Page 19 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘Brilliant idea!’ said Victor. Ivy’s eyes popped wide, and Mabel and Margret sat upright so fast they looked like a pair of startled chickens flapping their wings.
Trish came to his rescue. ‘Maybe as this is your first year, it might be safer to stick with existing village traditions? Give youa chance to settle in and get to know the ropes before changing things?’
Victor wilted visibly, his lanky frame folding like a deckchair in a strong wind.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he muttered, smiling at Ivy. ‘I didn’t mean to imply that the existing plans weren’t marvellous.’ He tapped at his keyboard. ‘Let’s move on to item two. There are some repairs needed in the church. The vestry roof is leaking and there’s a loose flagstone by the font.’
From his position by the fire, Fred offered to take a look.
‘Thank you, Fred.’ said Victor. ‘And thank you for trimming the hedge round the churchyard and tidying up that fallen branch.’
Fred looked bemused. Ivy quickly winked at him, knowing who had completed both tasks. Trish gave her a thumbs up, and she seized her chance. When she’d told Trish everything in the café, they’d discussed the best way to tell the village. ‘Let something slip at a church meeting and Mabel and Margaret will do the job for you.’ Trish had suggested.
Ivy spoke brightly. ‘Actually, I’ve got someone helping me with odd jobs. He’s staying in my garden shed. Does beautiful work.’
A hush descended, broken only by the crack of a log settling in the grate.
‘Your shed?’ Mabel asked, her voice climbing an octave.
‘Well, it’s quite a substantial shed,’ Ivy said defensively. ‘More of a workshop really. The last tenant used it for his woodworking.’
‘Why’s he living in the shed?’ Margaret thundered.
‘He’s homeless,’ said Ivy.
‘I should visit him,’ Victor said, closing his laptop with a snap. ‘As his vicar.’
‘Oh, there’s no need,’ Ivy cut in, perhaps too quickly. ‘He’s quite private. And anyway, I don’t think he’s a Christian.’
She felt the weight of collective stares, heard the unasked questions suspended in the air along with the scent of wood smoke. Nothing exciting ever happened in Brambleton.
‘Is he ... ?’ Mabel began delicately, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea with a gentle clink. ‘Was he on that dinghy? Is he a refugee?’
Ivy fiddled with her skirt. She was certain Omar had been on that dinghy but was reluctant to confirm Mabel’s fears. ‘He’s someone who needed help,’ she said finally.
And still does, she thought. Something was clearly festering within Omar, eating at his soul, preventing him from settling. ‘Why doesn’t he approach Social Services for help, or are you dealing with that for him, Ivy?’ questioned Margaret, tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.
Ivy chewed at her lip. Margaret might as well have asked if Ivy had checked his passport and verified his legal status, which, of course, she had not. She was sure he was hiding from the authorities, but she wouldn’t allow Margaret to send him packing.
‘Oh, we must get him involved in the village activities!’ Victor exclaimed.
‘I wonder what he’ll make of our Christmas traditions,’ said Fred, retaking his seat, ‘being Muslim and all.’
Mabel’s teacup rattled in the saucer, tea slopping over the sides. ‘Muslim?’ she said, ‘Whatever is a Muslim man doing in Brambleton?’
Ivy realized Fred knew more about Omar than she did – maybe her guest found it easier confiding in a man. ‘Islam is an Abrahamic faith, just like Christianity, Mabel,’ said Ivy, slightly sharper than she had intended.
‘Quite right, thank you, Ivy. And I am sure we will all welcome him with our Christian hearts,’ added Victor.
‘Of course we will,’ Trish said firmly.
The fire was blazing properly now, filling the high-ceilinged room with light that danced across the dark wallpaper. Murmurs of agreement rippled around the room, and Ivy realised that by refusing to engage with Margaret, she had protected Omar. Everyone simply assumed she had verified his immigration status.
‘That reminds me,’ said Victor. ‘The new supply teacher arrives tomorrow. She’s called Helen. Which means we have two newcomers to welcome.’ At the change of subject, Ivy felt a sense of relief, but her thoughts drifted to her shed. She should check, shouldn’t she? Make sure everything was proper and legal. But then what if it wasn’t? What would she do? She gazed around at the sea of faces – they were all looking at her. Was she supposed to say something? It was so difficult to know when to speak and when to stay silent now she wasn’t the vicar.
‘Ivy,’ said Victor kindly, ‘I was saying ... the new supply teacher, Helen. Is that one for you? She’s going to be living in one of the old alms houses – the cottage the other side of Fred.’
‘Yes. Of course, I’ll look out for her, invite her over for tea or something.’
