Situations Vacant
I was going to write a novel in November for the Nanowrimo. But I only did it the first day. so I only did 2000 words. It was going to be about a vacancy, but now we are in one, I don't want to write the rest of it. This is extremely unedited. Don't feel you have to read it. Life imitates art. Chicken. Egg.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.....
....
This is always the best bit of a funeral: the purvey. Oh good, hot pies. Not that I am not sad about the passing of the minister of course – a weird one here for the parish. I was born here, baptised here, grew up here and all the while I watched a good looking bachelor decay into a gnarled old man, merging into his pulpit, sermons recycled and delivered with and increasingly shaky grasp of the basics. But anyway. Right, need to shimmy up a bit to get in line for the tea.....
....
He collapsed quite suddenly last week. He had been out in the parish visiting old Mrs Campell who was having a crisis about Halloween – what should the Christians of the parish do? Should they put out pumpkins and bag up sweets for the local children? Or should they meet in the small hall and pray against everyone and everything that was going on? Reverend Skirving apparently advised her that as long as it was a turnip lantern and not a pumpkin, and that the children did a party piece and not a trick-or-treat then he was sure it would be OK. ....
....
Anyway, so he went to leave and collapsed in the middle of her path. D.O.A at hospital. His heart, apparently. Right, scuse me while I eat my pie. ....
....
“Hi Sabrina”....
....
“Oh Hi.” Oh no, it’s Jennifer Whiting, very, very frightening ME! I bet this’ll be the moment that my pie will disintigrate and I’ll get a lovely blob of grease on my dress and she’ll see!....
....
“Hi Jennifer, good turn out today then isn’t it?”....
....
“Yes, well a lot of people knew him.”....
....
“Wot, in the biblical sense?” Shut up, shut up what am I saying? “Like I mean he preached to practically the whole town over the years I suppose.” I add, hurriedly, hoping that Jen’s super-spiritual filter is fully functioning, given that it is a sad and solemn and spiritual occasion. ....
....
“Yes, he was an important man for so many of us, present at all the key moments. What a void he will leave!”....
....
“Oh, yes – I wonder if they’ll get another eligible bachelor for us! Waterside didn’t make much use of the last one. A waste of a man in these parts. Poor old Skirving.”....
....
Jennifer’s face fell. “I think it is too soon to be thinking about replacing him, Sabrina, don’t you think? He’s only just died!”....
....
Oops. “Of course, of COURSE, Jen, I just meant…” I trailed off. I knew I couldn’t get through a whole conversation without stuffing up, one way or another. ....
....
Jennifer Whiting is a strange fish. She is absolutely flawless, I reckon. Clear skin, classic size 10 and works in a hospice. She consistently exudes an air of perfection, while managing not to need any make-up, support underwear or behavioural counselling. She seems to be entirely self sufficient. She does HAVE relatives, I believe, but I also believe she was spawned, parentless and at the age of twenty-five, direct into her new-build apartment, having escaped the errors of adolescence and therefore unscarred by a decade of stress, gaffes, exams, failed relationships and yo-yo dieting. ....
....
I put down my teacup and look for an escape from Jennifer. Not in a nasty way. You know what I mean. I could go back to the buffet and get another pie, but she’d see that as weakness and gluttony. I could go and talk to the grieving relatives, if there were any, but there only seems to be a gaggle of nephews who seem pretty uncomfortable in their black suits and look quite twitchy and keen to leave. And Jen would think I was being an inappropriate hussy if I went to talk to them in their hour of need. And none of them are cute enough to make it worth it. Oh, good, there’s Mark. He’s pretty safe.....
....
“Look , Jen, there’s Mark. I’ll just go and say hello. Scuse me.”....
....
I weave my way through the tables of old women eating cake and slip in beside Mark, who is inexplicably intently reading through the order of service. Probably doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Begs the question as to why he came. Probably for the food. Right enough, I don’t really want to talk to anyone. Pretty much just want to eat the food too. Two sides of the same coin. Maybe it’s meant. ....
....
“Hi Sabrina, smashing purvey.” ....
“Hiya, yup, not bad.”....
“Want to get out of here?”....
“I certainly do.”....
“Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee?”....
“Do you want me to come?”....
“Aye. It’s fine, it’s fine.”....
....
Great! An out. Let’s go. I tail Mark back across the hall, see Jen - and wait for him to launch into his customary not-quite imperceptible body swerve when faced with her, when he stops, and beckons her over.....
....
“We’re going back to mine, d’you want to come?”....
....
Eh? Hold on. Since an abortive attempt a date last year, Mark has never addressed her, much less looked her in the eye, much less asked her to come with him anywhere, let alone to his house. I suppose he has me for cover in an emergency. ....
....
“OK,” she says, doubtfully, searching my face for confirmation that I am indeed included in this excursion, “yes, I suppose so.”....
....
So here, we are, the odd trio, clipping down the high street in our good blacks, up the close to Mark’s flat.....
....
....
....
....
“The Parish of Waterside and Crooksley....
Seeks....
A full time Minister....
Unrestricted Call....
....
Waterside church is a forward thinking congregation, eager to call a minister with a similar outlook. We want to be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century before it is over. We want some new angles on Christmas, Easter - and Harvest in particular jazzed up a bit. Rest assured, a willing and able congregation is poised to volunteer for various jobs, and, if you play your cards right, you could delegate the whole job and sit back in middle-class-suburbia and have quite a nice life amongst us. Do be wary though – some of the parishioners are real nutters with chips on their shoulders like you wouldn’t believe; with hang-ups and hobby horses that are welded to their souls. The congregation welcome applications from young and old, but young would be better. ....
