The Shop Girl and the Priest

*****

Two days after Boxing Day I was back to Oxford and my customer service desk, and at ten o'clock on New Year's Eve we locked the front doors for that year, and with carrier bags full of groceries that would otherwise go in the bin that night or on January the 2nd, I headed back to my rooms via the night shelter.

I could have JUST made it to Cheryl's place, but really couldn't face another train and taxi ride that would get me back just in time to greet the drunks at five too, cheer as the clock struck midnight and sing Old Lang Syne and go to bed.

I decided to save my money, though, and was soon at the church hall.

I'd walked there to drop off groceries and stuff many times thanks to my position, my working hours and walk home, and they were always grateful for the carrier bags of sandwiches or rolls, loaves of bread or cakes, or carrier bags of veggies that would all get binned because of dates and labelling regulations, otherwise.

I reached the night shelter with aching arms, and headed along the narrow alley to the car park and the kitchen door. Being Oxford, the place was crawling with students, of course. I handed over the bags, indicating they were from the big store down the road and with our compliments.

The student in question was new and took them from me, giving me a long and very condescending, probably drunk 'thank you' speech, and I figured he was talking down to the 'shopgirl'.

That reeeeeeeally pissed me off.

"Do you talk to everyone that brings you free food like they're idiots, mate?"

"I'm... sorry?" He went pale for a moment.

"I'm giving you food that I could be taking back to my halls of residence at Oriel to give to my friends, but instead I bring it to you so you can feed your tired, your poor, your huddled masses." That was a bit of a lie, most of the girls and boys on my landing had gone home, besides we all had more frozen fruit and vegetables, bread and rolls than we could possibly eat. There wasn't a single freezer in the block that wasn't packed to the brim with goodies.

We had 'peel, blanche and freeze' parties, had tried some really strange smoothies and Gemma had created all manner of vegetarian recipes, most of them quite excellent.

"No!" he burst out, "No, Miss... Ma'am..."

I straightened up and folded my arms,

"Try Jaime," I said, and took a pace closer to him. "And if you're going to talk to me like a condescending twat, then next time the Roman Catholics can have it!"

I turned, and with my remaining carrier bag of stuff started my slow walk back to Oriel and the few of us still in halls, when I just about heard a groaned 'oh shit,' and the slap of running feet on stone floors,

"Miss... Miss... Excuse me, Miss?"

I stopped and turned, and there was a smiling man dressed all in black but with a white collar.

"Yes?" I almost growled.

He walked towards me with his hand extended, looking slightly tongue-tied. He stepped into the bowl of light given out by the security lamps that had come on.

Hmmmm...

"Father Russ," he said eventually, taking my hand and given it a gentle shake, "Did you say you're studying at Oriel?"

"Yes."

"Reading?"

"History," I said, with some questioning inflection.

"Specialism?"

"Ancient History."

"Damn, another atheist."

"How did you know?" I said with a lopsided smile.

"Educated guess; all you ancient historians like the idea of studying Jesus, you just rarely believe that he's the son of God and died to save us."

"You got me," I said with a grin.

"I never got your name, Miss..."

"Jaime," I said.

"Jaime," he said as if tasting the word, then looked at his watch that was moving closer to midnight as we talked. "Jaime, I'm so sorry about Tom, he's a fresher..."

"Technically, so am I!" I popped in.

"Okay, he's... shall we say not quite as worldly wise and tactful as I would expect most Freshers to be." He went quiet for a moment, just looking at me and I really didn't mind. "Anyway, please accept my apologies for his attitude." He looked back into the kitchen. "He's also had a sniff of the Barmaid's apron and is at the 'stand-up comedian' stage of drunkenness." He reached out and took my hand, "So sorry..."

Awwwww he was being so sweet! I figured I'd let him carry on.

"Apology accepted." I squeezed his hand, time to up the game and see just how sweet he could be. "Well, thanks Russ, it's time I was..." I looked down the alleyway that would take me back towards Oriel.

"Please..." he all but burst out. "We're having some cake and coffee, tea, if you'd rather... just to see the new year in. If you have other stuff to do or people to see then please do, but otherwise... won't you join m... us?" He looked like he was starting to panic. "By way of an apology, if nothing else?"

His tone suggested that he really wanted me to stay, and as if to convince me looked me up and down again, noticing my tight-fitting black work trousers that made my arse look great and I'm sure his eyelids raised in appreciation.

