Page 8 of The Only Way Is Up

‘What’s the essay?’

Will mooched over and picked up his homework diary, a tangle of teenage limbs in a baggy grey hoody and black joggers with a crotch that hung halfway to his knees. ‘In Gilead, love no longer exists,’ he read tonelessly. ‘Examine this view of Atwood’s presentation of relationships in The Handmaid’s Tale.’

‘Christ!’ Tom laughed. ‘What do men like us know about love and relationships?’

Will half-smiled, then looked away, blushing furiously. ‘Tell me about it,’ he mumbled, cramming a chocolate digestive into his mouth and holding out the packet to Tom.

He took one. ‘How’s your dad?’

Will shrugged again and slid a mug of tea towards Tom. ‘OK. He and Mum are currently obsessed with that telly woman who’s moved into the village.’

‘Daisy Crawford.’ Tom rolled his eyes. ‘It’s no great surprise that people are talking, I guess. Nothing much else happens around here.’

‘My dad had printed out her Wikipedia page.’ Will pulled a face. ‘I went into his office earlier and saw it on his desk. Age, career, everything. He’s even highlighted bits of it in yellow.’

Tom nodded, not really surprised. Before his fall from grace, Gerald Forbes-Glover had been Conservative Member of Parliament for North Gloucestershire. Seven years earlier, he’d been caught having a fumble with a House of Commons intern and had been invited to resign. From what Tom had been able to gather from the usual village gossips, Gerald’s mother had died not long before the scandal broke and had left him Shipton Rectory, so he’d scuttled out of Westminster and hunkered down here with his second wife, Melanie, and their son, Will, who was now seventeen. It wouldn’t shock anyone if Gerald pointed his legendary sword in the direction of a woman like Daisy Crawford.

‘What about your mum?’ asked Tom, taking a swig of tea. He knew that Will’s home life was fractious, and he made these visits every now and then to check up on him, timing it for when he knew Gerald and Melanie would both be in church. The line between headteacher and trusted adult was a fine one, and Tom had to be careful not to overstep.

Will shrugged. ‘She’s, like, a massive Spotlight fan, but it’s not like they’ve got anything in common. And anyway, Mum wouldn’t want to give Dad a chance to . . .’ His voice trailed off as he brushed his floppy fringe out of his eyes, a sign of anxiety that Tom had seen in the young man too many times before.

Tom cleared his throat and picked up the exam papers again, sifting through them. ‘Give me a shout when you’ve had a look at these. You’ve got a few months to think about university, but I’m really happy to chat about your options.’

‘Dad’s still saying I should do PPE at Cambridge, like he did.’

‘And that isn’t what you want?’ Tom sipped his tea and looked at Will intently. It wasn’t always easy to get him to talk, but if Will was in the mood to, he was definitely listening.

‘I dunno,’ he shrugged. ‘I want to go travelling first, then maybe. But Dad says he won’t pay for me to hang out with wasters in some crack den in Thailand.’

Tom clamped his lips together in restraint. ‘Maybe if you get a deferred place, he’ll think differently.’

Will shrugged again. ‘Can’t see it. I’ll find a way to pay for it myself.’ He picked up his copy of The Handmaid’s Tale and started flicking through it, and Tom knew that his time was up.

‘I need to return some Tupperware to the vicar.’ He stood, draining his mug. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

Will nodded and turned back to his books, so Tom let himself out.

‘Do you think her being here might boost the congregation?’ asked the Reverend Miriam Mayhew, handing Tom yet another mug of tea. It had ‘Need an ark? I Noah guy’ printed on the side. Definitely in the God tier of Christian puns. The reverend put a flowery plate of custard creams on the kitchen table, then helped herself to two.

Tom took a biscuit. ‘No idea. She doesn’t seem like much of a churchgoer.’

‘Troubled, though,’ mused Miriam through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘Maybe I can tempt her into the fold.’

Tom looked away, recalling the many times the local vicar had tried to lure him into the Church of St Mary the Virgin. Tessa had been a regular and, after she’d gone, Miriam had decided he was ripe for saving. So far he’d managed to fob her off. Perhaps the arrival of Daisy Crawford would keep her off his back for a while longer.

‘Maybe,’ Tom hedged, then added, ‘It would definitely help the fundraising for the vestry.’

Miriam visibly perked up at the mention of her favourite subject. The vestry project had been ongoing for nearly five years and they were still only halfway to their target. The roof was falling in, the toilet was half-open to the elements and every winter it got worse and more funds were needed. Tom couldn’t help but admire her resilience and commitment to what seemed to be a futile fundraising effort.

‘Perhaps the Lord has sent me a saviour.’ Miriam pressed her hands together in prayer, looking upwards at the cobwebby light fittings.

‘Well, let’s not get carried away,’ chuckled Tom. ‘She might not be here for long. But you should probably pay her a visit.’

Miriam nodded, clearly already plotting her next move. Tom remembered what Will said about Gerald and wondered who else in the village would be setting their sights on Daisy Crawford.

‘Gerald and Melanie in church this morning?’ he asked casually.

‘Mmm,’ Miriam muttered through another mouthful of biscuit. ‘Enough space between them on that pew to park a donkey. And I couldn’t help but notice that Melanie had a ladder in her tights.’