Chapter 3

‘I can’t marry you, hon.’

During Emily’s village tour, Warwick was continuing to stare at the tinsel-decked photo of Bruce Forsyth, kneading his hands – and realising only when Heidi yapped

‘What?’ that he’d expressed his life-changing qualms aloud. 

Peace seemed to bathe him as he turned slowly to her.  ‘I can’t marry you, Heid.  I’m sorry.’  He even smiled, in a ‘that’s life’ way.  Her face was that of a bewildered six-year-old, but he could resist her pouts now.  There would be no backtracking.  Cruel to be kind, and all that.  ‘Not being funny, but I feel kind of steamrollered into all this.  I’ve been home a week, barely had time to wash my shorts, you’re hauling me here and suddenly we’re getting hitched on the twentieth of August!  I don’t remember saying anything about wanting next August – or even next year.’

‘I thought you’d be chuffed I was getting on with things while you was away,’ she spluttered, ‘seeing as you proposed to me!  Remember?’

This simple pointing-out of facts slightly chastened Warwick.  He was no victim in this.  Heidi was only acting – a bit zealously – on his post-coital plea.  ‘I made a mistake, chick, and once again I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t mean that.’  Heidi’s eyes were glassy with denial, and she reminded Warwick of a nodding dog – or in this case a head-shaking dog.  ‘You’re jet-lagged – and a bit off with me cuz I’ve took you by surprise.  We’ll postpone.  We don’t have to have August.  We’ll choose another date, take things a bit slower.  That’s OK isn’t it, vicar?’

‘Well yes, of course – but perhaps you ought to – ’

‘Actually that’s another thing – I never even wanted a church do.  No offence, Ellery, but to stand in St Matt’s and make vows in the sight of a God I don’t believe in, is on a par with lying.  I won’t possibly be able to mean what I’m saying – don’t you see?  Religion is hardly ‘you’ either, is it sweetheart?’

‘Religion doesn’t have to enter into it.  We only have to come here once, for our wedding, we won’t have to do none of that worshipping and praying, will we Hilary?’

‘It’s Ellery, and in actual fact – ’

At this point Warwick well and truly ceased to be rueful.  ‘That inane remark sums up exactly why it would never work between us, Heid.  You’re shallow.  Shallower than – ’ he paused, taking pride in a rare witticism, which he’d been itching to slot in conversation since it occurred to him three weeks ago – ‘an amoeba’s swimming pool.  You have no interests in life.  Spending money is your only leisure activity.  You and your family.  Spoilt bloody rotten, you are.  Had every luxury you’ve ever wanted in life: sports car for your seventeenth birthday, boob job for your eighteenth….’

‘My twenty-first, actually.’

‘Well, whatever.  You’ve got such a glut of stuff, you don’t know what to do with it.  It’s so vulgar, the way you lot have to buy everything you see, then it’s like: “Oh whoops, got no room for it!”  No wonder your house is cluttered.’

Heidi’s denial gave way to indignation.  ‘Well what’s wrong with spending what we have?  It’s better than being an old Scrooge like you.’ 

‘I’m no Scrooge, I just prioritise.  I have responsibilities and bills.  You probably think Bill’s is the name of a wine bar.’  Hell, he was witty today!  ‘Anyway, I do shell out – frequently – but because I choose to invest in things like paintings or beautiful furniture, you’re not interested.’

Heidi had no answer to that – furnishings were just surfaces to have sex on – so bowled on with an argument more on her level.  ‘You even turned your nose up at that Porsche Daddy had in, despite the massive discount he offered you.’

‘I’m hardly a “Porsche” kind of person.  That Lexus gets me from A to B perfectly adequately.  By the way, I don’t see you calling me Scrooge when I pay for all our meals out and drinks.  You carp about my working hours, but you don’t half have a ball on my earnings.’

‘You’ve always insisted on paying,’ Heidi pointed out, ‘you’ve made a rod for your own leg there.’

‘It’s “for your own back.”  And there’s yet another reason we’re so ill-suited – the lack of intelligent conversation in my life depresses me!’