Hmmmmm...

Okay, the man was a vicar but he was a YOUNG vicar with a fine body and a glint in his eye, and I figured was only slightly older than me; left-hand ring finger was free of any jewellery—good sign—perhaps he was flirting with me. He was the first man I was ever consciously aware was doing so; I thought I'd take the chance.

"That would be nice... Russ." He gave a bit of a pleased exhale, and worst-case scenario, I guessed he figured the church was off the hook now and the angry lady with the regular free food was placated.

"Step this way!" He indicated that I should follow him and I was led into a large, warm, brightly-lit kitchen where I could see my bags of veggies were being unloaded, and the bread placed into the freezers.

I stepped in and the now quiet student, 'Tom,' was busy with the sandwiches and lining them up in date order for the next morning to issue to the homeless.

"Sorry Miss..." he said.

"Jaime," I said back to him with just a hint of a managerial tone I used with my staff if they'd pissed me off or messed up. "Don't do it again." I smiled to let him know he was off the hook. He grinned back at me.

"Tea or coffee, Jaime," said Father Russ.

"Tea, please," I said, and saw through the servery hatch the collection of rough sleepers and those on hard times sat in there against the December chill. He poured tea into a large mug, passed over the milk and pointed to the sugar bowl.

The noise of the chatter in the main hall rose again, and I sipped my tea. It was on the point of being a bit stewed and heavy on the tannin, but okay.

What was very nice was that Russ taking the opportunity to look me up and down now we were in the brightly lit kitchen, and I stood up straight and posed just as Cheryl and Sharan had taught me, having already unzipped my work fleece to show my top half and the bit of cleavage I allowed myself at work.

"So, do you know Dave Clemence?" he said.

Dave was the store manager and I spoke with him a couple of times a week, at least,

"Yes," I said, "He's pretty good, I've worked for much worse."

"And Ancient History," he said with a grin.

"You can blame my maternal Grandma and my school library's collection of 'Asterix the Gaul' books."

"Ah, Asterix by, Toutatis," the vicar said, quoting directly, "Tintin was okay, I suppose."

"Obelix is my personal favourite," I said with a grin and sipped my tea. It was quite strong, but was growing on me—the other thing growing on me was Father Russ, and I couldn't help but smile at the good-looking vicar who had moved a bit closer to me and was really trying to make the sweetest small talk that started with our favourite Asterix stories and characters, moving on to other comic books.

He looked down at a mess of empty and crumb-laden plates that had once held cake, but instead handed me a plate with some biscuits on it. I took the best of a rather beaten-up collection of digestive biscuits, and dipped it into my tea.

He watched. "Tell you what, Jaime, leave your cup there and follow me." He nodded to indicate his direction of travel.

I followed him along a short corridor and into an office, and he slid open a drawer indicating the office chair next to it that I sat on. In the drawer was a small brightly coloured presentation box of expensive Cadbury's chocolate biscuits, opened and with several missing from the first layer,

"Here," he said. "A Christmas present from a parishioner."

"Should you be sharing these with your flock out there?"

"Nah," he said. "This box was meant just for me, she told me."

"She?"

"She," he said,"and she's in her early seventies, so nothing to worry about there."

Oooooh, that was an interesting response!

"One of the faithful?" I said, taking a gold foil covered biscuit I knew would have a soft centre It did, and the chocolate coating was excellent.

"Yes, part of the choir, a church visitor and one of our best flower arrangers." He reached into the box and took a chocolate covered thing from the edge of the box. "She was actually quite specific, 'these are for you Father Russell'." He leaned forward and took my hand as she had obviously done for him. "Take them home with you rather than putting them in float for the meetings and the tea fund." I giggled but let him keep hold of my hand. "Let me get you a nice cup of tea, Jaime," he said, standing up and walking across to a kettle, picking it up and stepping into a side room. I unzipped my corporate fleece jacket, surreptitiously undid the top button of my blouse and spread my collar a bit more, crossed my legs and pointed my toes.

He made me a cup of Earl Grey; the previous mug had been okay, but this was way nicer and we continued to chat. I talked ancient history with him, throwing in bits and pieces of biblical interest to him. He talked about his time as an undergraduate in Oxford where he'd studied Mathematics, graduated, and a year later, achieved chartered accountant status. He worked as an accountant, but the work was never really for him.

