Belgians began to file out of the church. They had tickets for the rugby league match against Featherstone Rovers.
Jenny, oblivious of everyone, including the Belgians, told herself, ‘Concentrate on these young lives. Forget your own troubles. Pretend you believe, and pray.’
‘All creatures great and small
All things wise and wonderful …’
Ted craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Rodney. ‘Oh dear,’ he thought. ‘Don’t say they’re splitting up.’
‘The river running by,
The sunset and the morning …’
The long-haired Carol Fordingbridge looked charming in a grey and white floral patterned dress with white collar, and a natural straw hat with a black band. But Elvis in his thrusting young media person suit had no eyes for her charms.
‘Oh Lord,’ she prayed, ‘make the whole world happy. Get rid of poverty and disease, and make Elvis love me.’
‘All things wise and wonderful,’ sang that small congregation, dwarfed by the cool, echoing church. ‘The Lord God made them all.’
Even Liz, the high and mighty, the haughty and naughty, couldn’t resist a curious glance at Rodney.
‘Rodney looks awful,’ she thought. ‘Don’t say he’s got marital problems.’
‘How great is God almighty,
Who has made all things well …’
‘I wish He could make me well,’ thought Rodney. ‘But I deserve it. I have strayed, oh Lord.’
‘All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.’
The last notes of the organ reverberated around the empty nave, and died. There was total silence. The vicar couldn’t have taken Liz’s son from her with less confidence if the boy had been a great lump of soap.
Ted Simcock, former maker of door knockers, macho Yorkshireman, found himself smiling inanely as the vicar held his son awkwardly over the font, and as the infant splashed water over himself, baptising himself before the vicar could do it.
Ted’s smile died as he heard the vicar’s words.
‘Josceleyn Neville Selwyn, I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’
‘Josceleyn Neville Selwyn,’ he thought. ‘My son is going to be known to the world as Josceleyn Neville Selwyn Badger.’
A greater sense of loss than he had ever known swept over Ted. He felt as if he was the biggest of a set of Russian dolls. He felt that if he could be opened up other Ted Simcocks would be found there, less puffed-up, less pretentious, better, more honest, more loving, more caring Ted Simcocks. Happier Ted Simcocks.
Liz Badger, mother of his baby, didn’t acknowledge at that moment that he existed.
Corinna Price-Rodgerson clutched Ted’s arm, and his sense of loss was almost swept away.
Stepping out of the church was like colliding with a damp flannel. The afternoon was as grey as the face of a dying man.
Outside the West Door, where mythological stone beasts hid among exquisite carved leaves, the new young vicar spoke with Neville and Liz, playing the conversation game, at which he was already being compared unfavourably with the old vicar by some inappropriately uncharitable Christians in his flock.
‘He looks so very like you, Mr Badger,’ he said. ‘I find that extraordinary.’
‘Yes, I … I find it rather extraordinary myself,’ said Neville.
‘So many people take these things for granted,’ said the vicar. ‘But the seed, the tiny seed, growing into a person that resembles its parents, every time I see it I think “This is a miracle.”’
‘In this case it certainly is,’ said Liz, half to herself. She moved off, taking Neville in her slip-stream, and the vicar made a mental note to be less religious in his small talk.
The guests stood around, chatting, waiting for their hosts to set off for the party.
Rita tackled Rodney. ‘Betty didn’t make it then?’ she prompted.
‘No. She was hoping so much … Oooh!’ He gasped with pain. ‘Excuse me, Rita.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Rita as she walked away. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
Rodney was just lowering himself onto a wooden bench beside the church when he saw Ted and Corinna bearing down upon him. With a sigh he stood up almost straight again.
‘Are you all right, Rodney?’ asked Ted.
‘Yes. Grand.’ His voice was as contorted with pain as it had often been with drink. ‘Just grand. Right good. Top form.’
‘You know Corinna, my fiancée, don’t you?’
Corinna beamed at Rodney.
‘Your fiancée!’ said Rodney. ‘What happened to …’ Ted, behind Corinna, shook his head furiously. ‘… to the famous British reserve, our native shyness …’ Ted nodded. ‘… that you’ve got engaged so quickly?’
‘Love brooks no frontiers, Rodney.’
‘You what?’
‘Love breaks down barriers. Betty away again?’
‘Yes, she’s … er …’ he groaned again, ‘… excuse me. I have sinned, and I’m reaping the whirlwind.’
Rodney collapsed onto the bench.
Corinna continued to smile. She seemed happy to be silently benevolent until called upon to speak.
‘Oh dear,’ said Ted, as they walked away from the ailing former imprisoner of chickens. ‘Oh Lord. Oh heck.’
Liz and Neville stood watching the clusters of guests, as if they were outsiders who had no right to be there, rather than the raison d’etre for the elegant little shindig. Neville was looking worried.
‘He’ll be all right with his godparents,’ said Liz.
The pregnant, charmingly shapeless, slightly fey Judy Denton had carried little Josceleyn off, in practice for the days ahead.
‘It’s not that,’ said Neville. ‘I was thinking, it’ll look odd if we don’t invite Ted and Corinna back now they’re here. It’ll set tongues wagging.’
‘Oh Lord,’ said Liz. ‘Do we really still care that much about wagging tongues?’
‘And they have just announced
