The Vicar's Wife

''Dominic, take me to the cinema tonight, pleeeeease.''  Dominic glanced down to where  his wife Millicent was sitting on the sofa and shook his head.  "Dinner then, that new restaurant has had rave reviews in the Town Cryer.''  This time Millicent didn’t even receive a shake of the head.  Realising that she had now lost what little attention her husband had given her, she decided to batter her way back into his thoughts by shouting, ''DOMINIC!''  Dominic turned slowly on his heel to face her, he was still wearing the puzzled and confused expression he had entered the room with moments earlier, ''Mmm?  Yes dear, you were saying?''  He answered in a distracted way.   Millicent sighed, and in a loud, clear voice, giving every word a fair chance of being registered in Dominic’s brain, she asked, ''Are-you-busy-dear?''   For a moment or two Millicent feared she had lost him again as he had resumed surveying the room in a perplexed manner, but after a false start or two he managed to answer, ''Um, err, busy?  Yes, busy, drafting sermon, oh, must ring Bishop…….Millicent, do you know what I came in here for?''  Millicent gave up, ''No dear, I have no idea,'' she said, picking up a magazine from the coffee table.  Dominic gave a short laugh and said, ''I expect it’ll come to me.''  And with that, not giving his wife a second glance, he left the room.

Giving an impatient and frustrated ‘tut’ Millicent threw the magazine back onto the coffee table, rose from the sofa and followed Dominic out of the room.  Their mutual paths separated at the foot of the stairs, Dominic to continue down the hall to his study, and Millicent up the stairs to her bedroom.  Not expecting any reply, but still feeling she ought to say something, Millicent told her husband, ''I’m just going for a lie down''  She wasn’t disappointed, Dominic, still lost in his own head, didn’t answer.

Her bedroom was in fact one of the Vicarage’s guest rooms.  Since arriving in the new diocese six months ago they hadn’t, as yet, had any staying guests, so what started off as just a place of sanctuary and privacy had become her sleeping quarters too.  Whether Dominic had noticed her absence from the marital bed was a matter of conjecture, he certainly hadn’t made any enquiry over the new sleeping arrangements.

Having her own room suited her needs perfectly, and a couple of those needs were locked away in the bedside cabinet.  Not that Millicent took any particular precautions at hiding her ‘needs.’  Although carefully locking the cabinet after she had finished with them, she would then put the little key on top of the cabinet, the locking away had become a habit, the fear of discovery was non-existent.  Crouching, she unlocked the cabinet, and with a sigh of impending pleasure she withdrew a bottle of gin, an ashtray, and a pack of twenty Marlboro tipped, with her gold plated lighter tucked inside.   Alright, as guilty pleasures go, when compared to what some people indulged in, these were pretty innocuous, but not to a straight laced, by-the-book Vicar, and by reflection, a Vicar's wife should be squeaky clean.  Lecturing to people against smoking and drinking anything but the occasional glass of wine or sherry had to be backed up with exemplary behaviour.  Millicent, except for these few guilty pleasures, considered her behaviour to be exemplary.  She had never stinted on her role as a Vicar’s wife, willing and uncomplainingly she had carried out her duties, it was only in the last few months that the words  ‘more fool me’ had crept into her unspoken thoughts when she ran her job description attributes through her mind.

Millicent took a deep and satisfying drag on her cigarette, keeping the smoke in her lungs for as long as possible before letting it escape slowly, then taking a mouthful of the raw, neat gin she swilled it around her mouth before swallowing.  Her eyes rolled back in sheer unadulterated pleasure as the fluid made its way, warmly and comfortingly, down to her stomach.  She wasn’t bored; she was too busy to be bored.  She knew that the reason for her discontentment lay in the missing of herself.  She was The Vicar’s Wife.  She doubted if any of the parishioners, old or new, were even aware of her first name.  She was Mrs Morgan, the Vicar’s wife, no past, never considered as once having a childhood, never thought of as the blossoming and very attractive young woman she once was, nothing, no self-identity, just the Vicar’s bloody wife. 

She sat up from the bed and took a long look at herself in the dressing-table mirror, when was the last time she had worn make-up?  Her wedding day?  Yes, her wedding day, and then only the merest smidgen.  In the early romantic days of marriage Dominic had flattered her into believing that she didn’t need to wear what he termed as a harlot’s armoury, she was beautiful as she was, and she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.  Well, bugger that!  Even thinking the expletive gave her a thrill.  She had some errands to run in town tomorrow morning, she was going to make one of those errands hers……she was going to buy some make-up.

