Theodora's Diary Read online

  I could see Ariadne’s jaw tightening, but, to her credit, she managed to smile. ‘And you must be Charity. Theo’s told me so much about you. Blooming, I see.’ She shot a glance at the cottage-garden-on-legs in front of her.

  ‘I just wanted to invite you to join our Mothers Against Modern Alternative Lifestyles group—MAMAL for short. We seek to return to traditional roles for women, based mainly around keeping the home spick and span. For instance, in July we’re having a lecture on how to get that nice red shine on your front doorstep and our consumer committee will bring the report of their road test on the latest models of dustpans and brushes. You’ll need something to fill all that spare time when Baby is asleep.’

  ‘Actually, I won’t be staying at home after the baby’s born. My husband Tom will.’

  Charity’s eyes widened. ‘But do you feel that’s in accordance with the spirit of Scripture? “…wives be in subjection to your own husbands…” There’s great satisfaction to be gained from fulfilling your wifely duties.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt that. I’m fully in subjection to my husband. I told him so only this morning while he was ironing my dress.’

  I thought Charity would explode.

  ‘Look, seriously,’ Ariadne continued, obviously having decided that the sport of Charity-baiting was too easy to be real fun, ‘Tom and I agreed this was the best way to run our household. I have a well paid job which I love, and Tom is wonderful with children and can’t wait to quit his job. I know it won’t be easy for either of us. It will mean big changes. But we believe and rejoice in the fact that God has made us all different and has given us different talents and strengths. For you, staying with your children and home-making is the way you fulfil God’s plan for your life. Don’t you see that it isn’t right for everybody? Our child will be just as loved and cherished as your children obviously are. You’re a very generous person, Charity, and I admire the way you devote yourself to your family and community. I wish I could be as selfless as you are, but I’m not there yet. Keep praying for me, will you?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charity. ‘Of course.’

  I wish I’d said that to Charity. Why couldn’t I have said that?

  The meeting continued with a woman charity worker from an international aid organization talking about Third World debt and its devastating effect on the lives of some of the poorest women in the world. It made me want to seize a pen and paper and write to my MP. The next speaker talked about inner-city initiatives among the homeless in London. That made me want to quit my job instantly and go off to work with the homeless. After coffee, the third speaker encouraged women to devote more time to intercessory prayer and encouraged us to be ‘a powerful force for change through supplication’. That made me want to get down on my knees.

  After lunch, we split into groups to pray for each other. A very nice lady with orange hair and a pierced nose prayed that I would find my ministry. I prayed that she would find her family, whom she hadn’t seen for five years. A group of five of us joined to pray for Ariadne and her baby. The group contained one very enthusiastic charismatic lady who stood and prayed with extravagant arm-waving gestures.

  ‘Oh Lord, we beseech you, we implore you, bless our sister and this miraculous new life growing within her hidden places. Bring it forth with joy and thanksgiving. May this child be delivered singing your praises. May this womb open and bring forth this child with jubilant exultation!’

  She went on praying, so graphically describing each stage of labour, that those women in the group who had not had children were turning green and those with children were crossing their legs and wincing at the memory. I glanced at Ariadne. She had one eye open and a look of sheer panic on her face. One particularly resonant exclamation of ‘Bring forth!’ nearly sent several of the group rushing for hot water and towels.

  The meeting ended quietly with a hymn and a benediction. I had offered to stay behind and help clear up. St Norbert’s had a slightly shocked appearance, like a bachelor uncle who has just been kissed and fussed over by a group of nieces. I collected coffee cups from windowsills and under pews and straightened the altar cloth. Ariadne sneaked up behind me.

  ‘You know that woman with the vast knowledge of things gynaecological and obstetric who prayed for the baby?’

  I nodded.

  ‘When she finished praying, do you think we should have given her a “standing ovulation”?’

