19. A Woman in Bed

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson

The Reverend Barney Pickle isn;t up to the strains involved in sharing his bed with a female.

The rest of the first night in the Retreat was spent in the silent world of dreamless sleep, at least it was for Barney once his fear if demonic possession had dissolved into weariness. Emma spent some of the night, before sleep also overcame her, thinking of the vicar she worked for and troubled by what she understood as a load of nonsense that apparently controlled a great deal of what he thought and did And from the few snippets she’d picked up from him the dark beginning of his thoughts seemed to lie almost buried, deep in his childhood.

Eventually she, too, succumbed to the blissful silence of sleep. But no night can last for ever, especially a short one like this one must have been after the disturbance, one that had already been interrupted by Barney’s belief that there was the devil at his window but what was apparently a television aerial being slapped against that window by an angry wind.

Once daylight had dawned it was Barney who woke up first and before he opened his eyes to see what the new day looked like he turned over still half asleep only to find himself almost snuggling up to Emma in her smooth and shiny nightdress. He had temporarily forgotten that she had joined him in his bed and the rediscovery suddenly alarmed him.

He knew that men sometimes slept with women, after all, his parents had, though the amount of grumbling about sin that his father gave vent to indicated it might not be a pleasant experience. That, of course, was before his mother had succumbed to heart failure and winged her way to where the fair sex was bound to wing its way, to the deepest, darkest and nastiest depths of hell, because weren’t they always and inevitably the mothers of sin?

But here was Mrs Dresden, what did she want him to call her? Emma? Something like that, and she was in his bed dressed in a tiny pink and very shiny nightdress and to his shame he really wanted to touch it.

When had she put that on? He didn’t know, though in truth it was before she had entered his room and he hadn’t even noticed what she’d been wearing.

And now he was lying plumb right next to her, his pyjamas were actually in contact with that shiny garment. And then horror almost of all horrors, he was aware of something awry in his pyjama bottoms.

This was it, he found himself, tears in his eyes and horror in his heart. This was the one dreadful thing that his father had warned him about and the blame was certainly surely in the hands of a woman, and not just any woman but one he thought to be almost beautiful when she dressed in one of her pretty short frocks and if it crossed his mind to contemplate what she looked like.

But now the big problem wasn’t anything to do with what he thought she might or might not look like but how to extricate himself from her proximity when she was on one side of the bed next to him, and the wall of the room was on the other.

He started wriggling, not that it was likely to do anything useful because wriggling never does.

Maybe he should somehow try to levitate over her sleeping body whilst doing his uttermost best not to come into any further contact with that shiny pink thing she was wearing. And above all, make sure that his pyjama bottoms stayed well clear of her or she might detect a hint of his greatest shame.

He thought about it for a while. A shaft of brilliant sunshine poked through a gap between the two curtains that shut the greater part of the world out and preserved his decency whilst it reflected from a shiny pink sliver of Emma’s nightdress that somehow had escaped being covered by the quilt that almost totally covered them both.

“So you’re awake, Barney?” she murmured, and her eyes flickered open, “What sort of a day is it, do you think?”

“Eh?” he spluttered, “yes, the day: I think it’s sunny, all right And I was trying to get out of bed… but...but…”

“But I’m in the way? You silly man! I’ll shift for you, easy as winking.. but my Ralf, you know, my dearest late husband, always said that a morning that this one looks to be, with sun breaking through the thickest of curtains, well, a morning like this is made for love…”

Barney was almost overpowered by what lay in her simple memory of a man who had passed away several years earlier. Cancer, it had been, or so he remembered from the funeral service he had conducted, though he might be wrong. His memory was never quite perfect.

“But that was your husband!” he choked, “and I’m not him! I’m not wed to you and loving of any sort out of wedlock is a sin!! And sinners, as you must know, are destined to spend an eternity in Hell!”

“I wasn’t suggesting!” she almost exploded, “what sort of woman do you think I am, Barney? I’ve had the most glorious loving years, and my Ralfy was good at making my heart beat that little bit faster on a morning such as this, he could do things to my flesh that no other man would even have a chance to try because he was married to me and no-one else was or ever will be!”

“Mrs Dresden!” he protested, “I mean, Emma… it didn’t cross my mind…”

“I know, Barney, you’re a man of the Lord with a mind in high places, and such a thought wouldn’t even begin to form in your mind and I meant no offence by saying what I, a silly woman, did say. It’s just that memories of Ralf, the way he slid out of his Pjs with a light in his eyes, the look on his face as he kissed me and looked deep into my own eyes, and other things I daren’t mention to a holy man, the things he did to me… they’re on my mind but also in a past that can never come back. And that’s the misery iof widowhood”

“I’ll try to understand, dear lady,” he said, chastened and aware that the misbehaviour in his pyjama bottoms was getting even worse, a sure sign that some saint was already scribbling his name in a big book under a column headed with the fiery letters of the monosyllabic HELL.

“I must get up,” he blathered, aware that what was wrong with him must be kept a mighty secret from any daughter of the biblical Eve.

So when he wriggled past her feet it was the biggest of all shames when he saw what her eyes were looking at and the way she licked her lips and smiled.

“That takes me back…” ehe murmured, “such a long time back. Oh vicar, I’m sorry if it was me that did that to you, that caused such excitement…”

`Barney was saved further embarrassment by a stentorian knock on the door, followed by the easily recognisable voice of Father Teatrader.

“Are you all right in there,” it bawled, “and Reverend, your companion, the lady you’re retreating with, she seems to be nowhere. I have looked, but I can’t find her anywhere, and I even tried the herb garden. I don’t suppose…”