A Finer End

difficult. ‘Not just now, Maureen. She seems to be content where she is for the present, but she wanted you to know that she misses you, and that she misses her brother and sister.’
    Maureen Wills put her face in her hands. ‘You don’t know — you can’t imagine what it’s been like,’ she choked out. ‘Losing your baby, not knowing if she’s alive or dead. And Gary — Gary won’t even allow us to speak her name— It’s been terrible for Meredith and Jon...’ She raised her face, blotched and tear-streaked. ‘How could she do this to us?’
    ‘Maureen, kids make mistakes. We all make mistakes, but this one isn’t easy to put right. I’m sure Faith never meant to hurt any of you.’
    ‘Then why is she so stubborn? If she’d just told us what happened, who the father is, or if she’d just been reasonable about having an—’ Maureen broke off abruptly, with a glance at Winnie’s collar. ‘I never thought... when Gary told her she was legally an adult, that if she was going to disrespect us that way, she could fend for herself, I never thought she’d go.’
    Winnie listened, nodding encouragingly, knowing how badly Maureen Wills must have needed to say these things to someone.
    And then, when I found her gone, that was terrible enough. But I never thought she’d stay away. Every minute, every hour, I thought I would hear the door. Or she would ring and ask me to come and get her. Sometimes I’d find myself thinking I had to pick her up from football practice, or choir, and then I’d realize...’
    ‘She told me she sang in the choir. It seems to have meant a lot to her.’
    ‘She was at Somerfield. We were so proud of her.’
    ‘Faith is very special, Mrs Wills — Maureen. What’s happened doesn’t change that. I’ve seldom seen a girl her age with such courage and self-reliance.’
    ‘I want to see her, please. Can’t you take me to her?’
    The tearful supplication was hard to resist, but Winnie shook her head. ‘I can’t betray Faith’s wishes. But I’ll tell her what you’ve said, and I’ll do my best to arrange a meeting. I think that’s all we can hope for just now.’
    ‘But where is she? How is she managing? Is she eating? Does she attend your church?’
    ‘I came to know Faith as a friend, not in my official capacity,’ Winnie explained. ‘She has a job, and a safe place to live, and a number of people who are concerned for her welfare.’
    ‘But how will she manage, once the baby’s... when is it...?’
    ‘Late October, I believe. As for what she’ll do then, I don’t know, but we’ve some time to find a solution. If you’ll just—’
    There was a sound from the back of the house and Maureen Wills froze, holding up a hand to silence Winnie. ‘It’s Gary and the kids. I don’t want him to— It’ll be better if I talk to him. Could you—’
    The woman looked so terrified that Winnie quickly handed her the card she’d taken from her handbag and rose. ‘Here’s my number. Ring me.’
    She patted Maureen’s trembling hands, and was out of the front door as a man’s furious voice called out, ‘Maureen, where are you? The damn chips are burned to a crisp! Maureen?’
     
    Winnie drove home with hopes that she had made some progress in reconciling Faith with her family, although perhaps a goal of physical reunification was unwise if Mr Wills was as intimidating as he seemed. It seemed obvious that he was the real stumbling block. Winnie had seen this a number of times in her years of counselling parishioners — men often took a daughter’s pregnancy as a personal affront, and even in the more well-balanced families there seemed to be an element of jealousy involved. What she did find curious was the lengths to which Faith had gone to protect a boy who apparently had shown no further interest in her.
    The next challenge would be arranging a meeting between Faith and her mother on neutral ground. As she neared home, she decided that her study at the Vicarage would provide the ideal setting.
    The Vicarage was on the Butleigh Road, south of Glastonbury, in the village of Compton Grenville-Winnie had come to love her parish in this gentle countryside, with its view of the Levels to the east, and to the west the Hood Monument at the top of wooded Windmill Hill.
    The house was the epitome of the draughty Victorian pile, but in five years Winnie had come to regard its eccentricities with a profound affection.
    Of course, to do the place justice would