Robin's Way 06

I found myself a minor celebrity.

It had been a slow news day, so the interview appeared on the national news, while the story in the Mail prompted others to phone me. In the end I asked Miriam, who ran the Retreat, to tell people I was busy.

I had only done what any decent person would have done; if that made me a hero, then there were millions of those; I was simply no longer in the "unsung hero" category.

"Mother Robin," Miriam asked, " shouldn't we be trying the save these women from the wicked trade they are involved in?"

"Yes, and we are."

"But why do you hear their confessions? I thought that people who confessed had to, what's the phrase, "amend their lives," and try to live a better life after."

"They do," I confirmed, not bothering to try to stop Miriam calling me "Mother Robin:" whatever made her comfortable. "But think for a moment, if I stopped being an outlet for them, what would happen?"

"Maybe they would reflect on their evil deeds and reform."

"In an ideal world, but what about in this one?"

"But as Christians we have a duty to redeem them."

"God, the only just judge, redeems, Miriam, we are called to love our neighbour as we love ourselves. These women get enough judgement for others, all of it adverse. If I can be there to help, I must do that; it is what I am called to do."

"Oh, Mother Robin, you are a good woman, too good for this world. You don't know such women and what they are like."

I let it go. Miriam had done what we all do at times. She had begun by seeing the women as victims, then moved through to calling their actions "evil," before ending by blaming them. But of course, while not knowing "such women" herself, she may had had a point.

Perhaps I was being naive. I was an upper middle-class woman from a good background with the social capital that went with all of that. It was easy to judge others who had none of those advantages. I was not stupid. I was not blind. But I had talked with these women, and while one or two, like Darnya, had clearly decided that on balance, this life offered them more than the alternatives, most of them felt trapped. They did drugs. They needed money to support their habit. Prostituting themselves was the simplest option. But, of course, they were being exploited.

It was a vicious circle. They had been led into it by their pimps. But until, and unless, they could see a viable alternative (and that was something I could try to help with) they would remain where they were. I could go into "saviour" mode and work with the agencies to try to pull them out, but the evidence suggested that unless the decision to leave was owned by them, they would slip back, and in this town, Dimitri was the lesser of two evils. That, as I told Bishop Jane at our Monday meeting, did not mean I thought that what Dimitri did was not evil.

Jane smiled at me.

"I see your dilemma, Robin, I really do. But what worries me is the idea that someone in the Border Force is aiding and abetting all of this. I talked with my contact in the Home Office and discreet enquiries are being made. You might expect some contact soon, I am told."

As to what sort of "contact," Jane could not tell me that, as she did not know.

Jane was happy with the reports on the Mission. All of my three Rescue Houses were, she said, doing a good job, and, happily, the number of women opting out of prostitution was increasing.

"I am told that some of the women have said that your non-judgemental attitude has helped them. Two said that they felt they could not carry on confessing and going back to their old ways."

"If that was the Spirit moving in their hearts, then it is to God, not me, that the credit is due."

"True, Robin, but he has only your hands to work with and your mouth through which to speak, so take credit. This Mission is still somewhat controversial, and there are many, perhaps a large majority, who would take Miriam's point of view. By the way, she says you are wonderful."

"Bless her," I smiled, "she is a good woman, and I could not do what I do without her and the small team."

"You're a good team leader, Robin, and I am hopeful that the success will help defuse some of the criticism. Your early morning swimming heroics have helped."

"Oh, Jane, it is much exaggerated."

"I am sure."

I noticed a look in her eyes, which left me a little tongue-tied.

"Sorry, Robin, I was distracted by the idea of you in your swim wear."

Jane let the words lie there.

"So, lunch?"

"Please," I said, leaving the words when they had lain.

Lunch was pleasant, and we discussed various church issues, but of course, ended up back on the "Living in Love and Faith" question.

For some years the Church had been encouraging an open discussion, called "Living in Love and Faith" about how it should behave towards gay people, especially gay clergy. Anything short of the usual Anglican genius for fudging would already have broken the Church. As it was, traditional conservatives thought that even considering blessing gay couples went a chasm too far. Gay rights activists thought the Church had gone nowhere near far enough. The former ignored the feelings of millions, whilst the latter ignored Canon Law and the views of millions of others. I felt for the Archbishops; damned if they did; damned if they didn't. I was glad I was a humble vicar.

