Work Text:
Quarantine - Week Two
*
In the main, Jo enjoyed the pastoral care element of her job. Yes, it could be difficult, challenging, exhausting, or all three, but it was also one of the most rewarding parts of her role.
It was a good thing that it could be so rewarding, because while looking out for the spiritual welfare of her parishioners was one thing, adding in their mental, physical and emotional needs as well made it something else entirely. Unfortunately, it was impossible to separate the spiritual from everything else, so as she looked out for the spiritual needs, she also kept a weathered eye on everything else, regardless of how much more work that gave her.
Every parish had their own particular needs. The suburban city church she had done her curacy in had been in a relatively poor area, so there had been a real need for practical care to meet people’s physical needs, whether through playgroups and children’s work, homework clubs or foodbanks.
In her next church, the town had been more affluent, but with that had brought a different set of problems, mainly tending towards mental and emotional health.
One thing Jo had learnt over the years though was to tread carefully and to keep an open mind. A smiling, happy family on a Sunday morning might be struggling mentally the rest of the week. That supportive, warm-hearted man might be cold and abusive to his wife. That happily married couple could both be carrying on affairs*.
*Or be swingers. Now that was one couple she wasn’t going to forget easily. But since it had been consensual for all involved, she had wisely backed away and sealed her lips.
The fact was, you never really knew what was under the surface of people’s lives. God did, of course, and so Jo had learnt to take notice of that little nudge, that little whisper to look again, look deeper, reach out, because someone might be in trouble even if it doesn’t look like it.
Most of the time it was small things, little hints that built into a bigger, clearer picture; hesitations, excuses, increased anger or tearfulness.
Then, at other times, it was as simple and as obvious as a phone call.
In this case, it was Sandra who called. That was surprising in itself since Sandra wasn’t a church goer – the odd Christmas Eve or Carol Service aside – and they moved in somewhat different social circles – Sandra being the type of person who moved in multiple social groups at once, only a couple of which crossed Jo’s. As such, Jo didn’t know her all that well, so was a little surprised when Sandra called her out of the blue.
After a minute or two of pleasantries and grumbles about the pandemic and lockdown, Sandra got to the point.
“It’s about Aziraphale,” she said, much to Jo’s surprise. “I just wondered if you had spoken to him recently? Especially since they went into quarantine.”
In truth, Jo hadn’t. Having heard what had happened with Dave, she had checked in with first Emily and then Crowley and Aziraphale. They had assured her they were fine and would let her know if that changed, but they had been surprisingly confident that they wouldn’t get the virus and that everything would be fine. That had been over a week ago and she hadn’t heard anything since and had been rather too flat out busy to follow up on it.
“It’s just,” Sandra went on to say, “I was passing Eden Cottage earlier and I heard rather a lot of shouting.”
Shouting?
“I couldn’t really make out what was being said, but it sounded like Crowley and it sounded, well, angry, and rather insulting, and, well, I’m sure you can appreciate, I didn’t want to simply ignore it, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. Lockdown’s not exactly been easy on any of us. Goodness knows tempers are frayed and we’re seeing sides we wouldn’t otherwise see, but if things are getting a bit too much for them, wouldn’t it be better to confront it now, rather than, you know....”
Jo did know. They’d had word from the Church higher ups about the increased risk of domestic assault and abuse during lockdown, and what to look for in particular. She also knew that if there was one person who would take the signs seriously, it would be Sandra. Jo didn’t know the full story, but she knew Sandra was divorced and that she’d gotten full custody of her daughter. Piecing things together, her ex had become controlling and verbally abusive to Sandra, who had put up with it because that’s what you did back then. It was when he started verbally abusing their daughter Gemma as well that Sandra had had enough, and the rest was history.
It was difficult to imagine Crowley being the abusive type. He was always so sweet and attentive when it came to Aziraphale. But appearances could be very deceiving, and public personas could be doubly deceiving. Other than God, and the people involved, no one could really know what happens behind closed doors. Aziraphale and Crowley were also a relatively new couple from what Jo had gathered, this being their first time living together. They might be seeing sides of each other they hadn’t seen before.
“I also saw Aziraphale briefly yesterday,” Sandra continued. “In his garden of course, and at a distance, but he was looking a little, how should I put it, untidy.”
Untidy?
If there was one word that Aziraphale was not, “untidy” would be it. In all the times she had ever seen him, he had never been anything less than impeccably turned out, even while he had been relaxing in his own home. Sure, his waistcoat had seen better days, but a well-loved old waistcoat was distinguished, like the patched tweed favoured by the country nobility. It was not untidy.
Jo doubted Aziraphale had ever been untidy in his life, and yet here was Sandra using the word. Maybe there really was reason to be concerned. If only because this could be quarantine taking its toll.
Assuring Sandra that she would look into it, Jo considered what she would do, and with that, what she would say. Then she checked the weather – sunny – and the time – mid-afternoon – and taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone.
*
She called Aziraphale’s mobile.
It took three attempts before it was picked up. That in itself would have sent alarm bells ringing in Jo’s mind except it was Aziraphale, who was apparently still getting used to having a mobile and was notorious for putting it down somewhere and completely forgetting where it was. It was a running joke that if you wanted to speak to Aziraphale it was quicker to call Crowley. Unfortunately, in this case Jo really wanted to speak to Aziraphale without first alerting Crowley.
“Sincerest apologies, my dear,” Aziraphale said on finally answering. “I had quite forgotten where I had placed this thing. Now, how can I help you this fine afternoon?”
So far so Aziraphale, Jo though. He sounded as cheery and generous as he usually did. She was far too experienced though to take that at face value. It was amazing what masks people could wear if they felt they had to.
