Abi stared at him in shock. ‘But she was better! She was cheerful.’
‘You gave her Communion?’
Abi nodded.
‘Then you did your best. It’s part of your job, Abi. You’ll get used to it.’ He patted her arm before opening a file on his desk, pulling out another address. ‘Go and see this woman next. Molly Cathcart. Constantly whingeing. Real fuss pot. Wants attention all the time.’ He groaned.
‘But Ethel -’ Abi was still thinking about the old lady’s gentle smile. ‘Can I take her funeral, Kier? I’d like to.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll see what the family thinks. They may prefer me.’
She didn’t argue. What was the point.
Abi met Sandra in town one Monday a couple of weeks later. Mondays were supposed to be Abi’s day off and she had promised herself time for a trip to visit Marks & Spencer. They talked casually for a few minutes on the pavement then drifted across Sidney Street, dodging through the crowds to find a coffee shop. Sandra ordered coffee and teacakes for both of them then she sat back and looked at Abi closely. ‘So, how are you coping up at Chateau Scott?’
Abi smiled uncomfortably. ‘All right, I think. It’s hard work.’
‘You’ve lost weight.’
Abi nodded. ‘I often don’t have time for meals. So this is a special treat. Thank you.’
‘I suppose he’s making you chase around all the hopeless cases?’
Abi frowned. ‘No-one is hopeless,’ she said uncertainly.
‘You knew he had a curate before, didn’t you?’
Abi nodded again. ‘Curates move on.’
‘Luke had a nervous breakdown. Overwork.’
That had explained the atmosphere in the flat. Abi eyed Sandra thoughtfully.
‘He’s a bit of a control freak, Kieran,’ Sandra went on. ‘Things have to be done his way. But I expect you’ve discovered that. I suspect you are a tougher cookie than poor old Luke.’
Abi sighed. She had prayed for the young man and blessed him, filled the rooms with flowers and the sad echoes had gone. He had gone on to a parish the other end of the country and she had heard through the grapevine that he was happier now that he was no longer working with Kier. She had been told only that they had not been compatible; not why. ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I expect I am a lot tougher cookie than him.’
‘I didn’t mean that in a bad way.’ Glancing up, Sandra smiled apologetically. ‘I just thought I should drop a hint.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I heard you’d been to visit Molly Cathcart.’
Abi nodded. The coffee arrived and there was a pause as they each took a sip.
‘She’s much better than she was,’ Sandra went on.
Abi nodded. ‘I felt so sorry for her. She’s in so much pain with her rheumatism, and she’s all alone in that small flat.’
‘You prayed with her, I hear.’
Abi nodded. ‘That’s part of the job.’ She helped herself to a toasted teacake and reached for the butter.
‘And you gave her healing.’
Something in Sandra’s tone made Abi look up. Sandra shrugged. ‘Be careful, Abi. There are people round here who pretty much equate healing with witchcraft. Kier is one of them.’
Abi stared at her in astonishment. ‘But the ministry of healing is part of the job,’ she protested.
‘Not in Kier’s book.’
Of course. She should have guessed. Besides the heavy workload dumped fairly and squarely on her shoulders, the reality of confronting, time after time, parishioners who felt that a female vicar was something between the short end of the wedge, a witch and Satan’s little helper had hit her hard. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Kier might be one of them.
The voice of one of her lecturers at college echoed in her head for a moment. ‘Abi, remember, although more than half of all the clergy being ordained today are women, there are still a lot of people out there who are suspicious of them, not least a good proportion of the other clergy!’ How right he had been! She thought back over the first months of her curacy here and she sighed. It was all so much harder than she had ever imagined it would be.
She confronted Kier that evening. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you disapproved of healing?’
He glanced up at her. She had cornered him this time, walking into the study where he was seated before his desk. The room was warm, lit by the last of the sun and its light was catching his hair, turning it a deep coppery red. He looked up at her and laid down his pen, carefully aligning it with his blotter. The computer was on a side table on the far side of the room. Beside it piles of letters and papers were arranged in neat sequences, graded by size. ‘It did not occur to me that it would be something you would attempt,’ he said carefully. ‘When I began to receive reports, I didn’t believe it at first. I assumed that people were misinterpreting your zeal for prayer.’
‘Has someone complained?’
He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. It has reinforced the natural aversion some parishioners still feel towards a female priest. I’m sorry, Abi. I should have mentioned it. I just hoped you would realise that it was not appropriate.’
‘But it is appropriate! It is what Jesus taught us to do. It is what I learned at college. I was encouraged to do it!’ She was furious.
‘People round here don’t like it, Abi.’
‘Ethel liked it. So does Molly Cathcart. It has helped her. She was healed. She has been outside for the first time in months.’
‘And you take credit for that healing, do you?’
‘Yes I do. I’m the only one who has even bothered to go and see her apart from her carer!’ Abi paused. ‘I mean, no. Of course I don’t take credit for it. That was God. But I was the one who made it happen.’
Kier raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you use your magic wand?’
There was a moment of silence as Abi registered the cold sarcasm in his voice. ‘How dare you!’ For a moment she wondered how she would stop herself hitting him.
‘I dare, Abi, because it is my job to care.’ There was a carefully modified touch of sadness in the wry smile. ‘To put you back on course if you stray. You’re very new to the life. You find it glamorous and exciting. Of course you do, that’s natural. But you have to stay within the accepted parameters. You have to stay in control.’ He clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax them again. ‘We pray if people are ill. Laying on healing hands is not acceptable in my parish I’m afraid. End of!’ He stood up. There was a moment of silence as he looked at her. ‘Anger suits you, Abi, if you’ll pardon the cliche! It makes you look quite beautiful.’ He reached forward and playfully tugged at a lock of her hair. The clips that normally kept it restrained on the nape of her neck had come free and a heavy lock had fallen across her shoulder. ‘We are going to have to tame you, I can see.’ She jerked back out of his reach. ‘That hair is a bit too wild, isn’t it. Perhaps it would be better if you cut it.’
She stared at him. ‘I will do no such thing!’
‘Then keep it under control, Abi. It makes you look far too enticing.’
She thought long and hard that night up in her flat as she stood at the window looking out across the rooftops. So, healing was not acceptable and neither it seemed was her hair. She shivered. She had first discovered she had what was, for the want of a better term, the power of healing, when a fortune teller at a fairground had told her so when she was sixteen. The old gypsy in a colourful caravan had taken her hands and scrutinised them for several seconds, then she had shaken her head as though puzzled by the wonders she found there and begun to speak with, as it turned out, quite remarkable accuracy. ‘You will have a life of service, dear,’ the old woman had said. The great black gaping holes between her teeth gave her the expression of a storybook elf as did her mischievously sparkling eyes. ‘You are a sensitive and you have healing hands. I can feel their power. You must train yourself to use your powers for good. It is too easy to go to the bad! You will have the potential to do so much for people.’ Abi had been a bit miffed at the time. She bet herself that the woman said that to everyone and that was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear about future romance. The old woman, effortlessly reading her thoughts, had sighed. She looked again at Abi’s hand, tracing the lines with a grubby forefinger. ‘I see two men here. More than two.’ She glanced up disapprovingly. ‘But one is special. The trick will be to decide which one he is.’ She had cackled with laughter. Abi remembered wondering cynically if she had trained herself to laugh like that or if it was natural.