  Sunday 25 April

  Woke up at 4 a.m. and just couldn’t get back to sleep. Things kept churning around in my mind like clothes in a washing machine. Every few minutes a different problem came to the front and I lay and contemplated it through the glass door…

  Does God want to use me in His service, to give me a ministry, or is my spiritual application form at the bottom of the heap with hundreds of more qualified applicants piled on top? ‘Thank you, Miss Llewellyn, we’ll let you know when a suitable vacancy arises. Don’t call us…’

  Whirr, churn, slop. Another problem appears at the door. What if I’ve blown my chances with Kevin? What if, like Miss Chamberlain, I never meet a suitable man, never marry, never have children, never become tied down, have the freedom and money to go anywhere, do anything? On second thoughts…

  Churn, slop, whirr. Declan. What about Declan? He looks all right, a bit like Hugh Grant, but with red hair, and shorter, and fatter, and more Irish … OK, he looks nothing like Hugh Grant apart from the floppy hair. He doesn’t like football—which is one major thing in his favour. I’m sure he’s not attracted to me. If he were, I wouldn’t always be the butt of his jokes. Anyway, I think he’s a kind of lapsed Roman Catholic. And he’s my boss. What if he’s going to give me a rocket over the practical jokes? Maybe he can dish it out but not take it. Technically, he could give me a formal warning which would go on my employment record, permanently. He could even have me dismissed.

  Feeling desperately in need of a final rinse and brisk spin, I decided to get up, get dressed and take my soggy thoughts for a walk.

  Outside my front door I looked up at the drab sky. There wasn’t a proper sunrise, no glorious dawning of a new day. The tone of grey just changed from dark dull grey to slightly lighter dull grey as the sun rose and a light mist of drizzle clung to my hair, face and coat.

  I walked briskly up the hill to St Norbert’s. I knew it wouldn’t be open and that no one would be there. I just wanted to seek comfort in its solid bulk and familiar outline. I remember once hearing a child whisper to her mother as they passed the church, ‘That’s where God lives, isn’t it?’ Her mother didn’t answer, but sometimes I think that child was right.

  I found a bench in the churchyard, sat down and closed my eyes. The drizzle had stopped and the dripping sun started to overflow the banks of cloud, washing the morning in a few degrees of warmth. The scent of the flowers had begun to intensify in the tepid air. My thoughts finally stopped spin-drying and I felt peaceful for the first time in weeks. Yes, I thought, this is where God lives, and He’s at home right now.

  Thursday 29 April

  It was neither a date nor a reprimand.

  Declan was already sitting at a table with a pint of bitter when I arrived at the pub. His eyes darted from me to the floor and back. He bought me lemonade and there was an uncomfortable pause before he spoke.

  ‘Theo, you must be wondering why on earth I invited you here tonight.’

  I gave a noncommittal shrug.

  ‘The thing is, I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve come to some decisions…’ He took a deep breath and wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. ‘I wanted to talk to you about them.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘You and I have known each other for a long time and I feel I can say things to you that I couldn’t say to anyone else. I know that you’ve been going through some difficult times recently and I’ve seen how you’ve got through them and how your faith has helped you.’

  ‘It has?’

  ‘Yes. And I know I can be a pa
in in the backside sometimes, with the jokes and all, but you’ve always taken it in good part.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘Well, recently I’ve been thinking seriously about my life, about everything. I’ve started going to Confession again and I’d like to go to Mass. It’s almost like God’s been talking to me.’ He looked at the floor and wrung his hands.

  ‘Does that sound crazy?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Thing is, I’m petrified and in need of a bit of moral support. The choice was eight pints, or ask you, and I couldn’t afford the eight pints. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind coming to Mass with me.’

  ‘Er … OK.’

  It certainly wasn’t a date. I’d never been inside a Catholic church before and had certainly never thought of myself as an alternative to intoxication, but I was willing to give anything a try.

  ‘There’s something else.’ He wiped his palms on his trousers again and looked up at me through a fringe of hair. ‘I’m thinking of taking Holy Orders—you know, becoming a priest.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is that all you can say, “Oh”?’ He looked disappointed. My mind raced. This was certainly not what I’d expected. Here I was, wanting a ministry, and it felt as if God kept missing me and zapping everyone else around me. But this was no time to feel sorry for myself. It had obviously taken Declan a lot of courage to talk to me. I grinned broadly.

