CHAPTER 17

Bugger Me Backwards, The Vicar Can Sing!

 

 

She kept as far away from the harbour as possible as she crossed the fish-quay, trying not to flinch every time a particularly large wave overtopped the harbour wall. She went up the steps to the side door of the pub, and opened it, to be met with a wave of hot, humid air, heavy with the smell of the coal fire mixed with mulled wine and meat pie. The pub was crammed. Candles burnt on every table and a couple of old brass oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling had been lit, casting a warm yellow glow over the bar area. Every possible seat was taken and although there was no jukebox and no music from the speakers above the bar, the hubbub of what must have been more than a hundred people chatting was loud enough to drown out the storm, with the curtains securely closed against the weather. It was a different world in here, jovial, warm and festive, tinsel glittering with the reflected flames.

The clientele was a mixture of regulars, locals and tourists. Like Maidensbower, the pub kitchens ran on oil rather than electricity so a lot of those who depended on electricity for heat and cooking (gas had not yet come to Rawscar) had come down to get something to eat. Marian was serving one table now, looking hot and frazzled. Jack was holding court behind the bar, jovial as ever, and Hal was clearing glasses over at the other side of the room.

‘Vicar!’ Jack had spotted her, his voice booming out across the room. ‘Come on in. Take your coat off, join our little congregation!’

‘Evening Jack.’

‘What’ll it be, Vicar?’

‘I’ll have some of that mulled wine, please Jack. It’s busy in here tonight!’

‘Bet you won’t have this many at Sunday Mass, will you?’ he said with his wheezy laugh as he poured her a pint.

‘Probably not.’ She undid the top button of her red shirt, she was already uncomfortably hot. ‘I’m going to see if I can find a quiet place to sit down. Is the lounge open tonight?’

‘You can sit on my knee if you want to, Vicar,’ one of the locals laughed from the corner. ‘You’ll not find anywhere else to sit tonight.’

He was right as well. The bar was full, the lounge was full, even the snug was full, with several smelly, wet dogs cowering in there with their families hiding from the storm. At this rate, she would have to take up that offer of a knee if she wanted to sit down. But eventually she found a space in the corner of the bar over by the coat rack where she could prop herself up against the wall and watch the comings and goings.

She had hoped to hear Hal play again, but if the pub was this busy he’d be too rushed with bar work. He hadn’t even noticed her, or hadn’t found time to say hello if he had seen her. She tried not to admit to feeling disappointed. He was going back to the bar with a stack of glasses when he did spot her and he stopped, almost pressed up against her in the crowded bar.

‘You came after all!’ He sounded pleased to see her.

‘Couldn’t stand listening to the wind any more, and … I thought I saw something. In the yard, I thought I saw …’ she tailed off, realising how foolish he must think she was. ‘Oh, never mind that! I was hoping to hear you sing again,’ she said, more brightly, banishing all thoughts of the figure she had seen in the darkness.

‘Later. There’ll be time for a few songs when Mam closes the kitchen for the night.’ He put the glasses down for a moment on the bar. ‘I’m glad you came. I didn’t like to think of you stuck in that cottage on your own on a night like this. I’m glad Anna’s well away from it all.’

Anna again. Earlier on, she had thought that he was looking at her like a woman worthy of being desired. But here they were talking about Anna again; perhaps she had imagined it after all; perhaps it was all just in her own mind, she was nothing special at all.

‘Yes, I would have worried about Anna being here too. It isn’t pleasant, is it? When I lived inland, I used to quite like the challenge of a storm like this. I used to go walking sometimes; it felt like God was testing everything. But now I don’t think there’s much of God in a storm and I don’t want to be outside in it. Walking across the quayside wasn’t very pleasant.’

‘We always draw the curtains and turn up the music in weather like this and have another pint or two to drown the storm.’

‘Can I get you one?’ Cass offered.

‘Not if you want me to get the guitar out later,’ he said, picking the glasses up again. ‘Better get on, can’t stand here chatting all night.’