‘I’ll give you five minutes to yourselves,’ the vicar gobbled, excusing himself belatedly. 

‘Sex alone can’t sustain a marriage.’  At such talk in a vicarage, Heidi shot an alarmed glance towards the door through which Ellery had departed.  ‘I need other stimulations.’

‘Oh, so I’m thick as well now, am I?’  Naturally, the way Heidi cried – which she’d now started to demonstrate – annoyed Warwick too.  It was babyish and snotty; all lips and repulsive snuffles.

‘Well I did once tell you how much I admired Thomas Hardy – to which your reply was: “Now I always get them pair confused – was he the fat one with the moustache or the skinny ’un in the bowler hat?”’  Heidi blubbed dumbly, still not getting it.  Seeing this, Warwick sneered.  ‘And you’ve been to private school!’

‘We can’t all be swot-heads, like your wise and gorgeous Erin.’  She spat out the name like a blob of snot.  ‘That’s what this is really all about, isn’t it?  You love her!’

‘Grow up, Heid.’  A small crush once, perhaps, but that fizzled out ages ago.  Ages ago.  ‘You sound about fourteen, taunting some poor lad about a playground pash.’

‘What is she, the family bike who all you Poole chaps have had a go on?’

‘Right, I’m off now.’  Warwick launched himself from the hard-backed chair and tethered his leather coat belt.  ‘I’ve heard enough of this shit.  Just because you can’t win me over anymore with your big eyes and tits, you start firing puerile allegations.  Well stay and embarrass yourself if you want – you’ve got nothing else better to do, after all – but I’ve got to head back to work.  Where I should never have left in the first place.  Goodbye.’

Ellery was torn between Christian sympathy for these troubled flock members and a more human compulsion to phone his friend Mel, who would adore a slice of gossip like this.

‘The life of a country cleric isn’t as humdrum as you might imagine,’ he planned bragging to his far more opulent pal.  Mel would howl his head off at Heidi’s utter lack of irony in that ‘Religion doesn’t have to enter into it’ comment – and as for all that Laurel and Thomas Hardy business…

Warwick hurled the door open, making the vicar, who was ferreting in his bureau for Mel’s number, jump.

‘I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, Ellery,’ Warwick addressed him, ignoring the continued shrieking from the living room. 

‘It’s no imposition on me, Warwick.  As long as you’re absolutely sure you’re making a wise decision?’

‘Most definitely.’

‘Well in the light of your words in there, I don’t anticipate seeing you at evensong,’ Ellery remarked drily, unlatching the front door, ‘but take care of yourself.  And, er, merry Christmas.’

Ellery wasn’t sanctimonious.  He was sufficiently on-this-planet to know that ‘The Lord will guide you through all adversity’-style tidings would not impress this young man.  The spurned Heidi was more his worry.

The frosty draught that made the vicar flinch seemed to steel Warwick.  He breathed determinedly, as though taking his first ever gasp of fresh air.  Ellery pensively watched him march to the silver estate and zap away in it.

That chap will feel no embarrassment about this lamentable affair, was his assessment.  Such is the arrogance of wealth – and the division between Upper and Lower Bratchley, for it must help that not many folks know him in this bit of the community.  His type probably break hearts all over the shop.

The sobbing and booing drew attention back to his grieving charge in the living room.  Ellery gave a small shrug and shut his door on the winter.

Emily’s milk errand seemed to take hours.  Dom was right: after just three months away, the Lower B pace was a culture shock.  In Far Eastern cities, it was all busy, busy, busy.  Back here, there was always someone who knew Emily and waylaid her to natter – or in this case acquaint themselves with her travel news.

Her mission to Pyke’s proved unproductive after all that.  They were out of milk, so she tried the Total petrol station next door.  When she emerged with her carton, an instantly recognisable young man, having keyed his petrol cap back in, drew level with her, delving for his credit card.

‘Dom!’ Emily yelled in astonishment, and dived into his arms.