The Benefits of Passion (25 page)

A dark man in his thirties came swinging down the scaffolding. He was wearing a hard hat and overalls. Clearly not the vicar, but he was in possession of a bunch of keys.

‘“I've got the keys to the door . . .”' He was the one who'd been singing.

‘Sorry to be a nuisance,' began Annie. ‘I only wanted –'

‘Nee bother.' He unlocked the door. ‘Ha'away in.' He held it open with a strong brown arm. Her eyes skimmed the tattoos and glanced timidly up into his face to thank him. He grinned. Too close! Too good-looking!

‘Thanks,' she gasped.

The door swung shut. She stood in the gloomy silence listening to the pounding of her heart. It was a small, plain building. Various Northumbrian saints stared down from the stained-glass windows. She stared back at them blankly, seeing instead the man's dark face and piratical smile.
Libby! Walkies
. But Libby remained curled in her basket. Annie was impressed. She had never regarded Libby as a loyal hound. Perhaps she was ailing.

A moment later Annie had to race from the building and throw up humiliatingly in a small shrub. There were shouts. Before long the man with the keys was at her side handing her a glass of water. She let him lead her to a low stone wall where she sat trembling and clutching the glass.

‘Sorry,' she said.

He asked her something. She waited, but the alien sounds failed to resolve themselves into a meaning. He repeated the question.

‘I'm fine,' she hazarded. ‘It's morning sickness.'

‘Congratulations. When's it due?'

‘Goodness. Um, I don't actually know.' He sat beside her and took his hat off. She looked away. He was too much to contemplate entire. She'd have to take him in in a series of glimpses.

‘New round here, are you?'

Glance: overall arms tied round waist, vest showing off impressive muscles. ‘Um, yes. I've just moved in with my . . . boyfriend.'

‘What do you do, then?'

Glance: fading lovebite at base of throat. ‘I was a student. Until . . .' She flapped at her stomach.

‘Oh, aye. Surprise, was it?'

‘Yes.' Row of gold earrings, cigarette behind ear. Still no sound from Libby.
I'm going to get you to the vet, girl.

‘What does he do? The boyfriend.'

She wondered suddenly at his questions. Was this simply the legendary northern friendliness? She drew away slightly. ‘He's a doctor.'

‘Where do you live, flower?'

‘Um, not far from here,' she hedged.

One of the other men called down to him from the scaffolding. He called back. It was banter, but she couldn't follow a word of it. He had been modifying his accent for her.

‘What's your name?'

‘Annie,' she said reluctantly.

‘Are you lonely, Annie?'

Her eyes flew nervously to his face.

‘What's wrong?' he asked. Then he fished in his overall pocket and improbably pulled out a Filofax. ‘Tell me your address and I'll visit you.'

‘Oh!' she said in relief. ‘You really
are
the vicar.'

His laugh rang out. ‘Why, aye. I thought you were looking at me a bit funny.' He handed her one of his cards.
The Rev. John Whitaker, Vicar of St Columba's, Bishopside.

‘Oh!' she exclaimed again. ‘You're –' Johnny Whitaker. The boozer and bonker. ‘You trained at Coverdale. They still talk about you.'

‘Never. It was ten years ago! What do they say?'

‘That you . . . um, drank . . .' she settled on eventually.

‘Just putting the fun back into fundamentalism,' he said. ‘Anyway, that's all in the past. I'm a respectable man of the cloth these days.'

She risked another glance at his face and saw a frank honk-if-you-had-it-last-night type of sexiness that no vestments were going to render respectable.

‘So you were at Jesus College, were you?' he asked.

She gripped the glass tightly. ‘Coverdale, actually.'

There was a pause as this sank in. ‘Oops!' He chuckled and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Well, God is good, Annie.'

Her eyes filled with tears, then to her amazement she began to find it funny. They sat outside the church laughing in the sunshine.

‘Ee. What are we like?' he said. The
enfants terribles
of Coverdale Hall.

‘Why are you dressed like a builder?' she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

‘Because I'm a builder,' he replied. ‘Or was, until –' He drew his finger across his throat as though a dog-collar were a garrotte. ‘Chunks of masonry keep falling on the old ladies. Thought I'd better take a look. Forty-five grand, it's going to cost. You're well out of it, pet.'

