A Well Lived Life 2 Book 1 BethanyChapter 48 Pascha and Parties
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“So, it’s advice you’re wanting?” Dulcie smiled at me over the rim of a mug advertising a local sailmaker.
“Yes.” Dulcie knew the basics of my finding Rebecca, of course. She even knew that her fosterling had visited me on a fairly regular basis since we’d been formally introduced. “Rebecca.” I said, note the full stop.
Dulcie just raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.
“She’s been on my mind since I found her,” I went on. “Her face, that is. But I found a song that made me think.” I explained.
Dulcie laughed. “Did you know none of the Monkees could play an instrument* when they started? They were just a set-up for a t/v series. But the music really caught on and they did quite well. You’re thinking you’re in love.” Statement, not question.
(*Apparently an urban legend. I wouldn’t know either way)
I shrugged. “Like the song, I never thought about being in love, as related to myself. But when I saw Rebecca, even the first time, it was like, I don’t know. It had an impact.”
She nodded. “Indeed. Look, Joe. Love comes from God. It may be that He put the two of you together. But I can’t speak for Rebecca, of course. Can you love her, continue to love her, if she doesn’t want to be close to you? And if she does, will what happened to her affect the way you see her?” She sighed. “And, of course, what happened will have had an effect. It may be that she cannot form a meaningful relationship with a man at all.”
I suppose my shoulders slumped.
“Oh, Joe! Don’t get despondent. If God’s in this, and I believe He is, everything will work out. All will be well.” She smiled at that last and I didn’t know why, but I didn’t pursue it either. That was it apart from some chat, and Dulcie left.
The summer passed, as it does, with the usual mixture of sun, rain, mist and wind. I got plenty of sea time, and some of the skippers let me practice the trickier evolutions. I saw Rebecca now and then, perhaps more often than in term time, but there was nothing between us but cups of tea or coffee, with something to nibble. Usually that was in a barge saloon, but a couple of times we walked along the prom and got something from the kiosks. Rebecca tried to pay for those, but I managed to wave the offer off. A couple of times she came along on a day sail as Third Hand.
September, and she was back at school and the sailing was tapering off. I called the agency and arranged to work starting in October. I remembered, just in time, to get my bike serviced. That was an all-day job; ride to Clacton, hand the bike to the workshop, and go in search of food and coffee. Clacton is a seaside resort. The River Colne gets in the way of a direct route, and a transit through Colchester is required. Anyway, the bike was serviced and good for another couple of thousand miles.
That autumn, I heard through the grapevine that a number of men had been arrested and charged with rape, sexual assault, statutory rape, drug and alcohol offences, and some other stuff. It must have been a pretty solid case, and the offences deemed severe, as they were remanded in custody for trial in Crown Court.
Nursing is a full-time activity, and as an agency worker, I didn’t get the best shifts. So it was several weeks before I got to St. Mary’s on a Sunday morning. At the end of the service I was going to leave right away – my coffee at home is much better than theirs, and I’m not fond of social gatherings for the sake of gathering. But I was intercepted by Rebecca. “Come for coffee,” she said, half pleading, half commanding. “Dulcie wants to have a word.”
I followed her to the Octagon, where I got a mug of instant coffee and Rebecca got tea. We shuffled out back into the church for space to breathe, and Dulcie found us there.
“Oh, Joe! It’s good to see you back.”
“It’s good to be back. I’ve been working, of course. The demand for weekend and night cover makes it difficult to get here on a Sunday.”
“Have you got to rush off, or could you join us for lunch?”
“I’m free all day. Early shift tomorrow.”
“Well, Liina’s a good cook, and she’s got a casserole in the oven. There’s plenty for everyone.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Rebecca smiled. The nearest adjective I could come up with was ‘angelic’. She’s pretty anyway, but her smile really lights the room up. We – Rebecca, Dulcie and Richard (her husband) Liina, Peter and Sara, all walked together back to the Rectory. Shortly after getting there, several others arrived. I suppose it’s good I didn’t know there’d be a crowd, as I would probably have avoided going. Who was there? Emma and Dennis Perkins, who I’d seen but not spoken to. Rosie and Mannie Wagner, back from University, who I hadn’t met at all. So there was quite a crowd around the dining table. But Liina’s casserole was savoury and satisfying, and the conversation wide-ranging and inclusive. I was questioned about the nursing and about the barges. Dennis was interested in arranging a ‘team-building’ cruise for his staff – he managed an insurance office in Chelmsford. Mannie, I found out, was an assistant librarian at the local library, and Rosie a social-worker.
