he would say when they reached his study. At the same time, he remembered why he was wearing his cassock: the children from the school were coming to church for their morning prayers. As he opened the Rectory door to let the reporters in, the police arrived. The local sergeant, beefy and belligerent, made his views known.
‘Now then, gentlemen and ladies, we don’t want Mrs Meadows troubled by all of you stood about. Have some consideration, if you please. Those cars will have to be moved. It’s an offence to park on the green, and I shall put the owners on a charge if the vehicles are not moved immediately. Constable, you can stand on duty outside Mrs Meadows’ house. Let’s have these cars moved pronto, if you please. The Royal Oak will be open soon so you can go and sit in there for a bit. They’ve got a car park, too.’
When the group of eager journalists had dispersed, he turned to Peter. ‘Thank you, sir, for moving them on. Never thought they’d be on to it as quick as this. Reckon they must be telepathic.’
‘Mrs Meadows needs to be protected from these people. She has quite enough to contend with.’
‘You’re absolutely right, Rector. I’ll see to it. Nice to meet you, sir, sorry it’s in such difficult circumstances.’
‘Thank you. Must be off, got a service to take.’
There must have been almost thirty children gathered in the church for their Friday morning prayers. Muriel Hipkin was seated at the piano playing gentle ‘settling down’ pieces. She’d often fancied trying out the organ but felt it was beyond her. In any case, Mrs Peel would have had something to say about that; she jealously guarded her position of organist. Michael Palmer stood as Peter entered the church and the children followed suit. Everyone, that is, except Scott McDonald, who was feeling anti-everything that morning. Muriel frowned at him but he stuck out his tongue and ignored her.
Peter, well practised at attracting everyone’s attention, had Scott out at the front as his assistant before he knew where he was. He cooperated wonderfully and displayed an intelligence at odds with his usual silly behaviour. However, as he passed the piano on his way back to his seat he made a rude gesture to Muriel. She turned her bright pink face to the music and played the tune for going out. That boy really was obnoxious. She didn’t like using that word about a child but it fitted him exactly.
Peter argued with himself as to whether or not he should go in to see Suzy again. Best not, he eventually decided. He might find himself holding her hands in a most un-rector-like manner, and that would never do. As he settled down at his desk to commence his notes for Sunday’s sermon he noticed the flowers and the note propped up against the vase.
‘ To my dearest Peter, to keep you cheerful till I get back. All my love, Caroline .’
He leant forward so that he could appreciate the scent of the flowers. It was gestures like this which made Caroline so endearing. The two of them were like one person and he never wanted to spend even a single night away from her. If he lost her through death like Suzy had lost Patrick, his life would be over. A large family would have completed their happiness, but God in His wisdom had seen it differently. Perhaps if Peter had had children he would not have been able to devote his life so entirely to the Church. He’d never replaced the crude painting of the Madonna which he’d taken down that day, but nevertheless the image of her face kept reappearing in his mind. Suzy – a rather ridiculous name, but it suited her. She might move away then he would have a chance to forget her. He recollected her face crumpled in grief. Why on earth hadn’t the man said something in his letter about how he felt? Why hadn’t he said the kind of things Peter had read in other suicide notes, like: ‘ You will be well provided for ,’ or, ‘ The insurance policies are in the bottom drawer ,’ or ‘ I
‘Now then, gentlemen and ladies, we don’t want Mrs Meadows troubled by all of you stood about. Have some consideration, if you please. Those cars will have to be moved. It’s an offence to park on the green, and I shall put the owners on a charge if the vehicles are not moved immediately. Constable, you can stand on duty outside Mrs Meadows’ house. Let’s have these cars moved pronto, if you please. The Royal Oak will be open soon so you can go and sit in there for a bit. They’ve got a car park, too.’
When the group of eager journalists had dispersed, he turned to Peter. ‘Thank you, sir, for moving them on. Never thought they’d be on to it as quick as this. Reckon they must be telepathic.’
‘Mrs Meadows needs to be protected from these people. She has quite enough to contend with.’
‘You’re absolutely right, Rector. I’ll see to it. Nice to meet you, sir, sorry it’s in such difficult circumstances.’
‘Thank you. Must be off, got a service to take.’
There must have been almost thirty children gathered in the church for their Friday morning prayers. Muriel Hipkin was seated at the piano playing gentle ‘settling down’ pieces. She’d often fancied trying out the organ but felt it was beyond her. In any case, Mrs Peel would have had something to say about that; she jealously guarded her position of organist. Michael Palmer stood as Peter entered the church and the children followed suit. Everyone, that is, except Scott McDonald, who was feeling anti-everything that morning. Muriel frowned at him but he stuck out his tongue and ignored her.
Peter, well practised at attracting everyone’s attention, had Scott out at the front as his assistant before he knew where he was. He cooperated wonderfully and displayed an intelligence at odds with his usual silly behaviour. However, as he passed the piano on his way back to his seat he made a rude gesture to Muriel. She turned her bright pink face to the music and played the tune for going out. That boy really was obnoxious. She didn’t like using that word about a child but it fitted him exactly.
Peter argued with himself as to whether or not he should go in to see Suzy again. Best not, he eventually decided. He might find himself holding her hands in a most un-rector-like manner, and that would never do. As he settled down at his desk to commence his notes for Sunday’s sermon he noticed the flowers and the note propped up against the vase.
‘ To my dearest Peter, to keep you cheerful till I get back. All my love, Caroline .’
He leant forward so that he could appreciate the scent of the flowers. It was gestures like this which made Caroline so endearing. The two of them were like one person and he never wanted to spend even a single night away from her. If he lost her through death like Suzy had lost Patrick, his life would be over. A large family would have completed their happiness, but God in His wisdom had seen it differently. Perhaps if Peter had had children he would not have been able to devote his life so entirely to the Church. He’d never replaced the crude painting of the Madonna which he’d taken down that day, but nevertheless the image of her face kept reappearing in his mind. Suzy – a rather ridiculous name, but it suited her. She might move away then he would have a chance to forget her. He recollected her face crumpled in grief. Why on earth hadn’t the man said something in his letter about how he felt? Why hadn’t he said the kind of things Peter had read in other suicide notes, like: ‘ You will be well provided for ,’ or, ‘ The insurance policies are in the bottom drawer ,’ or ‘ I
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