Robin's Way 04

Rubicons, caesuras, watersheds, such are the words which occur to me as I reflected on the aftermath of the arrest of Ryan Surtees on charges of rape, attempted rape, people trafficking and fraud.

The first consequence was, to my mind the most unfair.

Ryan's father, Lord Surtees, was something of a power in the land, and certainly locally. The excuse given to me was that given that my residence was more or less next door to the Hall where he lived, it might be embarrassing and "triggering" for me to stay in the Benefice. So, one moment, with my colleague, Susan, in hospital, I was essential to the seven parishes and needed an income supplement, and the next? Well, the next I was told that "for your own sake," I was to be moved on. I was awarded paid leave while the Church decided where I was to be sent. There it was, no good deed goes unpunished.

Within a week, I had moved out, back to my flat in London, to await the collective wisdom of the Bishop's advisers. No point my asking why I felt that the sign of Cain was painted on my forehead. I had stepped outside my parochial role in more than one sense, and it was plain to me that a price was to be exacted for that. The fact that I was commended for my bravery at the trial, and hailed as the 'ravishing Rev Robin' in the "Daily Mail," was a double-edged sword. But since one side of it had resulted in my being severed from parish work, I had to dwell on the other side of it; no one asked questions about Irina and myself.

Ah, yes, Irina.

Her decision to return to Ukraine to help refugees there averted a potential problem with the Bishop. As I had been acting undercover for the police at the time, a blind eye was firmly turned to the testimony of that rat, Ryan, that Irina and I had "led on" himself and his Russian friends; no one asked about the aftermath.

Don't ask, don't tell, was the attitude taken. No one asked. I certainly was not telling. Would that it was that easy, I reflected in one of my many leisure moments, as I walked the Thames path back to Teddington. I could have claimed it was the adrenaline flooding through my system that had propelled me into bed with Irina; I could have, but I had a conscientious objection to lying to myself.

Despite the presence of Ryan and the two Russians, I had enjoyed kissing Irina. I had been aroused, and I need to decompress. I had also long been aware that I was attracted to women. One thing led to another. We had both enjoyed it. Consensual? Totally. In fact, the sexually experienced Irina had taught me a great deal over the next couple of days. But she was experienced, and, or so I suspected, she hankered after more than she was likely to get with me.

And what, I mused, as I came to the bridge over the Thames that led to the pub where I was headed for tea before evensong, would that have been? That reflection made me wonder whether one could actually leave oneself?

At twenty-eight, I was still, technically a virgin. If I had been assaulted by Ryan and his friends, then the church would have been sympathy itself; you poor woman, you are not a victim, you did not ask for this, you survived. I'd have been offered counselling and other help. But I had made love to another woman, and if I had wanted to take that into some kind of relationship, there would have been enough red flags to have filled a Chinese stadium. Same-sex relationships among the clergy were forbidden. Did they happen? Yes. But - yes, don't ask, don't tell was the party line.

There was a help line for gay clergy run by a charity, but I was not a great one for help lines, which given that I had often recommended them to others, made me something of a hypocrite. But then, being possibly gay and a priest might, some would have argued, already made me one of those. Still, I reflected, over tea and jam and scones, as I was now as celibate as any nun, the question did not arise.

Evensong at Holy Trinity was balm to my soul, and Ted and Alice, the parish priest, and his wife, chatted nicely to me afterwards, wondering what was next. As I told them, I wish I knew.

Adsit omen.

When I had been in the benefice, Monday was my day of rest. I'd go for a country walk, I'd bump into parishioners (sometimes literally), and I'd chat, getting to know them. As a Priest I was, in my view, in a position of service. One of the things I had not enjoyed at Theological College was the feeling, prevalent in some quarters, that as priests we were "set aside" and therefore "special." Some of my Anglo-Catholic brothers in ministry took such a view, and it was not uncommon in some Evangelical quarters.

One of the things I had learned from Susan Fletcher, my training minister, was the difference which ordaining women had made to the ministry. She was old enough to have been a teenager when the conflict was finally won in the early nineties, and for her, the biggest difference ordaining us had made was the normalising of the idea of service.

