The Art of Standing Still (20 page)

‘We run for cover.'

They both laughed. Ruth gazed over at the river. A mist was gathering. It felt good sitting here with Alistair. They shared a sense of humour, he listened when she talked, he was handsome – in a rugged sort of way. But he was just so . . . married. She took a deep breath and dragged her thoughts back to reality.

‘So, how were the children, Alistair?'

‘They were fine, thanks. I went to see Rory play in a Rugby match. Stefan lost a tooth, so I got to be tooth fairy. Do you know the going rate for teeth these days?'

Ruth shook her head.

‘Two pounds for incisors and canines, two pounds fifty for molars. Can you believe that?'

‘I used to get sixpence.'

‘So did I!'

‘Stop. You're making me feel old.'

‘You're not old. You're gorgeous.'

She couldn't help smiling at his outrageous flattery. ‘So did Rory win his match?'

‘Sadly not. And we had to drown our sorrows in strawberry milkshake at the local burger bar.' He gave a sigh that seemed to come up from the soles of his boots.

‘You miss them, don't you?' She put her hand on his.

He nodded. ‘I don't feel as if I've ever been a proper dad. Oh, I have a good time when I visit, and I'm sure the kids enjoy it. But every day I'm with them is like Christmas day; everyone's on their best behaviour, trying to be polite, walking round on tiptoes. I mean, it usually involves me giving them presents. I've never done the ordinary things that dads do every day – tucking them in, reading to them.'

‘What about the older ones?'

‘Christa was four and Marcus was two. Louisa hadn't even been born. She was seven before I saw her for the first time.'

‘I'm sorry. Why did you leave?'

Alistair looked like she had slapped him in the face. ‘I didn't, they did.'

‘Your wives left you. Why?'

‘I – I don't want to talk about it.' He started to toss the remains of the picnic into the basket. ‘It looks like rain, or perhaps snow. We'd better get back.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be nosy.'

‘Both of them, Joanne and Nikki, they both went off with someone else.'

‘That must have been dreadful for you. At least now you've got Amanda.' She drained her soup mug as Alistair made his way back to the car. ‘Alistair!' She caught up with him and handed him the mug, which he put in the boot of the car.

‘We don't have to go back just yet, do we?' Ruth smiled up at him, but his face remained grim.

‘I suppose not.' He locked the car and walked towards the towpath. It had started to drizzle, and a grey mist hung over the river. The flock of geese returned and flew low. As they walked towards the town the light grew dim, even though it was still early afternoon. Ruth felt cold and stiff from sitting on the damp ground. Even through the thick blanket, the chill seemed to have pervaded her bones.

‘As I said, I'm sorry I brought up the subject of your ex-wives. It's just that you looked so . . .'

‘Old?'

‘Worried. Alistair, you can talk to me you know, if there's anything bothering you. As you said, we are friends.'

‘It's Amanda.'

‘What's wrong with her?'

‘I can't help thinking she's going to leave me too.'

‘Why would she do that?'

‘I don't know . . . The signs are there.'

‘What signs?'

‘Little things. The phone rings and when I answer the caller hangs up.'

‘Sales calls. I get them all the time. It's a dialling machine that calls lots of numbers. If you're not the first to answer, it just cuts off.'

‘Buying new clothes, having her hair done.'

‘She's just trying to please you, or herself.'

‘And going out. Oh, I don't expect her to stay in all the time . . .' He laughed. ‘And I'm not the jealous controlling type that won't let her out of my sight or make her account for every second.'

‘So what makes you think there's anything peculiar going on?'

‘She's never there when I call. Her phone's always switched off. She's out most days . . . and a lot of evenings. She complains that I don't pay her enough attention; then when I try to arrange something, like today, she's “going out”.'

‘That doesn't mean – '

‘It's all falling apart again. I can see it. I can read the signs. Don't tell me I'm wrong; it's happened to me twice before. I should know.'

Ruth laid a hand on his shoulder. The distress had contorted his face and he was breathing heavily.

‘Calm down, Alistair, it may not be what you think.'

He sat on a bench and held his head in his hands.

‘You're right, of course. I've just got myself into a state over this. I'm not eating properly, I'm irritable, I can't sleep. I try to convince myself it's not happening again, that it's different this time. But . . .'

‘Have you tried getting help from the church?'

‘My own church? No, I can't talk to them, too much to lose. That's why I'm talking to you.'

‘I am not “the church”!' Ruth stood up and walked farther along the towpath. Houseboats were moored along the towpath, their muted colours – deep blue, bottle green, and black – blending with the dark water of the river.

When she stopped next to the
Endeavour
, Alistair stood up and joined her. ‘I didn't mean it like that. I meant as a friend.' He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘If it hadn't been for you and for our friendship over the last couple of months, I think I would have gone mad.' He kissed her very gently on the cheek then pulled her close to him and hugged her tight.

She breathed in the scent of his cologne, felt the rough wool of the jumper on her face, his strong arms around her, and thought she would melt. She looked up into his blue, blue eyes. He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth. He kissed her long and hard and deep. She didn't resist.

ON THE DECK OF THE
EBONY HOG
, JEMMA STOOD AND WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT
as the Councillor kissed the Vicar passionately on the lips.

Act Two

Scene One

IT WAS ONLY ONE KISS BUT IT CHANGED RUTH'S LIFE.

Christmas and Easter passed in a blur. Ruth found ways of keeping herself busy; it hadn't been difficult. She managed to keep her thought life under control – just – and mostly managed to avoid Alistair.