There was no need to sneak anything into the house, Dominic had never asked what she may or may not have had in any bag she was carrying.  This time it was different, the sneaking was part of it, part of the excitement.  She had to pass Dominic on his way to his study in the hall and made a show of hiding the bag behind her back, he never even batted an eyelid, but she could pretend he might have noticed, she could pretend that he might find her out.  Millicent was breathless when she reached her room, and feeling like a teenager again she emptied her carrier bag onto the bed.  Make up!!  Even the word made her want to giggle.  Well, she had bought it, now the question was, would she dare to wear it?  OH YES!

Half an hour and several re-starts later she surveyor the final results in the dressing table mirror.  Her smile when it finally came was gentle and sweet, ''I’m me,'' she quietly murmured.  Her self-admiration was abruptly brought to an end by Dominic yelling up the stairs, ‘’Millicent, it’s the err, um, phone, for you dear, it’s err, it’s someone…..for you.’’  Taking one last look in the mirror she hastily grabbed a tissue and wiped herself off her face.

Her make up session became one more secret pleasure.  The more she practised, the more expert she became.  ‘This time,’ she said to herself, ‘This time I am going to go down those stairs, fully made up to the nines and he will have to grin and bear it….this is something, this is part of me, he is not taking away.’   Well, that is what she told herself, the reality never happened, and as the days passed her disappointment in herself grew, as did her consumption of gin, until one mid-morning found her sitting in front of her mirror, beautifully made up but still in her dressing gown and stinking drunk.  Dominic was out, somewhere, she was past caring what he had told her through her bedroom door,  so when the front doorbell rang tottering downstairs to answer it was done in that automatic, non-thinking way that the inebriated often employ.

The young man that stood on her doorstep was….at first glance Millicent thought he was twins, but a hard blink of her eyes re-scrambled the information into solo and handsome.  He was saying something about vacuum cleaners, and would she like to purchase one, she stood to one side and waved him in.  Once she had managed to convey the idea of him sitting and had shut him up about bloody vacuum cleaners, she tried  desperately to put her ‘Vicar’s wife's hat’ on and offer him a drink.  She meant tea, but he had looked towards the drinks cabinet, on top of which a solitary bottle of ten year malt whisky (for the Bishop, should he ever deem to visit) resided on an ornate brass tray alongside an upside down cut glass tumbler.  ‘’Oh, alright then, a little drinky poo.’’  She said, and staggered over to the cabinet.  Deciding to join him, (as much as she preferred gin, she knew that part of being a Vicar’s wife was putting people at their ease) she reached down to take another tumbler out of the cabinet.  It suddenly seemed to Millicent that the cabinet was rushing up to meet her when she felt a firm hand on her ribcage and another on her waist.  ‘’I think you better sit down,’’ said the handsome young man.  Millicent looked down toward where his hand still rested on her now naked flesh, ‘’Ahh, I appear to have come undone,’’  she murmured, referring to her dressing gown.  Strangely she felt neither anger nor embarrassment, what she felt was more like the anticipatory feeling she had before unlocking her bedside cabinet.

The man’s hand slid up and encompassed her breast, his voice, a heavy whisper, came from somewhere close to her left ear,  ‘’Perhaps you would be happier if you were to sit down upstairs.’’  The best Millicent could managed through her dry throat was a croaked, ‘’Yes.’’  Even this short single word barely left her before his lips found hers and his tongue made its first wet exploration of her mouth.  He pulled her body into his and an almost forgotten hardness pressed against her, Millicent gave his chest a gentle push and whispered, ‘’You’ll have to help me upstairs.’’  ‘’Yes, of course,’’ he replied, his voice now as thick as syrup, or something.

Even in later years Millicent could never explain to herself why she directed him to the master bedroom, Dominic’s bedroom, and not her own private domain, but she did.  After ten minutes of enjoying his expertise Millicent started to sober up.  Now she felt anger, at herself, now she felt embarrassment, this man, this strange man, might not be young enough to be her son, but was certainly of an age to be a much younger brother.  As an afterthought she remembered she was married, and adultery was frowned upon.  It also occurred to her that although her lust was spent, his was not, he was still bouncing up and down on top of her, ‘Dear Gods,’ she thought, 'the man doesn't even know my name?’  She decided enough was enough, they had had their fun, she had broken all the rules, she had, without doubt, re-discovered herself, (although she wasn’t at all sure if she did like this side of her re-discovered her, it was all a bit messy in a slippery kind of way)  it was now time to get back to her usual day to day life as a discontented Vicar’s wife.

