The Hunter is Hunted

A few months ago I wrote a short story for a competition and won the competition - here's the story ...

It was not a good day for hunting. The sun was bright and the shadows warned the prey of impending death. Far better a grey and cloudy day for a stalker to listen for footfalls, munching jaws and murmuring beasts. Without the warning shadows to scare the already timid game, the silent predator had more chance. No, not a good day for hunting but there had been a whole moon-turn of bad hunting days and hunger drove the hunter out.

Weakened by lack of food, the silent hunter crept upon padded paws without his usual stealth and awareness. His eyes – slightly blurred and less keen than usual – tried to focus on the movements about, on who had marked the ground and the direction of their goings. Slightly wobbly and determined not to rustle grass or break twigs, the cruising hunter knew that every day without food made it more and more difficult for his body to find nourishment.

In spite of the glare of the sunshine casting shadows across his weakened body, he must find food this day. He forced himself to focus, to be steady and to be deeply aware – more deeply than usual – of the tremors through his feet that told of the goings-on around him. There was the constant rumble of a world on the move and, within that, he must discern and seek out the particular tremors that told of food, precious and juicy food. The earthly rumbling was high as was to be expected – creatures moved more when the sun shone.

And so it was that he found it difficult to hear the close noises, the particular sounds of his patch of earth made by his particular prey. Dulled by lack of food and his senses partially blinded by mass migrations to the sun, he struck out with determination and a little trepidation, for the first time. He had always had his skills, fitness and cloud-cover to his advantage. All he had now was luck and it was only desperation that pulled him forward today. It was not the joy of discovery and the chase – with nourishment as the reward – but a blind need for survival that pushed him out to his accustomed patch in an unaccustomed way.

The grass waved in the sunshine and its shadows rippled around before him, confusing his staring eyes. He moved forward, as he must, and the shadows were soon behind him, as well as in front. He started to feel a little trapped within the swirling play of light and shadow. He wondered, as he darted from spot to spot on this island of giddying shadow-plays, if he was the hunter or the hunted. He soon got a taste of being hunted for the first time. Not a nice taste at all. He faltered, almost darting back to the safety of his lair. For the first time, ever, he tasted fear and he shivered, uncertainly and with his instincts failing him.

He forced himself to stop, to listen, to feel, to focus. What had been so natural, so instinctive, had now to be remembered with intense focus and unrelenting concentration.

As he focused all his weakened senses he felt, within the regular earthly tremors, a particular shudder, a growl, that seemed to be growing and moving towards him. It was not the tremor of a familiar prey and so he faltered again, confused. He listened and felt and looked around cautiously. What was this beast, this potential morsel, that moved with such speed and shaking of the ground?

He turned and felt no more as the lawnmower flipped two halves of the black beetle into its gullet.

You can see the original story at http://bit.ly/ae7eZS

So, now, back to the story of Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins, continued from two blogs ago ...

"Yeah, cheers to all the sad bastards of the world!" said Angus raising his glass and leaning over to clink it with hers. "Anyway, I'm here, I've broken out of me little cage, I have no idea where to now and I'm scared and excited but, in a way, I don't really care. Does that make sense?"

"Aye it does - sounds just like I felt when I first left home to come down here … and it all worked out. It's not perfect but I'm alive and reasonably sane, I think," said Mary, cheerfully.

 "Yeah, when I moaned about all the reasons not to do something different, Belinda said that the worst that could go wrong is that I could fail and what would that mean? I wouldn't get rabies, my bum wouldn't fall off and I'd still be alive and kicking," said Angus, laughing at the memory of that conversation. "I'll actually survive, no matter what I chose to do."

"Yeah, I guess we all do, don't we," said Mary, musing over the recent dangers she'd survived.

"Not guess, Mary. We absolutely do survive," said Angus with a determination she'd not seen before. "Whatever decision we make, as Belinda put it, we're all looked after so, really, nothing matters. So I did it - took leave from the job, left me home, left me mates and here I am. I can always go back if I want to."

"And what did Mum and Dad think of their rebel son, off on his adventures to unknown lands?" asked Mary.

"Well, Mum didn't say much, just grumbled as usual," said Angus. "Dad was dead against me going. Said I'd regret it and predicted all sorts of painful and immoral things. I actually think he'll be missing me but couldn't say so."

"You'll be right, Angus, for you've always been there," said Mary. "It'll be a wrench for them. And now I've finished me whisky, Angus, I really do need some sleep." She got up and pulled the bed clothes back. "We can talk more in the morning."

"Aye lass, lots more to talk about," said Angus, finishing his drink. "Good night, Mary."