Rehearsals were tense. When she saw Alistair, her heart raced, and she was convinced everyone could see the electricity arcing between them.

He caught her alone a few days after their kiss. ‘Ruth . . .' He tried to take her arm. She walked into the church-hall kitchen. He followed. She stood by the sink and pretended to make tea. He turned her round to face him. His eyes were tender, almost tearful.

‘We have to talk – '

‘No, we don't, there's nothing to talk about.'

‘ – about what happened.'

‘I told you, Alistair. Nothing happened.'

She opened the door, almost knocking Harlan over.

‘Ruth, I need to see you about the Nativity chorus. It's just too . . . angelic.'

She led Harlan to an orange plastic chair and sat across from her, leaving Alistair to finish making the tea.

As the weather grew warmer, she spent more time by the abbey, thinking and praying and marvelling that they seem to have got away with it.

One day, she walked by the river and sat on the soft the grass at the abbey ruins. She stroked the velvety turf and lifted her face to the warm sun, reliving that moment when she knew another human being loved her. She had felt more cherished, more wanted and desired than at any other time she could remember. Since that kiss, her prayers had been a mixture of guilty outpourings and solemn promises. But then, hadn't her prayers always contained the mix of guilt and promise?

Even as a child she felt love was based on good behaviour or academic achievement, and when her mother grew old and ill, Ruth felt needed, but need didn't always translate into love. Not love without condition anyway. And then there was Dimitri. Unconditional love? Hardly. The little tame tiger loved her so long as there were tins of food in the larder.

‘Father, I know that you love me. I know that in my heart, but I can't help feeling that even your love comes with strings attached. How could you still love me knowing what I have done – what we have done?' She tried to remind herself that unconditional meant just that – without condition. She had even looked it up in the dictionary, as if seeing it in black and white would help her believe it: ‘complete and not limited in any way'.

Guilt hit her hardest when she read out the words of the confession ‘For failing you by what we think and do and say; Father forgive us.'

‘Am I really forgiven, Father? I committed adultery. Not in the physical way, but in the mind, many times, and I know that Jesus considered it just as bad: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.' But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” '

She couldn't bear to think about it any longer. She looked at her watch and stood up, brushing the grass from her skirt. She wanted to stay outside on a day like this, not in a cold, dusty church, with all its trappings. She did not want to be reminded that she was the Vicar and could not entertain fanciful thoughts about married men. She walked briskly, kicking a loose stone along the pavement. Kicking something made her feel better.

‘Father, the worst of it is, I can't actually say I regret the kiss. As much as I know it was wrong, I'm not sorry it happened. It made me feel so needed, desired . . . loved.'

Feelings of guilt almost overwhelmed her. Of course, she repented many times, but the fantasies kept coming back. She loved Alistair and he loved her, and that's all there was to it.

She ran through scenarios many times in her mind. She imagined that Alistair had left Amanda, and he asked Ruth to go away with him. She tried to picture their life as a couple, but whenever she attempted it, her imagination drew a blank. She literally couldn't imagine it. It was simply beyond her.

The other possibility, which kept playing out like a repeat, was that people would find out what had happened. ‘Father, you know I am weak. I'm just a human being. I can't do this. It's too difficult. Why can't we be together? I could get another job. I would still try to do your will. His marriage is a disaster anyway. Would it really be that bad?'

She came to St Sebastian's solid oak door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Shafts of summer sunlight cut through the dusty air. She shivered.

‘It was just one kiss! It's not as if I instigated it or planned it – it's not as if I had even wanted it to happen . . .' Ah, that was not quite true. She may not have put it in so many words, but she had, deep in her heart, wanted his lips to touch hers. And she was not surprised when they did. ‘It was not my fault!'

Maybe not, but she should not have let things go that far, and she should not have enjoyed it! No, if anyone found out, if the incident was reported to her church council or to the Bishop, she would be in big trouble. She shuddered at the thought of the disappointment she would see in Bishop Peter's eyes. He was understanding – but not that understanding. Her only course of action had been to avoid Alistair, to pretend he didn't exist. To make sure, absolutely sure it wouldn't happen again.

She went into the small office-come-vestry. There were messages on the answering machine. They would have to wait. She sat at her desk and shuffled through the pile of post. She would open them later. Right now her mind was too busy wandering, and she couldn't concentrate.

She remembered how she had felt when, as a child, she tried to get her bicycle along the narrow drive of their house past her father's car. Her father was at work, and she had been too impatient to wait for him to get back from the station. She had taken the bicycle out of the garden shed and started to wheel it down the drive. The gap between her dad's new shiny Wolseley and the fence was narrower than she thought and the pedal left a bright gash in the paintwork on the door and down the wing.

She was so mortified that she ran away. She cycled to the woods and hid in the hollow carcass of an oak tree. She had wished death on herself, hoped lightning would strike her, anything except going to confess to her dad. She searched the wood for a cave, somewhere she could shelter, living all alone, surviving by foraging for berries and trapping wild animals.

She pushed the chair back and wandered
into the sanctuary, still lost in her memories.

Of course, she had known that she couldn't live like that. When it started to get dark, she had returned to the house, pushing her bicycle. She went indoors to find her parents and her brother Roy sitting at the dinner table. Everything seemed normal. Dad looked the same as always. Was it possible he hadn't noticed? That made it worse. The usual chat about what they had done during the day accompanied the meal, but Ruth could hardly swallow the shepherd's pie. Eventually she put down her knife and fork and confessed.