Chapter 4

I needed to do some shopping for the weekend. When I got home, I was just in time to see plasterers about to leave the site, and had a chat with them. I was correct in thinking the job was nearly done; they’d finished the skimming, and an electrician would be in Monday morning. Clean up would be in the afternoon, and decorators the following two days. Appliances scheduled for delivery on Thursday, they thought. In any case, the work was scheduled to be complete by the following Monday. I nodded and thanked them.

I was aware that connection to mains power and water was necessary, and that was due some time that week. A septic tank was already in place, though there had been some argument about the water table. I’d been emptying the caravan chemical toilet into pits, with grey water draining into a soak away. Oh, but I was looking forward to having a proper bathroom, toilet and shower.

The rest of the day was ... difficult. I had music. I had supplies and could cook – at least within the limitations of the two-burner stove and tiny oven. I had mobile internet, though the signal wasn’t great. That night I resorted to what I’ve heard called ‘purple prose’, and masturbated to an orgasm which at least enabled me to sleep. Sunday morning I woke with the dawn and sighed at the idea of a day without distractions. I considered taking Sea Scout out again on my own and dismissed the idea. A large cooked breakfast, coffee, and I found myself dressing up and heading out to walk into Maldon.

Being Sunday morning, some of the barges were away for various reasons, and there wasn’t a lot of activity on the quay, but I sat there until it was nearly time for the morning service at St. Mary’s. I took a place discreetly near the back as befits a very occasional attender like myself, sat, and closed my eyes. The old church is one of those places which can absorb stress, and I could feel myself relaxing, though the pew wasn’t conducive to slumping!

“Hello, Norma. Lovely to see you here.” Dulcie’s mellow voice penetrated my haze. I looked up to see her in a white robe. How to describe the woman? Chestnut hair surrounds a pretty face, but it’s her eyes which fascinate. They say that the eyes are the window of the soul, and if you ever meet Dulcie and look into her eyes you’ll see a bottomless well of warm goodness. Her smile can warm the coldest heart, or challenge the hardest one. She works too hard to be overweight, but I suppose I’d have to say she’s ‘matronly’, especially as she was clearly pregnant again. It looked good on her.

“Hello, Dulcie. When’s it due?”

She smiled. “Soon. Peter was a Christmas baby. I think this one might be a Pentecost baby. I hope I don’t deliver this one in the vestry, though.”

“You had your baby here? In the church?”

She chuckled. “Yup! I just got through the Midnight Mass. Happily there was a doctor in the congregation. Richard ... that was before we married, you understand. I was still mourning Peter ... Richard made sure I behaved and delivered Peter. Called an ambulance, which arrived when it was really all over. But, oh, what a blessing!” She paused. “I need to finish my preparations. Would you like to have lunch with us at the Rectory? You’ll be very welcome.”

Why not? “Thank you, Dulcie. I’d like that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, no trouble. We usually do something simple and undemanding, but a lot of it in case of additional guests. Today it’s a beef stew.” She smiled, laid her hand on my shoulder for a moment, and went off to the front of the church.

I closed my eyes again.

“Norma?” A somewhat familiar voice. I looked up.

“Jenni! What are you doing here? Not that there’s any reason you shouldn’t be.”

“Marty’s skippering an educational cruise on Emily Jane. They’ll be landing here later this afternoon, and staying overnight, so I thought I’d come down to see him. I left Davey with Simon and Clara. May I sit with you?”

“Of course! How is Simon?”

“He’s ... okay. But I had a word with Alison. She knows about Operation Nightingale, and is looking into it. Simon doesn’t know about it yet, but we’re hoping he’ll be accepted for the summer.” She giggled. “And all being well, Alison will be going along. Her excuse is that she hadn’t arranged a summer dig for herself, and is taking a break from her doctoral thesis.” Another giggle. “One of my friends called me ‘Jenni the master manipulator of relationships’ a few years ago.” Pause. “I think you’re setting up in competition.”

“Me? Why ever would you say such a thing?”

“Just joking, Norma. I wondered if you might be interested in Simon yourself. I know he’s been pining for Alison, and Alison has been determinedly resisting taking any interest. Any overt interest, that is. It’s been obvious for ages that she is interested.’

“Rather young for me, Jenni.”

“You’d be far from the first woman I know who snagged a man much younger.”

Before I could continue the conversation, Dulcie began the service. I’m far from being an active member of any church, but I do attend two or three times a year, so the structure of the service was not unfamiliar to me. However, there was a difference. Every word of the service, every hymn, had an enormous impact upon me. I just wasn’t sure how.

Jenni and I both went forward to receive communion. After the bread and wine, a third person came to us, dressed in a brown robe, coarse, but seamless. Bearded, with long, dark hair pulled back, He stooped and laid a hand on my head. “Bless you, daughter,” He said, then moved to Jenni, who was looking up, wide eyed. “Bless you, Daughter,” He repeated, with His hand resting upon her head. He moved on, then. I didn’t see Him leave, but He certainly wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Jenni and I stood and our hands joined – unconsciously, on my part – and we made our way back to our places. Sitting back in the pew as the service proceeded, Jenni and I looked at each other.

“Wow,” she murmured.

“Wow, indeed,” was all I could reply.

At the end, Jenni turned to me. “Would you like to have lunch with me? The Porthole Restaurant is really quite good, you know.”

“Oh!” I hesitated, but went on, “I’d like that, but I accepted an invitation from Dulcie.”

“No problem,” she smiled and shrugged.

We rose from the pew and went to the Octagon for some tea. There, I was introduced to an elegant lady with a little boy, Helen Billings. I guessed her to be in her thirties. I found out that she was married to one of the barge skippers, Geoff Billings, whom Jenni knew; of course, Jenni knew most if not all the barge skippers. I made some comment about my age.

“Pshaw!” Helen snorted, and laughed. “Norma, how old do you think I am?”

“You can’t be a day over thirty-five.”

“I wish!” She laughed gaily. “I was forty-five when I met Geoff. Dougie is our miracle baby. I’ll be forty-nine next.” She sobered. “Norma, let me give you a little advice. Follow your heart. There are no limits here, at least in divine terms. Your husband died, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” I felt a familiar wrench in my chest, but it was, perhaps, attenuated.

“And you hoped for children, before his illness.”

“I did.”

She rubbed her tummy. “There’s a little girl in here. She was prophesied; Elizabeth Anne. If it can happen to me in my late forties, I’d say there was hope for you, too.”