It was a huge privilege to confect the Sacraments and to be the channel of God's Grace; but that was what I was. That was what I, and other priests were set aside for; not to be charismatic leaders, imitating Moses. If I had a pet peeve (and who doesn't?) it was those charismatic men who sounded like Billy Graham wannabes. But perhaps I was just envious of their gift? It was good to think like that, stopped me getting too self-righteous - a perpetual worry for me, and, I thought, for any good priest.

It was while pondering that on my morning walk into Richmond down the Thames Path that my mobile went. Rummaging in my bag I found the thing just in time to take it.

"Yes, Rowan here. How can I help?"

"Rowan, my name is Margaret, I am Bishop Jane's PA, would you be free for a chat over the phone later today? I don't suppose there's any chance that you could pop into Lambeth Palace this afternoon is there?"

Jane Summers was one of the auxiliary bishops who helped the Archbishop of Canterbury. That, I thought, was either a good sign, or a bad one, either way I signalled my agreement to an afternoon meeting at three. It gave me time to get home, put my dog collar on and something more suitable than my sweatshirt and pants in which to meet a bishop.

I had always taken the view that being a woman and a priest did not mean one had to look dowdy. A slimline black dress, flared from the waist and just above the knee, with glossy black tights gave the image I was comfortable with. I was vain enough to enjoy some of the looks I got on the District Line train from Richmond.

Being one of those women who would rather be an hour early than five minutes late (girlhood trauma thanks to Mama who was a Tartar on punctuality), I decided to get off at Westminster and walk up to the Palace.

As Parliament was still in recess, Westminster was pretty quiet, though the policemen and the barriers reminded one of the dangers always present. To my amazement, as I walked past the public entrance, my eyes met the gaze of one of the policewomen on duty.

"Robin, Robin Topham?"

"Oh my, Elena, is it you? Wow, you did your training then?"

"Are you allowed to say to a Lady Vicar that you look hot?"

"You, are, Elena."

She grinned.

We'd been friends at St Guthlac's, but had lost touch after the sixth form.

"Must be ten years, Robin. You here on business? Can't imagine it's for pleasure!"

I laughed, how very El, as she had always been known.

"Actually, El, I am off to the other Palace up the road, Lambeth."

"I knock off here at six, if you are still in the area, fancy a drink?"

"Love to - let me text you."

"Sure, here's my number. Thank you, Madam, and yes, just along the road that way," she said, changing tone and topic. I noticed another officer coming close. I played along.

"Thank you very much, constable, much appreciated."

"Hi Sarge, I was just directing the Reverend to Lambeth Palace."

The other police officer was a tall man who, if he was trying to look unamused was succeeding spectacularly well.

"Well get on with it, just because this is your last week here is no reason for slacking, constable."

"Of course, Sir," El replied, winking at me.

Gosh, I thought, that was a nice coincidence. Maybe my luck was turning?

I had to admit to myself that I was feeling a little bruised by recent events. I'd enjoyed rural ministry and, if I was honest with myself, would like to have gone on with it. It was unfashionable, poorly paid and a lot of work, but it suited me. However, the only view I could take was that God had other plans, so it was time to stop moping, end my personal pity party, and get on with seeing what was next.

I got to Lambeth Palace in good time, and was shown into one of the waiting rooms. I'd been here a few times, always impressed, if not slightly oppressed, by the many Archbishops who gazed down on one from their flattering portraits.

"Rev. Topham, could you come through, Bishop Jane is free now>"

I followed Margaret upstairs to her office, which reminded me of that of my old tutor's as Queen's.

Bishop Jane was a tall, but slight woman, in her fifties, shortish grey hair, well-styled, she smiled in what looked like a benign way.

"Coffee, Robin?"

"Pleased, white, decaff, please."

She asked Margaret to get us one each, then gestured to me to sit down.

"First, can I say, Robin, how sorry I am about what happened, but I hope you understand that your Bishop and Susan both thought it was for the best, given your local circumstances."

"I do understand, but thank you for the apology. But would I be right in thinking that's not why I am here?"

She smiled as the coffees were served, offering me a biscuit with it.

"You'd be spot on, Robin. I have a new posting for you if you want to take it."

I looked interested.

"Your work in Suffolk helped unmask a network which brings Eastern European women here for sex trafficking, and we have been, along with social services, establishing shelters for these women. We want to appoint a chaplain to those homes, and we want you to be it. By "we," I mean the Archbishop and myself."

