It
was the first of three funerals this morning, the vicar smiled as
well as he could manage, gritting his teeth as he stifled a yawn,
while he tried to keep the the clanging bell from last nights whiskey
and poker night in aid of the church roof at bay. “In aid of the
church roof,” well that was what he had told the organist when he
arrived almost two minutes late for the first service, which would've
been a quite sombre affair, had it not been for the wailing howl of
the deceased woman's dog, that he had rather stupidly allowed into
the church – never work with animals when you don't have to.
As
the first mourners shuffled in for the third service he found
himself, eyes closed and swaying as he gently sang along to “At the
River”. The organist was obviously still caught in the moment of
being asked to play church organ versions of “Gigi
d'Agostino - L'amour toujours”
and “Delerium - Silence” for the 32 year old ex boy racer, whose
service was not in the slightest bit traditional in the hymn and
prayer sense of the word, anyway.
Neither
had noticed that the first couple of mourners for the funeral of
conservative traditionalist Ms Moon had filed in. They seemed
confused by the choice of music, the usual sombre elegy replaced by
an inspired, yet relaxing modern version of the Groove Armada
classic, although they were not as offended as you may expect. The
vicar upon hearing their shuffling on the stone floor opened his eyes
and noticed that they were looking at him in a slightly concerned and
curious way.
“Claire,
Claire...CLAIRE” he hissed as loudly and as softly as he could, the
hissing sound of the organists name still managed to echo around the
rafters of the leaky church roof, the hiss came to an end with a loud
plop, as a water droplet found its mark into a full bucket of water
already collected from the leaky spot on the church roof.
Claire
stopped what she was enjoying, looked
around “Oh, Oops, sorry” and immediately switched to the
ecclesiastical droning sounds more appropriate for this moment.
Ms
Moons service was quick, a couple of hymns and prayers, ones that she
had expressed she might want, if the grim reaper were ever brave
enough to come calling. Nobody came up to read, or say anything about
her, they all had that look as though the pub were calling and the
beer was getting warm. Instead all eyes turned towards the vicar to
say something poignant and let them all off the hook. He felt their
collective gaze urging him up into the pulpit where he had readings
for his funerals already prepared, along with those choice bible
passages that got a couple of nods of apparently knowing approval. He
gave an adapted reading about the kind of person she was, which was
basically the sort of stock reading any vicar could give, but it was
personalised to the deceased, just enough of the truth was bent as
was permissible under the watchful eye of the big man.
Afterwards
he stood at the door and gave thanks as sympathetically
as he could, painting a kind of half smile on, as the four people
that turned up to grouchy old
Muriel Moons service filed out quicker than they had filed in.
Sadly
she wasn't very well liked or indeed popular, she was the sort of
person who had the ability to rub even the thickest skinned amongst
us up the wrong way.
He
shepherded the last of the mourners out of the door and into the
beginnings of what he hoped wouldn't be heavy rain, as he watched
the four strangers solemnly navigate the
slippery wet churchyard path, he was struck with the sudden thought
that only four people had come to her funeral, even for someone who
wasn't that well liked; OK so that was an understatement..she was a
pain in the backside for almost everyone that she encountered, but
still he would've expected more, even if they were there to make sure
she was actually, well - dead!
With
no parents alive, or close family, children, lovers (that anyone knew
about) or friends, he guessed it was a blessing that someone had
bothered to stop and say goodbye at all, before she got to her final
destination and started antagonising the keeper of the pearly gates
for being tardy.
The
four village strangers reached the church gates, and exited onto the
high street, as they passed from holy ground to county council
pavement their apparent funeral funk cleared, the rain stopped almost
as fast. They turned and cheerfully waved
back at the vicar before announcing to each other how much
more they were going to get pissed than one other, and then
disappeared in the direction of one of the village pubs.
The
vicar tuned back into the church, and pushed the heavy oak door
closed behind him by sagging back against it, another plop of water
echoed around church reminding him to empty the bucket in case it
rained again later,
“Jesus
wept” he muttered almost inaudibly under his breath
“Yes
vicar, and from the roof as well” added Claire with a chuckle, she
was pottering about picking up the things that had been dropped by
the congregation when those mourners who had never prayed before,
attempted to kneel down in the tight space behind the pews.
“They
yours Claire?” remarked the vicar pointing at the soft packet of
Malboro underneath an equally crushed and flattened matchbox.
