TT - 32 Michael Has a Plan

Michael Glebe leaves his flat above the cafe and strides ebulliently into the High Street. Tendringhoe's Christmas lights have just been switched on, bringing an air of the sea-side promenade to the wintry village. The ladies at the Fat Cat Cafe are giving out veggie sausage rolls and serving tea and hot-chocolate in polystyrene cups. Slightly further down on the other side of the road, Jason is serving mulled wine and ginger biscuits from a trestle-table in front of the Deli. St Maggie's is crammed with bric-a-brac and cake stalls which spill out into the churchyard. Only Ellison and Copp, the local estate agents, slightly mar the scene by giving out lurid, helium-filled orange baloons on which they've had printed their loathsome logo, but even these, for the hoards of glow-stick waving toddlers who have taken to the streets in their hundreds, are as much a part of the magic as the more tasteful contributions.

The Christmas lights are not the only thing to have been switched on this evening. Michael Glebe is officially on good form and more than ready, after several months in the social wilderness, to rekindle his love for mankind. He wends his way smiling and touching and bantering through the villagers like a cat weaving through the legs of strangers. He is particularly keen to wipe his scent all over Glandice Morgan, but she is already wedged into a love-scrum with other village notables. Michael joins the nearby queue for Jason's mulled wine. To keep his social charm on full charge, he delivers a warm and intimate discourse on the nature of childhood memory to the woman behind him, his eyes glowing almost as brightly as the lights that glitter through the leaves on the trees. She responds graciously and Michael can tell that she's very taken with him.

The exchange with Jason is also very pleasant. Michael didn't used to like him but he does now, and he smiles to himself when he sees that Jason has filled his cup right to the top and given him the largest biscuit. He looks around for Glandice but she has been lost to the crowds. Next to him, a small child lets go of his Ellison and Copp merchandise and Michael watches with satisfaction as the over-inflated orange balloon bobs up through the branches and into the velvety blackness. He feels as though he could follow it, right up into the night sky, for Michael has done it. He has had sex with another guy. He has pulled a fit, young American sports science student called Greg in the University Gym and he has done it.

If there's one thing Michael hates, he decides, as he walks, with his slightly bouncing step towards the church gates, it's repression. He looks at all the faces of the people around him and feels irritated, threatened even, by their strange composure, their flatness. He can only imagine what kind of secret desires they are tragically holding in. He squeezes his way through the church porch and into the nave. The series of cheery greetings that he recieves as he makes his way up the south aisle are as satisfying to his ear as the sound of a stick pinging across railings.
"Hi Michael."
"Michael."
"Evening Michael."
"Ah, it's Michael!"
At the sound of this last voice he swings round.

"Doug-las!" He launches himself towards the vicar and hugs him with a delighted laugh. He draws back slightly, but continues the love with a hearty handshake and a beaming smile. "Douglas!"
"Well, you're certainly in the Christmas spirit!" Says Douglas, who can't help but be moved by this overwhelming display of affection.
"Where's Mrs Miggin's plum duff stall?!" Michael asks, looking around him.
"I don't think I know a Mrs Miggins...?"
"And little Timmy and his sugar-frosted goose-legs?!"
Ah, now Douglas sees that Michael is on a 'comic flight of fancy', and he suddenly feels rather literal and foolish by comparison. He tries to let himself go a bit.
"Ah well, I'm sure they're hiding round here somewhere."
"Hiding? Hiding?!!" Michael lifts up a hand-made quilted cat from a nearby stall and peers inside it with a mischievous giggle."
Douglas would like Michael to know that he doesn't take the quilted cat marmalade-cosy entirely seriously either, and allows himself a judicously supressed laugh.
Michael leans the cat against a quilted tartan rabbit so that they look as though they are sharing a dirty joke.

"So, Douglas, how are things with you?" Michael says with an engaging tilt of his head.
"Not at all bad, actually. Just honing the Christmas sermon." Douglas rubs his hands together.
"Excellent! I look forward to it."
"Oh, you'll be in Tendringhoe for the festive season then?" Douglas knows Michael has family in Cheshire, and he's rather surprised he won't be going home for Christmas.
"Well, yes. Thought I'd hang around here this Christmas. Catch up with all my friends" Michael drops just below brimming for a second.
"Ah, well, you must come over to the vicarage for supper one evening."
"I'd love to." Says Michael.

And he would love to. He feels like a man who has struggled up the side of a densely wooded hill and, having finally arrived at the prow, finds a wide open vista suddenly stretched out before him. He looks at Reverend Carduggan with a mixture of affection and frustration. Now I shall do the same for Douglas, he thinks to himself. He has helped me out, and I shall help him out. I will set the vicar free!"