The Recluse
Copyright© 2025 by Tedbiker
Chapter 5
Callie McPherson:
I walked with Dulcie back to the Rectory, chatting very generally. Neither of us aware of what was going on back at the hotel. Robert and I hadn’t got up early enough to have breakfast before heading to the church. I supposed Robert would either get something at the kiosks with his coffee, or at the hotel. Dulcie’s friend had something cooking in the kitchen as she ushered me into the lounge.
“How about a sausage sandwich?” Dulcie asked, “With some coffee?”
“Yes, please. Just milk in the coffee, please.”
Once we were settled, Dulcie and I ate our sandwiches and drank our coffee – excellent coffee, Robert has spoiled me for instant – and Dulcie didn’t begin talking with me, not seriously, until we’d finished eating. But then ... it was just as hard as I’d expected to begin with my earliest experiences. She’s so ... empathetic is the word, I think, that soon I was reliving it all. I was going to say ‘vividly’, but it was more than that. It was real. I was there. You know, Mum wasn’t really a bad Mum. She tried. But she just couldn’t cope. The school, that really meant Missus Lincoln, knew something of my situation. That was inevitable with me in hand-me-downs from jumble sales or charity shops. Often the helpers in the shops or the church fund-raisers, whatever, felt sorry for me and actually slipped me odds and ends. Besides that, I would go to sleep in classes, and I was always thin, always hungry. When the social worker investigated, well, I was in ‘Care’ almost before I knew it.
They call it ‘Care’. I’m not sure of an appropriate title. My first foster parents were fairly good. I was with them for a few months. I was, at least, dressed decently and had regular meals. Something happened with them, I don’t know what, and I was in a place with several other kids. That was temporary – you know what they say about temporary arrangements. Eventually, though, I was placed with a couple who were ... I guess the term is ‘fundamentalist’ Christian. Drab clothes, church twice on Sundays and once in the evening in the middle of the week. I could have coped with that, though it was trying. But the constant barrage of criticism got me down, assumptions about me, being ‘mixed race’, and later, being touched up by the husband, well, that was just too much. I packed a few things in a plastic shopping bag – I wasn’t allowed a backpack like other kids at school – and left in the middle of the night.
(It was stupid, I suppose. Looking back I might say that God was looking after me, though at the time I thought I was just lucky.)
Sometimes I got a bed in some shelter where no questions were asked, with an opportunity to take a hot shower and get some fresh, if second hand, clothes. In the summer I actually bathed in the river and slept under the trees in the park. Until one Christmas Eve when I went into the church, more to be warm than for any spiritual reason, and met Robert. Begging, that was habit, but it got me far more than I would have hoped. I told Dulcie that I went with him, willing to shed my virginity, anything, really, just to get some relief from the streets.
I’d been talking with my head down, not meeting her eyes, but I looked up and was held by her gaze. Warmth. Understanding. Compassion.
“I was a prostitute,” she told me, quietly. “I was a junkie, and selling my body was all I knew along with getting the next fix. Then I met Peter and was introduced to Jesus. When you’re at rock bottom you either stay there until you die, or climb out of the rut. God was so important in my redemption, I now live to serve Him.”
I didn’t know what to say, and just stared at her. Somehow she just radiated serenity and assurance. It did not, as Robert sometimes put it, ‘compute’.
“Callie,” Dulcie said to me, quietly, “the only problem I can see with your situation is that you’re not eighteen. With the change in the law you cannot marry before you’re eighteen. And the ceremony in church, or register office, that’s for the state, not for God. If Robert were to have intercourse with you, technically, that would be your marriage. Unfortunately, though, the difference in your ages is such that he might be vulnerable to a criminal charge, even though you’re over sixteen.”
“I understand that. That’s what the social worker said back in Sheffield. But I’m a virgin. I would think a doctor would confirm that. I just don’t want him to be in trouble because of me.”
“May I pray for you, Callie?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so...” I was trying to get my head around what she was saying. But she stood and came over to me, stood behind me and laid a hand on my head. The sounds she made were in no language I recognised. They were sort of musical, flowing. But as she prayed I felt arms around me. But ... Yes, I was being held. Held in loving arms. I felt an intense sense of being home, somehow. Dulcie’s voice stopped, but the feelings remained.
“How are you feeling now?” Dulcie’s voice penetrated my emotions, though without actually changing them.
“Safe,” was all I said.
“Good. Callie, I hope you’ll stay with us here, should you need to.”
“Thank you. Everything seems ... seemed ... too much. Complicated. It would be so much simpler if I could just stay with Robert.”
“I’m sure. Look, Callie, I set aside the morning for you, but there are things I ought to be doing. In a few minutes...” she glanced at her watch, “any minute now, I fact, Rebecca will be here. She’s my Pastoral Assistant, working on her Ordination by distance learning. Stay and talk to her, and call Robert and tell him to come here for lunch. It’ll just be sandwiches, okay?”
Dulcie left the room, and I walked over to check out her book shelves. It was quite a wide selection. I think the word is ‘eclectic’. It was very shortly after that pretty girl a bit older than me entered the room, holding out her hand.
“Hi!” she said, brightly. “I’m Rebecca. I was a runaway, too.”
Robert Bethune:
I wasn’t comfortable, and had that heavy feeling in my gut. However, I tried to appear calm. The Constable handed me over to the desk sergeant, Sergeant Harris, and left.
“Mister Bethune,” the sergeant said, “I apologise for this, but we’ve had a request from Family and Community Services in Sheffield. You are not under arrest, but we’d ask you to remain here to speak to a social worker from this area. You can, of course, have legal representation as well.”
“I think that would make me feel more comfortable,” I admitted. “I don’t know any of the legal firms in this area, though.”
