soothing I wished I could identify the different voices.

I noticed, with gratitude, that one of the itinerant coffee trucks had just opened, and stopped to order a large cappucino, which I drank slowly, sitting on a bench overlooking the river. As it flowed past, I felt a sense of one with past, present and future all merging. I sat. Tears came. But not all tears are bad. Finishing my coffee, I got to my feet. My ankles, always my weakness, were starting to ache. I decided to abort the planned walk and turn back at the next break point which allowed me to circle round.

I walked as far as the Lock, stopping as I crossed the Thames to watch it slowly flow towards the distant sea - part of me wanting to go with it. But it was time to circle back now; my ankles were aching. Going past the pubs I saw the huge church which was now an art centre; the Sunday market was setting up. The buses ran past; maybe I should catch one? The city was waking up. I must have walked past the church on the right before, but had hardly noticed it; it did rather pale into insignificance compared with the mini-cathedral across the road.

As I passed I noticed someone standing outside, the green and yellow chasuble made them rather obvious - to my surprise I saw the figure was female. At that time, certainly in East Anglia, one didn't see that many women priests. Intrigued, I crossed the road.

"Are you coming in?" Her voice was light and pleasing, and her smile welcoming. I had started going to church again, and my ankles would benefit from a sit down, so I thought why not? I thanked her.

"I'm Ali, and you?"

"Call me Pixie," I said, "I lecture at the uni."

"Gosh, you are a rare bird then," she smiled, "in the three years I have been here we've not had an academic darken our doors."

"Well," I smiled back, "I like to be an exception. I am assuming you are doing Mattins rather than Communion?"

"Yes," she smiled, "though you'd be welcome to stay for that at nine."

"I'd love to," I said, "but I am not sure that I can take communion."

"If you need to talk, I'd be happy to after. But we'd better go in."

To my delight, it was the Book of Common Prayer service, which I had always loved. Cranmer's familiar words poured into me like a soothing balm. They sounded different in a woman's voice, but I liked the difference. By the time she pronounced the words of dismissal, I felt at peace with the world.

As Ali processed to the back of the church I took in the fact that there had only been about a dozen of us there. I lingered while she talked with those who were leaving. Once they had gone she turned to me.

"I'm going to have a glass of water before Holy Communion, can I offer you anything - assuming that is that you want to stay?"

"That's kind, yes, why not?"

She took me over the road to what was clearly the church hall, another building I must have walked past half a dozen times and never seen.

I felt better. My ankles had stopped aching, and Ali seemed to put me at ease. As we drank, she asked me why I thought I couldn't take communion. "You do know that even if you are not C of E you are still welcome?"

"Oh I am most definitely C of E, it's just that, well", and I stammered, groping for the right words, "I suspect I am in a state of mortal sin."

"Gosh!" Ali looked at me with concern. "Let me guess."

I nodded.

"I am guessing you are not a mass murderer, and that you don't think that fancying your students is that sort of sin. That being so, well let me guess ... ."

I think that was the moment I fell for her. She looked both mischievous and innocent as she made her theatrical pause.

"You don't date men?"

That was such a wonderful way of putting it - and putting me at my ease.

I felt myself blushing. I was so sure that a Vicar would be, at best, disapproving, and at worse, rather like my mother, condemnatory. I looked at her, waiting.

She put her hand on my shoulder.

"Here, `Pixie, God's love is what matters, not who you sleep with. By the way, do you have a girlfriend or partner at the moment?"

"No", I admitted.

"In which case, Pixie, on even the most stringent reading, you are not actively sinning, so please come up for Communion."

I felt so welcomed. I thanked her.

I stayed. Ali introduced me to her churchwardens, who equipped me with all I needed, and I settled in at the very back of the church, watching as it filled up. It was such a contrast with home, where the church was always half empty. And here there were young couples with children. One woman asked if I minded if she and her three daughters sat in the pew where I was. I assented, and before long the oldest of the three girls, Beth, was engaging me in conversation about what they were doing at Sunday school, and asking who I was and where I came from. Her mother, Sammy, smiled and said:

"Sorry, Beth does like to talk."

I smiled back and said I didn't mind one bit. Introducing herself as "Sammy, short for Samantha", she got Beth's sisters, Gemma and Elly, to do the same.

"Hi", I said, "I'm Pixie, good to meet you all."

"Oh that's wonderful", Beth gushed with enthusiasm, "you are just like the cutest pixie in my books."

"Beth!" Sammy sounded a warning.

"Why, thank you, Beth", I said, smiling to show Sammy I was not offended. "My mother thought so too, hence the name."

At that point the service began, and it wasn't until coffee and biscuits that I learned more about Sammy and the girls. Sammy stayed when they went out for Sunday school, and we went up for Communion together. Beth gave me a beaming smile when they came back from Sunday school, and we trooped off together for coffee.

Ali beamed as we shook hands.

"Hey, if you are staying for coffee, what are you doing for lunch, a hot date?"

Confessing I had no plans, I accepted when she invited me for lunch.

