Chapter 8

During the next few days we settled into a pattern. From the urgency and intensity of our first couplings, we became ... not more loving, but quieter and, I thought, more secure in our relationship. Helen's period arrived. She was still working in the shop three or four days, so we were only together in the evenings and first thing in the morning. Each evening Helen sat at the piano and played, perhaps for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour. On Friday, we went grocery shopping; Helen was not impressed with my range of ingredients for meals though she had been complimentary about the simple meals I prepared. That evening, she cooked navarin of lamb, which I hadn't tasted before, and made a sherry trifle to follow. I showered before supper, and suggested she have a long soak in the bath while I washed up.

I have practised massage for years, though only as an amateur. Usually to relax someone, or relieve pain. I enjoy massaging, and those who have submitted to my efforts have usually appreciated them. Sweet almond oil is a lubricant which allows the hands to slide smoothly over the skin. Essential oils can be added as one sort of aromatherapy; different oils are used to achieve a particular effect; lavender oil is a relaxant, and clary sage is effective in muscular and joint pain, for example. Of course massage can be erotic and sensual as well as therapeutic and there are oils which are particularly useful in that context, though the sweet almond oil is quite sensual even without the added aroma of an essential oil.

I massaged Helen until she was almost limp with relaxation, but moved on to other methods. I thought we were growing closer almost moment by moment. I certainly didn't want to even consider being separated from her.

Saturday, we packed a picnic – and waterproofs – and took the bus out to Fox House, from where we walked all day, had a meal in the inn, and caught the bus home.

Sunday, we agreed to go to church and meet the vicar. We went to St. Augustine's, but the priest there told us he was only a visitor; the church was in an 'interregnum', meaning they were waiting for a vicar to be appointed. He told us a priest could be found, or we could go to St. Mark's, or to the Methodist church just round the corner on Ecclesall Road; for that matter, there was St. Matthew's in the town centre. We smiled and thanked him, took a contact number and left. Neither of us were impressed by the service; I don't know that either of us expected to be, but we thought we'd try St. Mark's.

Monday, I rang the number for the Vicar at St. Mark's, only to find he was unavailable, and was given a number for the curate. I began to wonder if fate was conspiring against us. Having eventually got hold of the curate, I arranged an appointment for the following evening.

Tuesday was uneventful ... until we met the curate. Helen was bubbly and excited as we walked along Clarkehouse Road, past the Botanical Gardens. We stood on the doorstep; my right arm around Helen as she reached out to press the doorbell. I looked down at her as the door opened, so I saw the blood leave her face; she stiffened, twisted in my arm and ran. I looked at the man standing in the doorway, whose face was every bit as white as Helen's, then controlling my own shock and incomprehension, turned and pursued her.

When I got to the road, she was out of sight. There were two ways she could have gone ... I chose the wrong one. I had hoped she would head for home – my house, our house, but she went to Rossington Road.

Indecision!

I walked back to the curate's house, and rang the bell again.

When he answered the door, I said, "I guess you have some idea of what is going on here?"

He still looked as if he'd seen a ghost, but he nodded. "Won't you come in?"

I followed him into his study.

"Normally," he said, "I would offer you tea or coffee, but I'm afraid I want something a little stronger. Will you join me in a glass of Scotch? Or I'll make tea or coffee if you prefer?"

"I'll have a drop of Scotch," I said, "just a little water, please."

When we were settled with our drinks, he sat, obviously struggling to find words to express what he was thinking.

"Helen and I were at University at the same time," he began slowly. "I ... was an ... arrogant, over-confident, selfish..." he paused for a moment, "I can't think of a word I would care to use that is bad enough to describe the person I was. I ... treated her very badly."

"You seduced her, then dumped her." I said, evenly, "leaving her pregnant."

I thought his face had been white before, but somehow it managed to get even paler.

"Oh, shit." He buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders began to shake.

I was at a loss as to what to do, so I just sat there and waited.

"I didn't know..." he said, "That explains why she left. Anyway, after a week or so, I realised I actually missed her. It was hard to ... handle ... the group I was part of and I was frightened, I suppose ... to face their ridicule if I went in pursuit of Helen again, but eventually I... had to. But I couldn't find her. She'd left Uni, and her house was up for sale and empty."

"I didn't know they'd moved," I commented.

He shrugged. "Anyway, I got to thinking about her and the way I treated her. I felt really bad. Nowadays, I'd call it 'conviction of sin'. Then, I just knew I felt dreadful. My 'friends' could tell I'd changed; I got the ridicule I'd been so afraid of ... I was on my own. Didn't know what to do. My parents were big church people, so I grew up going to church. I knew they hadn't been happy with the way I'd been, but I didn't want to tell them how bad it really was..." he stopped again, and gazed into space, "but one day I was walking around, and I saw this church door open, and ... just went in. It was dim and quiet ... I can't describe it ... I sat down, and started to cry." He looked at me ... or rather, through me at something a long way away. "The Vicar came and sat with me ... I just poured it all out to him. I found a sort of peace, though I never gave up hope of finding Helen again, if only to beg her forgiveness. A few years ago, I felt a ... call. Went for selection, was accepted ... now I'm in my second curacy ... and here I am, and here you are..."