The priest made the announcement and the congregation turned genially towards them. A pillar of our community. Lynn nodded modestly and Luke beamed. One of our most active members… has found his life partner... Vera smiled too but looked uncomfortable, as she had done all morning. Neither woman had mentioned the argument of the day before. It embarrassed Lynn to think of it now, to think of herself unravelling; worse, to think of Vera of all people having seen her artwork, having learned something so intimate that she had never shared with anyone, something that revealed her weakness and her regret. Lynn reinforced her smile and nodded to the priest appreciatively. He was young, this one. The third Lynn had seen come and go at St Anne’s, but he’d grown up here, remembered Philip and always made a point of taking her hand at the end of a service and paying his respects. He conducted sermons now in modern language, trying to be accessible, but Lynn thought him a tad foolish. There was little left in the bible that she counted as true, no matter how you wrapped it up; better then to preserve its mystery so that other people wouldn’t also notice the contradictions, the false hope, the passivity of the teachings that had led her to this.
Lynn was having a bad day. She was in pain and hadn’t slept properly and could feel herself snapping. Luke had picked her up at ten as promised but hadn’t warmed the car so the cold had seeped into her bones. And Vera was there. Silent for once, not wrinkling her youth and beauty with awkward chatter, but full of the power of it. The power too that she held over Lynn. A scarf was wrapped demurely around her slim neck, for now hiding the evidence, but she fiddled with the tassels on the edges as though cautioning Lynn as to how easily this cover may be removed. And John was absent. Vera slipped her hand through Luke’s, as though sensing his disappointment in his brother. Just as she had sensed she should have an abortion, and sensed she should only take a sabbatical. Luke rubbed the palm of her hand with his thumb, and Lynn glared.
John was rarely available on a Sunday, even less often at church, but this week he had promised to come in order to hear the marriage announcement. It wasn’t his fault – only that morning he’d discovered he had rehearsals he couldn’t miss – but Lynn knew Luke would feel it as a snub. A snub he’d nurse with memories of all the times previous that John had let them down. A patted hand however was not something Lynn was good at. And conversation, proper conversation, was not possible with Vera there, or the watching church. She would have to wait. Wait. Such a waste of precious time.
Yet it was exactly what her mother had urged when she and Philip announced their decision to marry that first summer.
“What’s the rush darling? You’ve only just graduated. Weren’t you going to think about a Masters degree?” she’d said.
But Lynn couldn’t contain her haste then. “I still am,” she had protested, certain. “I still will. Perhaps Philip will find a job in Cambridge, or perhaps I’ll continue my study in London.”
“You won’t have time darling, not once you’re a wife.”
They had been flicking through bridal magazines. Lynn could envisage the scene as though it was yesterday. Wearing jeans and sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite her mother who was sorting through a pile of stockings that needed darning, she had been carefully cutting out pictures of dresses and flowers to stick into her wedding book, not really listening. She could still hear her voice so dismissive and sure.
“Oh don’t be so old-fashioned Mummy. It’s almost the 70s. Things have changed. Women can have careers and be married. Ooh, look at this one!”
But her mother had shaken her head. She had known already what it would take Lynn years to learn for herself.
The first autumn that she deferred her place on the History Masters back at Cambridge, she’d honestly believed it was just for a year, so that she could take charge of settling them into their new home while Philip studied for the bar. The second autumn, when she managed to find an alternative course in London that she also deferred, she held faith that the delay was temporary, and purely necessary until Philip was more established, and besides, her choice. But three years later, when she finally let the university know that she wouldn’t be taking up her place after all, she began to realise how quickly her earliest ambitions had slipped away and been replaced by others she hardly recognised.
Then however, there was no regret. Wrapped up in Philip’s arms, the busy evenings and weekends they spent together made up for the days in which Lynn was often without occupation and alone. Besides, while she may not have been adding new works to the great pool of historical analysis as she’d once imagined was her destiny, new priorities constructed themselves around her. Their foundations rested robustly upon that single new word, wife, shooting taller with each passing month so that it became harder and harder to peer over them as they arched into a protective dome above her, their oculus, that ever-present possibility of another word, mother.