“I
found them by the font, we haven't had a baptism for a while so it
must have been left by one of the younger groups, probably the boy
racers service, I kept seeing some of them around there.”
“Here”
The vicar lifted the waste basket that sat by the door, and that
usually got used as an umbrella stand. Claire, held onto the
cigarettes and matches and dropped the rest of the detritus into the
bin.
“How
many you got?”
Claire
teased the packet open and counted, “Nine, no - nine and a
half..oh..eww” Claire, gripped the half smoked cigarette by the
burnt offerings rather than the butt that was likely soaked in
somebodies saliva, and flicked it into the bin.
“OK, let me empty the drip
bucket over the roses at the front and then we can sneak one of those
at the bottom of the churchyard by the kissing gate.”
The vicar hurried up through
the church to the left side of the alter, the bucket was almost full
and carrying it out became a challenge in itself, He really wished
the poker game last night was to raise funds for the church roof, but
it was him being himself.
Claire pulled the door open
and the vicar with bucket carefully slung between his legs shuffled
out of the church, the rain had eased off, but the sky remained as
grey as the entire day had been. He emptied the bucket around the
roses that lined the churchyard path, the soil took some of the
water, the rest seeped onto the path, forming small rock like pools
in the uneven stone slabs. He replaced the bucket in the church, a
wet ring allowing for inch perfect relocation.
He headed into the vestry
with Claire, where he removed his funeral vestments. He stood looking
at himself in the mirror, he was used to seeing himself all in black
from his youth, but he still couldn't get used to the collar. He
opened a drawer and pulled out a dark grey roll neck sweater and
pulled it on, “normal again” he said to himself. Claire eyed him,
she saw a man uneasy with his role, and yet totally dedicated to the
people he served, become instantly more confident and a different
person with the simple concealment of the collar.
She'd worked in the church
before he took over from the old man, who had been the local parish
vicar for over 40 years, in fact his first service was to take the
funeral service for the old man, but this vicar was nothing like any
she had worked with before.
“Come on” he urged
Claire, taking a quick look at his watch, “I've a few hours before
the evening service.” The vicar pulled another draw open and took
out a half size bottle of Whiskey, and slipped it into in his back
pocket, they exited through the back of the vestry into churchyard
and followed the polished stone path that snaked its way between the
graves to the far end. The kissing gate was a simple wrought iron
lattice that was hung on three hinges that butted out of a solid
stone pillar, the tops of the hinges had been hammered over, after
the gate was last stolen and found 100 miles away being used as an
ornate trellis in the garden of a local MP.
The MP was apparently
mortified when he discovered that he had stolen goods in his
possession, and was quick to impress to anyone who would listen, his
innocence in the whole matter. He told police that he had found it
the his local online exchange and mart, and a couple of mysterious
dark eyed snarks came and dropped it off from the back of a lorry –
cash on delivery apparently. Police returned the gate to the church,
and the vicar had the local blacksmith hammer the tops of the hinges
over so it could not be removed again, well not by a couple of snarks
anyway.
The kissing gate swung
between two thinner pillars from the end of the churchyard boundary
walls, a semi circular wall allowed a person to pass through, kissing
each pillar in the direction from where the last person had passed,
though most believed the kissing gate is where people went to kiss
and that is how it got its name. The vicar went through first, he
paused at the centre of the semi circle so he could swing the gate
towards the churchyard, opening his path into the bottom field.
Claire hastily followed, checking behind her to make sure no body was
about and they hadn't been seen.
Feeling like two naughty
teenagers bunking off school to smoke behind the old band room. They
found a place to sit down on the trunk of a felled tree that had been
dragged to the edge of the field by someone either very strong or in
possession of a tractor, that had pulled it next to the hedge, it now
formed a natural bench.
“I like to think of this
as a present from the big man” he said slapping the smooth bark
less trunk with his hand.
“It was probably felled in
the same storm that put the hole in the church roof, you know; when
the 'Big Man' caught growing those plants in the rectory greenhouse”
Claire grinned “You know, I'm not saying that I'm a saint, but
you're not exactly the sort of person the village expected when they
heard they were getting a new local parish vicar.”
