They may not mean to, but they do - 5. Five

The next ten days dragged horribly. On Thursday, Keith had sent a text to Thomas, one that had taken him hours to compose. Friendly, casual, and keen, but not over-keen. And preferably with a pun as well, the best he could do was saying how much he had enjoyed himself; it had been hard to tear himself away. Then there was silence, but late on Thursday night there was an apologetic one from Thomas, it even sounded weary; he had had a long and problematic day, but Wednesday was a happy memory and he looked forward to their walk.

Bart and Greg returned on Friday, and Keith could not wait to tell them about Thomas. He tried to play it down, after all, they had done little but kiss. However, it was clear to Bart and to Greg that Keith was smitten, and they tried to be realistic whilst also encouraging. But the subject of Thomas could only stretch so far, and they were also talking about plans for the weekend, an unexpectedly free Sunday meant that Bart and Greg were thinking of going for a drive. Greg had started to pay more attention to his phone, rather than the conversation.

Bart looked over at Greg, “Excuse me, are you with us?”

A bit shame-faced, Greg apologised, “How do you fancy going to Hamforth Wold on Sunday, they have Evensong at 3 pm.”

Keith’s “Hamforth Wold?” and Bart’s “Evensong?” came out simultaneously, both guys puzzled. Keith continued, “Have I missed something?”

Greg wiggled his head and held up his phone screen, not that Keith could see the detail, “I’ve found your man’s brother. He is the vicar of a group parish centred on Hamforth Wold; lovely church, 16th century; I think Dad did a confirmation service there.”

Keith was fascinated and aghast, “You mean go and check up on Thomas?”

Greg grinned, “Not a bit, just a drive around and take in a service in a fine church, and I get to re-visit old memories!”

Bart had an amused smile, “Go on Keith, it’ll be fun. It’s a lovely area, and if the weather is nice, we can walk a bit, find a pub for lunch and all we’re talking about is a short service. Sit at the back, slip out at the end. And we have an excuse, Greg returning to happy memories, having a bishop’s son as a boyfriend comes in handy sometimes.”

Keith thought about it, “Ok, but how did you find the information?”

Greg grinned again, waving his phone, “Easy enough if you know which of the diocesan websites to use, they list all the priests in the area. Very handy, and his surname matches that of Thomas Martins who is CEO of the charity Yorkshire Art for All.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be, he does it all the time,” Bart playfully slapped his partner.

And so, it was agreed, they would drive up to Hamforth Wold on Sunday, the CAMRA Guide was consulted and a suitable pub for lunch was identified, a short distance from the place. Keith was keen to see where Thomas lived, but also paranoid that Thomas might be about. But he’d said that he was completely tied up with the conference, hadn’t he? But what if the conference was an excuse, that he was free but didn’t want to meet Keith? Whichever way he thought about it, Keith was anxious.

--oOo—oOo—

The weather was kind, and they had a pleasant drive up. Greg insisted on Keith travelling with them, which meant a more comfortable ride than if he’d used the van. Keith had also dug out his walking boots from the bottom of the wardrobe. When Bart had seen them, he had commented that being as Keith had brought them, they had better use them. So, they parked in a car park designed for walkers and tourists and set off across the fields. Except that the walk was a clearly marked trackway, which even had signs for tourists, so they were hardly exploring into the unknown. Keith was used to walking mainly as a means of getting about, but to Greg and Bart it was an end in itself and there was plenty to see along the route. Greg had comments about the odd building they saw, and a couple of ruins, whilst Bart seemed to have a wide knowledge of birds and trees. Though Bart claimed not to know that much, Keith was impressed.

The pub, when they reached it wasn’t a large building, a traditional stone-built place that Greg was able to describe accurately. The bar was tiny and seemed to be rather full of a pair of very large, very hairy dogs, but the beer was good and there was a basic but tasty range of food. The older guy serving behind the bar was gruff and rather off-hand, though his wife who brought their food was chattier, and the food was served on what seemed to be hand-thrown plates. They found a table outside and enjoyed watching the walkers arrive and depart, and those who came in cars. And the beer was good. Against his better judgement, Keith had a second pint and rather regretted it on the walk back to the car when the need to piss repeatedly competed with the desire to have a nap.

He dozed off in the car and regretted it when they arrived in Hamforth Wold, and he awoke with a woozy head. It was still more of a working village, and not picture-book, but the church was right out of a book. Greg took them on a tour of the outside, but most of what he said went over Keith’s head. For all that, it was interesting to have the different sections of the building indicated, and how they were each constructed at a different time. When Greg pointed things out, it seemed obvious, and you wondered why you hadn’t noticed before.

Keith tried to remember the last time he’d been to church. His Dad had never bothered, but his Gran had sometimes taken him along, so there had been odd services such as carols at Christmas. But that was years ago. And it had not prepared him for what happened when they walked through the church door.

For a start, they were immediately greeted by a man in a suit, elderly with a rather florid complexion, smiling and welcoming them, and handing them a little pile of books whilst giving them instructions. They found seats at the back, in pews with elaborate carved ends about which both Bart and Greg were enthusiastic. The pews were pretty full, and the leaflet on the top of the pile explained things, it was some sort of celebration service for the area. Bart whispered to him, ‘Bet it's not usually this busy, probably just two old ladies and a dog’. Keith grinned, then felt guilty.

At least the number of people meant that they were not conspicuous, and Keith could look round, at the shiny old woodwork, a series of stone monuments that were just too far away to make out, impressive (to him) stained glass, and much else besides. And the smells, the scent of the flowers but also an underlying one of polish and something else as well. And who were all these people? Mainly middle-aged and elderly, Keith was in the middle of some idle speculation when the music started.

Greg had been dutifully finding the places in the various books, and he joined lustily in with the responses, with the hymns and other such things, but Keith let it all wash over him. The language was old and picturesque, and the music sober and suitable. Evidently, there was a special choir too, so that they sang things, one or two of which Keith enjoyed. He’d recently started regretting that his musical knowledge was so narrow, he kept happening on things which he wished he knew more about.

Thomas’ brother didn’t do much, and without craning his neck Keith couldn’t see much of him. He read one of the lessons and proved to be a slim, rather stooped man, thinning brown hair and glasses. Did he look like Thomas, Keith wasn’t sure? The only low point was the sermon. Another vicar (who was a visitor, evidently), a moon-faced young man with a halo of golden hair, didn’t use the elaborate pulpit but walked down and chatted to the congregation. As far as Keith could tell, it went down well but Keith couldn’t make head-nor-tail of it.

And then it was over. As they were leaving, a tiny elderly woman came up to them and insisted that they come for ‘the tea’, which was in honour of the special occasion. So, they allowed themselves to be ushered into a hall, 1950s but in good nick with decent paint and well-maintained Keith was pleased to note. Bart, returning with cups of tea and cake, grinned ‘checking up on them’, Keith went a bit red but smiled and nodded.

They were not alone for long, and the little old lady reappeared and soon was fascinated to find that Greg had attended his father, the bishop’s confirmation service there. She shuttled off and came back with an equally tiny, and equally elderly, man and they both quizzed Greg about his connection to the bishop and the church. There was much to-ing and fro-ing between the two elders as they tried to identify which confirmation service it was.

Keith listened, fascinated at first, but allowed his mind to wander. He found himself curious about the service and about the music. And about Thomas’ brother. What did vicars do, they could not spend all the week doing this sort of thing in church, so what else was there? And was Thomas involved? Keith was fascinated, and aware that he might never find out.