Chapter Text
A scene of domestic bliss in the Craggy Island Parochial House. Ted is reading a book in his favourite armchair by the fireside, whilst Jack is comatose and dribbling green slime in his own chair. Mrs. Doyle is busy clearing the dinner table, and Dougal is at the window with his binoculars.
“What a lovely Summer evening!” he remarks, as the gale moans around the house and splatters hailstones against the window.
“It’s certainly a nice evening to be indoors,” says Ted with a smile.
The clock ticks. Ten to seven. Ted goes back to his reading. Mrs. Doyle takes the plates away, and returns with the tea trolley. Dougal has another look through his binoculars; then frowns, polishes the window, has another look, and turns to Ted.
“Are we... expecting guests?” he asks, sounding slightly alarmed.
“Is there someone coming up the path? Can you tell who it is at all?”
“I can’t tell, they’ve got big raincoats on with hoods up. There’s a tall thin one and a short fat one... They’re coming fast, Ted! They’re running!”
“It’s probably just some parishioners wanting to talk to me. Will you let them in, Mrs. Doyle?”
“”Of course, Father,” the housekeeper says as she hurries to the hallway, “they must be desperate, coming out at this time, and in this weather! Oh, I do hope it’s not a death...”
Dougal ducks out of sight below the windowsill as the two figures hurry past outside, then slips behind a curtain when he hears the sound of knocking. He listens as the front door is opened, the wind wails through it, and it is slammed shut again. Footsteps and indistinct voices go back and forth for a minute or so. They’re being shown in! Perhaps if he can creep to the other curtain unseen he can shut himself in a cupboard in the sideboard for the rest of the evening instead of having to say hello? He peeks around the side of the curtain, watching for a moment when everyone’s back is turned. Mrs. Doyle is explaining that these holidaymakers have lost their tent in the storm and need some shelter until it passes.
The newcomers, he observes, are two very bedraggled women. The shorter one has dark hair and a long off-white cardigan. She introduces herself as Geraldine Granger. Southern English accent. Looks like she might be a handshaker, or even a hugger. Urgh! The taller one, dressed in a fuzzy pink jumper and floral skirt, is stooped over her clasped hands and awkwardly peering in from the doorway. Geraldine calls her Alice. She hardly seems a threat at all; She looks how he feels. She’s looking up – looking in his direction – meeting his gaze! She smiles, then puts her hands to her face and turns to Ted, who is running through the introductions.
“...And this is Father Jack Hackett - don’t worry about him, he’s just been at the Swarfega. He’ll be out cold for a good few hours yet. And that lump in the curtain there is Father Dougal McGuire, my curate. Yes, we know you’re there, Dougal. It’s time to be polite. Or do I have to come and get you?”
“You might have to come and get me, Ted. I’m a bit scared.”
Ted shakes his head and apologises to the guests before dragging Dougal into the open by his elbow, muttering all the while about how embarrassing this is.
“Come on then,” says Ted, “Say something nice to our visitors.”
“I like your jumper,” he says to Alice, who is definitely the safer option, “it looks like a big marshmallow.”
“Thank you!” says Alice in a small voice, then suffers a bout of giggling before adding, “Your tank top has lots of lovely colours.”
“It’s my favourite. I bought it in a charity shop.”
“It’s nice,” she squeaks from behind her hands.
“Um... Your jumper’s nice too.”
“I like yours as well.”
Geraldine finds this exchange amusing and endearing, but Ted pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head in exasperation. So now there’s two of them...
“Alright Dougal,” sighs Ted, “that’s enough politeness now. Let’s all sit down and we’ll see if we can help these ladies find somewhere to spend the night.”
“Will I make up the spare room, Father?” asks Mrs. Doyle, who has brought in more tea and a mountain of sandwiches.
“Well, if it’s no trouble – if it’s not, you know, unseemly or anything,” says Geraldine, who is very much aware of the rapidly increasing number of hailstones smeared down the window and has no wish to go back outside.
“Probably one of the pubs will have a room free,” replies Ted, “it’s just that we’ve only got a double bed in the spare room, so you’d have to share.”
“Oh, we don’t mind that, it’s still better than being out in this weather. We could give you some money to cover food and everything...”
“Yes Mrs. Doyle,” says Ted, shepherding the guests towards the sofa, “they’ll be staying here. Come and get warm, both of you, and have some tea.”
“Thank you! That’s very kind,” says Geraldine. She takes the nearest seat on the sofa and begins laying into the sandwiches.
Alice trots along behind her and perches on the middle seat, making sure to leave room for Dougal; she is a little disappointed when he opts to sit on the hearthrug instead, but soon realises that this set-up allows her to have a good view of his cute little face and super-trendy knitwear.