‘I know.'

‘So where do you live, then?'

She told him. He wrote it down, then sat tapping his pen on his teeth. ‘This boyfriend. It wouldn't be Dr Penn-Eddis, would it?'

‘You know him?'

His laugh rang out again. ‘What did he say when you told him you were pregnant?' Before she could answer he reeled off a string of obscenities in Will's voice. She stared in astonishment. Even his facial expressions were right. ‘I play him at squash,' said Johnny, in his own voice again. ‘The only person in Bishopside whose language is worse than mine. Listen, will he be in now? Why don't I run you home and I can offer my congratulations?'

‘Um . . .' said Annie, mistrusting the look on his face. But, as always, she let herself be overruled by a stronger personality.

She opened the front door wondering how Will was going to react. She led Johnny through to the kitchen where he was reading the paper.

‘Um, I've brought the vicar.'

He looked up and saw Johnny. ‘Did you have to?'

‘Will!' Annie cast him a pleading look.

‘I hear congratulations are in order,' said Johnny, grinning broadly. Will returned to his paper disdainfully. ‘Well, that's the last time I send the wife to you for family planning,' remarked Johnny.

Will gave him a withering glance.

‘Coffee?' said Annie desperately.

‘White with two sugars,' said Johnny sitting down. ‘Bad-tempered bastard, isn't he?'

‘And what does that make you, I wonder?' asked Will, without looking up.

‘Ah, no. I'm a bastard with a bad temper. There's a big difference.'

Annie fumbled with the mugs. What on earth am I going to do?

‘So,' said Will putting down the newspaper. Annie recognized the glint in his eye and knew he was about to pick a fight. ‘Still smoking, I see.'

Johnny's hand went to the cigarette behind his ear. ‘Aw, don't start, man.'

‘And what about your cholesterol levels and drinking habits?' went on Will. Johnny rolled his eyes at Annie who was hovering, helpless. ‘Don't you care about your heart? When are you going to get yourself down to my surgery for a health check?'

‘The day you get yourself down to my church for confession,' replied Johnny. ‘Or don't you care about your heart?' He put the cigarette between his lips and waggled it insolently.

‘Just get out of my face,' snarled Will.

‘Fair enough. Stay out of mine.'

This is awful, thought Annie. Awful. There was a long taut silence.

‘Mind if I smoke?' asked Johnny.

Will laughed and the tension broke.

Annie made the coffee. The two men began talking about the cricket like old friends. She watched Will and decided she might as well give up any attempt to cover for his unspeakable rudeness. Her efforts to apologize or mitigate would only make things worse.

‘What time is the service tomorrow?' she asked Johnny.

‘Ten,' he replied. Then he looked at his watch, swore and leapt to his feet. ‘I'm late. The wife'll play war with me. No sex for two hundred years. Oh, shit, shit,
shit
.' This was said in Will's laconic drawl. Annie stifled a giggle. They went with him to the door.

‘See you tomorrow,' he said, lighting his cigarette at last. ‘Ah, that's good. That's so good.' Annie had never seen smoking turned into a lewd act before. Will was laughing again. ‘That's a good woman you've got there, William. Take care of her.'

‘I do.'

‘Good,' said Johnny. ‘I hope I'll hear you say that again one day. In a more religious setting.'

‘Piss off, Vicar.'

Johnny went away laughing.

‘Did you put him up to that?' asked Will, closing the door.

‘No, honestly.'

‘All my worldly goods, yes. Wedding bells, no. Got that?'

‘What about forsaking all others?' she asked. ‘Till death us do part?'

‘I'll think it over.'

She felt a shadow of fear. ‘You mean you might find someone else, then?'

‘Would a wedding ring stop me? Look around you, honey child. Marriages are breaking up all the time.'

‘I know. It's just that I feel a bit insecure.'

‘Yeah, I'm sorry.' He put his arms round her. ‘What can I say? I love you. I'm besotted with the idea of being a father.'

‘You are?' she asked in surprise.