Claire took out the
cigarettes, they had fallen deep within the pockets of her baggy
cardy, she eased two out between the crumpled paper and foil, placing
both between her lips, she struck a match against the sandpaper side
of the squashed box, it let out a small feeble spark, she hit it
again and the match burst into life. Lighting both cigarettes, she
drew in deeply to get them both going, they glowed red, like a pair
of devil eyes. She was careful not to leave her deep maroon lipstick
on the filter tips, she took them both from her mouth and offered one
to the vicar. “I Thank you” he said plucking the smouldering
cigarette from between her fingers, his hand gently brushed hers as
he did, he felt his hairs on his arms stand up as though they had
been charged with static electricity.
“Do you know, that you
looked kinda sultry when you did that.” Claire smiled, and blew a
thing stream of smoke into the air, “Thank you.” she said trying
not to catch the vicars playful glance, the remark caught her off
guard, and although he wasn't like most vicars, and she knew him well
now, it was still unexpected.
The vicar sensed he may have
over stepped, “Sorry, Claire..that was wrong” he chastened
himself, he found it hard at times to stop himself falling back into
old habits, even though he tried to always be himself, despite his
new role, there were those odd parts of his former life he was truly
working hard to eliminate.
The vicar drew deeply on his
cigarette making it burn much faster than it normally would, a long
red glowing poker of an end emerged from the white of the paper, in
the stillness he blew a thick fat slow moving smoke ring out into the
ether, it slowly bobbled like an strange ringed space station, he
then blew a smaller smoke ring much faster through the big ring, the
momentum of the smaller ring began to pull the bigger ring apart.
“Ha! Brilliant...you're
such a show off” Claire exclaimed, the smoke rings both drifted
upwards, getting bigger and more misshapen until they were finally
caught on a sudden gentle gust of wind where they dissipated, any of
the awkwardness from the vicars remark was dragged away into the
ether as well.
“Seeing as we are being
honest with each other, why did you decide to be a vicar? I ask
because you're really not the sort of person that you would expect?”
Claire looked at him directly as she asked, trying to see was pushing
a button, or hitting a nerve or if he was uncomfortable by the
question, but, if he was he gave nothing away.
“Do you not think I make a
good vicar then?”
“Well, no, yes, but..well
the vicars we have had here in the past, and from other parishes are
very um posh, well to do, stiff types and you are..” Claire
hurriedly searched for the right word, worried she was making a pigs
ear of her answer “looser, no riskier, no that's wrong, erm more
chilled”
The vicar smiled as he
watched her tie herself up in knots. “It's OK, I am more relaxed
about the job, because like everyone else I am a person too, I have
my flaws, and vices – I think of it like this, if I play Poker,
drink a little to much Whiskey, ride the psychedelic train for an
audience with my boss, then those vices have to be balanced out by
acts of pure good, the work I do in the community, the help that I
give to others from all backgrounds, the message I spread for the big
boss, these are all to balance out my vices. As long as your vices do
not result in the harm of another living thing then; well, it is OK
with the boss! He doesn't expect us to be perfect, just honest and
not harm others - look do you think he would let me stay in the job,
if we weren't in total agreement?”
“So you told the Bishop
and you still got the job” exclaimed Claire.
“Ha! no, not the Bishop,
you know the big man” he pointed his finger to the sky, “The
boss, him upstairs, lord above...you know God!”
“God”
“Yeah, that's the fella –
as I always say, as long as the big man is OK with it, then it is
fine” The vicar, eased the bottle of whiskey from his back pocket,
and pulled the cork stopper out of the top of the bottle, he took a
little swig and offered the bottle to Claire.
“You're a bad influence
for a vicar” Claire took the bottle and took quick swig, the
whiskey was hot as it went down her throat, she gave a couple of
little swallows to make sure it was all down, Claire passed the
bottle back to the vicar, he took another swig, and pushed the cork
back into the bottle.
“Bad influence?” The
vicar queried “I know I'm an influence now, but before I was a
vicar I was always caught under the spell of bad influence – well I
say bad influence, but to me he was a best friend, there was no bad.”
The vicar finished his
cigarette and ground it into a knot shaped like a natural ashtray, he
dropped the butt into the ash blackened hollow, Claire held her
almost burnt out cigarette to the vicar, he stared at her before he
took it and repeated the process.
“So were those bad
influences in your life, why you became a vicar?”
“No, because as you can
see, I haven't shaken away all the things that make me who I am.”
“Then why?” Claire
pressed
“Because
I needed to have private counsel with the big man, I tried when I was
outside of the church, after I had picked myself up from the bottom,
but I couldn't get the audience that I needed, so I worked, and read
and talked to people who said that if I became a servant of god, I
could get the audience that I sought, I was sceptical, I believed
something, but in those days it wasn't this, but I had to try, I
promised myself I would try...”