“Is Crowley around?” she asked casually.
“Why, yes,” Aziraphale said brightly, as if it wasn’t a ridiculous question considering they were in quarantine so Crowley had to be there. “But he’s presently outside visiting with the alpacas. Poor things are rather missing young Joshua’s company, so Crowley’s gone to spend more time with them.”
Outside. Okay. So far so good.
“Did you wish to speak to him?” Aziraphale said. “I could go and fetch him.”
Jo quickly reassured that it was him she actually needed to speak to.
“You see, I just wanted to check that everything was alright,” she said casually. “Between the two of you I mean,” she added. “It’s just, Crowley was heard shouting earlier, and he apparently sounded rather angry. I just wanted to check that you were alright.”
She held her breath.
“Shouting?” Aziraphale said, a mild quizzical tone to his voice.
“Yes,” Jo said. “Loudly. Very angrily. Rather insulting too. It sounds rather out of character. But if it isn’t, or even if it is, I’m offering my support and a listening, non-judgement ear, especially if there’s something more serious going on. Or even not that serious. Anything at all. It’s just shouting, especially angry, insulting shouting, can often be a symptom of bigger things.”
“Goodness,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, my dear, that is very kind of you, but I do feel there has been rather a misunderstanding here. I don’t doubt there was shouting, but I assure you it wasn’t directed at me if that is your concern. It’s his plants you see, dear Crowley... shouts at his plants.”
His plants?
“It’s how he keeps them in line,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “Terrifies the poor things at times, but it seems to work for him. Certainly keeps them tip top and on their metaphorical toes. Today, I believe it was some underperforming primroses by the rear wall.”
Primroses?
Jo closed her eyes and took a moment to process what he was saying.
Primroses?
As explanations went, it was absolutely ludicrous. She had heard that playing music to plants sometimes caused them to grow better, something to do with the vibrations, but why would anyone shout at their plants? What would that do? And did Crowley really believe that it made a difference?
And yet, was that any better or worse than the idea of him shouting at Aziraphale instead?
Honestly, which situation was the more likely?
“He was shouting at his plants?” she repeated slowly.
“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not particularly fond of it because the poor dears really are doing their best, but it’s his thing and I do wish to be supportive of his interests.”
Right. Okay then.
“And he was definitely not shouting at you.”
“Definitely not,” Aziraphale said surprisingly firmly. “I’m not saying we’ve never shared a cross word, but it’s usually a more end of the world type of an occurrence. And while our present times do feel a little four horseman like, I assure you we are both quite well and managing admirably.”
Right, Jo thought again.
“And the quarantine, how are you finding that?” Jo asked.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve had to cut down on the baking of course, since I can’t share them with people. But I was able to make a small batch of vanilla cupcakes yesterday and I’ve been experimenting with different flavoured icings. I think Crowley was quite taken by the espresso one. He even had a second bite. I should have some new, exciting flavour offerings after we’ve finished quarantining.”
There was so much to unpack in Aziraphale’s words that Jo decided to just play it safe and asked how they were generally.
“Absolutely tip-top,” Aziraphale said jovially. “No pesky coronavirus for us. We’ll be back out taking our walks in no time.”
So, they weren’t too bored then?
“Goodness, no,” Aziraphale said. “Always plenty to do. Crowley’s busy with his garden of course, but he’s helped me to set up this interesting pin account where I can save exciting recipes for later. It’s all rather good. And I’m taking the opportunity to try new things. In fact, I’ve even been thinking of changing up my clothing. So I’ve been going through some of my old things, seeing if there’s anything suitable. In truth it’s been rather a failure so far, but I’ll let you into a little secret, I’ve been rather seeing what I look like… with a beard.”
A beard?
Trying different clothing and growing a beard. Well, that could account for why Sandra had described him as looking a little more untidy than usual.
“Apparently there’s something called a ‘lockdown beard’,” Aziraphale continued. “I’m not too sure about it, in truth, but I thought I would give it a go. Can’t let Crowley have all the fun.”
Again, there was rather a lot to unpack there, but in short, Jo was reassured – and somewhat relieved – to confirm that there were no relationship issues between her newest friends. Nor were they physically ill or mentally struggling.
And if Aziraphale was choosing this time to change his look, then that was all good.
*-*-*
“Who was that?” Crowley asked as he came back into the house.
“Just dear Jo,” Aziraphale said looking quizzically down at his phone. “I do believe she was rather concerned for me. It seems you were overheard shouting at the primroses this morning.”
“Worthless, lazy, good for nothings!”
“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale said. “Except it was thought you might have been shouting at me.”
Crowley looked taken back by that. “I would never shout at you like that, angel. Or call you a worthless, good for nothing-”
“Yes, I know that, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “Only other people don’t know you as I do and I believe they were rather alarmed. I have, however, put them straight on the matter, but I thought maybe some sort of public message might be of use. On that village Friends Book page, perhaps.”
“Facebook,” Crowley corrected. “Sure,” he added. “Can’t have people thinking I’m abusing you after all.”
*
Anthony J. Crowley -> Little Aven Community Group Page
Oi you lot! Apparently there are concerns over me, Aziraphale and some shouting.
To make it clear, I would never shout at Aziraphale or call him names. I do, however, shout at my plants, some of which are WORTHLESS, LAZY, GOOD FOR NOTHING, WASTES OF SPACE who will go to the INCINERATOR if they DON’T START PUTTING IN AN EFFORT SOON!
Clear?! Shouting at Aziraphale, no, shouting at my plants, THEY DESERVE IT!
Anthony J. Crowley -> Little Aven Community Group Page
Does anyone want some primroses?