He'd gone to a church school, had a simple 'Church of England' upbringing, attended his local church and the one in Oxford, spending lots of time doing voluntary and community work and it got its hooks into him. It was a simple step into being a volunteer, to being a deacon and finally a vicar.

I explained that my Mum had been a lifetime Baptist, but I'd stopped going to church as soon as I'd had the choice, and my atheism had followed pretty soon, of course.

We laughed again and just as we were getting slightly closer and I was just thinking about what to do next and how to get a date with this guy, but I still had to contend with the fact 'this guy' was a bloody vicar. He was a very good-looking vicar, mind you, a vicar wearing black, 'Orange Tab 501's that made the bottom sit atop his long legs look particularly good; AND HE'D asked ME to come to HIS office for a cup of tea and a special biscuit, not the stuff he was giving to the student supporters and to his rough sleeping clients. Surely there was more to this innocent mug of Earl Grey than the 'sorry about the nerdy git' apology he'd originally invited me in for.

I could ask him to come to my rooms for a meal, I was a pretty good chef and I could pretty much cook him anything. I could just keep it simple and ask him out for a coffee. I could...

WHAT WAS I THINKING? This man was a PRIEST!

The noise from down the corridor rose in its intensity and we put our mugs down and looked at our watches; it was about thirty seconds to midnight.

"Quick!" he shouted, grabbed my hand and pulled me back along the corridor out into the kitchen, then giggling our way out into the street and the crowds of people gathering for the striking of the various midnights on the various clocks around us, not necessary, as any number of people were looking at their phones and the shouted 'five-four-three-two-one!' happened.

With Russ holding tightly to my hand while another anonymous student held the other, we sang 'Old Lang Syne,' lights flashed and the fireworks started to pop.

I'd only really started to do this kind of thing since I'd moved in with Cheryl. At home, we celebrated Christmas quietly, but New Year was a non-event, and we went to bed at the same time as any other evening, wishing each other a happy new year at breakfast the next morning, all of the other stuff was considered just too... ooooh, messy and...

Well...

I think the words Dad had been looking for was 'working class,' but the rest of the family, even his brother, did New Year's parties and invited us a few times. We only went once, and were just starting to enjoy ourselves but Dad insisted that we left at ten o'clock as he was 'feeling tired.' We only went to church socials that finished by eleven, and no one over the age of eleven danced or 'let go.' It was basically a church service where people dressed slightly differently, there was a buffet and music from 'one of the youngsters' with a record player and some discs from the church collection that were old ten years before.

My first Christmas at Cheryl's house was totally different, and we ate too much, partied long and excessively, Rosie and Ruby went crazy for most of the day and were just the sweetest, and I cuddled them and they fell asleep in my arms.

New Year's Eve, Cheryl managed to keep them awake until midnight struck, stood in the middle of the sodium-lit roads and sang and I watched as Cheryl held both of her girls and hugged them and kissed them with real tears in her eyes, and I saw the love she had for them. THAT was my first introduction to the sort of family Christmas that normal people had.

And here I was, now trained in how to deal with all this and stood in a different street with different party people, and the last chorus finished and hands were shaken and hugs dispensed.

Suddenly I was hugging Russ, and we stared at each other, we went cheek to cheek and made M'wah noises and broke after a final and very tight hug. We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other.

"So, Jaime," he said with a hint of nerves, "I'm not convinced my apology was enough - Could I... err... perhaps buy you a drink sometime, dinner even?"

WHAAAAAT?

My cheeks flushed. I'd been chatting with this really nice bloke for almost an hour and suddenly the thing I most wanted him to do, he'd actually done.

SHIT! What do I say?

"That would be really nice," I mumbled, conscious that I'd never really worked on the first guy that asked me out and with my nerves added. "My work is a little strange but with enough notice, I'm game."

GAME? Fucking GAME?? What the fuck was I sa...

"Excellent." He had a really genuine and relaxed smile. "Obviously, my Sundays tend to be quite busy, but what evenings are you free?"

"Next week I can do Monday, Wednesday or Thursday," I said, knowing I was going to a pub music gig on the Friday with my Gemma and the gang.

"How about Thursday?" he said.

"Good for me," I grinned back at him, trying hard to be cool about it.