Part of the conversation was about church funding, as Emma was the church treasurer. The ins and outs of church finance were interesting, but a little depressing. Maintaining old buildings, historic buildings, heating them, is expensive, and traditional religion is hardly mainstream these days.
We finished eating and drank good coffee before the party began to break up. I announced my departure and headed for the door to be intercepted, again, by Rebecca.
“May I walk with you?”
“Of course!”
“Thank you.”
So we walked along Park Drive from the Rectory. My flat – studio flat, really – is in one of the new developments on the High Street, so it wasn’t far. We’d actually got to the High Street when she spoke. “I’ve missed visiting you in the barges.”
“I’ve missed you, too. But in the winter I have to work for the nursing agency. It means I earn enough to let me work on the barges the other six months of the year.”
“I’d have called, but Dulcie wouldn’t tell me your address.”
“Oh? She didn’t mention that to me. You’re welcome to know my address and visit if you like. It’s just that I’m not here much. I often work seven or eight nights in a row and need to sleep in the day, and if it’s days, it’s often weekends.”
“Oh.”
“Do you have a phone?”
“Yes – Dulcie got me one.”
“I’ll give you my number, and you can call to see when I’ll be in, if you like. Just don’t be offended if I have to put you off for some reason.”
“I don’t want to be a pest.”
We arrived at the complex and I waved my key fob at the detector, heard the click, and waved Rebecca in. “You are not a pest in any way, shape or form.”
We climbed a couple of flights of stairs to my flat, which is at the back of the building. I’m glad of that, as it’s much quieter.
“Would you like a cuppa?”
“Yes, please.”
I busied myself in the kitchenette, watching Rebecca perusing my shelves of books. I have a lot of books. I made up a tray – leaf tea in a pot, cups and saucers (bone china, an inheritance from my late grandmother) and a plate of chocolate digestives – carried it over and placed it on a coffee table. “Shall I be mother?”
She looked at me oddly, and I chuckled. “You’ve obviously never encountered that expression! So few people these days serve tea like this.” I placed the tea-strainer in a cup and poured tea into the cup. “Help yourself to milk, Rebecca. You don’t take sugar, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Thus we sipped in silence for some time.
“Dulcie says you like me,” Rebecca began, tentatively.
“I do. I like you a lot.”
We sipped some more.
“I like you too. A lot.” She blushed. She took a deep breath, “Dulcie says you’re being careful to not frighten me.”
“I suppose that’s true. I mean, that’s true.”
“She says that I need to ... take the initiative.” She hesitated. “And to ask you for a date.”
Shocked? You bet. But I knew I couldn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. “I’d love to take you out on a date,” I admitted. “That’s not something I do very often, actually. What would you like to do?”
She coloured up again. “I don’t know anything,” she told me. “I’ve never been anywhere or done anything except go to school, or talk to you. I can’t dance, or skate. I’ve never even been to see a film.”
I chuckled. “Rebecca, I’m not much better. I have been to see a film or two with a girl, but I’ve never had much time or the confidence to date much. Let me think about it, okay?”
“Okay!” She was smiling that smile which lit up the room. “Thank you!”
We finished the tea and exchanged phone numbers. “Would you like to take a walk along the Prom?”
That smile was back. “Yes, please.”
We dressed again; late October isn’t always cold, but it certainly was then. Leaving the flat, we crossed the High Street and turned down North Street. When we got to the Hythe Quay, Rebecca slipped her hand into mine, and our fingers twined together. Passing the Galleon (an elaborate climbing and play structure for youngsters) we met Helen and Geoff Billings, Geoff (one of the barge skippers I’d sailed with) pushing a buggy with Dougie, their ‘almost two’ year old in. Helen, who is older, but very beautiful, appeared to be pregnant again. I knew she was hoping for a daughter.
“Hello, Helen, Geoff!”
“Hi, Joe,” from Geoff, “Hello, Rebecca, Joe,” from Helen. Of course Helen is a more consistent member of St. Mary’s than Geoff, and much more than me, so I wasn’t entirely surprised that she knew Rebecca by name. “Off to pay a call on Earl Brithnoth*?” from Geoff.
Jerri
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