West Barton Church Writing Circle

West Barton may only be a small Sussex village, full of chocolate-box cottages with neatly maintained gardens, all lining narrow lanes that wind and twist their way uphill, but it would be a mistake to write it off as a cliché belonging to the distant past. That would be judging from first impressions, without taking into account the vibrant, if slightly eccentric, villagers who bring it to life. Some are descended from families who have lived in the area for generations, barely moving more than a few miles in their lives. Others are incomers, who have chosen a country way of life, or at least what they perceive that to be.

Take, for example, the Ladies’ Writing Circle, a bulwark of the local church and a meeting place for all the village gossips. It began as a reading circle, but few of the members ever bothered to read the chosen book. That hardly mattered, as most meetings degenerated into long and complicated commentaries on who had been seen leaving whoever’s house at an unearthly hour of the morning or who the owner of the car was, which had been seen outside so-and-so’s house whilst her husband was away on business. That changed when a new vicar was appointed and his wife decided to join the writing circle. It would hardly have been seemly for her to be exposed to the more unseemly behaviour of the parishioners, so the change was made from a reading circle to a writing circle. Some of the members embraced the idea and began eagerly crafting short stories whenever they had a few minutes to spare or composing poems whilst the television muttered to itself in the corner of the room.

The vicar’s wife, Emily, mistakenly mentioned during her third session that she was once an English teacher. The other members of the group automatically elected her as their leader, with responsibility for setting their writing tasks and organising speakers for their monthly meetings. The first was one of Emily’s old school friends, whose debut historical novel had been accepted by a national publisher. A contract for a further three books had swiftly followed, then an approach by a film company. At the meeting, she was interesting, humorous and encouraging and promised to return with an update on her projects.

Emily was searching for a second speaker, when she noticed an article in the local paper. An ex-convict, Haydon Christie, had recently moved to the area and had found a publisher for his first crime novel. It was the culmination of a creative writing course he had followed whilst he was in prison serving a sentence for murder. When the local reporter had interviewed Christie, he explained that not only had he discovered his literary talents inside, but also, he had found God. The combination of the two seemed unmissable to Emily and she quickly penned an email to the writer, care of the newspaper. She anticipated that he would be in heavy demand and that it would take some time before she received a reply. To her surprise, Haydon Christie contacted her within the week, offering to talk to the group for free.

After a quick exchange of emails, a date and time was fixed. Emily contacted all the members of the group, explaining who the speaker was and suggesting that they read his book before the talk. The reaction was mixed. Some members were scared he would attack them, others were curious about his character and the reason why he had become a murderer. The remainder saw him as a lost soul, who needed encouragement to follow his newly chosen path.

On the evening of the talk, Haydon arrived early to introduce himself to Emily and run through her schedule. They were interrupted by the club members, who jostled to occupy the front row of seats.

“It takes me back to my trial at the Old Bailey!” Haydon joked. “First the jury lined up in front of the court and then the public gallery filled up.”

“Well, no-one here tonight is going to judge you – well, unless it’s judging you as a writer! Emily replied.

Haydon smiled, revealing a row of flashing white teeth. Emily immediately thought of a predatory wolf, before deciding that such an idea was beneath a vicar’s wife. It did. however, make her look more closely at Haydon. He was sixtyish, with greying hair dragged back into a short ponytail. His complexion was pale, but Emily could not decide if that was because he had been incarcerated for so long, or whether it was just his normal skin colour. His features were run of the mill, apart from a pair of piercing blue eyes that sparkled when he spoke.

“I’m ready when you are,” he said, noticing that the church hall was now full and someone had closed the entrance door.

Emily glanced at the clock. 7.30 on the dot. Time to start.

She led Haydon on to the small stage at one end of the hall, where two chairs and a table had been laid out.  A pile of his novels stood on one side and a carafe of water and two glasses on the other.

As Emily introduced Haydon to the audience, he looked along the rows of seats. Three men sat at the back, no doubt feeling there was safety in numbers. All the other club members were middle-aged or elderly women. Haydon’s gaze rested on a woman sitting in the fifth seat from the left in the fourth row. Haydon frowned slightly, sure that he knew her from somewhere, but unable to remember where.

“It will come to me in a while,” he thought.

There was a ripple of applause, as Emily finished her introductory speech. Haydon stood up.

“Good evening, everyone. I understand from Emily the some of you have read my book and I hope you enjoyed it.”

Another ripple of applause and murmurs of “Brilliant,” “Excellent,” and the like.

Haydon bowed and resumed his seat.