She found a seat in the end, at a table with a couple who she was going to be marrying on New Year’s Eve. They were brimming with health and happiness - Cass was happy for them and chatted about flowers and vows. As the evening wore on, the pub got even more packed and hotter and more humid, Cass found herself practically fainting with the heat; there was nothing else for it. Underneath her shirt she was wearing a tight black vest top, she couldn’t keep that heavy shirt on a moment longer. At least the vest, though tight, was not too low cut – she knew exactly what Jack would make of her flashing her not inconsiderable cleavage in the Ship Inn. Usually Cass managed to hide her figure under baggy shirts, as it seemed inappropriate for a vicar to have curves like Cass did, but there was no hiding from Jack tonight, however, as soon as she removed her shirt a wolf whistle rang out across the bar.

‘Go for it Vicar! Going to take any more clothes off?’

Cass sighed. ‘Wasn’t planning to, Jack. Or do you want me to?’

‘You’ll get me closed down, Reverend. Against public decency!’

‘Look at the tits on the vicar!’ she heard one of the locals mutter too loudly; the same man who had offered her his knee earlier. ‘Think I might start going to church now!’

‘Oh, shut up, Ray,’ Hal said as he passed on another run to collect glasses. ‘Sorry, Vicar, ignore the old sod. He’s had too much to drink. And my dad too. You look … you look fine. Just ignore them.’

‘Isn’t it time for some music, Hal?’ his dad said. ‘Leave them glasses for now. Marian’ll sort them tomorrow. You get us going with some songs. Let’s have White Christmas or summat.’

Hal didn’t need asking twice. He picked up his guitar from a corner behind the bar, and space was made for him at the centre of the room. He had his back to Cass and she watched his broad shoulders as he tuned the guitar swiftly – the heat and the humidity would put it out of tune if nothing else. He struck up with White Christmas as requested, and half the pub was soon joining in. A few of the other regulars took turns to sing too; they all had their own songs, some more traditionally festive than others, and some more of the rugby club variety. The more mulled wine she drank, the more Cass was enjoying herself – even the bawdy rugby club songs. She joined in with the choruses, adding the odd harmony from time-to-time, quietly in the background. Hal was an exceptional accompanist – even when he obviously didn’t know the song he could pick up enough to play the basic chords in the background, and when he did know the song his fingers were swift and sure on the strings. She would have been quite happy sitting there in her corner of the bar to listen and watch him all evening, but Jack Thorburn was determined to call her out.

‘Come on then, Vicar. Don’t you just sit there, give us some of that Glory, glory, Hallelujah!’

‘Ay, come on Vicar. Or some Dolly Parton perhaps?’ It was Ray again, and he disintegrated into dirty laughter at his own joke.

‘It’s fine. I’m happy listening,’ Cass said politely.

‘Leave it, Dad,’ Hal said.

‘No, no. She’s a leader of this community, isn’t she? Then let her show it. Give us a song, Vicar!’ From the tone of his voice it was clear that he didn’t think her capable of standing up in public and singing anything. ‘Come on, let’s hear you!’

If there was one thing that Cass hated (other than being offered sweet sherry and being compared to the Vicar of Dibley) it was the assumption that she considered herself in any way better than anybody else.

‘Sure, Jack. I’ll give you a song,’ she said with a sweet smile.

He wasn’t going to know what had hit him. She was going to show him what she could do and she was going to wipe that smirk off his face. It was lucky that she had been singing along to the radio earlier in the evening, it meant that her voice was relatively warm, so she stood up, took a deep breath and began to sing.

She sang Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Its slow, melancholy tune had always appealed to her and she knew she sang it well. Within the first two notes leaving her mouth the pub fell silent and Jack’s mouth was hanging open like some idiotic cartoon character. Cass’s voice was good enough that if she hadn’t felt the calling of her vocation in an inner-city parish she could quite easily have had a career as an operatic mezzo-soprano.

