Chapter 3

Helen avoided Reminder for the rest of the week, spending a couple of hours a day at the Health Club, and dining on salads in a twee café situated at the end of an alleyway off the High Street. It had good coffee, though, and she permitted herself a cappuccino with her meal, while eschewing the tempting deserts on offer.

Despite avoiding Reminder... or, rather, Geoff ... her masturbatory fantasies persisted. In fact, they strengthened and grew in intensity. Sunday morning, she woke early. Remembering Dulcie and their meeting, she thought about going to church. In the past, that had been a social thing, an occasional thing, more for appearance than anything else, but somehow she knew that if she went it would be more significant than that. But Geoff would be there ... perhaps. She shook herself. She couldn’t avoid the boy – young man – forever. If she wanted to ... and she didn’t ... she’d need to move away. She could. There was nothing tying her to the town. Except ... she thought of Esme, receptionist at the Health Club. Glad, of the Barge Tearooms. That librarian, what was her name? Dulcie, at the church. People who accepted her as she was, extended the hand of friendship. Would she find the same elsewhere?

She showered – again – and dressed with care. Thick tights under a long skirt in a heavy, dense, wool mix. A blouse, but over it a thick, soft jumper. Long winter coat. Sensible shoes.

The sound of church bells penetrated her consciousness; not loud, the sound was considerably attenuated by the double glazing. A moment’s panic, thinking that she was late, before checking the clock; twenty minutes, plenty of time to get to the church without rushing.

It was too cold to amble, so she walked briskly down to Church Street, finding herself among others, ones, twos and threes making their way to St. Mary’s. As a result, she arrived almost ten minutes before the service. She collected the necessary books with a slip of paper with the words of a hymn, and chose a place in a pew well back from the front and discreetly to one side. She was vaguely aware of someone sitting beside her on one side before a young couple slid in on the other. The young woman, dark haired and slim, smiled at her.

“Hello! I’m Sasha Stevenson, and this is my husband, Malcolm.”

Helen could hear the happiness and ... was it pride? ... in her voice and for a moment felt an unwelcome flash of envy. “Helen,” she replied, “Helen Firth. I’ve only been in Maldon a few weeks.”

“Oh! I hope you like it here?”

“Yes, I do. I met your vicar shortly after I got here, but this is my first service.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it, if that’s the right word. We’re ... the church here ... is quite special.”

Sasha turned her attention back to her husband and the Bible in her hand. Helen glanced to her right. How odd. The person who’d sat next to her wasn’t dressed like the rest of the congregation. He was wearing rough clothes – corduroy trousers, a heavy tartan shirt, some sort of scarf round his neck. His hair was long and tied back in a pony-tail, and he was bearded. More to the point, she recognised him.

Their eyes met, and he smiled. “Welcome,” he said, “glad to see you here.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

That was Sasha, on the other side of her. “Nothing,” Helen said, turning to her, “I was just...” she glanced to her right, where ... nobody was sitting. She shook her head. Was she going mad? “No. Nothing.”

Sasha smiled. “Helen, sometimes there’s a Person who comes to meet certain people. I’ve met him, and I think you have, too. Don’t worry. He’ll be there if you need Him. You might notice Him during the service. I often see Him with Dulcie, especially when she’s praying for someone.”

Helen couldn’t suppress her surprised expression, but further conversation was prevented by the organ beginning the first hymn. She was carried along by the structure of the service, though she knew only one of the hymns, but more to the point, she felt comfortable, accepted, welcomed ... loved. At the Communion, she wasn’t going to go forward, but Sasha almost dragged her out and, once at the rail, didn’t want to be singled out by refusing to receive the elements; she had, after all, been confirmed in her teens. Afterwards she couldn’t get out of joining Sasha and Malcolm for coffee. While there, Dulcie spoke to her. “Come to lunch, Helen, please.” Then turning to Sasha, “What about you and Malcolm?”

“Jeanne’s got a roast in the oven,” the girl replied, “otherwise we’d love to.”

“Thank you, Dulcie. I’d like that,” Helen answered.

Dulcie smiled, and crossed the room to a pretty girl with short, ash-blonde, hair, holding the hand of a small boy. She picked the boy up and he wrapped his arms round her neck as Dulcie spoke to the girl, who then took the boy back, smiled, nodded, and left. Dulcie then circulated among the others present, while Sasha took the chance to introduce Helen around. It was far from being the ordeal it might have been. Soon, the crowd (not so big, but the church extension wasn’t large either) had mostly dispersed, and Dulcie came to claim Helen from Sasha.

“Thank you for looking after me,” Helen said, smiling. “I’ve felt really ... at home.”

Sasha smiled brilliantly and, impulsively, pulled Helen into a warm hug.

Helen walked with Dulcie – who moved quickly, despite being shorter than Helen – the half-mile to the Rectory. There, Helen was introduced to the young blonde she’d seen with Dulcie at church. “Helen, this is Liina, who lives with us. Richard – that’s my husband, he’s at work at the hospital, I’m afraid – and I think of Liina as our daughter.”

The little boy trotted over to Dulcie, reached out and laid his hand on her tummy. “Mummy, baby,” he said, looking at Helen.

Dulcie sighed, shaking her head, and looked at Helen. “I don’t know how he knew. We haven’t said anything because of the risk of losing the baby early.” She smiled down at her on and stroked his hair. “Yes, Peter. God willing, a new baby next year.” She turned back to Helen. “Peter ... was a gift. I was pregnant with him when Peter – my first husband – was killed, and I didn’t know. He was born at about half-past one in the morning of Christmas day. A Christmas present from God.”

“Dulcie,” Liina interrupted, “lunch is ready. It’ll keep a while if you’d rather...”

“No, love. Let’s eat now. I’ll talk to Helen later; if she wants to, of course.”

The lunch was a savoury casserole, with dumplings. Instead of a grace, though, Dulcie took a small bread roll and tore it in half. “Let’s remember Jesus,” she said, “Who is with us, and in us.” She passed Helen a scrap, then Liina, then Peter. She picked up a glass of red wine – Helen had wondered what it was doing in the middle of the table. “Drink, remembering that Christ died for us, and be thankful.” They each, including little Peter, who made a face at the taste, sipped a little of the wine, then Dulcie went on, “Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this food and your love for us all.”

Liina then served up helpings of the stew and they began to eat. A few minutes in to the meal, Dulcie glanced at Helen. “I expect you’re wondering about the bread and wine?”

“Well ... in a way, yes. I mean, I understand what you did, sort of, but most church people take it all so seriously.”

“I take it seriously,” Dulcie replied, holding up her hand to stop Helen apologising. “The Roman Church recognises seven sacraments, the Church of England three, most protestant churches two. Personally, I think we can make two opposed errors; one is to take things too lightly, the other, too seriously. In some traditions, Communion is observed four times a year, in others, daily. I believe Jesus intended the Lord’s Supper to be integral to family life, not something secret and mystical, restricted to a magical ‘priesthood’. If my husband was here, he would have said the words and broken the bread, because he is the head of this household, even though I am ordained. A sacrament isn’t magic. It’s a symbol. I believe there are many sacraments. A hug, or a kiss can be a sacrament. A glass of water. Anything that mediates the love of God between His creatures. When I stand at the front of the church to marry a couple, it is merely a formal recognition of something which is either already, or soon will be, the case. If it isn’t the case, then there is no marriage, despite the documents, despite the law.”