“Perhaps we could start with some of the questions that the members have sent in,” Emily suggested.

Haydon nodded.

“Firstly, Fiona has asked where you find your inspiration.”

“Good question Fiona. Sometimes I’m inspired by odd things I read in the papers or see on the television. At other times, its conversations I’ve had or overheard inside. It’s amazing what you can learn inside a prison! Some people are only too happy to share their experiences, whether they’re good or bad.”

Emily interrupted before Haydon could go into gory details.

“Well, I’m sure we can all find material to use from our own everyday lives.”

Haydon nodded and let a knowing smile play on his lips.

“I’m sure a vicar’s wife overhears all sorts of things that shouldn’t be repeated, even if they are tweaked a little here or there!”

Emily nodded and blushed deeply. “Yes, but we’re sworn to secrecy in the same way as our husbands.” She took a deep breath. “Next question. This time it’s from Sadie. How did you secure your publishing contract? I think we’d all like to know the answer to that one.”

“It was through the teacher in the prison, Mr. Foskett. Before he retired, he was a professor of English and he had contacts in the business. I suppose there’s a certain cachet if a crime writer is either an ex-copper or an ex-con and if they’re well known, then even better. I suppose I ….”

Haydon stopped in mid-sentence and frowned.

“Sorry, I was going to say I suppose I fell into the category of ex-con.”

“Carol wanted to know if Haydon Christie is your real name or a pen-name,” Emily asked.

“Pen name. I’m not a famous enough murderer to draw sales that way.” He smiled, but it was strained this time.

Emily ran though another dozen or so questions before asking Haydon to describe the creative writing course he had followed, which he did in full detail. Then she glanced at the clock again. An hour had passed and so it was time to open the meeting to the audience.

“Would anyone like to ask Haydon anything?” Emily asked.

Hands shot up all round. Emily surveyed the room, deciding who should be first.

“Kate, what you like to know? Perhaps you would stand up so we can all hear you.”

The woman in the fifth seat of the fourth row slowly got to her feet, holding a copy of Haydon’s book.

“Is this a stand-alone or the first in a series?”

Haydon frowned and then grinned.

“Ruby, is that you? I thought I recognised you earlier, but I wasn’t sure.”

The woman remained silent.

“That’s Kate, not Ruby. She’s married to the local doctor,” Emily quickly explained.

“No, I’m sure that’s Ruby. I’d know that voice anywhere. Me and Ruby go way back – thirty years or so. We knew each other in London. Do you remember that club in Soho?”

The woman stood rooted to the spot.

“You were the best stripper they had and you used to sing from time to time. You were quite good at that too!”

The woman had sat down, blushing profusely, and staring at the floor.

“You must be mistaken. Kate and her husband moved here twenty or so years ago. Kate’s on the parish council and the board of governors for the primary school,” Emily continued.

“Well you may know her as Kate, but to me she’s Ruby. It’s me – Johnny Carter. That’s my real name. Hey, have you still got that tattoo on your, well you know?” Haydon asked, grinning broadly. “That would prove it one way or the …”

“Oh, shut up you idiot,” Kate/Ruby finally shouted. “Why did you have to turn up and ruin things after all this time?”

“Sorry, Ruby, love. I didn’t know it was a secret!”

“You never did know when to keep your big mouth shut!”

The audience turned as one to face her. Was this pillar of their society really an ex-exotic dancer? They held their breath, waiting for the next revelation, but they were disappointed.

Kate/Ruby grabbed her bag, jostled her way past the seats separating hers from the aisle and then stormed out of the room.

All eyes then turned to Haydon.  Emily was frantically whispering to him, but they were unable to hear her.

“I think we had better draw a close to the meeting now,” she said, standing up. “It’s been a very, er, interesting evening and I’m sure we’d all like to thank Haydon.”

This time the applause was positively enthusiastic.

“Will you sign a copy of my book, please?” someone shouted.

“Of course, if you’d like to come up on stage, I’ll do it now,” Haydon replied, before Emily had had a chance of refusing.

An orderly queue formed at the foot of the stage, consisting of the village gossips. Each one tried to ply Haydon for another juicy titbit about Kate/Ruby, but he remained tight-lipped. They left in twos and threes, complaining to each other that they had so little information.

Emily waited until the village hall was empty, saw Haydon off the premises and locked up. She considered calling on Kate on the way home to check she was alright but decided against it. Kate’s husband would wonder why and no doubt Kate was trying to explain to him what had happened that evening. Better just to go home and forget about the writing circle. Or maybe it would be a good time to draft a letter of resignation as the group leader, assuming there would still be a group!