She felt, rather than saw Hal come in on the guitar to accompany her. He seemed to know the song as well as she did, and it was as if the notes from his guitar were wrapping around her words, caressing them with a sure and gentle touch. There was an intimacy there; he seemed to know every breath she was going to take and he seemed to be breathing them with her. She closed her eyes and drifted with the song; his guitar held her afloat. She wondered, fleetingly, if this was what making love with him would feel like; like being lifted together by the music. When she opened her eyes again, they met Hal’s and for a long moment she couldn’t pull away from his gaze as they finished the song together.

Ray’s voice cut across the final notes of his accompaniment.

‘Well, bugger me backwards, the vicar can sing!’

‘Ay. So she can. Well done, Vicar,’ said Jack – and for once, Cass could see from the approval in his eyes that Jack meant it.

Hal didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. He glanced up and caught her eye again, and his glance was warm and approving – in fact it was very warm, and very approving, burning right through her, sending blood rushing to her face. Cass suddenly felt too hot again in the crowded bar but she couldn’t remove any more clothes without causing a scandal of epic proportions. She bought herself another mulled wine, even though she was already feeling slightly tipsy.

It was only at the end of the night that he caught her to speak to; he was busy with requests for the rest of the evening.

‘You sang like Judy Garland herself. You’re properly trained, aren’t you?’ He propped his guitar up against the bar as she put her shirt and her coat back on.

‘I am. You have perfect pitch, don’t you?’

‘So do you,’ he pointed out with a grin.

‘I do.’

‘Look, I’ll walk you back to the cottage. It’s still wild out there,’ Hal offered. She knew she should say no, but after more than one drink at home and several glasses of mulled wine in the pub - she couldn’t remember quite how many she had drunk - what she wanted to do was starting to overpower what she ought to do. And she wanted to say yes to him.

‘It is rough out there. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course not. I’ll put the guitar back in its case and get my coat.’

 

There was no chance to talk as they went across the fish-quay, the wind would have whipped their words away. Maiden’s Yard was quieter, sheltered from the worst of the wind, and the image of the figure she had seen earlier came into Cass’s mind. It must have been by the doorway to Windrush Cottage on the corner there that she had seen her: The Maiden.

‘I think I saw the ghost tonight, Hal. She was standing right there,’ Cass admitted, looking at the spot where she had seen her. She wouldn’t usually have told him, but tonight she wasn’t worrying about what she would usually do or say. Tonight felt wild and strange and so did she.

‘I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?’ he said with a grin, taking her arm.

‘I don’t. But there was someone there, in the storm, standing in the middle of the yard, in a shawl and a long skirt. I looked once, but when I looked back she’d gone. I don’t know what else it could have been.’ She started to shake her head for emphasis and found it strangely difficult to stop.

‘It could have been a real person?’ he suggested.

‘In a shawl and a long skirt?’

‘Anna would wear a shawl and a long skirt,’ Hal pointed out.

‘Anna’s in Saddleton. It wasn’t Anna,’ Cass pointed out in what she hoped was a logical manner.

‘I know where Anna is. Of course I know that, otherwise … Never mind. I’m sure it was all your imagination, and as soon as the lights come back on you’ll think the same.’

 The cottage was waiting there, the red and gold globe of light still swinging slightly in the draught coming through the window to guide her home. She found her key and fitted it to the lock on the third time of trying.

‘Well, that’s you safely home,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed singing with you tonight. We should do it again sometime.’

We should do it again sometime, he had said. Her knees, which were already weakened by the amount of mulled wine she had drunk, began to tremble even more. She didn’t want to do it again sometime, she realised, she wanted to do it now.

‘I’d like that, Hal.’ She opened the door. ‘I thought we had a real connection there tonight.’ Her voice seemed to have started shaking too. It must be the cold and the storm.

‘Yes. We did, didn’t we?’ He said softly, leaning up against her doorframe, and in the glow of the red light, she caught his eye. The trembling in her knees seemed to be spreading inexorably upwards.

‘Hal,’ she found herself saying, hesitantly, ‘I was wondering … would you like to come in … for a cup of coffee?’