Who the hell does he think he is?
No apology. No,sorry Jo, I dumped you.Nosorry about Nickeeey (who by the way I was shagging on the side).
She picks up her phone.
There is only one possible reply.
No thanks, James. I don’t want you back. It’s not me, it’s you.
She is about to press send when she thinks of something to add.
By the way, Mindy from Hot Springs is really a 52-year-old security guard from Scunthorpe called Dave.
She thinks her friend the vicar would forgive her this lie. She is pretty sure James will believe it. After all, she is the one who knows about IT. He is the man who never changes his password.
As Jo heads back upstairs to the flat, an image comes into her mind: Lucy, Finn, Uncle Wilbur and Jemima are standing in a line high-fiving each other. They are joined in her imagination by Malcolm and Ruth. All of them are beaming at her.
39
My friend the vicar
There is a vicar standing in front of her, studying the row of tester fountain pens and she wants to say to him, ‘My friend’s a vicar, too.’ The urge is almost overwhelming.
Jo watches as the vicar, who looks about forty, with a mop of chestnut hair and a pale round face, picks up two of the black tester pens and examines each in turn. He holds the nibs up to the light, and then unscrews each of the pens and gazes at the ink cartridges and examines the barrels, trying to peer inside them. In that moment it comes to Jo that he is not a vicar, he is a man. This is what many men do. Some women too, but more often than not it is certain men who pull the pens apart. They are keen to know about the inner workings, the mechanisms, and the nibs.
‘What are the nibs made of?’ he asks, pleasantly, as he holds them up to the light once more.
‘The one on your right is stainless steel, the other is gold-plated.’
‘Aaah,’ he says slowly, continuing to study them.‘Thank you – I think I’ll take this one. My partner will love it. He’s just bought himself a new desk and this will look great on it.’
The vicar leaves the shop, and Jo is left with her thoughts.
He doesn’t know it, but she knows it – she has been found guilty. She looked at this customer as a vicar, rather than a person. She of all people should have known better.
Ruth has done so much for Malcolm and for her, but have they been treating her like a vicar – assuming their problems take precedence? Jo is washed with a sense of shame; they still have no idea why Reverend Ruth became the Runaway Vicar. They did ask her about it in the pub, but since then have they tried to help her? And now it looks as though Ruth may be leaving.
Jo reaches for her phone and starts typing a message. Well, two messages.
A moment later, looking up from her screen, she sees Eric walk past the window. He neither waves nor smiles at her. As he progresses towards Highgate High Street, she can’t help noticing he has lost some of his usual Viking bounce.
Jo looks at the patch of wall next to the now overflowing noticeboard and can almost feel the sensation of cold plaster against her palms.
The following day, Jo is the first to arrive at Highgate Cemetery. It is early and she has put a notice on the shop door saying she will be opening later than normal.
She waits on a bench near Karl Marx’s tomb.
The graveyard is quiet, apart from the rustle of birds as they emerge from the contortion of leafless branches above her. Below this skeletal canopy, shrubs and ivy are shrouded in a blanket of white, only the larger leaves showing dark green, outlined with a fuzzy edging of frost. A crackle on the path announces the arrival of Malcolm. He is wrapped in a dark grey coat, rather like the one Jo is wearing (she has borrowed Uncle Wilbur’s long winter overcoat). However, to keep his head warm, Malcolm is wearing a floppy woollen beany, striped in green, orange and gold.
Before she can say anything, another figure bundles along the path behind him, half running, her face flushed. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Reverend Ruth pants.
‘Take a seat, Reverend Ruth,’ Malcolm says, solicitously.
‘No, no, you take it, Malcolm. I’d rather stand.’
‘But you seem flustered. Do take the seat,’ Malcolm insists.
Reverend Ruth takes Malcolm by both arms and manoeuvres him onto the bench beside Jo. ‘Well, no, Malcolm, that’s where you’re wrong.’