"The Archbishop is in a dilemma, Robin. What would you do?"

"He is, and what I do is thank God I am not an archbishop - or to be honest, even a bishop."

"Ah," Jane sighed from the heart, "a wish I have often had."

"I am sorry not to be of more use, Jane, but for me, the Spirit is the same one of love that I show to the prostitutes."

"You think lesbians are like prostitutes?"

"I think that in the eyes of the Church and of many, that is the case. That does not mean I agree, it simply means that as I refrain from judging the one, I do the same with the other. I know there are differences, big ones, but in the eyes of many Christians, a woman with my feelings is as big a sinner as a prostitute."

Jane looked at me, searchingly.

"You know, I believe you. But then you have never been a prostitute; you have been a lesbian."

"True," I said, sighing.

"Is the past tense correct?" Jane asked.

"In the sense that I am celibate, yes, in the sense that I am attracted to women, no."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Robin?"

I felt Jane's hand on mine. My heart beat faster. Her eyes met mine. Our gazes locked.

"Do I?" I smiled at her, leaving so many words unspoken, but hoping that her heart would know what I meant."

"I am sure, my dear, that you could easily acquire one, so much easier in your later twenties than twenty years on."

There was a note of sadness in her voice which I found unbearable.

"It depends," I said, despairing of anything meaningful to say.

Was she really coming on to me, or was this me misreading her?

"On what?"

There was a tone in Jane's voice I did not recognise. I wished I had some experience on which to draw, but I might as well have wished for the moon.

"On circumstances and, yes, Canon Law in our case."

"Our case?"

She smiled suddenly, her laugh lines creasing, making her look even more beautiful.

"Robin, either you are blind, or you don't want to see."

"It's, well, it's just... "

"That you aren't gay? That I am not your type? That you don't feel anything?"

I felt so flustered that all I could do was to blurt out what was in my head, seldom a good idea, as like most of us, I'm better when I have time to process what my brain spins out.

"No, no and no!"

The laugh lines deepened. She looked so beautiful at that moment. Her almost white hair framed that smile, and her eyes seemed lit up like the sky at dawn. She did not look beautiful, she was beautiful. How had I not seen it properly before? Her hand touched mine.

"Is this all too much, too soon?"

"Yes and no," I said, going with this sudden 'speak your mind' fashion I had adopted.

"Yes, it's too much and no, not too soon?"

There was almost an impishness in that smile. I felt her squeeze my hand slightly, as though to reassure me. I felt reassured.

"Would it be better to continue this after lunch?"

"I hope we are not going to break Canon Law?"

"That forbids marriage, darling, which would, perhaps, be too much and too soon, to quote someone I have fallen in love with."

She'd said it.

My head did an 'oh my goodness!' thing. I know, not the most articulate was of putting it, but that reflects where my mind was at that moment. The word "love" and "fallen," in the same sentence, directed at me? No one had ever said that to me, not in this way.

I giggled, feeling nervous and emotionally naked.

"You have a nice giggle, darling. Would you like to take a stroll, I have nothing except you in the diary for the next two hours."

So we did just that. On a cool late summer's afternoon we strolled down to Westminster Bridge and talked - and talked.

Jane could hardly have been sweeter or more considerate.

"We need to take care. Usually, I would report to my immediate superior that I was involved romantically with one of my priests to avoid any perceived conflict of interests so that any appraisals, for example, would not be done by me. But since, officially, the Church does not approve of us, I can't do that. But I will make sure that one of the Archdeacons deals with you. I shall say that as your mission is special, that would be better. She will understand."

"Is the 'she' one of those in the network you mentioned?"

"She is, and you should not worry. But I hate that we cannot be open."

We both agreed that it was ridiculous. In what other walk of life would two professional women have to hide their love for each other?

"Maybe," I said, "that is one of the reasons I can't find it in me to condemn or judge the sex workers. So many of those who would condemn them, would also condemn us as sinners, despite the fact that there are almost no passages in Scripture condemning lesbianism."