  ‘Declan, that’s wonderful!’ I kissed him on the cheek. ‘Are you allowed to kiss priests-to-be?’

  ‘Of course.’ He let out a big sigh. ‘It’s such a relief to tell someone, someone who understands. You will come then, to Mass on Sunday?’

  ‘I’d be glad to. Honestly, I’m really pleased for you.’

  We spent the rest of the evening chatting and laughing. I haven’t seen Declan look so happy or relaxed for a long time. He even offered me a piece of ‘snappy’ chewing gum and laughed like a drain when it caught my finger, removing a sliver of my nail varnish and part of my nail.

  Just after 10 p.m., he walked me to my car and gave me a peck on the cheek before he left to catch his train.

  ‘You’re an angel, Theo.’

  I wish I were.

  Friday 30 April

  Miss Chamberlain’s birthday. I baked a chocolate cake and took it round, along with a card and a packet of lace handkerchiefs. I’ve never seen her use them, but that’s always what she says she wants when I ask. I wonder what old ladies do with all those handkerchiefs? I’m sure their noses can’t run that much.

  May

  Saturday 1 May

  Charity had her baby today. She gave birth at home and three hours later she was out pushing the child in a pram. I met her in the post office. She’d gone to post a letter for Nigel. She was still smiling and still wearing an enormous flowery frock. How does she make having a baby look so easy? Practice, I suppose. Apparently they’ve decided to call the baby Methuselah.

  Sunday 2 May

  Went to church with Declan who was, much to my relief, sober. St Semolina of the Divine Revelation was a large, modern building with tall windows and a stubby bell tower. Inside, it had the familiar furniture-polish-and-flowers smell common to every church I’ve ever been into. However denominations differ doctrinally, they seem to be united by this smell.

  During the service, I got a bit confused about the genuflecting and making the sign of the cross. I must have looked as if I was trying to signal in semaphore. Declan laughed at me.

  ‘I’m sorry, I think I got that all wrong,’ I whispered.

  ‘I’m sure God will forgive you,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure she will.’ I glanced at the woman next to me, whom I’d accidentally elbowed in the ribs.

  I was struck by the similarity between the words of the Mass and St Norbert’s liturgy for the Communion service. I even knew two of the hymns. Father Michael, a slender man in his sixties with a charming smile and blue eyes, preached the sermon. It was pretty much the sort of sermon Digger would have preached, but it was strange to hear it in a broad Midlands accent rather than Digger’s Aussie twang. As Declan went up to receive the Host, I knelt in that strange, familiar place and prayed that God would guide him and help him decide what to do.

  After the service, Father Michael stood at the door and shook hands as the congregation shuffled out. Declan introduced me.

  ‘Ah, Theodora. You know that name means “Gift of God”?’

  I hadn’t known that. After hating my name for years, I now find out that it means something lovely. ‘Gift of God.’ Can’t wait to tell Ariadne.

  Monday 3 May

  Went to see Ariadne this evening. For some reason, she was emulsion-painting the inside of the garden shed. Tom was indoors knitting. I took the paintbrush out of her hand and persuaded her to sit down.

  ‘Did you know my name means “Gift of God”?’

  Ariadne seemed unimpressed. ‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ she sniffed. ‘You always behave as if you think you’re God’s gift.’

  If she hadn’t been pregnant, I would have hit her.

  Tuesday 4 May

  I wonder what Ariadne and Tom will call their baby. It’s due in just over a month and this is Ariadne’s last week at work. It will seem strange commuting alone.

  Wednesday 5 May

  Supper at Mum’s and Dad’s. Ariadne and Tom came too. The subject of the baby’s name came up over the stuffed vine leaves.

  ‘Mum,’ said Ariadne firmly, ‘rest assured there’s no way we’re calling the baby Ajax or Aphrodite. And Dad, Morgan and Blodwyn are out of the question too.’

  ‘Clytemnestra’s nice,’ said Mum.