"Golly," I said, "I did not even know he knew I existed!"

"He was told of your work, and he and I agree that given your unusual experience, you may be the right woman for the job."

"Where would it be based?"

"Well, you could go back to Suffolk, to the coast at Felixstowe, we have homes there and in Lowestoft, as well as some women settled in the community, where you could help the local clergy. You'd report directly to me though. What do you think?"

I was taken aback. I had thought my little adventure had gained me a permanent black mark on the record, but it seemed not, unless this was their way of putting me into the sidings.

"Where should I be based?"

"There's an old rectory we are having refurbished in Lowestoft, near the mission, that would be suitable. Will you take it?"

I had noticed that this was the only offer on the table, so assumed that it was this, or wait until something came up.

"I should like to try, if you feel this is somewhere I could help."

"One question, if I may, Robin?"

"Of course, Bishop."

"Oh do call me Jane, Robin. Reading between the lines of the report of the case from the Intelligence Services, I note that you stayed with, was it Irina, afterwards. I know the church operates a don't ask, don't tell line on such matters, but in confidence, I want to know, are you gay?"

Oh gosh! Well, there it was on the table. She was my Bishop, she had asked me a straight question, she deserved as straight an answer as I could give.

"I think I am."

A smile flitted across her lips.

"You think, Robin. Are you not sure?"

I could feel myself blushing.

"Not really. Irina was the first time I have had sex with anyone. I have been attracted to men, but, well, to be honest, I don't think I am going to go there."

"Thank you for being so honest, Robin. It's okay, I am also gay, and the reason I asked is that there is a network of gay women in the church, and I have a feeling it might help you if you ever need to talk."

Had there been a feather in the offing, you could have knocked me down flat with it.

"Thank you, Jane, for trusting me with that."

"I know how hard it can be Robin. My generation was the first to benefit from the Church agreeing to ordain women. I hope your generation might be the first to benefit from a more liberal attitude to gay people."

I felt a small tear form in each eye. It felt such a relief. I took out my handkerchief to dab them away.

"It's alright, Robin, let them flow. It can be such a relief to tell someone. Please feel free to talk to me whenever you need."

"Thank you, Jane, but, well, is it safe to put me into a ministry with vulnerable women?"

"Put it this way Robin. You don't strike me as a predator, and you do have a manner which will help put these women at ease. Tell me, with Irina, who took the initiative?"

"She did, Jane."

Jane smiled.

"As I thought. Look, Robin, these girls have all been used and abused by men, putting a male vicar in there would not work. Let's see how you do. Oh, one final question?"

"Yes Jane."

"Is there a woman in your life at the moment?"

"No, so no impediment to my giving all my time to this ministry."

"Good. Now, drink up your coffee, and let's talk a little about what you will be doing."

I felt a huge sense of relief wash over me.

I knew, from my training, that confession was good for the soul, but had no realised how much I had needed to tell someone about this. Secular friends thought it mad, nowadays who cared? Well, as I would tell them, the Church did. My Bishop now knew, and what was more, she sympathised.

We talked about the practicalities, and Jane told me that the paperwork would be with me on the morrow. They wanted me to start at the end of the month, but if I wanted to start earlier, that could be arranged. I asked if I could have a day or so to make up my mind, a favour granted with a smile. She also arranged for me to see my friends at the Clewer Trust, which dealt with modern slavery.

"What were you planning for lunch, Robin?"

"I had no plans, Jane, I am meeting a friend after she finishes working, but that apart, I had no plans except to go to see what I could scour from the bookstalls along the South Bank."

"In which case, let me treat you to lunch here."

Whatever I had been expecting, it was not such kindness.

I recognised one or two of those dining, and, overcoming my nervousness, managed to order a salad and some mineral water.

Jane regaled me with stories from her early days in ministry, not least about how hard it had been being one of the first women priests.

"So there was just no way I was ever going to mention my sexuality. Besides, Robin, back then attitudes were much worse, there was a law against teaching children about gayness, and oddly or not, the AIDS pandemic made things worse. There was no point trying to tell anyone that the only couple guaranteed never to get AIDS was two lesbians."

