The next day, Bridge was walking back from visiting one of her parishioners when she noticed a motorcycle parked outside the post office. There was only one person in the village who owned a motorcycle, and that was the enigmatic Finnian Kane. Bridge stopped for a second and admired the bike from afar. You do have very good taste, Ms. Kane.
Although she had never ridden herself, Bridge always had a liking for motorcycles—the leather and everything that went with it—which, she believed, would account for the ripple of excitement running through her body at the moment.
The one thing that didn’t seem to fit the Harley was the artist’s easel strapped to the back of the bike. She would never have guessed Finnian Kane to be the arty type. Bridge resumed her walk and saw Kane exit the post office with a gaggle of schoolchildren behind her. At the head of the bunch was Riley’s best friend Sophie, saying, “Please show us a trick, Finn! Please, please?”
Bridge smiled at the exuberance. It was a big thing for a small village like this to have a celebrity living here, no less a famous magician.
Her smile soon wavered when she heard Finn snap, “No, I don’t practice magic any more, okay?”
Bridge was only a few feet away now, and Finnian looked up and met her eyes. There was so much pain, anger, and confusion in those eyes that her heart ached.
“Good morning,” Bridge said.
Finnian held her gaze for a few more moments, and said, “Is it?” She pulled on her helmet and mounted her bike. The children looked entirely crestfallen, but just then Finnian flipped up her visor and rummaged in her pocket and handed some money to Sophie. “Buy some sweets for you and your friends.”
With that she drove off and the children hurried back into the post office.
So, you’re not as bad as you want to make out. Bridge walked into the post office and up to Mrs. Peters at the counter.
“Good morning, Vicar. You’ll never guess who we had in here.”
She watched as Mr. Peters tried to serve the excited children at the sweetie counter.
“Finnian Kane?”
“Yes, she’s nothing like she is on TV though. Mr. Peters and I always enjoy watching her shows. She’s bright, happy, charismatic, but here she was moody, and a little lost.”
“A lost sheep,” Bridge said.
That was exactly what she thought when she’d looked into Finnian’s hurt and emotional eyes.
“Although,” Mrs. Peters added, “she is as good-looking in real life as she is on the TV.”
“Yes, indeed.” Bridge thought back to meeting her at the cottage and outside the shop. There was no doubting she was a delightfully good-looking butch, but very different than her friend Quade. Quade was what she would call old-school butch, rugged, handsome, and traditional, whereas Finn was what she would describe as boyish in her looks and charm.
I wonder how old she is. She looks younger than me.
Bridge realized she had become lost in her thoughts when Mrs. Peters said, “Wouldn’t you say so, Vicar?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Peters. Say again?”
“Ms. Kane is very intense. She walks around as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.”
“I think you are right.”
As rude as Finn had been to her the twice she had met her, Bridge did feel as though she should persist in trying to help her. After all, wasn’t it every vicar’s job to lead the lost sheep back to their flock?
* * *
“Fuck! You can’t do anything right.” Finn pulled her headphones from her ears and threw them on the ground beside her easel.
Finn couldn’t stare at the four walls of her cottage any longer and had to get out. One of the reasons she had rented the cottage was the summer house in the garden. The previous tenant had been a potter and it was fully set up and ready to be a painting studio, but today she needed some space and fresh air in her lungs. She had grabbed her easel and set off on her bike to find the perfect spot.
She’d stopped when she saw a car park and signs for the beginning of a forest trail, and eventually made her way up to the top of a small hill. It had a bench that looked out over a valley, and a ruined castle in the distance. Perfect for painting.
Finn had been there since the morning but had been making frustratingly slow progress. Painting was something she had always enjoyed but hadn’t had the chance to do in a long, long time. The last few years of her life had been twenty-four-seven performances and travelling to venues all over the world. She had been so busy, she hadn’t stopped to appreciate what she had, and now her happiness was gone. The colour of life had deserted her, and she couldn’t see how she could live on in this bleak world.
Finn looked down at her paint-covered hands and saw them tremble. It was no wonder she couldn’t paint the way she wanted—she couldn’t even control herself.
Finn, I’m scared. What if you were right? What if there’s nothing?
The voice that haunted her thoughts threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She pulled off her baseball cap and scrubbed her face vigorously. Just then Finn heard the telltale sounds of footsteps on the gravel path leading to the lookout area.
She had been lucky that all day there had only been a couple of dog walkers passing her spot. Finn quickly smoothed back her hair and replaced her baseball cap, back to front.