  ‘No!’ Ariadne banged her knife and fork on the table with such force that the taramasalata nearly shot off into orbit. ‘No, it isn’t nice, Mother. It isn’t nice at all. We’re not having it, and that’s final. No ridiculous Greek names; no silly Welsh ones. He or she will have a nice, normal name. One people can pronounce. One that doesn’t have the rest of the class falling about laughing every time the teacher calls the register.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ I piped. ‘But Theodora’s a nice name.’

  Thursday 6 May

  I haven’t thought about Kevin for three days, four hours and 17 minutes now. I’ve broken my previous record by two hours and 23 minutes.

  Friday 7 May

  A new shopping centre has just opened a few miles from us and after work, Ariadne and I went to buy a present and outfits for Ag’s wedding. The centre is called Tranquil Lagoon and from the road it looks as if an alien spaceship has landed in a field. I half expected a little green man to emerge and request that we ‘take him to our leader’.

  I light-heartedly suggested that our first call should be at the camping shop to find something for Ariadne to wear, but judging by the look she gave me, I sensed she was in no mood for that kind of comment. Our first stop was at a shop Ariadne insisted should be called Detached and Desperate. The music from its sound system could probably be heard in Reykjavik; you needed ear plugs to get through the door. It was full of 45-year-old women trying to squeeze into garments with far more netting and Lycra than was advisable. I reckoned Marks & Spencer was a better bet. After all, you can always return something there if you don’t like it (unworn, of course).

  Eventually, however, we found a little designer seconds shop. Ariadne held up a white two-piece suit.

  ‘I can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding,’ I protested. ‘What if I turn up in the same outfit as the bride?’

  ‘Firstly, from what I’ve heard, you’d need to get a tyre lever to get Cordelia inside this suit. Secondly, you’re probably more entitled to wear white to her wedding than she is.’ She looked at me as if she were peering over a pair of glasses. ‘If you get my drift.’

  Spurred on by Ariadne, I took the suit into the changing room and tried it on. To my consternation, it looked really good, quite elegant. The jacket fitted perfectly and the skirt didn’t make my backside
look the size of a small solar system.

  ‘Great!’ Ariadne enthused. ‘All you need now are shoes and a bag—oh, and some sunglasses. You’ll look just like a film star.’

  Then I looked at the price tag.

  ‘Oh, Ariadne, there’s no way I could afford this! Not without a mortgage.’

  She glanced at the price tag and sniffed. ‘Might be less than London, but still overpriced. Watch this.’

  We took the suit to the counter and stood in the queue. As we waited, I noticed that Ariadne was wincing and rubbing her back. Suddenly she became very pale.

  ‘Ariadne!’ I cried in alarm. ‘Are you all right?’

  I managed to support her as she slid gently to the floor. ‘Can you help me? My sister’s fainted.’

  The assistant stopped mid-transaction and rushed round with a chair. We laid Ariadne out and raised her legs. Her eyelids flickered.

  ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ asked the flustered assistant.

  ‘I think she’s only fainted.’

  Another woman, the manager, appeared with a glass of water.

  ‘I think we’d better leave this.’ I handed her the suit. ‘I ought to get her outside for some fresh air. I haven’t got enough cash and I can’t wait to pay for it by credit card.’ Ariadne, from somewhere in the region of my feet, began to groan.

  ‘How much have you got in cash?’ asked the manager. ‘I’ll reduce the price for the inconvenience you and your sister have been caused.’

  ‘Oh, no, don’t worry about it, we’ll leave it,’ I said.

  ‘Take it!’ Ariadne hissed through clenched teeth.

  I fumbled in my bag and handed over the cash. The assistant helped Ariadne to her feet and we staggered out of the shop to find a café.

  In the café, I chided Ariadne. ‘That was positively dishonest!’ I ranted. ‘Pretending to faint like that, just to get the suit reduced.’

  ‘Well, it was obviously overpriced.’

  ‘That’s not the point; it’s the principle of the matter. What you did just then not only deceived the shop assistant into selling the goods under false pretences—’