The Art of Standing Still (24 page)

‘No, I'm afraid not.'

‘C'est la vie!'

And that was the last they had spoken of it.

Her discussion with Harlan had been a lot steamier.

‘What?' she shrieked. ‘After all the work I've put in. I never thought I'd say this but you, Reverend Wells, are totally heartless.'

And she refused to speak to Ruth for the rest of the evening.

‘She'll come round,' Ronnie said. ‘It would kill her if she wasn't involved. She'd simply explode with envy.'

That night in bed, a tumult of worries and anxieties prevented her sleeping. There was so much still to consider, the catering, the programmes, the complex and sometimes fraught relationships – Harlan and Ronnie, Jemma, Josh, and Richard, and of course Alistair and her.

Ruth had tried to leave some breathing space between them, but she couldn't put him off forever. They were running the nativity scene tomorrow, and she would have to be there.

Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, she stepped through the door of the hall the next day and saw Ronnie heading towards her. ‘How are ticket sales going?'

The plays had reached the stage that every producer dreads, a sort of pivotal point of no return when the initial excitement of the casting has worn off and first-night euphoria seems a distant and implausible prospect.

‘Well, there's the Scouts, and the Tuesday afternoon tea club – oh, and Peter, the Bishop, will definitely try to make it.'

‘That's about eight in the audience, then,' said Ronnie. ‘And half of those stand some chance of staying awake.'

‘Oh, Ronnie, why are we doing this?' A mischievous thought struck her. ‘Shall we cancel the whole show and cut our losses?'

‘Let's steal the ticket money and run away to Kathmandu,' Ronnie said.

Ruth rattled the cash box. ‘We might get as far as Dover.'

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘We'll do it.'

‘You know the old adage “it will be all right on the night”.'

Ronnie smiled. ‘We just need to grit our teeth and hang in there. You're the one with all the faith.'

Ruth felt her faith trickling away. She patted him on the shoulder and took her position at the back of the hall.

Ronnie turned his attention to the actors on the stage. ‘Right,' Ronnie said, ‘finally you're in the correct positions. That's how I want you. Stay there. You'll have a piece of music playing; you will have taken up your positions for the flood sequence, and you hold it. You stand still! Does anyone have a problem with that?'

No one seemed to.

‘Okay. Let's take the scene from the beginning. Noah, I've got the pieces and the frame. I'd like you to have a go at fitting them together as you speak. A bit of multitasking for you. Do you think you can manage that?'

Noah nodded.

‘Right. All you animals, off the stage. Remember stay in character. Off you go. Now, God . . . “When I made this world . . .” '

God spoke of his heartbreak at a perfect creation gone bad and his hope of a new world through one family in a floating menagerie. His reassurance that he would help the painfully inadequate Noah in his task and guide his hands to build the ark made Ruth feel very small. It was only through God's grace that these mystery plays were happening at all. So many pitfalls, hazards, and circumstances had threatened the production that hearing God's reassurances to Noah made her very grateful and not a little weepy.

‘No, no, no, Noah!' Ronnie bellowed at the poor little man as he struggled to slot the large pieces of wood to the timber framework to make the ark. Ronnie demonstrated how to slide the section in, then hopped down from the stage and whispered, ‘I tell you, Ruthie dear, never get into a car with that man; I'm sure he has trouble walking and breathing at the same time.'

Ruth suppressed a giggle.

The rest of the scene didn't go any more smoothly, but the animals did indeed behave slightly better this time. Mrs Hobson-Brown's snide comments about the other performers demonstrated exactly why she had been cast as the female dog.

After a fairly dismal second run through, Ruth persuaded Ronnie to call it a day. The cast had filed out to the car park, and Harlan left without saying goodbye. Ruth and Ronnie were stacking chairs when the doors swung open crashing against the wall with the force.

‘Ruth, I must speak to you . . .' Alistair's face was dark with emotion.

‘I think I'd better be going.' Ronnie slung his canary yellow sweater around his shoulders like a stole.

‘Please stay.' Ruth's eyes grew wide imploring Ronnie not to leave her alone with Alistair. To her relief he nodded and pulled up three chairs. Alistair sat silent. Ruth waited. She wasn't going to compromise on this, and Alistair knew why. Ronnie, bless him, in a rare moment of diplomacy jumped up and walked towards the door leading to the kitchen.

‘I'll just slip out and feng-shui the kitchen.' He opened the serving hatch and kept vigil as Alistair poured his heart out to Ruth.

‘I'm losing her, Ruth. I'm sitting here watching while my marriage is slipping through my fingers. And there doesn't seem to be a thing I can do about it.'

‘What makes you think that?' Ruth's voice sounded harsh in her ears.

‘She hardly speaks to me. She's always out. She's taken no interest in the mystery plays. And – ' he pulled his chair closer and lowered his voice ‘ – we haven't, you know, made love for weeks.'

‘I'm not a marriage guidance counsellor,' Ruth snapped. Her chair screeched on the floor as she pulled away from him.

‘I know, but I thought you were my friend.'

‘Just how I, who have never been married, can advise you, who seem to be something of an expert on failed marriages, I'm not quite sure.' Ruth folded her arms.

‘Ouch!'

‘I'm sorry, Alistair, but I don't know what you expect me to say. Have you tried talking to her?'

Alistair gave a snort. ‘I'm the last person she wants to talk to at the moment.'

‘Why?'

‘She thinks . . .' He shot a glance towards the kitchen. ‘She thinks I'm having an affair.'

Ruth kept her gaze steady. ‘And are you?'

‘You know I'm not,' he hissed.

‘I know you're not having one with me,' she whispered.

‘Please, Ruth . . .'

‘Please what?'

