Another life altogether: a novel by Elaine Beale

Author:Elaine Beale [Elaine Beale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Roman
ISBN: 9780385530064
Published: 2010-08-15T01:16:53+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

REVEREND MULLINS WAS ONE OF THOSE TRENDY VICARS, THE KIND I’d seen only on television. He wore his dog collar under a wrinkled corduroy jacket and atop a pair of carefully pressed jeans, and bore a fixed, beatific smile that made him look, in the words of several of the kids at the disco, “a bit retarded.” He wandered around, enthusiastically greeting the teenagers under his supervision, slapping backs, nudging ribs, patting shoulders, and infusing his conversation with liberal use of words like “cool” and “wow.” He was like a new kid at school, so desperate to impress that he was oblivious to the disdainful looks and mumbled insults he managed to provoke everywhere he went.

When Tracey and I finally arrived at the Reatton church hall, our ten-pence admission in hand, he greeted us with a painfully sincere smile, told us how wonderful it was to see young people turn out for a church event, and said how very much he hoped we’d make it to the Sunday service and the special teenagers’ Sunday school class afterward. “And maybe you two young ladies will consider coming on the trip to Lincoln Cathedral in January,” he added. “It has some amazing stained glass, and the choir is simply wonderful.”

“Right, I bet it is,” Tracey said, looking in my direction and rolling her eyes. I made a similarly scornful expression. From down the corridor, we could hear the thump-thump-thump of the disco music. Neither of us wanted to stay here at the door making polite conversation with the vicar.

“Oh, yes, they’re very cool,” he continued earnestly. “Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of joining a choir yourselves, but I’m putting one together here in Reatton and I’m sure you two young ladies have angelic voices….”

Tracey gave another impatient roll of her eyes, then interrupted. “Look, Vicar,” she said as she crossed her legs and began shuffling about noisily in her immense platform shoes. “I’ve got to take a piss something rotten. And if I don’t get to the toilet right now, I swear I’m gonna wet myself. So, if you don’t mind—”

“Oh, no, by all means, you should …” he stuttered, his face turning a startling shade of crimson. “Erm … it’s down the hallway, through the cloakroom door, and then to your left.”

“I hope I can make it,” Tracey said, jigging about even more and pressing her legs together so tight that it looked as if her knees might buckle under her.

I concentrated on trying to stop myself from giggling, pressing my lips together and my face into fierce contortions until, thankfully, Tracey grabbed my arm and pulled me down the corridor after her. As soon as we plunged through the cloakroom door, she relaxed her needing-to-pee stance and spat out a loud wide-mouthed laugh. I laughed along with her.

“God, what a wanker,” she declared. “Who the hell does that bloody vicar think he is? Jesus bloody Christ himself?”

“He’s a fucking poofter, that’s what he is.” It was Stan Heaphy.

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