The Gathering by Katherine Genet

Author:Katherine Genet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wych Elm Books

31

Winsome didn’t know what to wear – and wasn’t that silly?

She closed the wardrobe door and collapsed against it, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. But honestly, she thought. What did one wear to a training session on how to…what?

That was part of the problem. She wasn’t exactly, entirely clear on what the evening would involve. Did she need something along the lines of what? Ninja clothes? Or sort of yoga clothes, at the least?

She didn’t have yoga clothes, although yoga was probably a good idea, considering she was in her forties now and tightening up a bit at the joints.

She was prevaricating. Straightening, she decided to wear exactly what she was wearing right this minute. She turned and checked herself in the wardrobe mirror and put a hand to her clerical collar. Maybe not that? She frowned.

Or maybe it would be good to wear it? She was heading into a pit of pagans, after all. Perhaps it would be good to have a symbol of Christ’s authority with her.

She was giving herself a headache. Shifting her eyes, she looked at the Reverend Robinson who stood in the doorway looking at her. He’d made himself gracefully scarce while she’d showered and dressed, but he was back again now.

‘What do you think?’ she asked him. ‘Collar or no collar?’

She actually listened for an answer. None came. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I agree. It’s not important.’

Or was it? Would it be too much to take it off and put it in her handbag? No, that was silly. Damnit. She was comfortable in it. She’d wear it. It was a symbol of her authority, after all, and if there was ever a time when she needed to feel the least bit like she was qualified at something, then that time was now.

That settled it. Good. She’d wear what she was wearing now, which was what she usually wore, which was good. It made everything seem that little bit less monumental.

‘Oh God, help me,’ she said, and she wasn’t kidding. She reached for her pectoral cross and popped that on over her head too. If Morghan could wear her Druid leaves, or whatever they were, she could wear her cross. And no one would see it under her jumper. She glanced at Robinson again and this time she fancied she could see a slight gleam of approval in his eyes.

There was a knocking from downstairs and she cocked her head to the side, frowning.

‘Did you hear that?’ she asked Robinson, but he didn’t answer.

She wondered how on earth she was going to get him to. His mouth seemed resolutely closed, and she’d been forcing herself to talk to the dead man since Morghan had left. It was even starting not to feel so weird, but so far, she hadn’t had the whisper of a response, neither inside her head or out.

It was definitely someone knocking. At the kitchen door, at a guess. Winsome snatched up her jumper and Robinson stood back to let her go clattering down the stairs.

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