As she had done with the others who had passed by, she kept her eyes low and hoped they would walk on without incident. But instead of a pair of trousered legs and a dog come upon her, she saw a pair of knee-high broad-heeled lady’s biker boots that nearly made her swallow her tongue.
Finn’s eyes travelled up the boots that had various buckles and zips all the way to the top and ended at the knees of the sexiest pair of legs she had seen.
“Good evening, Ms. Kane.”
That upper-class voice she would recognize anywhere. The vicar. Her brief arousal was extinguished by the image of the dog collar around Bridget’s neck.
Finn was lost for words, and Bridget said, “Are you going to reply to me or my boots?”
She looked up and gave her a hard stare. “It’s Finn, and I don’t intend to talk at all.”
“Such nonsense,” Bridget said. “Budge up.”
Before Finn had time to protest, Bridget plonked herself down on the bench beside her, and leaned in to her. “Budge up, unless you want me to sit on your knee.”
Bridget was in such close proximity that Finn could smell her perfume, and her body reacted in a way it hadn’t in a long time.
Whatever perfume Bridget wore, it made Finn think of sex, and that was wrong on so many levels. She was grieving, and the woman in question was a bloody vicar. Finn scooted up the bench like a frightened rabbit, something she had never felt like around a woman before.
Finn tried to feign nonchalance, and leaned back against the seat. “Didn’t think you would be much of a walker, Vicar.”
“Well that’s good then, because I don’t like to fit people’s expectations.” Bridget gave Finn a smile and a wink. It was always thrilling to surprise people. No one quite believed she was a vicar, anywhere she went or any who she met. “I like to walk here just before dinner and find some peace, sort out my thoughts, and make my sermon plan for Sunday.”
“Just before dinner? What time is it?” Finn quickly looked at her watch. “Five thirty? I completely lost track of the time.”
“Have you been up here since this morning?”
Finn nodded. “Got lost in my painting.”
Bridge narrowed her eyes. Finn must have missed meals. “Have you not eaten anything all day?”
Finn scowled like a moody teenager. “Does it matter?”
She resisted the urge to bite back, and sat back against the bench. Bridget wondered again how old Finn was. She did seem to be much younger than her, but that could be simply the effect of Finn’s boyish looks and appearance, today made even more apparent by her ripped jeans, checked hooded shirt, and baseball cap worn back to front.
There was silence for a few seconds before Bridge said, “It is beautiful up here, isn’t it. I like to think of this as God’s back garden.”
Finn laughed cynically. “Or simply a beautiful landscape created by billions of years of natural evolution.”
Bridge mentally rubbed her hands together. Oh, don’t even go down this road, Finn. I’ll have you for breakfast.
But maybe if played correctly she could get Finn to open up and have a conversation, and the human contact she was clearly crying out for.
“There you go making assumptions again. You think I don’t believe in evolution?”
Finn started to put away her paints and wipe her brushes. “No, I wouldn’t think a vicar would.”
“I’m not only a vicar, I’m a scholar as well. I was well educated not only in Bible texts, but in Greek, Latin, Egyptian, and esoteric doctrines. I know there are truths and myths in all ancient documents.”
Finn put down her brushes and turned to face her. Bridge could see a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Had she hit on something to make her lost sheep engage with the world?
“Do you believe God made the world in seven days?” Finn said quickly.
“No,” Bridge fired back.
Finn scooted closer to her on the bench. “Do you believe in Adam and Eve?”
“Or Adam and Steve?” Bridge corrected her.
“Exactly. Adam, Eve, Steve, whoever?”
This was becoming jolly good fun, Bridge thought. “No, I don’t. I believe that back in the mists of time we made those allegories and myths to try to make sense of concepts we didn’t understand, but I do believe God made everything happen, and the message is always the same. God is love, and love is all that matters.”
“Oh, please. Do you know how many men and women of God I’ve heard say that while they line their pockets with money? Faith healers, so-called miracle workers that turned out to be two-bit magicians and cold readers, and not very good ones at that.”
She hadn’t seen much of Finn’s work, but Bridge knew that Finn was a controversial figure within the Christian and spiritualist communities, making it her life’s mission to debunk the darker sides of those religions.
“That’s not the faith or the God I represent, Finn. I don’t promise miracles, or healing. I talk to people about being the best they can be. Loving your neighbour, helping those worse off than yourself, being kind, and loving one another. That is the God I’ve given my life to.”
“The God of love who takes away the only love you’ve ever known? No, thanks.”
As Finn threw her painting things into her bag, Bridge thought how different she was to the confident, charismatic performer she had seen on YouTube clips she had looked up last night. Now she was angry, bitter, and perhaps on a path of self-destruction, if the bottle of vodka peeking out of her bag was anything to go by.
