The Girls' Book of Priesthood by Louise Rowland

Author:Louise Rowland [Louise Rowland]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780995482296
Publisher: Muswell Press
Published: 2018-06-22T04:00:00+00:00

‘And?’

Clarissa is very the last person Margot wants to speak to right now. She shoves her trolley past the chilled cabinets, picking up one juice carton after another in a haze of indecision.

‘Not my type.’

‘He looked really promising.’

‘He turned out to be a creep with a thing about women priests.’

‘So what was the problem?’

‘It could have been really bad for me. You know that.’

She feels nauseous even now at the thought.

‘Relax. He’ll just cruise on to the next prospect. It’s all a game, this online stuff.’

‘For you.’

‘I take it you do want to meet a man at some point?’

Margot takes the expensive muesli out of her trolley and reaches instead for a couple of jars of French jam.

‘And on that note, ciao, for now.’

She drops her phone into her bag and shoves the trolley onwards. Whenever she does tell her, it’s going to be ugly.

She stops by the shower gels.

‘Mmm, those jams look tasty, Margot.’ She whips round. Gwen is scrutinising her basket. ‘Bit pricey though, aren’t they?’

‘Do you usually shop here?’ Margot asks, straining to keep her voice level as she hurries towards the till. She chose this place because it was so far off the St Mark’s radar.

‘Of course not.’ Gwen smiles. ‘I saw you through the window when I was crossing the road. Several of the ladies have been asking about the book club. I was thinking you and I could sit down next Saturday afternoon when David’s out at a bowls match in Golders Green.’

‘Bag?’ asks the guy behind the counter, pouching gum inside his cheek.

‘No,’ Margot snaps to Gwen.

‘Suit yourself,’ the assistant shrugs. ‘It’s only five pence, love.’

‘No, sorry, I mean, yes, please.’ She breathes in and turns back to Gwen. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that Saturday, Gwen.’

‘Oh, but I’ve told the ladies and you had nothing pencilled in your diary in the office so I assumed––’

‘Would you mind actually not doing that?’

The assistant looks up at her, blowing out his cheeks.

‘Doing what?’ he asks.

Gwen is frowning.

‘The previous curate was very happy for me to help organise his schedule.’ She watches Margot unloading the items in her basket. ‘I thought we should get on with it. Easter’s almost here.’

‘Tariq, can you come and take this tag off for us?’ The assistant holds up the bottle Margot had tried to hide beneath the leeks and napkins.

Gwen’s mouth falls open.

‘Ok, so we’ll check the diary,’ scrambles Margot.

‘I’ll talk to you about it at St Mark’s.’ She sniffs. ‘You seem a bit preoccupied.’

‘Wait, Gwen, I’ll take a look now,’ she calls, but Gwen has already waddled through the automatic doors, head rigid, carrier bags banging into her side.

Gravity is suspended, the normal business of life and all its baggage. She pushes all thoughts of St Mark’s to the fringes of her mind, as they stroll around Sir John Soane’s Museum and its eclectic displays, everything propelling them towards tonight.

It’s late evening by the time they reach Highbury Corner. Margot glances around her, as they leave the tube. It’s dark enough to be safe, but her throat is still constricted, every sense alert.

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