just as, coincidentally, did Sylvia, only she had to sit on the pew in front, as there was no more room. She glared at her husband for not saving her a place.
‘I was just telling Angus about the book club,’ I breezed.
‘What book club?’ asked Sylvia, quick as a flash.
‘Oh, er … I’ll tell you about it later, my love,’ said Angus, as, fortuitously, Saintly Sue tapped her lectern to get us to our feet. We all rose obediently.
‘Is he coming?’ Jennie asked me softly, alarmed.
‘Think so,’ I told her.
‘We’ll have to ask Sylvia, now,’ she said nervously.
‘No we don’t,’ I said brazenly. ‘That’s not what Peggy had in mind at all. We don’t want Sylvia.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Jennie muttered as Sylvia’s head half turned at her name.
‘And anyway, she’s got bridge on a Tuesday.’
I raised my chin. Opened my mouth to fairly shout the Gloria to the heavens, feeling empowered and euphoric. In fact my voice rang out so loud and clear above the others that Sue glanced at me in delight.
Luke, true to form, was late. This time I took more interest as he bounced boyishly down the aisle, blond hair flopping, music under his arm, eyes twinkling behind his specs. Hm. He’ll do, I thought.
Jennie shot me a horrified look. One or two people in the pew in front turned to grin.
‘What?’
‘You just said, “He’ll do”!’ she hissed.
‘Did I? Oh, well. Nothing like a bit of clarity, eh?’
More titters at this. Meanwhile Luke bounded up the steps to his organ, raised his sensitive hands and struck a chord which we all dutifully followed, launching into the Gloria again.
Afterwards, as we gathered up our hymn sheets and shuffled out, I made purposefully for our new organist as he descended from his instrument at the far end of the church. Jennie was on my heels, though, a restraining hand on my arm.
‘Steady,’ she muttered.
‘What? I’m just going to see if he wants to join.’
‘I know, I can tell, but some people might not understand the eager gleam in the young widow’s eyes. Might misconstrue it for callousness.’
I frowned as I hastened on. ‘Phil was having an affair, Jennie. For four years. I hate him for that. I hate him for lying to me, deceiving me and betraying me. I didn’t have a life, not a proper one; he saw to that. I just want to get on with what’s left of my life now. See what else is out there.’ I shook her off and strode towards the door, our organist ahead of us.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Jennie was saying, scurrying after me. ‘It’s just that social conventions being what they are, people will expect a tad of grief nonetheless and –’
‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ I told her firmly. ‘Not under the circumstances.’ I beamed as I bore down on Blondie.
He turned, a sheaf of music under his arm; smiled, surprised. Then, as the penny dropped, so did his countenance. He regarded me gravely.
‘Oh, Mrs Shilling. Oh, yes, I heard. I’m so terribly sorry. Please accept my sincere condolences.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ I said, waving my hand airily. ‘That’s all over and done with now, dead and buried even – hah! Now look, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a few of us gals,’ I waggled my eyebrows jauntily, ‘are forming a bit of a book club. Didn’t know if you’d like to join?’
He gazed, startled. Was he all there, I wondered?
‘It’s on a Tuesday night,’ I went on more slowly, kindly even, in case he couldn’t keep up, ‘at Angie’s place. That’s Angie, the very attractive divorcee, who’s not here tonight although she’s usually in the choir. And her house is the pretty manor house you pass just as you go out of the village. We’ll have drinks and nibbles at seven and nothing too serious book-wise. In fact we might not even have books at all!’ I turned to grin at Jennie, who was looking strangely horrified. Odd, my friend Jennie: one minute she wanted me to snap out of it, the next, to snap right back in.
‘What Poppy means,’ she purred, shoving me out of the way and walking beside Luke as he went to get his bike from the church porch, ‘is that we won’t be tackling Dostoyevsky immediately, if you know what I mean.’
‘Oh, right. Jolly interesting, I expect, but a bit heavy, I agree.’
Was it my imagination, or was he shooting me interested