The Benefits of Passion by Catherine Fox

woman, sir,’ Ted had interjected. ‘We have women in the Church these days, Bishop, sir.’
    â€˜Eh? What? Oh. Very good. Carry on, soldier.’
    She felt herself starting to giggle again at the memory.
    Edward looked up. ‘Hopeless!’ he hissed, not even bothering to find out what was amusing her this time.
    Annie tried to read the quotations in front of her, but found her mind returning to that flannelgraph. She had stared at it, rapt, as the preacher was saying, ‘And so, boys and girls, it’s no good thinking you can earn your way to God by going to Sunday School.’ His voice went kindly on, urging them to invite the Lord Jesus into their heart if they hadn’t already done so, while behind him the felt cross was slowly unpeeling itself from the board. It flipped to the floor without a sound, leaving God and Man as estranged as ever.
    â€˜Right. Well. Any questions?’ asked Dr Mowbray, rubbing his hands together briskly.
    Ingram, of course, had a question. He’d been sitting at the back reading a book to demonstrate that doing two things simultaneously hardly engaged one-fifth of his vast intellect. He shouldn’t even have been there. The lecture was designed for Coverdale students doing the Certificate in Theology, but Ingram was bright and therefore doing the university theology degree. He was attending this lecture simply to show off. Everyone knew he would get a first in his finals in June. Unless Annie was right and he wasn’t actually that bright, after all. It would all depend on whether the examiners had the patience to sift through his polysyllabic phraseology to see if an idea was lurking there or not. If they took him at his own estimation he would certainly get a first. Annie scribbled ‘Little Pinhead, Rambledon’ on a piece of paper and threw it to Ted.
    Meanwhile, Ingram’s question had drawn to a close. Dr Mowbray looked thoughtful.
    â€˜I’m not really sure what you’re asking, Ingram,’ he said at length. Annie smirked as Ingram flipped back his floppy hair.
    â€˜I think what I’m saying is this,’ he said patiently, and off he went again.
    â€˜Get your bloody hair cut,’ muttered Edward into his notes. This was overheard by half the room, but Ingram forged on, impervious to their tittering. Dr Mowbray answered him. He’s probably as intelligent as Ingram would like to be, thought Annie. Why doesn’t he just swat him aside like a bumptious bluebottle? But Dr Mowbray was endlessly long-suffering and unassuming. Perhaps he’d seen it all before. He must have watched hundreds of ordinands come and go over the years. He was stroking his silvery beard and saying, ‘Yes! Ah, yes, indeed! That’s a very good point,’ to a question from Dave. He tidied it generously into the proper theological categories as though this was what Dave had meant all along. Annie decided that Dr Mowbray should marry Barney and Isabella. She’d have to find a new name for him. Manning? Mayhew? Moore?
    â€˜You may now kiss the bride.’ Barney did. Not a perfunctory peck, but a long, deep, passionate kiss. Isabella was on her toes almost squeaking with surprise. The moment went on and on. A bee droned up the aisle towards the mass of flowers and Dr Moore cleared his throat. The congregation, who had started to shift a little in their pews, laughed. Barney released her and gave her his wonderful slow smile. My God, thought Isabella. My God . What’s tonight going to be like?
    Libby thumped her tail eagerly in her basket, and Annie snatched her thoughts back. What am I doing here? she wondered, in a kind of amused despair. She thought again about the hundreds of ordinands, picturing them like an early black-and-white film, shuffling with frantic jerky gestures into the lecture room, tackling tricky doctrinal or ethical issues, then juddering out again. Wave after wave of nice, white, middle-class people.