Page 11 of Pyg

Grandmother slammed her hand on the table, and the teaspoon clattered off her saucer. “There’s no time for all that fuss and nonsense. Just leave us to it, Eleanor. Father Higgins will be out to take your confession afterwards, and to give his lessons to the boys. But this is my time.”

Mum nodded and turned to leave.

Grandmother pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled quick breaths. “On second thoughts, Father, no Corinthians today. I’d like to hear from Isaiah, please. Or anything about adulterers. The Book of Revelation, perhaps? That’s the New Testament, yes. Yes, that would?—”

Mum clicked the door shut behind her, closing off the conversation.

“C’mon, boys. Let’s have some cake in the studio whilst we wait for Father Higgins.”

“Can Pyg have cake too?” Bernard asked, as Mum shepherded his slight frame away from the drawing room.

“Of course. In fact, she can have Grandma’s slice!”

Bernard giggled.

I couldn’t summon a smile with fresh rage pulsing through me.How could Father Higgins just sit there and say nothing? That cowardly swine.

SERENDIPITY

1953

“Eleanor! The door!” Sylvia’s screech from the drawing room pulled Ella from her trance, mesmerised as she was by the late afternoon sunlight dappling through the sycamore, its leaves aflame with a glorious display of reds and yellows before winter stripped it bare.

With a sigh, Ella pulled her hands from the soapy water in the sink and dried them on her apron, which she whipped over her head and hung on the hook in the pantry.

“Eleanor!”

“Yes, Mother,” Ella called out as she made her way to the front door, tilting her head at the patterned glass panels which distorted the figure waiting beyond — it looked like a real-life Picasso if she squinted hard enough. The person waiting outside stood tall and looked entirely unlike the squat, frumpy outline of Father Harries, whom they’d been expecting.

The door creaked as Ella swung it open, and she raised her arm to shield her eyes from the low sun, blinking into the face of a young man who blinked back at her.

No, nothing at all like Father Harries.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” he said with a smile that pushed deep dimples into his cheeks. Ella couldn’t help but smile back at this handsome stranger.

“Can I help you?”

“Right, yes. I’m from St. Mary’s.” The smooth, rich timbre of his voice was at odds with his cherubic looks. He extended a hand toward her, and Ella shook it limply, her face no doubt the picture of puzzlement.

“Miss Shaw, is it?”

Ella nodded.

“I’ve been sent to visit you and your mother?—”

“Where’s Father Harries?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m afraid he’s taken ill, poor soul.”

“Oh, is he alright?”

“A suspected stroke.” He drew in a sharp breath. “He’s stable and they’ve moved him to the clergy house in Warwick for convalescence, so I’ll be taking over his duties at St. Mary’s, for the time being, at least.”

“But you’re…” Ella frowned as her eyes roved over the man’s face.

“I’m what?”

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