“So, are you Catholic yourselves?” asks Ted, when they are all sitting comfortably.
“Oh yes,” replies Alice, “I can walk along a garden wall, and jump over a coffee table.”
“Catholic,” says Geraldine, very slowly and clearly, “not cat-like. He wants to know if we practice Roman Catholicism. Because he’s a priest!”
“Oh, I see,” says Alice, “That explains everything!”
“No, Father,” Geraldine tells Ted, “we’re Church of England. But we’re here to learn new things and find out about the local culture, aren’t we, Alice?”
“We’ve been to see the Holy Stone already. That was nice.”
“We’d like to go to the pub to see the Irish folk band tomorrow night, wouldn’t we?”
“They’re definitely worth seeing,” says Ted, “probably the best bit of... culture we have on this island.”
“I love Irish bands,” says Alice, “Boyzone, Westlife...”
At this moment, Jack reminds everyone of his presence by stirring and snorting loudly in his sleep. He spits up another glob of Swarfega before flopping back to his original position.
“Are you sure he’s alright?” Geraldine asks, concerned, “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance or something?”
“No, no!” says Ted, half-laughing, “He’s always raiding the old cleaning cupboard. Indestructible, isn’t he, Dougal?”
“Who is?” asks Dougal, nonplussed.
“Jack.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“You know, Father Jack Hackett. Over there. He’s only lived here with us for four years.”
“Ah right, yeah. Him. Jack. You know Ted, I don’t like the look of that green slime running down his chin there. That doesn’t usually happen, now, does it?”
“It’s Swarfega, Dougal.”
“That’s alright then.”
“You’ll have to forgive him,” Ted explains to Geraldine, “he has these... momentary lapses occasionally. He forgets what’s going on and who everyone is. There’s nothing anyone can do about it, unfortunately.”
“Sometimes I have quite long lapses, don’t I, Ted?” says Dougal, grinning.
“They can go on for a while, yes.”
“Remember when I spent a whole day thinking I was a milkman, and I had a bomb on the milk float, and you had to try to save me, and...”
“That was a particularly bad one, wasn’t it?” sighs Ted, who has no desire to enter into another of their regular arguments about what is real and what isn’t right now.
“I’m so glad it was just a dream, Ted. Sure, I’d have been terrified out of my mind if that had really happened. It’d have put me off milk for life.”
“Um... Dougal,” says Ted, keen to end the discussion, “why don’t you get that little rabbit of yours out to show the ladies? See if they’d like to play with him?”
Nobody understands why Geraldine suddenly laughs so hard and for so long that she chokes on her sandwich, and has to be patted on the back.
“I bet you’d love to have a stroke of his... little rabbit, wouldn’t you?” she asks Alice when she has recovered enough to speak and Dougal has skipped off out of the room, “Maybe see if you can make it hop up and down?”
“Oh yes, I love bunnies!” Alice replies, although she is still at a loss as to what the big joke might be.
“He’s a very friendly little rabbit,” Ted continues, “Loves being picked up and held. He’ll just sit in your hands.”
This sets Geraldine off again. Ted has a sneaking suspicion that he is being made fun of, although he can’t justify it enough to actually say anything about it; so instead he goes for what is surely the safest question in the world, and asks her what she does for a living.
“I thought you’d never ask! It’s a bit of a coincidence, actually,” she replies, pausing to brush crumbs from her shirt and pick up her teacup with no thought as to what this delay might be doing to her host’s nerves, “I’m a vicar.”
“Oh! Really?” says Ted, his eyebrows shooting up to hide under his hair as if startled themselves, “Well, I, err... I suppose they let women do everything these days, don’t they?”
“Absolutely anything!” Geraldine replies, struggling to keep a straight face as she watches him flounder.
“You know, I met a woman once who was a solicitor. She seemed perfectly competent.”
“Perfectly competent, eh?”
“So - How do your parishioners feel about... you know, the whole woman vicar thing?”
“Oh, mixed reactions. Mostly positive, one or two still aren’t convinced. But it’s been – what, three, four years now? And no-one’s managed to get rid of me yet. So I think that’s a win.”
“Of course, it doesn’t bother me at all, but I know a few people round here who’d be chasing you with pitchforks and flaming torches... Oh look, here’s Dougal and Sampras. That’s the rabbit, Sampras.”
“Sampras the rabbit!” giggles Alice, “Wow, that’s clever.”
“Is it?” asks Geraldine. Now it’s her turn to be nonplussed.
“You know, rabbits? Tennis..?”
