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“James is peeing!” wailed the back half of the donkey as the front half lost control of his bladder. Parents ran and the donkey, both halves, was whisked away to the toilets.
“Moving along,” Caroline said. “The women of Knit or Die have something they’d like to give you.” She motioned to Margaret, the leader of the subversive knitting group that had once yarn bombed his pulpit in protest over having to sing the new tune to ‘Amazing Grace’ instead of the old one that they were used to.
“Great,” Morrison muttered. “Just what I need. Woolen crap for a country where the sun always shines.”
He stared out of the side window, watching the gray sky as snow fell softly to cover the town. Bloody Scottish winters. They were the bane of his arthritis.
“Reverend,” Margaret said as she stood on the platform, flanked by her cronies. “We realize that you don’t have much need for blankets and such in Spain, so we made you a wall hanging. Please accept it with our gratitude.”
He tried to get out of the damn chair, but his legs were a tad too short and the seat of the chair too deep. All he could do was rock back and forth, getting nowhere.
“There’s no need for the reverend to get up,” Caroline said. “But before you give it to him, why don’t you hold it up for all of us to see?”
“Oh, aye, good idea.” Margaret and Shona unfolded the hanging and held it up.
It looked like a Sunday school craft project in wool. Just what he wanted to take all the way to Spain.
“As you can see,” Margaret said. “We’ve knitted scenes from the town.” She pointed at the top. “These are the hills, with the old mine. This is the High Street and the church. That’s the Scottie Dog pub, and that’s the loch.”
“And,” Jean said, stepping forward with a large plastic bag. “We also knitted everyone in town and added Velcro to their backs so you can place them wherever you want.” She rummaged in the bag and came out with a short, grumpy-faced man, dressed in black with a white dog collar. No prizes for guessing who that was.
“Look.” She stuck the knitted version of him to the front of the church and then beamed at him as though she’d done something miraculous.
The congregation must have thought so too because there was applause.
“But wait,” Shona said. “There’s more.”
Oh God, please, no more, he begged, but clearly, God wasn’t inclined to give him relief.
“I made you this.” Shona held up what appeared to be a lime green knitted bag with long straps. Maybe a plant holder? “It’s a mankini,” Shona said, as though reading his mind, or possibly the confusion on his face. “Like a bikini, only for men. You put your…privates…in the pouch and the straps go over your shoulders. It’s for wearing on the beach.”
“That looks wonderful,” Caroline said with a smile that was clearly forced. “And you chose a pattern that offered plenty of ventilation, which is good, seeing as Spain is so hot. Why don’t you put it all in the bag and we’ll move on to the next item? We don’t want the food getting cold.”
The women did just that, patting his hands and hugging him before returning to their seats.
“I’d like everyone who has been baptized by Reverend Morrison to stand up,” Caroline said, and a good half of the packed church stood. “Now I’d like everyone who’s been married by him to stand.” More people joined the first group. “Now anyone who’s had him perform the funeral of a loved one.” Yet more people got to their feet.
Caroline turned to him. “Look around you,” she said. “How many people can say they’ve touched so many lives in one lifetime? And these are just the ones who could be here today.” She pointed at Dougal, who stood holding a microphone in the center aisle.
The pub owner was wearing a red shirt with an ivy pattern on it and a shiny green waistcoat over the top. With his white beard, he looked like Santa had raided Elton John’s wardrobe for the morning. “Reverend,” he boomed, making Morrison wonder why anyone had given him a mic. “You performed both my marriage ceremonies, laid my dear departed wife to rest and faithfully visited my mother in the hospital until she passed away. You’ve also propped up my bar on occasion, offered unwanted advice to anyone who would listen, and you’re a terrible dominoes player, isn’t he boys?” The Domino Boys cheered. “You will be greatly missed.”
He passed the mic to Matt Donaldson, the town’s police force. “You performed my dad’s funeral, married me off to the woman of my dreams after letting her claim asylum in your church.” He smiled down at his wife Jena, who had her arm in a cast after her latest DIY disaster. “And you made time to talk to each of us regularly after dad passed away, just to make sure, as you put it, that we weren’t suicidal or fighting the urge to turn to drink.” He grinned. “You will be greatly missed.”
He passed the mic to Kirsty Benson. The ex-model and current underwear designer beamed at him, and he felt his heart melt a little. He’d always had a soft spot for Kirsty. “You were at my christening, you sat through all my terrible Sunday school plays, you were there to comfort us when my dad died, and you came to Spain to visit me in hospital after the car accident that ended my career. All of this was done with your usual bad cheer, but you did it with love. You will be greatly missed.”
Morrison cleared his throat and fidgeted in his chair. Beside him, the lights on the Christmas tree flickered as the vast church seemed to grow smaller. He wanted to shout out that they could stop now, that this wasn’t needed; he hadn’t gone into the ministry seeking recognition or thanks. But there was no stopping them now. The microphone passed from person to person, each one finishing their list of memories with “You will be greatly missed.”
Until Betty McLeod got her hands on the mic.
“Okay, you old bas—” Betty started, but Lake Benson, who was standing beside her, smacked a hand over her mouth.
“This is a church,” he said. “You’re already going to hell, try not to take the rest of us with you.”
She glared up at him as she shoved his hand away. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the morality police, Reverend Morrison, you old basket case you.” She gave Lake a smug look that said she thought she was smarter than him. But then, Betty thought she was smarter than everybody. “Morry, you’ve been a pain in my arse for decades. Just when I had things how I liked, you’d turn up and tell everybody it’s morally wrong, or illegal, or some other such nonsense. Unlike the rest of the idiots in here, I won’t greatly miss you. I will miss our games of hide-the-salami though. I enjoyed having a toy boy.”
That was it! He launched himself out of the chair that had a death grip on his backside and stalked across the platform to snatch the microphone out of Caroline’s hand.
He pointed at Betty. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”