 Millicent was about to deliver her busy lover a hard, emphatic whack across the side of his head when the bedroom door opened.  Millicent looked up and saw Dominic standing just in front of the doorway.   He didn’t look angry, or hurt, he just looked confused, but as he always looked confused what he was actually looking now was normal.  He cleared his throat and said, ''There’s a err, um, a strange vacuum cleaner in the living room dear, and err, could you ask your friend to leave…..oh, I say, could you ask your friend to get dressed and leave.''  As Dominic had started talking the  man had ceased his activity and made a move to leap from the bed.  Something in Millicent’s mind snapped.  If Dominic had burst in, if he had slapped her and shouted at her, calling her a disgrace, a harlot, a whore, if he had punched her lover and physically thrown him down the stairs…….if he had shown that he cared in any way, shape, or form, then maybe her actions would have been different.

The anger that had been building up, not just that day, but over many months, finally burst out.  Millicent grabbed the man’s arm and hoisted him back onto the bed.  She then, to keep the man pinned down, knelt on him.  Naked, and trembling with rage, she faced her husband, her words were not shouted, but they were forceful, ''No Dominic, it isn’t my friend that will be leaving.’’  Then casting her eyes down to the man laying prone beneath her knees she turned her forceful words on him, ‘’And you, you will stay exactly where you are, if you move a muscle I will personally tear your balls off and feed them to the dog.’’  They didn’t actually have a dog, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Millicent rushed out of the room, leaving the two men staring at each other in shared horror.  Dominic shuffled his feet in embarrassment before saying, ‘’Erm, we haven’t actually been introduced, I’m er, I’m the Reverend Dominic Morgan, um, Millicent’s husband, and you…..are?’’  ''Scared out of my fucking wits, excuse me if I don’t shake hands……is she mad?’’  Came the near hysterical reply.  Dominic gave a worried frown and looked towards the door before answering, ‘’Um, no, I’m not sure, a little miffed perhaps.’’  His eyes then went to the window where a couple of sheets of paper drifted past on the breeze,  ''Ah,’’ Dominic continued, ''Maybe very miffed.’’  It was Dominic’s turn to race out of the room.  The man decided that his best course of action in this house of insanity would be to remain still, very still, until he thought he was forgotten about, and then to make his escape, they could keep the bloody vacuum cleaner.

The couple of sheets of paper were correctly recognised by Dominic as his Sunday Sermon draft.  Millicent had gone into his study and snatched them up, taken them outside, and thrown them into the air where the breeze had collected them, Millicent’s nakedness had collected a crowd.  To the various shouts of encouragement and jeers from the onlookers Dominic came and stood beside his naked wife on the front lawn.  He looked in abject despair at his sermon dancing playfully on the breeze…he could never remember what to say off by heart, and he had a feeling that this was a particularly good sermon.  One of the pages drifted toward him and he grabbed it.  Maybe he could collect the rest, and all would be well.  He set off in pursuit of the others.  This was exactly what Millicent knew he would do.   Giving a theatrical bow to her audience she went back into the Vicarage and locked and bolted the door.

 Before returning to the master bedroom Millicent went to her own and showered, (en suite was the blessing that prevented the curse of bumping into Dominic along the corridor at night).  She then dressed in her most respectable outfit.  Examining herself in the mirror she smiled.  She didn’t need make-up, or lovers or fags or booze to know who she was.  She was Millicent Morgan, the Vicars wife, a mainstay of the community, someone to be looked up to, a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand to those who had fallen from grace, because now she had empathy, understanding, she knew what falling from grace meant.  Hopefully Dominic, when she let him back in, would see it that way too.  ‘Now,’ she thought, with a new air of confidence, ‘What are we going to do with Mr Vacuum Cleaner Salesman?’