It came just a few years later. Too fast. Before she’d had a chance to decide if she really wanted it. Philip had been thrilled. She had been overwhelmed and very much in need of her mother who sighed deeply and immediately began knitting. Eight months later, Luke arrived. He weighed just six pounds and was jaundiced, but she and Philip cooed over their tiny yellow baby who had ten fingers and ten toes and everything in the right place working the right way, as though he was the first perfect being ever to enter the world. And when they took him home they placed him in a white crib they’d built together, in a lemon-coloured room at the centre of the house, directly beneath their oculus.
When John burst forth into their lives via an emergency caesarean section 42 months later, he received Luke’s old crib, hand-me-down clothes, and considerably less awe; but John had a gentler temperament from the very start, barely cried, and demanded nothing. Lynn theorised that it was because he had been snatched so quickly from the womb; his rapid arrival had denied him the kind of slow transition that allows one to prepare, to arm, and so he had not yet formulated his plans for the world but was tugged along by it. Philip tried to express as much enthusiasm over their sensitive second son, but Luke always embodied first hopes, always lived up to them, and could always do everything better than his brother, and so won all of their father’s praise. And expectation. To make up for it, Lynn slipped extra biscuits or slices of freshly baked sponge cake into John’s lunchbox.
Lynn could not help thinking of these days constantly now. She saw the boys as two impish faces that sometimes blurred into one, dashing around the house, scraping knees, needing her. Philip was frequently there, his presence always at the helm of her memories: giving the boys rides on his strong back, teaching them to thread string through conkers or later, how to shave, reaching out for her hand underneath the table at dinner parties, watching her as she entered a room, smiling in her direction, his darling little one. But her sons made up the soundtrack to those busy, oblivious years and pervaded everything. Her husband’s aura was a quieter strength, the ghost of it ever-present but silent, appearing more in shapes than in sound: in the angular faces she found herself painting over and over; in the brown, threadbare dressing gown of his she’d never thrown away and sometimes found crumpled on the floor; in the dent of the pillow next to hers where if she closed her eyes she could see him, blond and tanned, or greying at her whim.
Until she opened them.
And was without Philip.
She glanced again at Luke, whose hand was still interlaced with Vera’s. Vera, who had made different choices. Lynn looked away. She was no longer needed by anyone. She was nothing, except for the mother of two sons, and the wife of a dead husband who’d earned all of their titles and left her nameless: Mrs Hunter, Mrs Late Barrister, Mrs Deceased Respected Pillar. Like the Wife of Potiphar whose story was not her own but a reflection only of her husband’s and Joseph’s, and was another example of how the bible was written by men and therefore left out half of the truth that her mother had known all along.
*****************
The priest finishes his list of community announcements and the congregation creaks up from the wooden pews to raise their voices for the selected hymn. Luke turns to help his mother stand and Vera glances quickly away. She hasn’t been able to look Lynn in the eye all morning. Despite the itchy mark on her neck, she is sure it was her own fault somehow. She intruded, she imposed. On a sick, vulnerable woman she was supposed to have been helping. To be better. Vera rubs her temple with her forefinger. Her head is still noisy. Rhymes and regrets are circling. Luke turns back towards her and raises an eyebrow in concern, but Vera shakes her head and smiles, it is nothing. She has told Luke nothing. Not about the way Lynn screamed at her, or grabbed her, or despises her. Or why. She plans to find a moment at church to talk to Lynn, to apologise and put things right; and if that fails, to trade the scarf around her neck for the secret Lynn could hang her with.
Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall. Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall. If one green bottle, should accidentally fall…
Vera squints her eyes together and opens the well-thumbed hymnbook. She studied her beautiful new bible again the previous night, searching in earnest for answers. But today, all the fanciful, ethereal passages about forgiveness, grace and renewal seemed to crumble to nothing when set against the solid, forceful words of the minister during his sermon - evil of fornication, sanctity of marriage, abomination of sodomy, sin of abortions, “Be sure of this, that no fornicator or impure person, or one who is greedy has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.” Lynn had glanced accusingly at Vera as the priest had spoken, and she could feel her condemnation burning into her. “They’re ten a penny,” she had said. One a penny, two a penny - But of course, Vera now understands that Lynn hadn’t been negating the sin of abortion, merely pointing out the frequency of it. If only she knew the rest.
If only Vera could forget the rest. Now that she has begun she cannot stop playing it over in her mind again and again, like a home movie, or a lullaby. How could she have done it? How could she have told it? How could she have done it? Was it even her?