“You see, Ted?” says Dougal as he sits back down on the rug with Sampras in his lap, “Alice knows the whole connection there.”
Ted still does not understand, but nods and pretends he does to save face in front of the visitors. He is starting to find Geraldine in particular strangely intimidating, and quite enjoys seeing her look lost.
Alice, meanwhile, is taking full advantage of the excuse to get a little closer to the intriguing young man with the mind-melting smile. She shuffles down onto the rug beside him as if drawn by a magnetic force, and gleefully accepts the offer of the bunny to pet.
“Why don’t you tell her the story of the day you brought Sampras home?” Ted suggests to Dougal.
“That’s a fantastic story, isn’t it, Ted?” he replies.
“Ah, it is. I’m just going out for a smoke.”
“OK, so. Anyway, what happened was, the bishop was coming but there were loads of rabbits all over the place, and... hang on, that was after I bought him home... So there’s this mobile pet shop that comes round twice a year, but Jack had been running about in the nip terrifying people, so it was coming to tell us off... No, that was the bishop... I’ll start again...”
“I think I’ll just go and put our bags in our room, and get freshened up” Geraldine says to Alice; but she is too entranced by the story, or at least the storyteller, to respond. Of course the vicar sees the signs of entrancement very clearly, although what exactly to do about it will take some thought. It may be sweet and funny now, but can’t possibly end well. There may well be tears on the way home, if not before.
In the hallway she finds Ted hunched against the wall smoking a cigarette and staring at the floor, but no bags.
“Mrs. Doyle already took them upstairs,” Ted explains, “It’ll be the first door on your right when you go up.”
“Thanks – err... Father, do you mind if I ask a question that might seem a bit... strange?”
“No, no, fire away,” says Ted, although his eyebrows have dashed for shelter under his fringe again.
“Um... where are we, exactly? I mean, what’s the name of this island?”
“It’s called Craggy Island. Are you lost? That would explain how you ended up here on holiday. We’re not exactly a tourist hotspot.”
“No, no, I thought it was Craggy Island, it’s just – I’m sure my parents brought me here when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember it being anything like this. There was a beach, and some woods, and a little stream, and – well, I can’t find anything that looks how I remember it. It’s just very very strange.”
“Ah, you must have been to the West side. It broke off in a storm back in ’92. It’s a shame, it was an area of outstanding natural beauty. Now all we have is – well, you’ve seen yourself, I’m sure.”
“It... broke off?!”
“That’s right. Just floated away and was never seen again.”
Ted takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhales a cloud at the ceiling. Geraldine waits for him to explain further with her hands on her hips, her look of incredulity graduating to suspicion.
“Are you serious?” she says after a few moments, “no, you’re having me on. That can’t happen, can it?”
“You’d be amazed at what the laws of nature can get away with on this godforsaken rock. Well, at least we know why you’re here now.”
“Yes, it has been a bit of a mistake so far, but it’s very kind of you to put us up, Father. Well, I’ll go and see if I’ve got any dry socks to put on.”
She turns away and climbs the stairs, and hardly has time to wonder why they go up a little higher than the landing to do a quarter-turn and come back down a couple of steps when she bumps into Mrs. Doyle. The housekeeper is carrying a bundle of bedclothes.
“Ah, there you are,” she says cheerfully, “I was just coming to tell you the room’s all ready for you, I’ve changed the bed and tidied up some of the rubbish we keep in there. It’s that door there, on the right. The bathroom’s just along the landing, on the left. If you want a bath, you’ve got an hour or so until we put Father Hackett to bed.”
“Lovely, thank you very much, Mrs. Doyle.”
“No trouble at all... Sorry, I didn’t ask, is it Missus or Miss Granger?”
“It’s Reverend, but...”
Mrs. Doyle cuts her short with a sudden, shrill scream, then dashes off down the stairs wailing the news to Ted.
“They’re all mad,” sighs Geraldine to herself as she lets herself into the spare room, “they’d fit right in on one of our council meetings.”
She finds the room to be clean and warm, and the bed reasonably comfy. Her first task is to upend the travel bags, which both contain a jumble of things that she and Alice managed to salvage from the wreckage of their tent; She finds a towel and a set of dry enough pyjamas, then hangs the wettest of their clothes on the radiator, the bedstead, the curtain rail and the lampshade before she goes for her bath.
As soon as she sits in the warm water, she begins to feel very tired indeed. Only the zingy wallpaper keeps her awake long enough to get dry. Pottering back to the bedroom in her pyjamas, her intention is to have a little rest for ten minutes or so then go downstairs to check on Alice; but straight away, she falls into a deep sleep.