A Blessing In Disguise Read Online Free PDF Page B

though I know she has. I carry on and, like the Ancient Mariner, I stop the next person in my path, who looks surprised at being suddenly accosted. ‘I’m the new Vicar,’ I say, as if I weren’t dressed for the part, as if she hasn’t seen me standing up there in the pulpit. ‘And you are . . . ?’
    â€˜Elsie Jones,’ she informs me. ‘I run the Brownies.’
    â€˜How nice!’ I say. ‘I love the Brownies.’
    Wasn’t my own Becky a Brownie? Keen as mustard. Never missed a meeting, took all the tests, gained all the badges. But it tailed off when her father was ill, and after he died it stopped altogether and nothing took its place.
    â€˜I hope you’ll drop in and see us,’ Elsie Jones says. ‘Tuesdays, five o’clock!’
    â€˜Oh I will!’ I promise. And I will.
    We chat for a few minutes – she has two children, a son and a daughter both younger than Becky. Naturally, one is a Brownie and the other a Cub Scout. Her husband is a paint salesman, his territory Sussex and Surrey. He doesn’t come to church but he’s quite pleased that she does, and if it’s needed for the church he will always get us paint at a discount. ‘Well, I hope to meet him some time,’ I tell her – and then I pass on. I speak to a few more people and they all seem friendly enough, no more Miss Frazers among them, at least not with the ones I encounter. I think they are probably curious about me, what I’m like, whether things will be different. I suppose that’s natural given that the previous Vicar was here all those years and most of them won’t have known anyone else. I am an unknown species. By now there’s a general drifting away and I suppose I could do the same, though first of all I must let my churchwardens know. I see no sign of Henry Nugent but Richard is at the other side of the room and I make my way towards him.
    â€˜I think I must leave,’ I tell him. ‘My mother-in-law’s going home soon and I want to have a little time with her. Actually, I’ve met quite a few people. Very interesting.’
    â€˜Good!’ Richard says. ‘Don’t forget, will you, there’s a Eucharist at eight p.m. on Tuesday.’ It has already been explained to me that this was instigated by the former Vicar, not because he himself particularly wanted it, he didn’t go much on weekday services, but at the firm request of a parishioner and for the benefit of those who couldn’t get to church on Sundays, who were working in Brampton, or even London, during the week and didn’t get home very early in the evening. It had never gone down really well. The said parishioner had since moved away.
    â€˜And you’ll remember that the monthly finance meeting is on Wednesday evening,’ Richard says. ‘We have that here.’
    â€˜Ah!’ I say. ‘Well, I’m afraid some of these things will have to change. Tuesday this week I can do because my parents will still be here, but next Wednesday I can’t possibly. As you know, I have a ten-year-old daughter and even if she knew people here, which she doesn’t, I’m not prepared to leave her alone in the house in the evenings. So next Wednesday you’ll all have to come to the Vicarage. After that we’ll have to work something out. The problem will be the same for most evening meetings. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before.’
    He gives me one of those looks described as impassive, though I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s thinking, this is what you get with a woman Vicar. If we had a man . . . Clearly, he can’t envisage a man being a single parent, and I suppose if he was, and he happened to be the Vicar, half the women in the parish would rush to his aid. They would bring shepherd’s pies they’d just happened to have made that morning which he would only have to pop in