Her heart sobbed the whole way back from the children’s home. Her eyes made no tears but her heart sobbed. It had been sobbing for months. For herself, she knew that. For bad choices and unfulfilled ambitions and unfair situations. And it was still about herself because of course she would be a terrible mother, a drug-taking, irresponsible, sex-obsessed, jobless, too-young, awful, awful mother. But only now, too late, had she even considered that she might miss the baby, that she might want the baby, that The Baby was her son.
Her hand hovered over the stop button. Perhaps a tear would have moved her, unstuck her with warm, salty liquid. But she did not get off the bus. Unmoving, she let herself be moved.
The congregation begins to sing heartily.
Do they know the things she’s done? Do they sense how far from their pure path she’s strayed? Can they see it in her face? Is that why their smiles, just like Lynn’s, seem laced with disapproval and judgement? Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye… Vera pulls her skirt lower over her knees and fidgets with her scarf, wishing she’d had breakfast. She feels in the wrong place. Church! How ridiculous for her to be at church! It is making her remember not forget. It is no longer papering over but pointing out every sin she has committed. Even the things she didn’t think were sinful. And there is enough real sin to do without mere mindlessness.
At least Luke loves her. Glancing up at him she studies his face until eventually he feels the weight of her gaze and looks at her, and smiles, smiles through his own growing sadness. He reaches for her hand again and anchors her. Reminding her why she is here. Then she notices Lynn watching their exchange, a frown spreading across her forehead, and at once Vera feels inadequacy and terror rise through her body again. To be worthy. Her hands shake as they try to hold the hymnbook.
Look unto him, ye nations, own
Your God, ye fallen race;
Look, and be saved through faith alone,
Be justified by grace.
Vera feels hot. She can feel her face flushing. Little Charlie’s face was flushed from crying. She reaches for the crook of Luke’s steady arm. He squeezes her hand. They sing on. Voices pushing through the scripture, sure, sonorous tones bouncing off stone walls and stained glass and the wrought iron cross that hangs over the pulpit.
Awake from guilty nature’s sleep,
And Christ shall give you light,
Cast all your sins into the deep,
And wash the Æthiop white.
Vera glances towards Lynn again and finds her still staring, the frown spreading as she directs the words carefully and deliberately at her. The heat spreads. There is a stabbing pain deep inside her. Vera puts down her hymnbook and, too loudly, clattering her bag against the pew, rushes out of the chancel.
And Jill came tumbling after. And Jill came tumbling after.
She has never met Sally-Ann before. A few of the faces at Luke’s church have begun to look familiar, part of their circle, but Vera doesn’t remember Sally-Ann’s when she nudges open the door to the cubicle.
“Are you okay?”
Vera accepts the dampened tissue and leans her head against the tiled wall of the antiquated bathroom. Flattened bars of soap languish on the sides of sinks where liquid dispensers should be, and the hand towels are made from thick, blue, almost cardboard textured paper like the ones they had at school. The coolness of the tiles quietens her head a little.
“I’m fine. Thank you. I just got a bit hot. Must’ve been the holy spirit!”
Sally-Ann doesn’t laugh at the joke and Luke isn’t there to tell Vera whether or not it is funny. Instead Sally-Ann moves closer. “Are you pregnant?” she whispers.
Vera isn’t usually the kind of person to laugh nervously, but she does so now, a rough, stuttering chortle that lands in silence. “What? No I’m not, I’m just… I mean, God no! Pregnant? No, I’m not.” Has she managed to answer like a good, Christian virgin? “Who are you?”
“Sorry. I’m Sally-Ann,” the girl laughs, then pauses. “It’s okay if you are.” She shakes her tousled hair, balancing a hair band in her teeth as she casually pulls the unruly mop on top of her head and waits for Vera to answer. Now Vera notices the girl’s short denim skirt, her electric blue tights, and suddenly, she lets out a loud, incongruous laugh.
“Don’t tell me I’ve actually found an actual Christian who’s actually had sex!”
“Um, actually, no.” Sally-Ann passes her another tissue awkwardly. “I mean, obviously I don’t agree with sex before marriage, but if it’s happened, it’s okay is what I mean, your community will still be there for you.”
“Oh.” Vera accepts the tissue with a grimace. She doesn’t look at Sally-Ann but dabs at her flushed face. Finally she paints on a smile and with faux cheer spins back around towards her. “Are you serious? This lot?”