The
vicar stood up, an straightened his trousers where they had bunched
up around the knees and walked into the field a little, he turned
around.
“...to
ask to see my friend again!” The vicar looked upwards as he said it
loudly, as if he were speaking directly to god.
"I
asked the big man over and over if I could see him, he kept saying
there was much for me to do before I could. So here I am, doing the
work for him, and everyday I ask the question, and everyday the big
man tells me I need to do the work, I need to open my heart, but that
is what I am doing and still I cannot see him.”
“I'm so sorry that you
haven't seen him” Claire stood up and walked to the vicar, standing
in front of him, she took hold of his hands, their eyes met and they
stared deeply into one another, their breathing slowed and
synchronised, the vicars heart was pounded hard in his chest, he felt
as if he were being consumed by her eyes. “Can you see him now?”
Claire asked.
The vicar felt light headed,
the world started to spin, lights flashed as if he were falling
through a kaleidoscope, he felt an intense electric energy burning
through him, so intense like nothing he had felt before, his senses
became so heightened that he could feel the atoms in air around him,
and then the world seemed to melt away and in front of him was his
friend.
The vicar looked around, he
stood open mouthed within an empty sea of nothingness, the field, the
church, the churchyard, Claire, everything had all gone, only he and
his friend stood there.
“Where..”
“Are you” his friend
finished the question, “This is the astral plane, In this plane of
existence there there is no time, there is no future, present or
past, it simply is.”
“But..”
“You thought you couldn't
see me.”
“Yes, I was being told I
hadn't done enough work”
“You hadn't and then in
small singular moment you found the path by making a pure connection,
you didn't think that the creator of everything would just show you
the path did you, he made you work for it, he made you find the path
yourself, you had to be true to yourself with someone true of heart.”
“Claire”
“Yes, she is a conduit to
the astral plane, though I should warn you, although she can send
you, but when you return from here, she won't know what was said
between us, or that we met, it is only you and I that are here in
this moment.”
“I have so many questions”
“I knew you would, and yet
the only thing that matters is you and me in this moment, so let me
ask you a question, why have you not moved on?”
“I don't want to forget
you, if I move on I might forget.”
“You have to let me go, at
the moment we are stuck, let me go and then we can both move
forward.”
“I don't want to forget
you”
“Moving on doesn't mean
you will forget me, it means not dwelling on that moment, it means
celebrating the good times, not getting lost in the bad, I am asking
you to do that as your friend; will you do that for me Nick?”
In that moment the vicar
felt the love for his friend fill him with surges of joy and
happiness, all the good memories coursed through him, filling him
with emotional elation unlike anything that he had ever experienced
before.
“Can I see you again?”
The mixed tears of sadness and happiness streamed down his face.
“No Nick, this was only
ever going to be a one time thing, you have a life and a job, that I
would never have predicted you would be doing, and I have another
life, in another time, in another place – remember to always be
true to yourself.”
“I will, I wish I could
hug you.”
“Then lean forward and hug me Nick”
The vicar leant forward and
wrapped his arms around his friend, he felt nothing, but sobbed more
at the memories that holding his friend brought back.
“Oh Nick, a couple of
things before we part, in your game tonight, go All-in on the fourth
hand, and that should pay for the roof, and secondly, use toothpaste
before your service because fags and whiskey always used to make your
breath smell foul, and me thinks that kind of thing does not change.
The vicar suddenly felt the
air on his face, his head spun and he felt himself falling forward,
he went to reach out and realised he was still holding onto Claire's
hands, he steadied himself and opened his eyes, and found himself
looking into Claire's intense green eyes, he was back where it
started, as if nothing had happened.
“I'm back” he said
softly to himself, he raised a hand to his face and felt the tracks
of his salt tears.
“Did you see him?”
Claire asked
“Ah vicar there is a lot
you don't know about me.”
“I
hope I can find out, and it's Nick, we've shared something special,
so we can dispense with the formal titles, well in private anyway.”
“OK, Nick, that's better
than calling you vicar all the time” Claire caught sight of the
time on her watch. “I think we should be heading back Nick, so that
we can get ready for the service this evening?”
“Yes, good
idea.”
“Oh, Nick before you come to church this evening, use
toothpaste, you know; for your whiskey –
fag breath.”