I liked her sense of humour, and appreciated her forthrightness with me. It felt special.

I told her more about what had happened with Ryan Surtees and the Russians, and she listened with rapt attention.

"You were very brave, Robin."

"I may have been a bit naive, Jane, but Our Lady saved the day."

She smiled.

"She has that habit. Would you like to join me in praying the Rosary after lunch?"

I accepted, which was how we ended up in her private chapel praying together. She said a prayer for my Ministry at the end, and thanked me.

"The pleasure was mine, Jane."

"I think, for the first few months, Robin, perhaps a personal briefing would be useful, what do you say? I'll throw in lunch."

I grinned.

"A deal!" I said, kissing her on both cheeks.

That still gave me time to scour the South Bank bookstalls for anything of interest, not that my library needed any more books, but I loved the atmosphere.

I sat and had a coffee, reading through a collection of George Herbert's poems; now there was a gift I wished I had. There was something luxurious about just sitting there and watching the world go by, and all human life seemed to be there.

My phone pinged, just after five, it was Elena, suggesting we meet up at the King's Arms. I texted back that I could be there in fifteen minutes, as I was on the South Bank. She texted back saying that she'd be happy to come over, and did I fancy eating. As I had nothing else to do, I texted back my location, and ordered myself a mineral water.

About ten minutes later, I saw Elena, now out of uniform and waved at her; she waved back.

Her Greek ancestry showed, from that jet black hair and olive-coloured eyes to her slightly dark skin; she was even more beautiful than I remembered. It had been a decade, and it had been kind to her. Her white dress set off her skin perfectly, and showed just enough cleavage and leg to attract attention, but not so much as to invite it.

"What would you like to drink, Robin?" She asked.

"Well, if we're eating, why not get a bottle of white?"

"Great idea," she said, going inside to order.

It was a calm, warm, late summer evening, perfect for sitting out of doors and sipping wine and catching up with an old friend.

Elena had, she said, gone straight into the police force after finishing her sociology degree. She enjoyed the job, and had been based at Westminster for the last two years.

"So where next?" I asked.

"Border Agency," she said, working to try to make the Government's policies actually work."

"Where will you be based?"

"They're sending me to East Anglia. What about you? Who knew Vicars could be so attractive?"

"Are you flirting with me, Elena Pandelides?"

"Too right I am, between girlfriends at the moment, and it isn't every day you bump into your first love."

"Was I that?"

"You were the first girl I went to bed with, love, so that has to count. So are you based here? What was Lambeth all about?"

"I was in Suffolk, but something happened which made that untenable, for the past few months I've been kicking my heels."

"Nice heels they are too. I didn't know Vicars were allowed to wear high heels?"

"Oh these, things, had them for ages, and I don't count them as high!"

"Now you intrigue me. So what was the Lambeth thing about?"

I told her, and her interest was clear.

"Lowestoft? I'll be based in Ipswich, covering the coastal areas, hey, maybe we could meet up? Unless your girlfriend objects. Or did you decide guys were your thing?"

I told her that there had been a man, but that it had gone nowhere, and then found myself spilling the beans about the whole Ryan thing. She listened with rapt attention.

"Fuck, Robin, the things you vicars get up to! Are you and Irina still a thing?"

"Alas, no, she went back to Ukraine to help there."

"You up for a meal?" Elena asked.

"Why not? I'd be dining for one at home."

We ordered one of the specials, and chatted about old times and what we'd been doing since. It felt good to catch up with her. The long summer evening allowed us to sit out until after nine o'clock. The Thames was lit up with passing boats, the South Bank hummed with people. It felt good to be here in El's company.

"One for the road?" El asked.

"Why not, I'll have a grappa," I replied.

"Good idea, let me get them."

Perhaps it was the effect of the drink, or a long day, but I was beginning to feel a little tired, and it would take me at least an hour to get back home, indeed at this time of night, more like two.

El came back with the drinks.

"I took the liberty of paying; hope you don't mind?" She said.

"That was sweet of you, let me next time."

"Deal," she smiled, "you'd like a next time?"

I said I would, realising that I really would. As things moved on, there was a comfort in harking back to a more settled time. Even as my thoughts turned in this direction, I noticed that El's foot was playing with mine. Could she, too, want old times?