Sunday 26th March 1978: Easter Sunday
Robbie was surprised to be woken the next morning by his bedroom door swinging open and his mother appearing with tea and toast on a tray. She was on a mission.
“Easter Sunday, Church!” she announced, “The Rev. Jackson says he’s short of male singers for the choir.”
His mother presented the tray as communion, complete with toast and tea rather than bread and wine.
Robbie had given up on god the year before, dropping out of being confirmed a couple of weeks into First Communion Preparation as he’d felt too many participants were in it for cash prizes, a booze-fuelled retreat and a day out (he was right). He’d not sung in the choir since then, though he busked often enough. He could hold a tune.
“There’ll be girls, you know: Imogen Mackesy, Katie Thomlinson, the Pennys.”
Robbie’s mind drifted onto the irony of this, his mother, a practising Christian, using the ‘lust of the loins,’ a sin, he thought, to tempt him to Church. As his mother ran through the names of girls he’d never heard of, he realised she was thinking of their recently divorced or widowed father—the few ‘eligible’ men of Gosforth.
Robbie said ‘yes’. The key to a ‘good vac’: well spent was to spend as little time as possible at home, even if that meant Church. In any case, Mum getting out of bed was a great sign. Kizzy had written to him about how worried they’d all been and how long she’d been staying in her room.
Robbie returned to the present as Mum placed a copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern on the tray. She knew which hymns there would be. He’d be singing as a tenor. He should resist bursting in with any countertenor fanciness unless expressly indicated that he could do so in advance.
He would take a quick look. He promised. He looked at the time. He didn’t need to worry. It was only 6.30 a.m.
Up at All Saint’s Robbie could look on the positive side – attending Church in the choir was always better than being in the congregation. Being in the choir was like being on stage with the lights up; you could see the audience.
The children’s rhyme ‘Here’s the Church, and here’s the steeple. Open the doors, and here’re the people’ inevitably returned to him as he went through the motions with his fingers. This Church had family connections. His parents had been married here. He’d been christened here. It gave him a kind of authority.
Mum was right about Church that Easter Morning. Robbie noticed Fenella Penny in the congregation as he sang, ‘Christ the Lord is Risen Today.
Robbie was the only male singer in the choir. His voice sounded like a saxophone surrounded by harps.
He was still getting letters from Fenny Penny; they’d had a bit of a thing at Christmas. Neither of them had dared kiss ‘properly’ as they had braces on their teeth. They’d given it a go. A kind of air kiss with tongues, which felt creepy and wrong, made them laugh, and they’d bonded over it. She’d had her brace out at half-term. He wasn’t sure if she’d still be interested in him. He hoped so.
After the service, Robbie was about to change out of his cassock in the vestry when the Rev Jackson came over. “We’re having a group photograph of the choir. As an honorary member would you like to make an appearance.” Robbie thought not and continued to change out of his cassock. Then Julie-Anne approached him and brought up the ‘Disco’ in the Church Hall that coming Friday. Robbie wasn’t so sure he’d be attending; he hated the brace on his mouth and wanted to be sure that was gone first. Not that that was the excuse he gave.
“I’d like to be home right now,” he said, thinking of his mother, his brother. All kinds of things.
He’d known Julie-Anne for a few years. Her mum was Norwegian which explained her bright blond hair. At age 12, they’d held hands once and then written to each other occasionally while he was away at school – he’d been away since he was 8. He’d still sit with her occasionally and stroke her rabbit while listening to David Soul.
“Could you attend choir practice?” Rev. Jackson asked.
Robbie wasn’t sure. He had exam revision. The ready-made excuse. They were all at it – exam revision. Supposedly.
Katie Thomlinson came over and asked Robbie if he’d come over to play tennis. He wasn’t sure about tennis, but appreciated that the tennis club across the road from the Church was a popular meeting place for girls his age. Katie was probably at the same school as Kizzy. Looked the same age too. Maybe he should play once he’d got the brace off his teeth. So much rested on getting his mouth back!
Kizzy came to find him. They’d be getting the bus home. Mum had met someone and would be staying on.
“Someone brought her flowers. I saw the card. Colin’s back on the scene,” Kizzy said.
They walked down to the High Street to catch the No.45, a short ride away towards Gosforth Park, the rugby club and where they lived.
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