An Inside Job
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 4.33 p.m.
As the shadows of late afternoon stretched their darkening fingers across the expansive lawns and solid walls, the house was quiet. Unusually quiet. Deathly quiet.

Two men were unconscious and the plump bodyguard was standing over them, as if wondering what the heck to do next. He'd never actually hit anybody before and he wondered, in panic, if he'd gone too far. He stood and gazed at the prone figures, uncertainly.

In the kitchen the six had been stopped by the yelling, crashing, grunting and thumping in the corridor through the wall. They looked at one another and seemed to have the same confused mind. Do they rush out and help Arthur and be injured themselves? Do they creep out to find a band of thugs waiting for them? Do they continue through to the office and find the thugs there? The unknown, as always, posed a greater threat than the known and they didn't know much - where they were, who they were saving, why they were saving him/her/them and who was waiting round dark corners for them all.

"Time to move!" whispered Amanda decisively, taking out her pistol.

"Amanda! You can't go shooting people!" pleaded Martin in a hoarse whisper, his eyes nearly popping out.

"And your idea is?" Amanda asked quietly.

"Oh, ah, yes, I see …" said Martin. "But we can't have guns … they kill."

"And someone's not dead already?" whispered Amanda, pushing past Martin. "And who's going to be next?"

"Oh, gosh, but we can't just … let's talk about this," pleaded Martin, going quite pale.

"Dominik, you take the rest through to the office and around," whispered Amanda. "I'll go this way."

"But you can't just go … you know … shooting people," whispered Martin, grabbing Amanda's arm.

"So, you come with me, mate," said Amanda, shaking off his grip. "You can keep me from killing someone." She continued out the door to the corner.

"I'll come with you two," said Toby, launching himself out of indecision mode.

Joan held up her hands and smiled to Dottie as if to say, 'whatever we do, it's a mess'. Dottie nodded and smiled back, grimly, and they followed Dominik to the back of the kitchen, to a door that must have remained closed for many years. Dominik grimaced as the door creaked and groaned, despite his efforts to open it quietly. He opened it enough for them to slip through, one by one. The three found themselves in the dark, but for light sneaking through the half-opened door from the kitchen. The uneven cobbles and the cobwebs impaired their progress in the shoulder-width passage. They scrambled along sideways and it was soon obvious that Dominik had no idea where to find the door into the office.

"There's got to be a torch somewhere," said Joan, awkwardly squeezing herself back into the kitchen. Dottie followed her and they rummaged through drawers and cupboards as quietly as they could. In the corridor they heard a man's shout, Amanda's yell, a thud and then silence. Joan's instinct was to rush out to help Arthur but her logical mind told her to leave it to the professionals who would help him more than she could. Her prayers went out to him as she returned to their search for light. They found candles and an old box of matches.

Back in their dark, dank passage, they fumbled with matches, lit three candles and handed one to Dominik. It was good to see a little more till Joan spied a large spider, then another, then another and she desperately tried to hold back a rising bile as she saw this space between walls was overrun by insects of all kinds. She would have leant back against the wall to steady herself but realised she'd be leaning into nests of spiders and other unmentionable critters. It was only Dominik's sigh of relief - she hoped it was relief - as he was scratching around the wall, ahead of her. There was a rattle of metal - a chain? - and bumping on wood.

32 - Birthdays and Nomads

We celebrated Anna's birthday today. Given that most people - older people anyway - don't like getting older, I'm bemused that any of us want to celebrate the only day in the year that we get older … more logical, I muse, to celebrate every other day of the year we don't get older.

Anna remarked, as she sipped her birthday champagne, munched her birthday chocolate and opened another birthday present, that this is the first birthday she's had, since 2003, that is in the same house as the previous year.

The last time I had a birthday in the same house as the year before was in 2000 … what wanderers we are! It must be time to move again … ah, I just remembered that we're moving up to Oxfordshire in 1½ weeks. Whew! Just had the scary thought of staying still for a moment and felt quite overcome with dread! I can relax again …

So, what changes are going on for Mary Collins? Story continued from previous blog ...

Mary knew the situation was dire, that she was in danger, that these thugs could harm her, that they could smash the place and that she had absolutely no idea what to do next - bluff was only going to work for so long, until one of these mutton-heads lost their cool. Maybe this was how ordinary people became brave people, she pondered, while frantically searching her little grey cells for a way out. Maybe situations just became too overwhelming, too surreal, for them to be fully absorbed by the rational brain and so the irrational one kicks in and the unexpected happens. However, this time, nothing else kicked in - Mary was still confronted by two knuckle-dragging pea brains, intent on taking something from the building that didn't exist in the building.