“Okay, maybe they wouldn’t,” the girl concedes. “In fact, they’d probably be after you with torches and pitchforks, but there’re lots of communities that would be fine. Like my church, St George’s in Marylebone. I don’t usually come here. But it’s Mum’s birthday. Anyway, what I’m saying is lots of people make mistakes. What’s important is facing them, and not turning away from Jesus because of it. He’ll forgive you and so should everyone else.”
Vera stands up. “I’m not pregnant.” She throws the wet tissues into the bin. Her face is regaining its colour but the scarf still itches. She would like to take it off. Off again. Sukey take it off again.
“Oh. Okay. Good. Sorry,” Sally-Ann hurries. She eyes Vera curiously and Vera wonders if she is mouthing the nursery rhymes clattering about in her head. Is she saying them aloud? Did Luke hear them? “I just thought... You know, you should come to St George’s sometime.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“I didn’t mean that. Just, most people there are very, questioning, so there’re loads of extra study groups and seminars about relevant issues, and lots of activity. You should come.” Her face has come alive now, almost as vivid as her tights, too intense for the dreary walls of the toilets at St Anne’s, and Vera cannot help but be a little enchanted.
“It sounds lovely,” she says, turning towards the door. “But Luke’s been coming here all his life.”
“But you feel judged here.”
Mid-step, Vera freezes. “That’s ridiculous,” she manages to retort finally. “How can you know how I feel?”
“I know about your abortion.”
Now Vera’s hands move unconsciously but directly to her stomach as though pulled there by a latent, placental magnetism. Sally-Ann has caught her off guard, without armour in a place that already feels dangerous. She tries to laugh, but can say nothing. She can hear an infant crying.
“My mum whispered it to me as soon as the minister announced your engagement,” Sally-Ann confesses softly. “Mrs Hunter told her before the service this morning.”
“Mrs Hunter?”
“It shouldn’t be like that Vera. I’m just saying try St George’s. Grace is a gift for everyone, you don’t want to miss it. You have to be careful; church can crush as well as liberate.”
“Mrs Hunter told her?”
From outside there is a knock on the door.
“Think about it,” Sally-Ann says.
Moments later, Vera and Luke are sitting on a bench outside and without being asked, Luke takes off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders, leaving him shivering in shirtsleeves in the winter sun. It is still morning but already it feels as though the sun is sinking. Row row row your boat. And time is ticking. Tick tock. Hickory Dock. Lynn has already spilled Vera’s secret, it is only a matter of time before she tells it to Luke. Luke rubs her cold hands between his. Vera hesitates. It is difficult to chip away at such a perfect thing.
“Luke, there’s something I have to tell you,” she begins finally.
“It’s okay,” he says instantly, brushing an escaped wisp of hair behind her ear. “I know you find this tough. Don’t be embarrassed. I love that you’re trying, that you want it for yourself.”
Vera stops.
“Shall I tell you something true?” he continues, prying open her hand to hold it. “I’m proud of you Vera.”
Weakly, Vera smiles. Across the courtyard she can make out Lynn talking to a group of women, every now and then pointing at her and Luke. Vera feels herself filling with fury. And shame. After a moment, Lynn catches her gaze and this time Vera looks her straight in the eye and raises one hand to her scarf, but the older woman only holds her stare defiantly. Daring her.
“You remind me of her a bit, if that’s not too weird,” Luke smiles, noticing the direction of her eyes.
Vera drops Lynn’s stare and snaps back into focus. Luke seems so happy sitting there in the churchyard, between his two women, so much happier than he has been of late. If you’re happy and you know it - Luke claps his hands together to warm up.
“Did you want to tell me something else?” he asks, studying her. “Is something wrong?”
Vera looks up at him. His two-tone eyes are full of concern and responsibility; they seem so easy to hurt. In the distance Lynn laughs with her gaggle of women. Goosey goosey gander -
“Mother’s had years to get to know everybody,” Luke offers, misinterpreting her gaze. “Don’t worry, it will come. She didn’t know anybody when she first joined here either, but look how loved she is now.”
Luke smiles in the direction of his mother, Old Mother Hubbard… And nervously Vera watches the man she adores. She glances again at Lynn, the bastion of his childhood, the manipulative snake, whom he loves unconditionally. Who reminds him of her. Mirror mirror on the wall… Who will soon be gone. Mirror mirror -
“Luke,” she says finally, shaking her head to rid it of the noise and tapping him lightly on the leg. “There is something I have to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve tried, but I can’t do it. I miss my work too much. I can’t look after your mother.”