His face clears. ‘I could, couldn’t I? My mum won’t believe it if I actually wrote her and Dad a letter.’
‘I am sure your parents would be delighted.’
It is Reverend Ruth that says this. She is standing in the doorway.
Jo feels a rush of pleasure and something like relief at her presence.
The police officer smiles at the diminutive figure and, with renewed thanks, picks up his handwriting guide and exercise book and leaves.
‘I caught some of that. What are the other tips?’ Ruth asks.
Jo pulls forward a seat for her. ‘Would you like a tea or coffee? Then I’ll show you,’ she suggests, smiling warmly at the Runaway Vicar.
‘A coffee would be lovely,’ Ruth says, sitting down on the stool and unwinding a scarf, patterned with multicoloured stars from around her neck.
‘Nice scarf,’ Jo comments, as she heads towards the kitchen at the back of the shop. She calls over her shoulder: ‘If someone comes in, sell them the most expensive fountain pen.’
‘Will do.’
Oh, Finn! She had almost forgotten about him. She adds, hurriedly, ‘And if a guy in a blue cycling jacket comes in looking for his bag, that’s Finn and his bag is behind the counter.’
When Jo returns with coffee and flapjacks, Ruth replies as if there has been no break in their conversation. ‘Finn?’
Jo sees the beady, bird-like eyes watching her keenly.
‘A friend.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Oh, not really. We just …’
There is a silence.
Part of Jo feels the urge to put her head on the counter and tell this woman all she is feeling, about how some days she wants a baby and a family so much that it hurts. How troubled she is when she thinks of Lucy … and Eric the Viking. How ashamed she is of jettisoning her old friends for James. How she still misses him, but how confused she now is when she looks back at her life with him.
All this swirls through Jo’s mind. Yet, another part of her is gripped by a reticence born out of a sense that the Runaway Vicar has enough troubles of her own. She doesn’t need to hear this. And she doesn’t want to admit what a crap friend she has been. She doesn’t want Ruth to think badly of her.
After a wait of some moments, Ruth suddenly looks stricken. ‘I’m so sorry. That really is none of my business. I should never have asked. It’s nothing to do with me.’
Jo rushes to reassure her, confused by the change in Ruth. ‘Really, it’s fine. Finn’s my best friend’s brother. It’s … complicated. Would you mind if I asked you a question?’ she says, changing the subject.
Some of Ruth’s humour appears to seep back, as she answers, ‘If you must.’
‘Does anyone, I don’t know … in the church, know where you are?’
‘Ah, I thought you were going to ask something else,’ Ruth says quizzically, head on one side.
Jo thinks Ruth must have been expecting her to ask her why she ran away. She does want to ask this, but she doesn’t feel she has any right to. Not yet. It’s too personal. There is also an instinct underlying her caution; she senses that if she were to say the wrong thing, she might never see Ruth again. After all, she has form; she is the Runaway Vicar.
‘No,’ Ruth eventually replies.
‘No one?’ Jo queries.
‘To answer your question correctly: my bishop does not know where I am.’ She pauses. ‘But he does know that I’m safe. And now, I’d like you to show me how to improve my handwriting. I heard what you said about practising so you have regular writing and adding the odd flourish—’
‘You have that already,’ Jo interrupts. ‘When you wrote the lines from that poem, your S’s looked as if they wanted to swirl off and escape.’
‘Hmmm,’ is all Ruth says, eyeing Jo.