"That sounds great," he said with a big smile, "I'll see what I can book and let you know. Give me your phone number."

I took out my phone, asked him for his number and rang it. He grinned, saved it and turned the phone round, and I could see he'd put me down as 'Jamie the Atheist'.

I took the phone from him, pressed edit and retyped it as 'Jaime the Atheist'. He looked at it,

"But that says 'Jame', not 'Jamie'."

"Oh, please." I folded my arms and rolled my eyes. "Like I've never had this conversation with a thousand people before?"

I smiled, he smiled and we hugged again,

"I'd walk you back to your rooms, but sadly I'm kind of in charge of this whole place and on duty until I let the breakfast chef in at six, who kicks everyone out at nine."

"You're going to ring me, aren't you?" I said.

"Oh yeah," he said, we smiled at each other and I leaned forward for another one of those 'm'wah' cheek-to-cheek things, and I carried on my walk back to my rooms, lighter on my feet, and it was nothing to do with the fact I'd gotten rid of enough vegetables and sandwiches to feed a small army.

I'd had a cup of tea and a really nice and very long chat with a good-looking guy; that good looking guy was a priest, but he was a priest who didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off me the whole time.

I got back to my rooms just as it started to sink in.

I grabbed my laptop and started to write an email.

"Happy New Year, Cheryl!

"You know I said all the men in Oxford were either 18-year-old snotty undergrads or elderly academics? Well, at fifty minutes to midnight this very night, I was dropping off the unsold veggies, bread and sarnies to the night shelter, and I was being spoken to like an idiot, by an idiot, when a Knight in shining armour and a white collar appeared and started to apologise—for the idiot.

"Well, a few minutes later he's walked me to his office and made me a far better tea than was in the urn he was giving to the rough sleepers and get this—he couldn't take his eyes off me. He's ringing me in the week to arrange our dinner date on Thursday.

HELP!!!

Love, Jai."

I pressed the send button, kicked off my shoes, switched on the kettle and unbuttoned my smart but still quite tight work trousers that had showed my bottom to its best advantage and the Priest's interest. As they hit the floor, my mobile phone rang and it was Cheryl.

I swiped the screen, and in moments I could hear party sounds and the beat of the iPod boombox that lived on her kitchen worktop,

"Jai!" she screamed. "Happy New Year, Babes!"

"Happy New Year, Cheryl!" I called back. In the background I could hear 'I want to speak to Jaime!" from both Rosie and Ruby, and several shushed 'in a minute' pleas from my landlady.

"Sooooo," Cheryl said with the slightly pissed slur she had on her when she'd been sipping the prosecco, "It seems quite handy that you didn't come back to my place for a party!"

"Yeah," I said with a giggle.

"A white collar?"

"Yep."

"And he's an actual pukka priest, this wasn't some fancy-dress party you bimbled into?"

"Yep, showed me his office, there's a bible and everything."

"Single?"

"He's asked me out on a date, so I guess so."

"Good looking?"

"Very much."

"Age?"

"He's 26, by qualification, he's a chartered accountant."

"And you still want to go out with him?"

"Oh yes," I said quite slowly.

"Excellent!" she said, "So what do you need help with?"

"Oh," I said as I looked at myself in the mirror, my end of the work day hair tied up in a loose bun, my work blouse slightly crumpled just over my string panties and my ID badge still hung around my neck, "Nothing tooooo serious; just what to wear, what to say, what to do, should I kiss him on the first date, should I do anything else on the first date, just little things like that..."

"Oh, Baby!" cheered Cheryl and her glee was delightful to listen to, "Don't worry! Honestly, Babes, you're totally gorgeous and could wear a tracksuit to dinner and any man would struggle to keep his eyes off you, especially that black Nike one!"

I thought back to the Nike exercise gear that Cheryl had seen in a charity shop and bought for me for an exercise class we went to for a few terms. Black nylon, tight fitting vest top, cropped across my flat tummy and giving me just the best shape ever. Shame it was a 'women only' class, but I did walk there and home in it, and got a few wolf whistles.

"Wear what you feel comfortable in," she took a breath, "Oh, that grey top and your black trousers, the one that's boned so you won't need a bra. Your cleavage in that is amazing!"

Suddenly the concept didn't seem such as scary one, and I knew just what to wear.

"I could wear my black jacket with it, it is January, after all."