....
***....
....
....
Mark’s Blog ....
October 31 2008....
....
Today was pretty dire. A community in mourning, but all I could think about was cake. I am not very good at mourning. I don’t really get it. Especially for ancient Christians. I shoulda been thinking about the old man’s life and legacy, but I was just worried about phones going off and people dropping coffin ropes or calling the deceased’s nephews by the wrong names in the prayers. But apart from the usual technical glitches and hitches, the parish stepped – I dunno whether it was into the past, the present or the future. I wonder who they’ll get. Some whipper-snapper with a degree and no life experience. A woman. ....
....
So I had the girls back afterwards. Some pair. And not just on the fat one. Her with her self esteem in perpetual flux and the other with her own brand of aloof friendliness. I don’t know what they think of me. And it’s weird with that elephant sitting in my lounge, as ever, with “Singleness” tattooed to its forehead. But with the three of us there, there were three elephants all vying for space, so it was pretty claustrophobic. But it was good. Despite the potential subtext, there was no tension. Just nice to get away from the stewed tea and lipstick-marked tea-cups. But I wanted to go to see off the old man. Much as I may have moaned – he was one of the good guys, and he didn’t put up with any rubbish from the hysterics. I hope they get a decent replacement. ....
....
....
Sunday 2 November....
Order of Service....
....
Call to worship: Geoff McGough....
Hymn: Praise to the Lord....
....
Children’s Address: Laura McGough (the one about the Light of the world. Vis Aid: A torch)....
....
Reading: Psalm 119 vs 105....
....
Song: That S U one....
....
Sermon: Bernie Traynor....
“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”....
....
Hymn: The one that Bernie Traynor wrote that goes to “Home, home on the Range.”....
....
Benediction: Geoff McGough....
....
Tea, coffee and soft “NICE” biscuits will be served by slevery women afterwards in the large hall. ....
....
....
....
....
Victory! I am on the vacancy committee! Who’d have thought they’d ask me! Well, I suppose the vast majority of the congregation will be dead soon, so they might as well ask the young people. Young! Hardly. I am thirty. When I was wee that was old. That was a big age. That was the age people’s parents were. I wonder who else is going to be on it. Fun!....
....
I turn the corner into the Manse driveway. This’ll be scary, kinda – going into Skirving’s house and him being actually dead. I wonder if they’ll have got rid of all his personal effects yet, or will the place be littered with books and newspapers and saucers of cat food and green cardis and slippers and fust and stoor.....
....
I ring the big white porcelain bell that looks like an eyeball in a brass socket. How scared will I be if Skirving comes to answer? Who is it? Oh, it’s Laura McGough. Shock horror, not. Of course she’s on it: it’s a committee. ....
....
Laura McGough wouldn’t have much of a job looking spectacular in the AFTER part of a makeover show – she has such a long way to go. Not in a nasty way. She is unkept and unkempt, with crispy hair and shiny skin. With a pint of conditioner and subdued lighting, she’d look at least a decade her junior. But what with the McGough budgeting ethics, I don’t see it happening. Geoff McGough wrote a book, you know – “Finance, Fear and the Future: A Christian Tightens his Belt”. I skimmed the blurb at the bookstall and thought I’d best not read it in case part of the answer was to end up with hair like an oversized paintbrush.....
....
Laura has made a career out of committees. Founding, chairing, delegating, disbanding. It’s an art form. The good thing about any of Laura’s committees is that she has a sense of pace about her. There’s an agenda and we are getting through it. On some church committees, people seem to think that the point is to have something to say at every cut and turn. Laura keeps the action points flowing until everyone is keen to get to AOB before they get a weighty remit. And woe to any who doesn’t turn up or send apologies. That’s an invitation to be volunteered for all the leftover tasks. ....
....
I try not to look too excited to be here, as I nod polite hellos to the other people who must be classed as the great and the good to get on the committee. So there are BOTH the McGoughs, BOTH the Traynors, Mrs Campbell, Mrs Dawkins, Mrs Hawkins and the Mulberry twins, Ina and Ruth. A little short on the men, methinks. Maybe there’s more to come. Nope, I am last. Laura whips out her clipboard and away we go.....
....
....
Excerpt from “Church, Choice and Chairing: A Christian Model for Management” by Geoff McGough (1st draft)....
....
Pick your committee members with care.....
Always have the backbone of the church represented. Figure out who always does everything, then ask them to do it. They will end up doing it anyway, but if they hadn’t been asked they’ll do it with their noses in the air and a chip on their shoulder. ....
Ask someone who has recently had a nasty shock or personal trauma. They need some community responsibility to get their mind off it. They will also feel relieved that people don’t think they have lost the plot after their ordeal. The good thing is that they will still be self obsessing during the meetings, so they won’t have the mental energy to formulate coherent ideas, so you will be able to railroad through what you want without worrying that they might vote against you.....
Ask someone young. They are the church of tomorrow. I mean today.....
Ask someone old. You don’t want to appear ageist.....
Ask those with the most friends and acquaintances in the congregation. They will know the popular consensus, so the committee will look good if it comes up with recommendations that are guaranteed winners. ....
....
(2107)....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....
....