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Authors: Laura Wilkinson
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uninterested in the activities of the church.’
Rain spoke and Joe marvelled at her control. If it had been him talking to the group he’d have wanted to thump the old git. ‘You’re aware I’ve set up a Facebook page for the church? We could use that for starters. Then posters, more school talks. I’ll give it more thought.’
She’s quite a woman, the Rev. Joe didn’t think there’d be too many rural ministers who used social media to spread God’s word. At least not in Wales.
‘I’m not sure our Lord would approve of such methods, Reverend. The internet is bursting with evidence of all kinds of human misery and depravity,’ Mr Roberts blustered.
And you’d know, wouldn’t you? Joe longed to yell.
‘And all kinds of human goodness and decency. Let’s give it a go, shall we? Gosh, is that the time? Time to wrap up, folks. Till next we meet,’ Rain said, clapping her hands together, with what sounded like forced cheerfulness.
Joe waited. He listened as church members lifted themselves off chairs, the groans and sighs fading to shuffling feet and the heavy clip of walking sticks on stone. Only then did he come down the stairs. He studied Rain’s profile as she stacked plastic chairs. Her cheeks were flushed, despite the cold, her lips pressed together, folded in on themselves, as if she were biting down on them. There was a heaviness in her demeanour he’d not seen before. She jumped when he approached, as if she had forgotten he was in the chapel.
‘Your flock disapprove of your methods, huh?’
Rain shrugged. ‘That obvious? Some disapprove of me, which pisses me off even more. Flock? In many ways they’re more like a pack.’
Unable to help himself, he laughed. ‘You get that much?’
‘More than you’d think. Funniest thing is that it’s caught me unawares. I anticipated resistance, expected it really,’ another shrug, ‘when we first arrived. But there was none. Or so it seemed.’
‘They let you get comfortable …’
‘On their best behaviour.’ She smiled, as if remembering her duty to be kind, understanding. ‘It’s like family. We are a family. The church, I mean. And we’re more critical of those we love than anyone else. As well as most forgiving, of course.’
‘Are you critical of them?’ He didn’t follow her argument. Not really. He understood it was possible to acknowledge loved ones aren’t perfect, when love is real, true. But to be more critical of them than others? No. He had been blind to the faults of those he’d loved.
Rain didn’t answer. Instead, she tipped her head to the roof and said, ‘So, bad as I fear?’ She clapped her hands together and pulled them to her chest. Joe knew how to read people. When she was uncomfortable; when she wanted to close a subject down, she clapped.
‘Difficult to say for sure.’
‘You sound like a builder. And here was me thinking you were different! Can you repair it?’
Joe stroked his chin between thumb and index finger in a caricature of the rogue trader. ‘It’ll cost you.’
Rain laughed. ‘We have money.’
‘There could be a few months’ work here. Once I’ve measured the building I’ll quantity survey the materials and work out precise costs. Might be heftier than the first estimate you were given.’
‘The Lord will provide. When can you start?’
‘Soon as you OK the new price.’ He smiled. It wouldn’t be so bad. He liked Rain and no one visited the town in winter. He could keep a low profile. Of that much he was sure.
Chapter Seven
The house had felt different as soon as Saffron had stepped into the hall, and she’d seen the Standard parked outside, so it wasn’t a surprise to discover Joe sitting at the kitchen table. Spread across the table was the debris of a late afternoon tea.
‘Saffron! You’re back early.’ Rain leapt to her feet, gesturing towards the kettle. ‘Tea?’
‘Sure.’ Saffron knew her mother was making an effort to be extra-specially nice; she’d used
Rain spoke and Joe marvelled at her control. If it had been him talking to the group he’d have wanted to thump the old git. ‘You’re aware I’ve set up a Facebook page for the church? We could use that for starters. Then posters, more school talks. I’ll give it more thought.’
She’s quite a woman, the Rev. Joe didn’t think there’d be too many rural ministers who used social media to spread God’s word. At least not in Wales.
‘I’m not sure our Lord would approve of such methods, Reverend. The internet is bursting with evidence of all kinds of human misery and depravity,’ Mr Roberts blustered.
And you’d know, wouldn’t you? Joe longed to yell.
‘And all kinds of human goodness and decency. Let’s give it a go, shall we? Gosh, is that the time? Time to wrap up, folks. Till next we meet,’ Rain said, clapping her hands together, with what sounded like forced cheerfulness.
Joe waited. He listened as church members lifted themselves off chairs, the groans and sighs fading to shuffling feet and the heavy clip of walking sticks on stone. Only then did he come down the stairs. He studied Rain’s profile as she stacked plastic chairs. Her cheeks were flushed, despite the cold, her lips pressed together, folded in on themselves, as if she were biting down on them. There was a heaviness in her demeanour he’d not seen before. She jumped when he approached, as if she had forgotten he was in the chapel.
‘Your flock disapprove of your methods, huh?’
Rain shrugged. ‘That obvious? Some disapprove of me, which pisses me off even more. Flock? In many ways they’re more like a pack.’
Unable to help himself, he laughed. ‘You get that much?’
‘More than you’d think. Funniest thing is that it’s caught me unawares. I anticipated resistance, expected it really,’ another shrug, ‘when we first arrived. But there was none. Or so it seemed.’
‘They let you get comfortable …’
‘On their best behaviour.’ She smiled, as if remembering her duty to be kind, understanding. ‘It’s like family. We are a family. The church, I mean. And we’re more critical of those we love than anyone else. As well as most forgiving, of course.’
‘Are you critical of them?’ He didn’t follow her argument. Not really. He understood it was possible to acknowledge loved ones aren’t perfect, when love is real, true. But to be more critical of them than others? No. He had been blind to the faults of those he’d loved.
Rain didn’t answer. Instead, she tipped her head to the roof and said, ‘So, bad as I fear?’ She clapped her hands together and pulled them to her chest. Joe knew how to read people. When she was uncomfortable; when she wanted to close a subject down, she clapped.
‘Difficult to say for sure.’
‘You sound like a builder. And here was me thinking you were different! Can you repair it?’
Joe stroked his chin between thumb and index finger in a caricature of the rogue trader. ‘It’ll cost you.’
Rain laughed. ‘We have money.’
‘There could be a few months’ work here. Once I’ve measured the building I’ll quantity survey the materials and work out precise costs. Might be heftier than the first estimate you were given.’
‘The Lord will provide. When can you start?’
‘Soon as you OK the new price.’ He smiled. It wouldn’t be so bad. He liked Rain and no one visited the town in winter. He could keep a low profile. Of that much he was sure.
Chapter Seven
The house had felt different as soon as Saffron had stepped into the hall, and she’d seen the Standard parked outside, so it wasn’t a surprise to discover Joe sitting at the kitchen table. Spread across the table was the debris of a late afternoon tea.
‘Saffron! You’re back early.’ Rain leapt to her feet, gesturing towards the kettle. ‘Tea?’
‘Sure.’ Saffron knew her mother was making an effort to be extra-specially nice; she’d used
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