"Robin, you are a sweetheart, please never change. Let me deal with the traditionalists."

That seemed just fine to me. But as we walked to the South Bank, we still had not addressed the question that had been floating around my head and, I assumed her head too. As though she were clairvoyant, Jane then broke the silence.

"Can you stay for a night or two soon?"

"Yours?"

"Yes, mine, though I should visit you soon."

"You are not worried?"

"No, the staff are loyal, and it is not like we are going to be parading it."

I felt a sense of relief, followed by one of anxiety. Jane noticed.

"I am taking it from what you have told me that you do not have a great deal of experience in these matters?"

"Apart from Irina, no, and that was simply a couple of nights."

"Don't be anxious darling, I shall help you explore. It will be fun."

I thought of that look on her face all the way home. I also thought, longingly, of the kiss on the lips we had shared as we parted. I was in a state of shock. Bishop Jane was saying she loved me, me? How on earth could that be? What should I do? How would it work? In fact I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts that when I changed trains at Ipswich, I did not spot Elena until she virtually bumped into me.

"Robin, you were a millions miles away. Thinking of those modelling contracts then?"

I looked blankly.

"What?"

"Oh you missed the tabloid pics of you on the beach in your wet shorts and tee-shirt then?"

The words 'oh my goodness,' formed on my lips.

Elena pulled the paper from her bag, and there I was, Miss Wet Tee-shirt of the day, complete with highly visible nipples and the headline: "Rev Robin bathes the day."

"Wish I looked that good coming out of the sea, darling," Elena grinned. "You catching the Lowestoft train?"

"Yes, just coming back from seeing my boss."

"Had she seen the pics then?"

"Not when I left," I said, wondering what on earth Jane would make of them. "Who on earth took that picture?"

"I'd guess one of the bystanders. Here, let's grab a drink, there'll be nothing on the train.

Luckily for me, clad in my clericals, complete with sensible skirt, I was just about unrecognisable as the woman on the beach in the picture, which was a relief.

Elena seemed eager to talk as we got to the train.

"I was talking to members of the team, Robin. They say you have an "in" with the boss, Dimitri."

"Is he the boss?" I asked.

"Seems to be. What can you tell me about him?"

I told her what I could.

"I'm a bit amazed, to be frank, Robin, that you, a vicar, are so accepting of all this."

"That's like saying that you're amazed that I acknowledge the weather. Of course I'd love it if there was no need for these women to do what they do, but two things: what are they going to do if not this; and given it exists, would you rather exile the women to the margins and condemn them, or extend God's love to them?"

"You're very forgiving, but you ought to see what goes on with these girls, Robin. What happened to the men who were with the girls?"

"They got away."

"Could you identify them? Would it be worth you talking with a police sketch artist?"

"To be honest," I laughed, "one thuggish Albanian looks much like another."

"So you know it is the Albanians who are bringing these women in?"

"So Dimitri says," I replied.

After that she changed the topic, moving on to the differences between where she had been working in London, and Suffolk.

"It's like something lost in time, really. All those big sea front hotels, now either empty or used to house prossies or refugees. It's a good thing you're there to help. Social Services seem over-stretched."

I agreed that they were.

We talked about the past, and then suddenly she said:

"I'm going to be in town for this week, you fancy meeting up for a drink?"

"That would be nice," I said, meaning it.

"Okay, fancy Wednesday night?"

"Great," I said.

The train was just coming into the station. As was my habit, I waited to let others off; Elena lingered with me.

"I was told that you listen to the women in confession, is that right?"

"I do," I said, adding swiftly, "but I can't reveal what they tell me."

"Not to anyone?' She asked.

"Not to anyone," I confirmed.

If I had thought that the 'celebrity' moment would be just that, I was wrong.

Nigel, the rector of St Mark's, commented on it when I met him for a coffee before doing the confessions there.

"There's been a lot of comment, Robin, and I am afraid that some folks think it unfortunate."

I tried to reason with him, but I could see it was to no avail. To some people it was more scandalous that I had been photographed in a wet tee-shirt than it would have been to have let those women drown, and it was clear that I would have to live with it.

Darnya also commented on it.

