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“Hello, Irreverend!” she replied jovially, then looked at me and said in a hoarse whisper: “Is this your girlfriend?”
“No, Gladys—this is my sister, Thursday. She’s SpecOps and consequently doesn’t have a sense of humor, a boyfriend or a life.”
“That’s nice, dear,” said Mrs. Higgins, who was clearly quite deaf, despite her large ears.
“Hello, Gladys,” I said, shaking her by the hand. “Joffy here used to bash the bishop so much when he was a boy we all thought he would go blind.”
“Good, good,” she muttered.
Joffy, not to be outdone, added: “And little Thursday here made so much noise during sex that we had to put her in the garden shed whenever her boyfriends stayed the night.”
I elbowed him in the ribs but Mrs. Higgins didn’t notice; she smiled benignly, wished us both a pleasant day, and teetered off into the churchyard. We watched her go.
“A hundred and four next March,” murmured Joffy. “ Amazing, isn’t she? When she goes I’m thinking of having her stuffed and placed in the porch as a hat stand.”
“Now I know you’re joking.”
He smiled.
“I don’t have a serious bone in my body, Sis. Come on, I’ll make you that tea.”
The vicarage was huge. Legend had it that the church’s spire would have been ten feet taller had the incumbent vicar not taken a liking to the stone and diverted it to his own residence. An unholy row broke out with the bishop and the vicar was relieved of his duties. The larger-than-usual vicarage, however, remained.
Joffy poured some strong tea out of a Clarice Cliff teapot into a matching cup and saucer. He wasn’t trying to impress; the GSD had almost no money and he couldn’t afford to use anything other than what came with the vicarage.
“So,” said Joffy, placing a teacup in front of me and sitting down on the sofa, “do you think Dad’s boffing Emma Hamilton?”
“He never mentioned it. Mind you, if you were having an affair with someone who died over a hundred years ago, would you tell your wife?”
“How about me?”
“How about you what?”
“Does he ever mention me?”
I shook my head and Joffy was silent in thought for a moment, which is unusual for him.
“I think he wanted me to be in that charge in Ant’s place, Sis. Ant was always the favored son.”
“That’s stupid, Joffy. And even if it were true—which it isn’t—there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Ant is gone, finished, dead. Even if you had stayed out there, let’s face it, army chaplains don’t exactly dictate military policy.”
“Then why doesn’t Dad ever come and see me?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a ChronoGuard thing. He rarely visits me unless on business—and never for more than a couple of minutes.”
Joffy nodded then asked:
“Have you been attending church in London, Sis?”
“I don’t really have the time, Joff.”
“We make time, Sis.”
I sighed. He was right.
“After the charge I kind of lost my faith. SpecOps have chaplains of their own but I just never felt the same about anything.”
