Chapter 15
Hetty fingered the plastic and metal packaging carefully, pulling it from the flimsy box.
‘It sounds to me like you’re depressed,’ the doctor had said.
‘Let’s try you on some mild antidepressants to begin with.
We can set up another appointment in two weeks to review how you’re feeling.
’ She’d talked to Hetty about how she might not feel better right away so she knew what to expect, and also put her on a waiting list for something called CBT.
It was strange to hear the doctor give a name to how she felt. Validating, somehow. But most of all, it made her feel hopeful.
The fact that her doctor had been a woman was still causing Hetty’s mind to whirr with possibility. A woman – completely equal to a man, absolutely able and allowed to prescribe her this medicine. Presumably she even had a degree.
Aggie set a laptop and notepad down on the kitchen table and sat next to her.
‘Don’t mind me, will you? Just got this proposal to finish off before the board meeting tomorrow. Musk’s not exactly going to stop himself, is he?’
‘Aunt Aggie … I don’t know whether I should take these.’
‘Whyever not, dear?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I should alter Etta’s body like this, when she might break the bracelet at any moment.’
‘Oh, but you can’t live life like that now, can you?’
Jemima joined them, moving Aggie’s notebook aside and replacing it with her latest project – a half-worked embroidery hoop with odd-shaped leaves and the words ‘Smoke weed every day’.
‘Oh yes, Hetty, nothing is forever. Not relationships, and not even tattoos. You just have to live life as it comes and enjoy the memories,’ Jemima said. ‘Here, take a look at my Hall of Fame.’
To Hetty’s absolute horror the elderly woman lifted the hem of her flowery electric blue top to reveal a patchwork quilt of faces – male and female – each encased in a heart, and each graced with a signature. She twirled, then curtseyed as she left the room.
Aunt Aggie rolled her eyes, tutting at Jemima, then smiled at Hetty’s appalled face.
‘You should see her arms … Anyway. My advice? Try the pills, Henrietta. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, you can always stop if you don’t feel like they help. And Jemima and I will be with you every step of the way.’
Hetty bit her lip, still slightly dazed, and nodded.
Jemima’s voice echoed from the bathroom next door. ‘Hang on, sweeties, don’t go anywhere. Just taking off my tights so you can take a gander at Cher and Madonna.’
It had been several Sundays now that Hetty hadn’t attended church.
She was beginning to miss the quiet reflection of a conversation with God, despite being at times cynical about His very existence.
She had much to tell Him – about her trip, her new home, and especially her new diagnosis.
Perhaps He could even help her come to a decision about the medication in her reticule.
Aggie pointed her down the road to a small but elegant church hidden away between houses. And now here she was, empty-handed but for a few unfamiliar coins for the silver salver.
The familiar chill of stone walls made goosebumps prickle at her arms as she stood at the open oak door, peering in. It was unusually empty. Perhaps she’d got the timings wrong or something?
Before she could retreat, a woman in a flowery shirt and neat pink cardigan bustled up to her. She was holding a bible with a slim booklet sandwiched inside.
‘Here for the service, love? I hope you’ll join us for a prayer circle afterwards?’
‘Well—’
Hetty hadn’t really been sure what to say next, so was relieved to find she didn’t need to.
‘Are you one of the mums? From the primary? I didn’t think it was that time of year yet.’
Hetty blinked in confusion, but the lady just smiled and placed the bible into her hands.
‘No, I suppose you’re not, or there’d be other parents, too. They only visit to get their kids into St Leonard’s Primary, but the vicar sees right through them. Well, anyway, welcome, take a seat. Here, Horace, how’s the hip?’
And with that the woman was greeting the elderly gentleman who’d arrived behind her. Hetty took a deep breath and slipped into a pew at the back.
She’d hoped to zone out slightly, to think about things, but the sermon was even more confusing than her welcome had been.
The vicar seemed to be even younger than she was – perhaps this wasn’t unusual here, but the pastor who occasionally called at the chapel on the Bainbridge Estate had been, according to Charlie at least, ‘older than the sun’.
This wasn’t a pointed sermon on the lurking demons within or on the dangers of failing to fulfil feminine duty. Not today, anyway. Instead, the young man at the pulpit had greeted them with outspread hands and the words: ‘As the youth would say … come and roll with Jesus!’
Hetty’s heart had curdled in her chest in second-hand embarrassment as the vicar had counselled them through the terrible dangers of items she had never heard of before.
By the time the rest of the single-digit congregation rose and headed to the ring of flimsy chairs in the vestry, she had learned to strictly avoid such temptations as ‘Meow-meow’ and ‘Special K’.
She also vaguely missed Charlie, despite having been lectured on the need to abandon him at all costs.
She was trying to work out where the most likely source of inner peace was to be found – staring at the carvings in the ceiling beams, or at the figure of Christ looking all too happy to be on the cross – when she was presented with a cup of tea by the woman who’d welcomed her earlier.
‘Here you are. I wasn’t sure how many sugars you’d want, so I only added three. Do come and have a chat, won’t you? We’d love to tell you what the vicar has lined up for us this month.’
They both gazed over to the vicar, who was dancing very strangely for a smiling young man with a mobile phone.
‘Oh, look at our Andy. He’s ever so into his TikToks, he really is.’
‘Andy?’
‘Reverend Dickens, I should say, but he does insist on being called Andy. Great service, Reverend! I see you’re at the TikToks again today!’
Reverend Dickens was sashaying their way in a manner that alarmed Hetty. This was no Pastor Simmons, that was a certainty.
‘I am indeed, Delilah. And who’s this new addition?’
They were both now studying Hetty so intently she could barely remember her own name.
‘Um, Hetty. I’m Hetty Ba— sorry, Moore.’
‘Well then, Hetty, why don’t you come and join our prayer circle? We’re always looking for more young, energetic people. Today we collectively dedicate ourselves to inner peace and healing.’
Hetty wasn’t sure how to put her thoughts into words. ‘Isn’t that a bit … heathen?’
The whole group was staring at her now. The vicar paused, clearly unsure where to take this unexpected conversation, then appeared to find a straw to grasp.
‘Well, what are we all if not essentially, in our bones, heathen?’
Hetty realised her eyes were so wide with surprise they’d gone dry, and blinked. It suddenly all seemed too absurd that she’d come here to these eager strangers for spiritual guidance when it was right there waiting at home with those who cared for her.
She bid the vicar a polite goodbye. Time to take the advice she’d already been given. Time to try the medication.