Bridget said the first words of comfort that came to her mind, “The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart. Merciful men are taken away, and no one considers that the righteous is taken away to be spared from the evil.”
Quick as a flash, Finn finished the quote for her. “He enters into peace. They rest in their beds, each one who walks in his uprightness. Isaiah 57:1–2. Don’t quote scripture at me and hope I’ll find comfort in it. There is no comfort,” Finn said coldly and calmly.
Bridge was taken aback by Finn’s biblical knowledge. “You’re not what you seem to be, Finn.”
“That’s because I’m not. I’m an illusion. Everyone presents an illusion of themselves to others—very few people see us as we really are. Look at you, for example.”
Bridget was surprised the conversation had rounded on her. “What about me?”
“You are an illusion of your own making. You’re not the vicar people expect.”
“You’ve only known me for five minutes. You know nothing about me. I am everything I seem, a vicar who…likes fashion. Maybe a bit different, but nothing wrong with that.”
Finn put her canvas in her bag and folded up her easel. “That’s where you’re wrong. You see, I am excellent at reading people. I’ve trained myself over my life to look beyond the illusion and read a person’s psyche. That’s why I’m so good at what I do, at cold reading.”
She swung her bag onto her shoulder and lifted her easel. “I think you are hiding behind that dog collar, and all the other mumbo jumbo you preach. You’re hiding a part of yourself, a part that will never quite let you go.”
“How dare you—” Before Bridget could continue her rant, Finn walked off, leaving Bridget fuming.
* * *
After dinner Bridge walked up to Axedale to check on the house and the horses. She walked into the stable and the horses whinnied and neighed when they saw her holding the bag of goodies her housekeeper had sent for them.
“At least someone’s pleased to see me,” Bridge said.
She took out her bag of carrots and gave one to each horse before stopping at Willow’s stall. Willow was Riley’s beloved horse and she had left strict instructions to bring her an evening snack. She took out an apple and rubbed Willow’s nose as she fed her the fruity treat.
Bridge smiled as the horse gobbled up the apple and whinnied for more. She reached into the bag and got her a carrot, which Willow gratefully received.
“If only all the members of my parish were as easy to help.”
She just couldn’t shake the conversation she’d had with Finn earlier. Even though the woman was obviously going through a lot of grief, her attitude irked her. Bridge had always had a natural need to help people, but now that she was a vicar, the need was also a duty. It wasn’t nice to have her attempts to make a connection thrown in her face.
She also felt a sense of guilt that she felt angry at Finn’s petulance and distrust. “Bloody arrogant—”
“Penny for them?” a voice behind her said.
Bridge nearly jumped out of her heels. She turned around and saw Quade standing there. “Dear God, Quade. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Quade came closer and patted Willow. “Evening, Vicar. Sorry about that. Who’s driven you to swear on this lovely evening?”
“Oh, just a lost sheep I’m having trouble trying to welcome to the flock.”
Quade leaned on the stall door. “You mean our new resident celebrity?”
Bridge nodded, and Quade replied, “Maybe she thinks you’re a wolf, Vicar.”
“What? Why would she think that? There’s nothing scary about me.”
Quade raised an eyebrow and said, “Oh, I could list a few things.”
Bridge gave her a soft hit to the arm. “Behave, Quade. I’m not scary. I’m just a vicar with fabulous heels.”
Quade laughed. “No, seriously. You just said it yourself. You’re a vicar. Isn’t she known for being an evangelical atheist?”
“Yes. So?”
“Well, sometimes the thing you hate the most is what scares you the most. You, Vicar, represent the Church. Maybe that’s what it is?”
Bridge thought about her last conversation with Finn. She’d implied that Bridge was hiding behind her dog collar. Maybe Finn did resent what the dog collar represented.
She grabbed Quade and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s brilliant! You’re not just a handsome face.”
Quade rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so handsome the women are beating down my door. Listen, maybe I should try first, maybe take a keg of Axedale Ale? Surely no one can refuse that.”
Bridge rubbed her hands together with satisfaction. She loved finding a new positive angle to try to relate people to each other and to God. She had helped Harry, with the huge help of Annie, so there must be hope for Finnian Kane.
She shouldn’t care since Finn was so rude to her, but the pain she had seen in Finn’s eyes the two times they had met was not something she could easily ignore. Bridge’s calling was to help others, and in her parish, the buck stopped with her.
“Yes, you go first. She might relate to you better. Then I’ll come up with something and try again.”