Acts and Omissions by Catherine Fox

‘It’s a jolly holiday with Mary!’ The poor man then lay awake for over an hour, wondering how the game of musical bishoprics – triggered by the empty chair at York – would play out. In the end, to put a stop to this vanity of vanities, he went downstairs to make a cup of tea.
    We will leave him there in his dressing gown in the perfect kitchen: a mug of tea, a book of verses (Shakespeare’s Sonnets – his New Year’s resolution was to read more poetry). His Thou is not beside him singing in the wilderness, admittedly. But it is paradise enow. Life is good. He is thankful.

FEBRUARY

Chapter 7
    Jane gets in from work and turns on her radio. Whoopee-doo. Access to an institution that has been oppressing women for centuries!
    It’s true: despite the leftie liberal blood pumping through her veins, Jane is thoroughly pissed off by the whole equal marriage thing. You may have spotted by now that she’s a bit counter-suggestible? The hashtagification of the debate has pushed her ‘don’t fucking tell me what I’ve got to believe!’ button. How many #equalmarriage campaigners does it take to change a light bulb? Homophobe! She contemplates ringing Dominic to share this thought. But then she chickens out. She doesn’t feel up to being shouted at right now. And neither, when it comes down to it, does she want to be mean. Why rain on his parade? She has no theological axe to grind, after all; so surely she could find it in her heart to be glad the bill has made it through the Commons? She gets out her phone and sends him a nice text: ‘Two bearded men snogging AT THE ALTAR! Yay!’
    I should probably explain that this is an old joke. It dates back to the Federation of Theological Colleges Summer Ball of 1985, when Jenny ‘That’s Not Funny’ Bannister – in a burgundy taffeta bridesmaid’s dress – turned her shiny face to Jane in the marquee and shouted above the music, ‘I really don’t see why we should have to look at that !’
    â€˜At what?’ Jane shouted back.
    â€˜Two bearded men snogging!’
    Jane scanned the theological throng as it bopped, in a miasma of trampled grass and Opium, to ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Later it emerged that Dominic had been one of the bearded men; completely, shamefully pissed, and indulging in a bit of naughty Lightfoot Evangelical-baiting on the hallowed lawns of Latimer. A minute later she saw Paul Henderson leave the ball early, shepherding Susanna away from all that, face rigid with disgust. She never did admit to Dominic how shocked she was herself, even though she hadn’t seen anything.
    Her text prompts a phone call. Shall we be nosy and listen in? Go on then.
    â€˜ Oh! ’ (shrieked the dowager) ‘Two bearded men snogging ! God, I haven’t snogged a bearded man in years .’
    â€˜Sail on, Silver Boy!’ yodelled Jane.
    â€˜My t-i-i-me will c-o-o-me toooo shiiiine!’
    Jane held the phone away from her ear. ‘I’ve got a confession: I never did tell you this, but I was actually a bit shocked.’
    â€˜I know you were, darling.’
    â€˜In fairness, it was pretty shocking back then.’
    â€˜Well, we’ve all come on a journey.’
    â€˜Yes, haven’t we,’ agreed Jane. ‘I remember the days when marriage was a heterosexual construct that shouldn’t be imposed on gay men, not a human right.’
    Pause. ‘And?’
    Don’t even think of parking here, read the sign. Jane wisely pulled away from the metaphorical kerb again, without enquiring what equality she had a right to, or observing that single people were being pushed even further to the margins. ‘So. Are you free for a drink later? Or are you off celebrating with your fellow beardies?’
    â€˜I wish. PCC subcommittee, followed by funeral sermon. Friday?’
    They fix a time and hang up. Dominic rubs his beard. Yes, he