"Good morning," said the woman in grey with the orange scarf, handing her a little green book and two (two!) booklets. "Are you new to this church?"
"A visitor," stammered Alberta, still taken aback by the woman's bizarre choice in clothing colours. With her brown shoes, she vaguely resembled an unwashed, mouldy vegetable, minus its roots. "Thank you."
Slowly, she made her way to one of the pews in the left gallery. The enormous crucifix in the arch above that table (the altar?) was more than vaguely intimidating, and she glanced uncomfortably to the side, where the low, wooden rafters sloped in some side-colonnade to the main body of the church.
Although she knew that it was not the case, she could not help but feel that Argos and his hundred eyes would be less prying than the eyes of the parishioners around her. Technically, of course, it was a city church; even its exterior red bricks were not so different from some of the surrounding buildings; and perhaps some people did come and go, or visit, as she did- but most- no, no, she would look down, and try to ascertain why she had been handed so many things at the door.
"Good morning," came a tremulous, familiar voice from the pew behind and she turned around in relief to see those same iron curls, that unfashionable coat, those warm, sad eyes.
"Alberta," said Millicent, and Alberta did not miss the inflection of surprise in her voice. "How lovely to see you this morning!"
Alberta smiled, wryly.
"I hadn't meant to come," she admitted.
And truly, she hadn't; she had mostly spoken to spite Harold, to provoke a response (is there a god can there be a god is it real can it be real it is real is it real)- she had not seriously contemplated going to church. Harold, however, seemed particularly gullible at times, or wilfully blind; in any case he had shamed her into keeping her word simply by taking her words at face value. If she had earned a pound for each time Harold asked her about her plans to travel to and from Holy Cross, she was sure she could easily subsidise a fortnight's earnings from the Daily Mirror.
To her credit, Millicent's face showed minimal flickers or surprise at Alberta's admission, and she simply nodded calmly, matter-of-factly, and moved so that she was sitting next to Alberta.
"You have chosen a lovely seat," she said, nodding at the narrow, arched window to Alberta's left.
Under one ribboned label she read, Seek and ye shall find, and on the other, it read, Behold I stand at the door. A pale man in a white gown and sash, with an amusingly anachronistic lamp, stood at a door. The verses, Alberta assumed, were somewhere in the Bible; the seeking and finding had the whiff of memory that clung, obstinately, in the back of her mind.
"This is the service outline," Millicent continued, reaching out a well-worn glove to touch the first booklet in the green book. "We use it if we run out of copies of the BCP- Book of Common Prayer," she added, seeing Alberta's face. "Our last batch is dreadfully worn; this is a temporary pamphlet. This green book is your hymn book- see the numbers on this other pamphlet? - And this is this week's service, it will tell you the hymns, the collect of the day, announcements and such things."
Millicent spoke as if it was easy to juggle all the pieces of paper and all the books, as if it was part of her nature. Perhaps it was. Alberta ran her fingers along the spine of the hymn book; it felt large and unnaturally sized.
"Oh, here, we stand," Millicent said gently, touching Alberta's elbow with the lightest pressure, as the organ began booming some unfamiliar but strangely catchy melody. A strange odour caught Alberta's nostrils- spicy and musky, and she tried to catch her sneeze as the minister- preacher- walked past in a long, comparatively elaborately decorated blue set of robes.
She turned to ask Millicent something, but now the congregation was singing- hymn 95, according to her hymn book- and Millicent's face was upturned, almost rapturous. A ray of sunlight had caught from a window and was resting on her face, a lilting, amber glow, and it was perfect, perfect, and her question suddenly didn't seem to matter, and even if it had mattered, she could not remember it. Too soon, the song was over, the ray had disappeared, and the choir that had filed in was now singing some mournful Kyrie (and didn't that just send memories of the past flooding through her mind), and she fidgeted in her pew, hoping nobody had noticed.
The rest of the service was a dreadfully strange affair. She found herself standing far more than she expected she would have to stand in a church service; the choir sang a rather long anthem, she felt out of place during Eucharist, neither desiring to go up, nor enjoying being the only person remaining seated (she tried to forget the shame of the moment when the minister tried to bring the bread and wine to her, and she had to shake her head at him from the corner of the pew)- and she was all too glad when it was finished.
"I imagine that this can be fairly overwhelming," Millicent said to her when they finally stood up, after the organist had finished his postlude (a concept Alberta had not been thrilled to be reminded of). "Would you want to talk over tea?"
But she had barely any time to respond, when a tired, pretty-ish woman in an unfashionable brown coat approached them.