Over in the church hall, Sammy brought me a coffee and a buscuit, while I looked after the girls. I watched as Ali worked the room. She was a natural, with a happy knack for putting people at their ease. At some point I noticed she was beautiful. Her hair was dyed a reddish pink, which I liked, and her specs seemed to make her brown eyes larger.

Sammy, who chatted easily while the girls played, told me she worked "in the city", and that her husband was a foreign correspondent for the BBC. Suitably impressed, I confessed my place of employment, getting the same reaction as I had from Ali.

"You were so good with Beth. Do you have kids yourself?"

It had never occurred to me that could be an option, and suddenly I felt a pang, which I assuaged by telling her how lovely her girls were. She thanked my and said that Beth, at eight, was quite a handful, but the others were more biddable, the problem being that it was so often Beth who did the bidding. We both laughted.

"That's what a Vicar likes to hear!"

Ali sat with us and caught up with Sammy's news.

"Hey, Sammy, you know you said you were stuck for a sitter on Thursday when Kevin has his big dinner, maybe Pixie is free?"

Sammy looked at me:

"If, by some miracle ... ."

Smiling, I confessed that except for a hot date with some lesson prep, which I didn't really need, I was free and willing. When Beth was told she spontaneously hugged me and told me she'd show me the pixie books.

It was with sadness I said goodbye to them, getting another hug from Beth. We exchanged numbers and addresses, and I said I'd be there for seven.

I helped Ali and the churchwardens clear up. Eventually there were just the two of us.

"You will fit in well here, Pixie, I hope you'll join us? Anyway, join me for lunch, it will be nice to have company."

We walked back to the vicarage, an undistinguished 1970s house. But Ali had made it comfortable, and she poured us both a glass of Pinot as she prepared the salad. I offered to make a dressing and laid the table.

"I can see you are the ideal dinner guest Pixie!"

"I like to make myself useful", I responded.

"So I see. Good girl syndrome, I call it!"

I blushed deeply.

"Hey, it's okay, no criticism meant!"

I giggled.

"Oh no, I know, it's just, well so close to bulls-eye!"

We chatted easily over lunch, which we took into her garden. I helped clean up as we made coffee.

"You are a formidable cleaner Pixie, I normally just chuck things in the cupboard and sort them our later."

Encouraged by her attitude, I joked:

"Oh you're one of those are you?"

Giggling she queried me:

"One of what?"

"Well my mother, oblivious to other meanings, calls them sluts."

She laughed out load.

"I see your mother holds a high doctrine of sluttishness. I am guessing she's not a fan of your dating arrangements?"

"If I said my mother was a staunch pillar of the Parochial Church Council, I suspect you'd be able to place her!"

"Now you are going to tell me that she's a Justice of the Peace in a rural idyll!"

I laughed back, confirming that I could indeed confirm that presupposition.

Relaxing in the garden after coffee, Ali asked if I'd like to walk as it was such a sunny afternoon.

"What time is evensong?" I asked.

"It's at six, and so we have nearly three hours. Would you like to do the Thames path? I never asked where you came from."

"We could walk back to mine for afternoon tea if you like, it's about half an hour."

She smiled, and the shape of the afternoon, and much else beside, was sealed.

I had not felt this happy in an age, I reflected, as Ali and I strolled along the now crowded path. She told be about herself. She was, as I had guessed from her accent, from South Wales and had gone to uni in London before having what she called a "conversion" there. After graduating, she'd gone to theological college and after serving her ticket in south Essex, she'd been appointed to St Mary's three years ago. it was her first parish and she was loving it.

I explained my somewhat unusual career, and found myself talking about Ruth for the first time. Ali somehow drew me out of myself. To my embarrassment I began to cry. she sat us both down on one of the benches overlooking the river, holding my hand.

"Pixie, it's okay. She treated you abominably." Them her tone shifted. "I wasn't intending to say this, and please believe me when I say this is not what I do. But when I askes if you had a partner, I was not asking in a wholly disinterested way."

I froze, a thrill shooting through me, despite the wretched way I felt.

"What do you mean?" I sniffed.

"You are the cutest woman I ever saw, and I'd like to get to know you better."

My world exploded into rainbows.

I looked up, knowing what I mess I must look, all red-eyed and tearful.

"Do you need to go to Specsavers?" I joked, referring to a popular opticians.

"I might want to get a closer view, just to reassure you about the state of my eyesight, of course."

"I am a mess inside Ali. However much I long to do good things, I do bad ones. And besides, you're a Vicar!"

"Yup, you are right there, Pixe, I am. So Romans 7 appplies to you as well as the rest of us then?"

Of course, as a Vicar she got the reference. I felt her hand on mine. I opened my hand to hold hers and looked at her.

"If you'd like to get to know me, it's entirely reciprocal."

I squeezed her hand and smiled.

We walked back to mine, where we duly consumed a pot of herbal tea.

"This is nice, Pixie. I love your icons and envy you your statue of Our Lady."

I explained that my mother lived not far from the Shrine at Walsingham and suggested that one of these days she should accompany me there.