‘Please help me. Talk to her. Convince her that nothing happened.'

‘I can't do that because something did happen. You kissed me, and that kiss changed me, and however much I want to, I can't seem to change back.' She stood up. He took her hand.

‘Ruth, can we at least discuss this like adults. Come for a drink with me . . . or we could go back to your place.'

‘What are we going to talk about? How your wife doesn't understand you?' She strode towards the door, and as much as she hated leaving Ronnie in the lurch, she needed to make her exit before she changed her mind.

She drove straight home and, abandoning her car in the drive, rushed gratefully into the vicarage and slammed the heavy front door shut. She leant against it breathing hard.

Trembling slightly, she filled the kettle. The phone rang, making her jump. She watched it suspiciously for a few seconds, then, steeling herself, she picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?' Her voice sounded hoarse.

‘Ruth, dear, it's Ronnie. Just calling to see if you are all right.'

‘Thanks, Ronnie. I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry to rush off like that.'

‘I locked up for you. Would you like me to drop the key in tonight?'

‘Er . . . Alistair left?'

‘Well, I didn't lock him in the church hall, did I?'

‘No, Ronnie. Don't worry. I'll collect the key in the morning.'

‘It's no skin off my nose. Look, Ruth, I don't know what's going on with you and our esteemed Councillor, and, as much as I'd love to have all the juicy goss, I know when to keep my sticky little beak out . . . It's just that before he left he muttered something about getting this sorted out . . . and I'm concerned he may be making his way over to the vicarage. I'm just saying, if you'd like me to come over . . .'

Ruth smiled at Ronnie's uncharacteristic display of chivalry.

‘It's very sweet of you, Ronnie, but I'll be fine. I'm going to bed now, so if he does come round, he'll just have to go away again.'

‘Just as long as you're okay.'

‘Thanks, Ronnie.'

Ruth took extra care to lock up and switched the phone ringer off. The answering machine could take care of any calls. She glanced into the vicarage garden and, despite the warm night, made sure that both the windows and the curtains were firmly shut.

RUTH WOKE WITH A START. THE CLOCK FACE SHOWED TWENTY PAST EIGHT. IT
was strange not to be jolted awake by the half past six alarm, and it took her several minutes to wake up fully. A whole three weeks leave stretched before her
– two before the plays, one after.

She pulled on her dressing gown, yawned, and opened the curtains. A dark blue Mercedes was parked across her drive. She drew the curtains again. Why had Alistair left his car outside her house? She half wished she had taken Ronnie up on his offer. Her first instinct would be to sneak out of the back door and escape through the fields. She realised that if she was going to do anything useful today, visit Eliza in hospital for instance, she would have to take her car, which was stuck in the drive, and that would mean confronting Alistair.

She showered and dressed carefully, choosing a sapphire blue blouse and a coordinating flowered skirt; she would forgo the dog collar and be off duty today. She had recently taken to applying a little lipstick and mascara before going out.

Switching on the coffee percolator, she took two croissants out of the freezer. She heated them, ate hers with jam, no butter, sipped her coffee, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She set a tray and went out to the front garden. Net curtains twitched in the house opposite. Alistair lay in the driver's seat with his eyes closed. She noticed his pale face, his mouth lolling open, and for one horrible moment she thought he was dead, until she heard the unmistakable sound of snoring.

She balanced the tray in one hand and knocked on the window. Alistair opened his eyes and rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. He hauled himself into an upright position and squinted at her through the tinted glass.

‘Open the window. I've brought you breakfast.'

He obligingly turned the key and pressed a button. The window purred down, and she handed him the tray. He struggled to sit upright.

‘Ruth, couldn't I come in?'

‘No need. I've brought everything out.'

‘Can we talk?'

‘I'm afraid not. I have to go out now.'

‘But I need to use the bathroom.'

‘Now that is a difficult one.' She pretended to scratch her head. ‘Yes, I've got it. Perhaps you could go home.'

‘She's locked me out.' He looked crestfallen.

‘So you thought you'd try your luck here?'

‘I thought you were my friend.'

‘Alistair. Don't pull that one on me. Just finish your breakfast and go. Sort things out with Amanda. Oh, and can you move the car up a little, please? You're blocking my drive.'

She returned to her Fiesta and proceeded to reverse rapidly down the drive, hoping that he'd had the sense to move his car. Her heart was pounding. What had he told Amanda? She slowed her breathing and focused on her driving as she negotiated her way through the rush-hour traffic on the bypass.

By the time she reached Hope Farm, she had calmed down. Bram Griffin seemed more relaxed than he had been the last time she visited him. He had just made tea for Raj. Ruth sat next to Bram on a straw bale and gratefully sipped the steaming brew. ‘So how's it going, Bram? Not too much disruption, I hope.'

‘Nope. Not a bit of it. I must admit that I've been more apprehensive than a porcupine on his wedding night, but that Raj bloke has been great. I've had no trouble, and when I've had to bring the cows through here for milking, he's had them all stop work, so there's no noise to scare them. How's that for consideration?'

‘Yes, Raj is a good sort.'

Raj waved, put down his clipboard, and walked over.

‘Hello, Raj.' He shook her solemnly by the hand. ‘How is everything?'

‘Do you mean, “Is my wife pregnant yet”?' He shook his head. ‘They were talking about in vitro fertilisation, but we didn't want to go down that route.'

‘I'm so sorry.'

‘I had high hopes but it was not to be. Then quite out of the blue, we saw a poster about fostering and adoption. Well, the long and short of it is that we've been approved as foster carers. If we can't have our child the normal way, we can love and care for a child who needs a home. A child who's having it tough. We've had the training, and we're waiting for the first child to come to us.'