She could, of course, employ the karate-chopping skills of Toby but that would only delay the inevitable - they'd have friends (though, why anyone would want to be friends with twerps like these she could not fathom) and the next wave of rampaging Neanderthals would be worse. Violence never solved violence. Violence only perpetuated itself and she was intent only on transforming their violent intent into something softer or, at the least, to deflecting their violence in another direction, in the way that Toby had explained the basic techniques of his martial art - not stopping their force but turning it either sideways or back on them.

In the split second these conversations with herself went on, nothing much else happened. She waited, they waited and Toby sat serenely behind his high desk, blithely doing something that looked important. As her mind was churning over these bewildering little things, some being took control of her mouth and spoke.

"So, are you two armed," Mary asked, "knives, guns, you know?"

"Uh, yeah …" said Shorty.

"NO!" said Crewcut.

"Oh, no," said Shorty.

"Watcha say that for?" said Crewcut.

"What?" said Shorty.

"Say you had gear?" said Crewcut.

"Oh, dunno, it just came out." said Shorty.

Mary could see that Toby was concentrating very hard on his paperwork and his shoulders were shaking.

"We don't gotta say we got gear, right!" said Crewcut.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Shorty.

"Right, so lady, we're not armed," said Crewcut, straightening himself up to his full six foot four.

"We haven't?" asked Shorty.

"No we haven't!" said Crewcut, turning on Shorty.

Mary could hear giggling and saw Toby had tears streaming from his eyes as he could contain himself no longer. It was infectious and Mary started giggling which got Toby going even louder. As he doubled over with laughter, the two intruders looked at each other, confused and then in anger.

"This is not bloody funny!" said Crewcut.

"No, you guys in trouble here," said Shorty, reaching into his belt and pulling out a knife. He held it with the blade down as if to plunge it into something.

"You're not going to hurt anyone holding it like that," said Toby, slowly recovering from his laughing fit and coming round to the front of his desk.

"Oh yes I am … I could," said Shorty.

"Oh no you won't," said Toby. "You see, my ribs are overlapped, like planks on the side of a ship, and if you chop down, the knife will just bounce down my ribs. Here, let me show you." He held out his hand.

"Uh … oh, yeah, OK," said Shorty, taken aback by the surrealism of the moment. He handed his knife to Toby who held it with the blade facing up.

"See, if I go at you this way, it won't bounce down your ribs but will go up between them," said Toby lunging at Shorty and stopping millimetres from his ribcage. Shorty's elbows went up and he took a deep breath, immobilised. Crewcut immediately reached into the back of his belt, fumbled around and a pistol clattered to the floor. Toby, quick as a flash, kicked it across the floor to Mary.

"Don't pick it up, Mary - fingerprints!" said Toby. "Kick it behind my desk! Quick!"

Mary's body reacted quicker than her brain and obeyed Toby's instructions to the letter. Crewcut turned to chase after his gun.

"One move and this knife moves an inch and pierces your friend's heart!" yelled Toby, at Crewcut, who realised Toby had not moved the knife from Shorty's body. Crewcut seemed as paralysed as his friend.

"Wadda I do now?" asked Shorty in a squeaky voice.

"Drop that knife!" came a voice from nowhere and then Mary realised two policemen had come out of the lift, into the corridor.

"Not till you hand-cuff these men," said Toby calmly.

"Drop that knife, young man," repeated one of the policemen, advancing up the corridor. "You're trespassing and you're under arrest for assault."

"I work here, you wallop!" said Toby. These crazies are the trespassers. Now hand-cuff them than - what are you waiting for?"

"How do we know whose assaulting who, Sarge?" asked the second policeman.

"Uh, I … I'm not sure," said number one.

"We damned well work here, you irks," said Toby. "You think we dress in collar and tie to attack people in an office where people wear bovver boots and camo gear? Come on, cuff them. NOW!"

"Uh, yes sir," said number one, leaping forward. "You, sir, are under arrest. Do not move!" Shorty had not moved a muscle for over a minute and remained scarecrow-like. "Get your hands down, behind your back!"

"But you said don't move …" said Shorty plaintively.

"Well, move your hands, clever clogs!" said number one. "NOW!"

Mary wondered who had the lowest IQ - the burglars or the police - and quickly decided it was a dead-heat. She and Toby promised to come down to give their statements, within the half hour and Crewcut and Shorty were led off, still mumbling at each other.