‘Of course I am. Look, I could make all these rash promises about it being for life but we've got to be realistic. Let's have lunch.'

They made love in the afternoon. Afterwards he lay stroking her belly. Besotted, she thought. If only I shared his enthusiasm for parenthood.

‘Chosen any names yet?' she enquired.

He laughed. ‘Well, it'll have to be something simple. Penn-Eddis is bad enough without –'

‘Excuse
me.
Who said it was getting your surname?'

‘Hah.' He rolled away, pouting.

‘I know,' she couldn't resist saying, ‘what about Edward if it's a boy?'

‘No way!'

‘He might be pleased.'

‘I don't want him to be pleased. I want him to apologize.'

‘He won't.'

‘Well, he should. Narrow-minded hypocrite. He's only pissed off because I did what he was too fucking pious to do.'

‘Don't be ridiculous!' Her cheeks flamed. ‘Edward's not interested in me.'

‘You should hear him on the subject of your stocking tops some time.'

‘Oh! The ball. But that was . . . He . . .'

Will laughed at her confusion.

‘Stop it! Anyway,' she persisted, ‘couldn't you make the first move?'

‘No, I fucking couldn't. I did my bit getting the police to drop the charges.'

‘What? He was arrested?'

‘The receptionists called the police before I came round. Now shut up about Edward bloody Hunter.'

They lay without speaking for a long time. So it had happened while Will was at work. She pictured Edward charging into the practice like a mad bull, as Isobel put it, pawing the ground in the waiting room . . .

‘Did he –'

‘I said shut up.'

She slid a glance at him. He was scowling in much the same sulky way Edward had done when she said goodbye to him. Big babies. Annie turned away to hide a smile, but she wasn't quick enough. Will pinned her down and began exacting his own specialized brand of revenge. She was gasping and pleading with him when the phone rang. ‘Leave it,' she begged.

But he reached across her laughing and answered it. Suddenly his expression became serious. ‘Yeah. She's right here.' He handed Annie the receiver. ‘It's your mother.'

Annie sat up and clutched the sheet to her as if her mother could see. ‘Hello, Mum.' Will put his head next to hers to overhear.

‘That was
him
, was it?'

‘Yes. His name's Will.'

‘The one who makes dirty phone calls,' said Mrs Brown.

‘Shit,' mouthed Will.

‘I never forget a voice,' said Mrs Brown. There was a silence.

Annie knew her mother was not lost for words, merely loading up and taking aim.

‘Your father took it very badly, Anne. He's not a young man, you know. You might have thought of that. It's not me I'm worried about. I've not got much in my life to boast of, I know. I never went to college or had a fancy
career
, but at least I could be proud of my home and of bringing up a happy, decent family. Well, it looks like I can't even say that any more, doesn't it?'

Annie had been expecting this, but she couldn't stop the tears trickling down her cheeks. Will slid an arm round her.

‘Mum, it's nothing to do with the way you brought me up. It's –'

‘Oh, it's always the mother's fault. I know that, Anne. I know better than to complain. You've got your own life to lead.' Annie sensed the tirade heading off on a new tack. ‘I'm just worried about you, that's all. You
modern
thinkers, you've got it all worked out. Living together. Free love. Pah! Nothing's free in this life, Anne. It's all very well to start with, but you've got no security. He'll be up and off and you'll be left holding the baby. Free love's not going to pay the bills, is it? That's why the Bible's so clear about marriage.'

‘Mum –'

‘This
man
of yours, he can do what he likes, can't he? You should've thought of
that
before you leapt into bed with him. How do you know you can trust him?' Annie winced to hear her own fears so tactlessly articulated. ‘He's got no legal obligation to –'

Will took the receiver. ‘Hello, Mrs Brown, this is William. Today's Saturday. On Monday I've got an appointment with – no, you bloody well listen to me – I've got an appointment with my solicitor. I'm changing my will. If I die Annie gets everything. I've already arranged for her name to go on my bank account and credit cards. Satisfied?'

Annie stared open-mouthed.

‘Let me talk to my daughter,' Mrs Brown was saying. Annie took the receiver back. ‘You make sure you get that in writing, Anne.'