"You know, Robin, you have a nice pair of breasts there."

As we were walking back to the Refuge, that rather took me by surprise, and I said so.

"Well, Robin, I may fuck men for money, but I fuck other women for pleasure." She winked at me.

"I am attached already," I said.

"To another woman, I bet!"

I blushed.

"How did you know?"

"My, how do you put it, gaydar, is good. You are an attractive woman, Robin, and I sense you are lonely. I should be happy to brighten your evening, you are a good friend to us all, and it would be nice to be able to give something back."

Her hand brushed mine. I assured her that, flattered thought I was, I should not be taking her up on the offer.

Jane was reassuring when I phoned her.

"My daring, stop worrying, it will die down. Now, how are you fixed for a little time together?"

One thing about our vocation was that the idea of a weekend away was not possible - Sunday was our busiest day, but with a bit of diary juggling, we did find a Monday and Tuesday at the end of the month.

Part of me regretted the delay; part of me did not.

I had (sort of) digested the fact that Jane wanted to be with me, but if I was honest with myself, I was having trouble with what might come next. Jane was, obviously, experienced in matters of love, and, to put it mildly, I was not. With the exception of my brief affair with Irina, I was entirely lacking, which made me worry about how on earth I'd satisfy Jane.

I was not even sure what I wanted, sexually. From what the women told me, their men wanted quick satisfaction, which seemed to them something of a blessing. As more than one said: "gets it over with quickly." But that was not how I felt. I wanted to feel Jane's body against mine, I craved that sort of intimacy. I knew something of the practicalities of lesbian love making from Irina, and I had enjoyed helping her to orgasm, and her helping me to the same climax. But somehow that mattered much less than the intimacy; it was that I craved.

It was, I pondered, precisely that which was lacking from what the women told me in confession. They were engaged in a financial transaction, the quicker it was over, the better. But I knew, from the tone in their voices, that they, too, wanted more. One talked about how one of her men simply wanted to talk with her and hold her. It was, she confessed, harder on her than they men who just wanted to use her to sate their sexual desires. That was a simulacrum of what she, herself, wanted, with "the right man."

Hearing the confessions took its toll on me. But when it was over, although emotionally exhausted, I felt a sense of having been of use to them.

It was in that mood that I met Elena at the Green Dragon. She was sitting outside in the beer garden and smiled when she saw me.

"I thought you might like some wine, so I ordered and bottle and two glasses. You look preoccupied, what's up?"

I told her what Nigel had said.

"Well, if it is any consolation, my male colleagues agreed with me, you look hot in those pics."

"Thanks, I suppose," I responded, thinking it would be a little churlish not to thank her, but feeling a little weirded out at the idea of men perving over me.

"So," she asked, as we clinked our wine glasses in a toast to 'pastures new,' "have you met anyone out in this wilderness - apart from your ladies of the night?"

I told her about Darnya's suggestion, which made her laugh.

"Well, if you aren't taking her up on it, put in a word for me, I'm getting a bit desperate. Don't suppose you're free?"

I was relieved she had brought up what could have been the elephant in the room.

"No, no I am not. In fact I have just started seeing someone."

"A woman, I assume?"

"You assume right."

"Where the bloody hell did you find one in this one-horse town?"

"Oh I didn't, she's in London."

"Yeah, my last lives there, but I'd prefer to find someone closer to home. I'm guessing that as a vicar, you wouldn't be wanting to cheat on your squeeze?"

"You'd be right," I told her.

I was relieved to have that out of the way, and it was typical of Elena that, having established that we were going to remain firmly in the "friends zone," she chatted away happily, until her mobile buzzed.

"Sorry, Robin, I have to take this."

I took another sip of wine. The evening air was growing colder, there were those first hints of the chill that presaged autumn; I shivered, wondering whether we should go inside for an after-dinner drink.

How odd it was, I reflected, that Jane, Darnya and Elena should all have come on to me in the same week. Given our history, had Elena made her suggestion the previous week, I might well have responded favourably; there was no denying her attraction.

I was still pondering such matters when Elena came back.

"Sorry, darling, it's work, I shall have to love and leave you. Let me give you something for the meal."