Mr Vacuum Cleaner Salesman on perceiving that everything seemed to be calm in the house had dared to arise and dress.  As Millicent entered the room he turned and in an almost ingratiating voice said, ''Ah, Mrs Morgan, I’ll be off then.’’  ''No,’’ replied Millicent in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘’You won’t, you’ll stay put until I tell you differently.’’  The salesman looked around him wildly and shook his head, ''No, no, you see, you can’t hold me here against my will, that’s breaking the law that is.’’  Millicent gave him her sweetest smile and replied, ‘’So’s rape Mr Man.’’  The salesman’s legs buckled and he collapsed in anguish on the bed.  Millicent, remembering her resolve to be a better Vicar’s wife tried to comfort this sad, fallen soul by telling him, ‘’Look, it’s not forever, I don’t actually want you around for any longer then necessary, it’s just until I’ve sorted out what to do with my husband.’’  The salesman felt a lot of things at her words, comfort was not one of them.

Dominic, with the help of some sympathetic bystanders, had collected what he felt sure was all the pages of his sermon, he was now puzzling over why he couldn’t unlock his front door.  Some helpful soul had suggesting trying the back door, but he couldn’t for the life of him think why, to his knowledge he had never had a back door key.  In desperation he raised the knocker and gave a timorous rap, ''Um. Millicent, dear, I er, I seemed to be locked out.'' He called with his head close up to the door.  Millicent's reply of, ''I know,'' came from his waist level, making him jump.  Looking down he saw the letter box partially open, realising that Millicent was talking through it he dropped to his knees to better continue their conversation.  ''Can you er, let me in dear?'' he asked,  ''No!'' Came her reply.  Dominic stood up to have a little think about this.  Nodding to himself he resumed his kneeling position in front of the letter box, ''Is er, something wrong dear?'' he inquired.  There was a seconds silence from the other side before, ''What? You come home, find me in bed with a complete stranger and then have the effrontery to ask me if something is wrong, just what planet do you live on Dominic?''  ''Ahh,'' Dominic replied, believing that he had now got to the root of her problem, ''That, well dear, um, er, forgiveness....''  ''Don't you bloody dare Dominic, don't you dare give me.....and don't you bloody dare either...come back here!!''  The last part was shouted so loudly that Dominic toppled back from his knees and onto his backside.  From inside the Vicarage came more shouting, some of it a masculine, but falsetto ''NO, NO, NOOOOO!!''  This was followed by a crash and then a disturbing silence.  Dominic scrambled back to his knees and called through the letter box, ''Millicent, Millicent, are you alright dear, please talk to me.''   From the other side came a breathless panting, and then Millicent's voice, soft and full of awe, ''Dominic, did you just ask if I was alright?''  Dominic, his confusion growing, answered, ''Yes dear, there was an awful shouting and crashing and um, you are unharmed, aren't you dear.''  This was followed by the noise of bolts being slid back and locks being unlocked, the door was flung open and Millicent leapt out and wrapped her arms around her husband's head, (he was still kneeling.)  ''Oh my darling Dominic, you do care!'' She sobbed into the top of his head.  Somewhere from her midriff came the muffled reply, ''Well yes, of course dear.''

The wanna-be escapee salesman was just coming round on the kitchen floor, where Millicent's new found forcefulness, aided by a frying pan, had rended him unconscious.  He wasn't seriously hurt and waved the proffered medical check-over away.  It had been the Verger, curious as to why a large crowd had formed outside the Vicarage, who had called an ambulance and the police.  The police had listened patiently to all sides and decided that no action was to be taken.  As the salesman walked away, heading for his car and the shortest route out of town, one of the policemen asked him, ''You're not local then?''  ''No, no, I live in Brailton, two hundred miles away, I promised the missus I'd be home tonight, I'd best be on my way.''  ''You're married?''  asked the policeman in astonishment.  ''Yeh, yeh, I know, I've always been weak in that way, if the Missus ever found out......''  The salesman paused, contemplating the horror of his wife discovering his indiscretions, being thumped with a frying pan was nothing in comparison to the pain his woman would dole out.

The following weeks saw an increase in congregation numbers, they were the curious who had come to gawp at the Vicar and his wife, the word had got around that she had danced naked on her front lawn, that was a witchy thing to do, next it would be up the Common with no drawers on, it was a disgrace.  The Bishop who, thanks to the garrulous Verger, was well acquainted with what had happened.  He knew that after the rise in church-goers would be the empty pews, the devouts' way of protesting.  He came to the decision that the Reverend Morgan must be moved to a new diocese.  There was one he had in mind, in sore need of spiritual guidance, and more importantly, far enough away not to have heard any gossip.  Where was it again, Brailton?  Yes that was it, Brailton, Morgan and his dreadful wife could make a new start where no-one knew them.