"Millicent," the woman said, and Alberta stared at her, her blue eyes and her button nose. Something about her looked familiar, down to her pointed chin, but she could not place a name. "Millicent, I was wondering if I could speak with you; if you are free to visit on Tuesday-" she broke off, seeing Alberta.
Millicent was, strangely, beaming.
"Gladys Pole," she said, and, like a dead weight against her chest, Alberta realised. "Gladys, this is Alberta Scrubb. I'm sure you have met?"
Both Alberta and Gladys Pole averted their eyes. Alberta was sure her cheeks were not the only ones slightly pinker than usual.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," said Gladys to the tiled floor and Alberta nodded at the back door that led to the bells.
"Likewise."
"- Well!" said Millicent, and there was a question in her eyes. "I- I think- now that you have met, I shall help with the tea. I will see you soon, I hope!"
Alberta bristled at the betrayal; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gladys Pole similarly start.
"Why, isn't Doris -"
"Good morning," Millicent smiled, and walked away.
Gladys and Alberta were left standing in the pew.
"I-" Gladys fumbled. "I am-"
"Shall we exit the building?" said Alberta, desperately.
"That sounds marvellous," said Gladys, and they walked, nearly a foot between them, to the door. Gladys opened her mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.
Like a fish, Alberta thought, uncharitably, but did not speak.
"I-" Gladys began again. "Well- Jill- Eustace was such a lovely boy, such a wonderful young man." The last, more successful attempt of a sentence came in a tumbling rush, but its sincerity was fresher than the grass after spring rain. "It was such a joy to know him, and it's so, so lonely thinking- knowing- that he is not here anymore."
"I-" Alberta paused. She could not, in all honesty, say that she had liked Jill, and she most certainly could not say so to Jill's mother. "Eustace Clarence was very fond of your daughter."
Gladys Pole laughed, picked at the index finger of her left glove.
"Yes- very fond," she said, and fished out a handkerchief. "Very fond, if the letter he mailed to her was any indication."
"Letter?" said Alberta, standing a little more upright. "What letter?"
She studied Gladys Pole properly, perhaps for the first time; saw the shaded bags under her eyes, her ever so slightly blotchy, button nose, her admittedly delicate chin.
"Oh," said Gladys, "I didn't- I couldn't read it. No one is meant to know anyone's story but one's own- that's something Jill said," she laughed.
It is something my nephew Peter once said, Alberta wanted to say, but couldn't.
"Do you- do you have it?" she asked, unsure whether she was more fearful or hopeful of the response. "Do you-?"
But Gladys was shaking her head, and the handkerchief was making its way back to her coat pocket.
"I couldn't," she admitted, "I couldn't. I- I threw it away. But it was telling, wasn't it? That he sent a letter?"
Telling that he had finished it, Alberta wanted to say, and she did not know whether to laugh and thank the woman or throttle her for discarding what was possibly the last thing that her son had written. (What right had Gladys Pole to throw Eustace Clarence's last letter away?)
"I- perhaps I should have contacted you," said Gladys, hesitantly.
"Yes, you should have," Alberta snapped, and Gladys wilted.
"I- but- would you have read it?" she said, pleadingly, then almost instantly; "No- I am sorry. This is becoming an excuse, not an apology. I should have- contacted you."
Not quite mollified, Alberta's lips twitched.
"My son," she began, and then she felt her face crumple (how embarrassing, how shameful, she was in public!). Oh, would this never end?
"Here," said Gladys' voice, and she felt something being pressed into her hands.
"No,- not used," Alberta managed to blubber out, feeling more and more ashamed of herself. "I have-"
"No, no, this one's clean, I have several," insisted Gladys' voice, the pressure on her hands a little more than before. "Here, Alberta-"
Blindly, she took the proffered handkerchief, pressed it to her eyes.
"I think I shall go home," she said, as distinctly as she could.
"I- I can come with you," Gladys offered, and Alberta shook her off.
"Tuesday, perhaps, not now-"
"Tuesday, when?"
"- Oh, anytime, anytime from 10, just not- not - not now."
And she quickly hurried down the stairs, hoping that Gladys Pole was not quite true to her word, away from the strange, dimly lit building with its oddly mellow organ, away from the soft voices of the quiet attendees, and the tiny pews that made one's decision to *not* take Eucharist all the more obvious, away from the tendrils that seemed, strangely, to tie her to the place, and back to the comfort, the security, of lunch, of Harold, of home.
A/N: So there's only one more chapter planned. It may be mammoth but there's only one- who knows, this baby may be finished before Christmas!