The Opal Pendant (A Little Crazy)

Chapter Two

On returning to St Cuthbert's, all Ian wanted to do was pack his bags and move on. As he approached the door to his home, it opened wide. A short, fair-haired, middle-aged man wearing a clerical collar stood at the entrance.

Their eyes met. "Bob Fellows. You must be Ian. Sorry about this, but the bishop insisted I start today."

Ian shrugged. "So, you're the new vicar, but there's no need to be sorry. I'll pack my belongings and be on my way."

"Why don't you stay the night and start afresh in the morning."

"Thank you. This hasn't been one of the better days. Tell you what, how about we go to the local pub for a meal, my treat."

Bob paused before answering. "Great idea. You can sort out your things in the morning."

"I assume I still have a bedroom."

"Of course. I'm in the spare bedroom. Didn't think it was right to change anything until you had left."

"I suppose Elinor let you in."

She did. I telephoned to tell her I was coming but not why."

"Great cleaner. Keeps this place as bright as a new pin."

"You'd better come in. What time will we go to the pub?"

Ian glanced at his watch. Eight is a good time. I'll pack this evening ready for a quick start in the morning."

"It's up to you; I'll be in the lounge when you are ready."

"Thank you," said Ian as he entered and climbed the stairs.

In his bedroom, he pulled a black leather suitcase and holdall from the top of a wardrobe.

Thirty minutes elapsed, and Ian had packed his possessions except for his washing bag. Bored, he went for a shower.

Both men left the house at eight and strolled silently to the local pub. On entering the saloon, they sat at a table near the fire. The atmosphere was cosy and reassuring. Low smoke-blackened beams supported a nicotine-darkened ceiling. An inglenook fireplace with a roaring fire dominated the wall at one end. The haze of cigarette smoke and the smell of beer filled the room. Several men at the bar turned, raised their glasses and nodded to Ian.

They let their gaze wander until an apron-wearing young man with dark hair tied in a ponytail stood before them.

"Drinks or food, Vicar."

"What the special today?" Ian enquired.

"Chicken and chips in a basket one pound, fifty."

"That will do me," said Bob.

Ian rubbed his hands together. "Make that two and a pint of IPA, please." He turned to Bob. "What are you drinking."

"Tonic water and ice, thank you. They'll miss you," said Bob.

"Ian shrugged. "For a day or two, but they now have a new vicar. Who will, I'm sure, do them proud."

"It's pretty standard here. Births, deaths, marriages and the occasional blessing of a new home to ward off misfortune. That's what we are. We're a shoulder to lean on and cry on.

The food arrived, and they ate in silence.

Ian looked up from his meal. "You're not a talker, are you?"

Bob shook his head. "Bit awkward. We do not know each other, and tomorrow, you will be off to new pastures. At this moment, I'm in the way."

Ian eyed him with surprise. "They didn't tell you, did they."

"Didn't tell me what? All I know is I was to take over St Cuthbert's. Yesterday curate, today vicar. I've no complaints. I didn't have a choice."

"Don't suppose you did. You grabbed the chance of promotion, and here you are. I'd have done the same if I were in your shoes."

Their meal and drinks arrived, ending the conversation.

With his plate empty, Ian stood and faced Bob. "I hope you don't take offence. I don't feel comfortable being here. I will grab my bags and find a hotel for the night. That way, I can catch the first bus out in the morning.

Bob nodded. "I understand." He stood and held out his hand. "All the best."

Ian shook the offered hand, dropped a ten-pound note on the table, turned and left.

***

At eight in the morning, Ian sat on the back seat of a single-decker bus, staring out the window. While the bus rattled along the country roads, he wondered what the village of Stonewall had to offer.

Three hours of a diesel engine droning in the background lulled Ian to sleep.

"Oi guvnor, this is where you asked to get off."

He opened his eyes to see the driver two inches from his face.

"Must have dozed off."

"Can't wait here forever. This beast blocks these narrow roads, so I'd be grateful if you lifted and shifted vicar."

Unprepared, Ian grabbed his bags and alighted, thanking the driver as he did so. A stiff, cool breeze wafting along a tunnel of trees stirred him into action. Ahead, he could see a few houses and reckoned that must be the right direction. In ten minutes, he was in the village and found Church Lane. He smiled as he wondered how many streets with this name might exist.

Rounding a corner was the church. A stone built in a medieval style as if it belonged to the Middle Ages, old-fashioned and uninviting.

His thoughts changed as he peered at the building on the grounds. It was imposing in its size and dirtiness.

The main door opened as he wandered up the gravelled path. A stern-faced, grey-haired woman gave him the once-over. She wore what appeared to be a man's dark blue overalls and stood as still as a statue.

There was a harshness in her voice. "By your clerical collar, I assume you are our new vicar. Hope you stay longer than the last."

He dropped his bags and held out his hand. "Ian Spence. Pleased to meet you."

She ignored his hand. "Wipe your feet on the mat before you come in." She stepped back to let him through. "I'm the live-in housekeeper, Mary Wilson. I live on the ground floor, and you are on the upper floor. Follow me. You will find a list of my duties on your office desk."

Ian trailed after her as they climbed the broad staircase to the gloom-laden upper floor.

At the top, she pointed out, "Your Office, Your bedroom. Your bathroom. The other rooms are empty. I'll leave you to unpack. I serve dinner at seven, don't be late." She turned and left.

"It will do." He muttered, "Let's be fair; it's rent-free and could be worse." He shrugged and pushed the dark brown painted door to his bedroom. As it swung open and his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he stared at the dated, dark wood furnishings. The smell of lavender wax polished filled the air. He wandered over, opened the heavy dark green curtains and peered outside. The view of the graveyard did nothing to brighten his mood. Stone markers, some upright while others lay on the ground.

His eyes took in the massive room with high ceilings. The large bed appeared comfortable when he tested its softness. The polished mahogany wardrobe and chest of drawers were old but clean.

The bags he placed on the bed, and after removing his coat, he unpacked. Finished, he put the empty bags on top of the wardrobe. His toilet bag found a home on the windowsill in the bathroom.

Weary from travelling, he lay on the bed and closed his eyes.

Somewhere in the distance, the pounding on a door woke him.

"Yes," he shouted.

"Your dinner is on the kitchen table getting cold."

He listened to footsteps as she descended the stairs.