“No problem. Normally, I’d call the next on the list – we have a sort of rotation system. I can do that, or if I might suggest, there is a young woman who...”
“You’d recommend this lady?”
He smiled. “Of course not. That would be contrary to departmental rules.”
I thought for a moment, not getting any sense of negative attitude from him. “Sounds good, then.”
He pointed at a door opposite the desk. “If you’d like to sit in that interview room, I’ll make a couple of calls. Can I interest you in some coffee or tea?’
I held up my thermal mug of Costa Coffee. “Thanks, but I bought this just before your colleague brought me here.”
“Good enough. That’s certainly better than ours.”
Well, I sat in that little room for what seemed like an hour, with just my phone for company. I texted Callie to say I was ‘helping the Police with their enquiries’, then settled to make use of the Kindle app on the phone. I suppose I sat there for about twenty minutes, reading, before a young (looking) woman came in.
“Mister Bethune, I’m Laura Thompson, solicitor at law. I’d say ‘good morning’, but I dare say that you’re not feeling that at the moment. Perhaps you’d tell me what’s going on in your life just now?”
Well, I told the tale, pretty much as the rest of this.
“So,” the lawyer prompted as I finished, “have you slept with her?”
“We’ve slept together, as I said, as in sleeping in the same bed. I didn’t choose that, she climbed into bed with me. We’ve cuddled, and we’ve kissed, but no more.”
She stared at me. “From anyone else, that’d be hard to believe, Mister Bethune, but somehow, yeah, I believe you. And right now, she’s at the Rectory with the Rector?”
“Yeah. I was sent off to get a snack on the prom, but headed back to the hotel instead.”
“And you’ve known her just since Christmas?”
“Yes. I’ve got to confess, I’ve never had a girlfriend, even. I’m just, well, a nerd.”
“You got through a degree course at University without having a girlfriend?”
“I got through a Masters without having a girlfriend. Girls frighten me. At least, most girls frighten me. I’m still shocked that I offered Callie a bed for the night.”
The lawyer was smiling and shaking her head. “Mister Bethune, I think you’re a unicorn.”
I looked at her smiling face, puzzled for a moment, but then remembered a Sci-fi tale I’d read some time previously. “You know, you might be right,” I said, smiling also.
“This situation is odd,” the woman started, suddenly serious. “Callie is over sixteen, but you’re, what, twenty-nine?”
“Twenty-seven,” I answered.
“Okay. So you’re ten years older than Callie. If she were in her twenties a ten year gap would be irrelevant. The problem is that she could be held to be vulnerable, and unable to give meaningful consent. I suspect that is the issue here. Child services in Sheffield may be concerned that you’ve taken a minor child, a vulnerable minor child (and she is a minor child until she reaches eighteen) out of their jurisdiction. I would prefer to keep this whole business out of the legal system, if that’s possible.”
“One thing is bothering me, Ms. Thompson...”
“Call me Laura, if you like.”
“Well, if I can be Robert, or Rob?” She nodded, and I went on, “Laura, I got to the hotel about seven hours after leaving Sheffield. I hadn’t told anyone we were going, though the vicar knew we planned to visit Dulcie. But how come there was a local police officer waiting when I got back to the hotel this morning? Not that much more than 24 hours after leaving the city?”
“We may never know. It’s possible that someone was suspicious at the hotel and called the Police. It may be that someone in Child Services in Sheffield tried to contact Callie and panicked. Whatever. But...”
There was a tap on the door, and an officer poked her head in. “Excuse me, but Ms Jenson is here. Are you ready to see her?” She was addressing Laura Thompson, rather than me, but I nodded.
“May as well.”
“Show her in, Kelly, please?”
The head disappeared, and a matronly woman, conservatively dressed, walked in.
“Good morning, Laura,” she smiled at the solicitor. Then turned to me. “Mister Robert Bethune, I suppose?”
I looked at Laura, who smiled and nodded. “This is Bev Jenson, Social Worker.”
“That would be me,” I agreed. “I hope we can resolve whatever the issues are here?” I glanced at the social worker, who smiled.
“Just as a matter of interest, where is Miss McPherson right now?”
I shrugged. “I left her with Reverend Chesterman, at the Rectory,” I said.
She chuckled. “That’s wonderful! Would you mind telling me how she comes to be there?”
I shrugged again. “The Vicar in Sheffield – Saint Judes – suggested that Reverend Chesterman might be a good person for Callie to talk to...”
“No one better,” the woman agreed. “And Dulcie came from Sheffield originally. She’s helped a lot of young women in difficult situations. I have my doubts about God, you know, but there’s no doubt Dulcie has something special about her. I’ll go and see her. She’s an approved foster carer, so I can’t see social services in Sheffield having a problem with Callie being there. You say there’s been nothing sexual between you?”
“Nothing past a kiss and a hug.” I hesitated, but went on, “She did say that when she came home with me at Christmas, she did so expecting to have sex with me.” I hesitated again, took a deep breath, but went on, “It didn’t sit well with me to take advantage of her, and after a while I realised I cared for her – a lot – and asked her to marry me. Apparently that can’t happen until she’s eighteen.”
“Wow! I never thought I’d meet a unicorn,” she laughed. “I’ll have words with Sheffield. If you’re not thinking of rushing off, I’ll tell the police here there’s no point in keeping you.”
“Thanks.” I hope she heard the heartfelt emotion in my brief answer. She handed me a card, smiled and left.
A few minutes later, the desk sergeant came and told me I was free to go. Leaving the station, I made my way down the High Street, but after passing a couple of cafes, looked at my watch. Seeing that it was past midday, I dived in to the next one and ordered a salad and coffee.
Callie McPherson: