matters. Not work, not friends, not even Melissa. I go to work to put food on the table for Sarah. I clean the car on a Saturday so that we look respectable and presentable – for Sarah. I used to do these things for Melissa, but now I’m not sure. It’s all for Sarah.”
“What about you, Simon. What do you do for you?” Mrs. Hughes scooped a cat off a kitchen chair and sat down.
“I don’t know. I suppose work was for me. Though studying to get there, that was for mum and dad. I play a bit of golf, but I never really enjoyed it, to be honest.” He gave her a wry smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. I suppose I just thought that was what a moderately well off family man was supposed to do on a Saturday afternoon. That, and Melissa wanted us to join. Church. That’s for me. Melissa and I always seem to just miss each other with faith. First, when Sarah got ill initially, I lost faith, while Melissa became quite manically devout. Now, I still believe, but Melissa doesn’t seem interested. She appeared quite cross with me for coming today, actually. I think she thinks I should be by Sarah’s bedside. It’s not that I don’t want to be, but …,“ his face contorted and he swallowed hard, trying to get the words out before the tears blocked them, “there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could make her better, I wish I had a prescription. If I could just open my desk drawer and write her a magic note. Take this to the pharmacy, it’ll take a few days to clear up … but I can’t.” In that instant he lost the battle to compose his features. Tears stained his cheeks and dripped off his chin onto the table below. “I can’t fix this. She’s broken and I can’t fix her.”
A renewed chorus of canine ecstasy signaled Duncan’s return. He entered the kitchen with a retinue of dogs wagging their tails behind him. Duncan's voice was light and teasing. “How is the talk of the town? Has he come round yet?” Then he caught sight of Simon’s tear-stained face. “Oh, Simon. A terrible thing. This is a very lonely time for you. I want you to know that we are here for you if you ever want to talk, day or night.” The vicar took a scruffy jumper off the back of a chair and put it on over his ecumenical shirt and collar. He topped up Simon’s brandy, ignoring the feeble protestations. “Stay for lunch.”
Simon wiped his tears with the back of his hand, feeling less embarrassed than comforted to be treated like a school boy. “I can’t. Melissa wouldn’t … I have to get back.”
“You’ve had a bang on the head, Simon.” Mrs. Hughes got up and indicated her large oven. “It’s chicken casserole. I always make far too much. We should be keeping an eye on you for an hour or so anyway and I’ve already said that I will drive you home. Why don’t you let me call Melissa? I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“I’m not sure about that. She isn’t very … we’re not getting on very well at the moment.”
Duncan stroked a large ginger cat that had jumped into his lap. “That’s not surprising, Simon. These are difficult times. Any relationship would be under strain. Mrs. Hughes and I were only bellowing at each this morning and we are not going through what you are going through.”
Simon looked up from his brandy. The second shot had had the calming effect that Mrs. Hughes had intended; the pain in his head was fading. “You and Mrs. Hughes bellowing?” He raised an eyebrow in incredulity.
“Yes, Simon. Bellowing. I believe there was a smattering of name-calling as well.” Duncan caught the eye of his wife, who gave a tight smile, though her eyes twinkled. “It is a common assumption that members of certain professions are faultless. Vicars get cross too, you know. And we dislike people. We even swear – yes, swear from time to time. I seem to remember hammering my thumb recently and using a panoply of curses. Rather loudly. Of course…” The vicar broke off,
“What about you, Simon. What do you do for you?” Mrs. Hughes scooped a cat off a kitchen chair and sat down.
“I don’t know. I suppose work was for me. Though studying to get there, that was for mum and dad. I play a bit of golf, but I never really enjoyed it, to be honest.” He gave her a wry smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. I suppose I just thought that was what a moderately well off family man was supposed to do on a Saturday afternoon. That, and Melissa wanted us to join. Church. That’s for me. Melissa and I always seem to just miss each other with faith. First, when Sarah got ill initially, I lost faith, while Melissa became quite manically devout. Now, I still believe, but Melissa doesn’t seem interested. She appeared quite cross with me for coming today, actually. I think she thinks I should be by Sarah’s bedside. It’s not that I don’t want to be, but …,“ his face contorted and he swallowed hard, trying to get the words out before the tears blocked them, “there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could make her better, I wish I had a prescription. If I could just open my desk drawer and write her a magic note. Take this to the pharmacy, it’ll take a few days to clear up … but I can’t.” In that instant he lost the battle to compose his features. Tears stained his cheeks and dripped off his chin onto the table below. “I can’t fix this. She’s broken and I can’t fix her.”
A renewed chorus of canine ecstasy signaled Duncan’s return. He entered the kitchen with a retinue of dogs wagging their tails behind him. Duncan's voice was light and teasing. “How is the talk of the town? Has he come round yet?” Then he caught sight of Simon’s tear-stained face. “Oh, Simon. A terrible thing. This is a very lonely time for you. I want you to know that we are here for you if you ever want to talk, day or night.” The vicar took a scruffy jumper off the back of a chair and put it on over his ecumenical shirt and collar. He topped up Simon’s brandy, ignoring the feeble protestations. “Stay for lunch.”
Simon wiped his tears with the back of his hand, feeling less embarrassed than comforted to be treated like a school boy. “I can’t. Melissa wouldn’t … I have to get back.”
“You’ve had a bang on the head, Simon.” Mrs. Hughes got up and indicated her large oven. “It’s chicken casserole. I always make far too much. We should be keeping an eye on you for an hour or so anyway and I’ve already said that I will drive you home. Why don’t you let me call Melissa? I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“I’m not sure about that. She isn’t very … we’re not getting on very well at the moment.”
Duncan stroked a large ginger cat that had jumped into his lap. “That’s not surprising, Simon. These are difficult times. Any relationship would be under strain. Mrs. Hughes and I were only bellowing at each this morning and we are not going through what you are going through.”
Simon looked up from his brandy. The second shot had had the calming effect that Mrs. Hughes had intended; the pain in his head was fading. “You and Mrs. Hughes bellowing?” He raised an eyebrow in incredulity.
“Yes, Simon. Bellowing. I believe there was a smattering of name-calling as well.” Duncan caught the eye of his wife, who gave a tight smile, though her eyes twinkled. “It is a common assumption that members of certain professions are faultless. Vicars get cross too, you know. And we dislike people. We even swear – yes, swear from time to time. I seem to remember hammering my thumb recently and using a panoply of curses. Rather loudly. Of course…” The vicar broke off,
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