‘So, did the police reckon the accusation came from Alice Mallett?’
‘If they did think so, they didn’t share the information with me.’ The vicar sounded a little put out.
‘No, police are rotten like that, aren’t they?’ said Jude, with feeling.
‘Did they mention whether they had spoken to Alice?’
‘No, but I got the impression that was on their list of things to do. They were talking to me as an eyewitness to what actually happened in the church hall; you know, to get some background details. I don’t know that I was that much help to them on that, having arrived in Fethering so relatively recently. I hardly know the Malletts.’
‘Nor does anyone else, really,’ said Jude.
‘Do you know if the police have spoken to Heather?’ asked Carole.
‘They didn’t actually say so, but I got the impression, from something they said, that they were going to see her when they’d finished talking to me.’
‘And did you also get the impression they might want to talk to you again?’
‘They said it was a possibility but didn’t make it sound very likely. It seemed to me that they didn’t really take the supposed crime seriously, they were just going through the motions.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Carole, her Home Office antennae alerted.
‘Well, if they did think there was much substance in the accusation, they’d have stopped the funeral, wouldn’t they? Certainly have stopped the cremation?’
‘You’re right.’
‘But all they did when they left was ask me to contact them if I heard anything else that might be relevant. And they advised me to talk as little about the situation as possible.’
In response to Carole’s quizzical look, the vicar said, ‘All right, that’s exactly what I’m doing, I know. But I’m doing it because of my job. I feel it’s part of my remit here in Fethering to create as much harmony as possible. What I witnessed in the church hall yesterday distressed me very much. If I could effect a rapprochement between Heather Mallett and her stepdaughter … well, I’d feel that was the kind of pastoral role I should be taking on. That’s what I’m here for.’
He spoke with idealistic earnestness. Jude found herself wondering what kind of a man he had been before his ‘Damascene conversion’. Had finding God actually changed his character, or had he always had the same humourless focus, but directed it towards other goals?
‘I think that sounds very admirable,’ she said, hoping the words didn’t sound patronizing.
But Bob Hinkley was too busy riding his hobby-horse to worry about any such nuance. ‘I really do feel I’ve been chosen with a view to making the church relevant, showing people why it should be at the centre of their lives, rather than on the periphery. And because I had a life in the commercial world before I was ordained, I feel I can perhaps bring more practical skills to the task than, say, someone whose whole career has been in the church. I believe that, in this age of rampant commercialism, cyber-bullying and fake news, the church has never been more relevant. And what I’m talking about is a very broad church, that embraces everyone, regardless of gender, race or sexual orientation.’
He was looking straight at Jude as he said this, and she knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t the first time that the closeness of the two neighbours had been interpreted as something rather more meaningful. In fact, she knew that a small constituency of Fethering residents were absolutely convinced they were a lesbian couple. Fortunately, though, Carole, out of his eye-line, hadn’t picked up the vicar’s implication. She hadn’t picked up the lesbian subtext, which was just as well. Carole always got deeply offended by such suggestions, whereas Jude thought they were very funny.
‘Anyway,’ Bob Hinkley went on, ‘while I’m here, there is something else I wanted to talk about.’
‘Oh?’
‘The choir.’
‘What about the choir?’ said Carole. Then, feeling that might have sounded a bit graceless, she added, ‘They were in good voice yesterday.’
‘Yes, they were. I think the organist, Jonny Virgo …’
‘I know him,’ said Jude, with no mention of the context.
‘Ah. Well, I think he has his work cut out with them. Some of the voices are not quite as … well … You can always hear when someone’s flat, can’t you? Not of course that I don’t appreciate the time and effort that the people put into it. Hm, anyway, with the choir … and indeed, with the congregation … I am aware that the average age of the participants is high and that, not to put too fine a point on it, numbers are dwindling.’
‘It’s a trend that’s happening across the country,’ Jude sympathized.
‘I know, but it’s a trend that I feel it is in my remit to reverse.’
Carole, who was wondering if his second use of the word ‘remit’ was a hangover from his days ‘in industry’, murmured, ‘Good luck.’
‘So, I’m very actively trying to recruit new members.’
Jude spread her hands wide in apology. ‘I’m sorry, but as we’ve said, we both lack the faith that makes church attendance seem necessary to us.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the congregation. I was talking about the choir.’
‘What, you’re trying to enlist non-believers into the church choir?’ asked Carole.
‘I’m trying to enlist anyone into the church choir.’ The pleading in Bob Hinkley’s voice was a measure of his desperation. Both women realized how much he was investing in his new career, the high goals that he had set himself. If he was on a one-man mission to reverse the rising tide of godlessness in the country, they feared he was lining himself up for disappointment.
‘I don’t sing,’ said Carole definitively.
‘You mean you can’t sing?’
‘Yes.’ But she wasn’t sure if the answer was true. Like many of Carole’s inhibitions, this one went back a long way. When she started, aged thirteen, at her private girl’s school, the music mistress had asked each member of the class to stand up and sing, to assess their suitability for the school choir. Carole had found this exposure so acutely nerve-wracking that, from that moment on, she had never let a musical sound come out of her mouth. At assemblies and church services she had become very expert at lip-synching and sounding final consonants, so that she looked as if she was singing. But she allowed no actual noise to emerge.
And from that time on, if ever the subject came up, she insisted that she couldn’t sing. There was nothing less appealing to Carole Seddon than standing up in front of people and being asked to entertain them. Though, as she had often proved in her Home Office days, she was more than competent at chairing difficult meetings, the idea of public performance was anathema to her.
In reflective moods, she did sometimes wonder whether there was innate music in her, which had been frightened away by the music mistress’s demands. There were some songs she liked, some tunes that she found soothing. And she had often found herself singing nursery rhymes to her grandchildren, Lily and Chloe (when she was sure their parents were not within earshot). The little girls had never made any objections.
But a direct question, like the one that had just been posed by the Rev. Bob Hinkley, would always still receive the steely reply that she couldn’t sing.
‘What about you, Jude?’ he asked.
‘Well, I can sing all right …’ Yes, of course she’d be able to, thought Carole bitterly. Singing involved being relaxed, and Jude was good at that. She’d been an actress at some stage in her life, too. That must’ve involved singing.
‘But,’ her friend went on, ‘I don’t really want to commit myself to—’