Over a cup of very strong coffee in Mary's office, she and Toby worked out a battle plan to deal with the Atkinson file once and for all. It has started out so simply, this little insurance claim and now it was growing like a nuclear bomb on the horizon … and the horizon was closing in fast. Decisive action was needed.

31 - Mixed Up Poppycock

A little birdie told us that Mercury is in retrograde which, in astrology-speak, means that communications are all stuffed up. Now, I don't quite know if this astrology thing is for real or not but the communications we've been having lately have been mixed up big time!

We've been looking for a new place to rent and, eventually, found one. One of the many problems was the inventory check. We assumed that, like other agents, the inventory list would be part of the service. Oh no!

Unlike other people, we were determined to get to the bottom of this scam and it took several hours of questioning but, finally, the truth came out. Now, the tricky part: if you call an animal a cat and a pussy, it's not two animals but one animal with two names. If the inspectors do one inventory check and call it different things (an inventory and a check-in) they think we'll think it's two separate actions. It's not. What happens is that the real estate agents get someone else to do this inventory check - remember, a little unfurnished house! - and the landlord pays £86 for it. If we turn up at the (little unfurnished) house when it's being done, we also get the privilege of paying another £86 to these inspectors. By paying that we then get the law's protection. If we don't turn up at the allotted time, we are given the inventory list and, if it's wrong, we have no come-back. So, if we don't turn up and the inspector ticks the wrong box and says, in error, that there was a vase on the mantelpiece in the lounge, we then have to go out and buy one. If we turn up and correct the inspector when he ticks the wrong box, he gets another £86 for us doing his job for him.

Now, I do not know how anyone can find the justice in this … except the inspector who gets £172 for doing an inventory check in a little, unfurnished house and having someone help him do it properly.

Someone, please, tell me what part of this is logical … what part of this is fair … what part of this is necessary … what part of this is anything but totally mixed-up poppycock???

So how do Arthur and Mary deal with the communication mix-up? Their story is continued from the previous blog ...

"Oh dear," said Toby approaching them, his lanky legs taking one step to her two. "Isn't that confidential, Ma'am?"

"Yes, yes it is, Toby," she said, mouthing call the police to him. "But it seems these gentlemen have special permission to take it." No they haven't she mouthed as the two fine gentlemen caught up with her.
Toby's frown turned into a welcoming smile. "Pleased to meet you," he said, extending his hand to them. "I'm Toby and you're?"

"Just give us the key!" said Crewcut, without the graciousness of a fine gentleman.

"Ah yes, um, the key," said Toby, thinking aloud. "The key ..."

"Yes, the key mate!" said Crewcut. "Just give it now and we'll be gone. Nothing said."

"Yes, they key," said Toby, backing towards his desk. He smacked his palm to his forehead as if a blinding flash of inspiration had hit him and he laughed noisily. "Of course, I'll just need to phone our security desk. They'll know where the key is!" He backed around the chest-high counter, sat and phoned.

"Look, lady, you said you had the key to da file," said Shorty. "Are you pulling our tits?"

"Pulling what?" asked Mary, genuinely confused.

"Pulling our ... oh, shittin' us, lying to us," said Shorty. "We want that key now or else we'll just have to take the whole damned filing cabinet. What's it to be?"

"Ah, oh dear, I thought it was here," said Mary, stopping in an attempt to keep them as far from Toby's phone conversation as possible. "I forgot security look after all that stuff. I haven't been in this job very long ..."

"You're stalling lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary, if you don't mind," said Mary, determined to keep up appearances of being in charge. "And I'm not stalling. But let's be clear about what's going on here. You've barged into our office, uninvited and unannounced. You've demanded, with threats, that we do something which is illegal - hand over confidential files. That will get me into a whole heap of trouble - I could lose my job - and could cost the company a whole heap of trouble with the Financial Services Authority. And you're whining that I'm a bit nervous about all this!"

"Look lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary thank you!" said Mary, tartly.

"Uh, look Mary, we got orders, see!" said Crewcut. "We just gotta pick up da file and deliver it. Den we get paid. See?"

"Delivered to whom? Paid by whom?" asked Mary, realising that Toby was trying to smile and nod at her without it becoming evident to the men.

"To George Sand..." said Shorty.

"Hey bozo, we don't gotta say who we're working for! OK?" said Crewcut tersely, grabbing Shorty's collar.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Shorty. "It's conden..., it's confild..., oh, secret. See?"

"I see," said Mary. "So what if the whereabouts of the key was confidential ... like who your contact is?"

"Ah, that's goin' to be a big problem," said Shorty, looking at his partner, perplexed. "Mr Sanderson is going to be mighty fierce with us."

"Ah, you dumbo!" sais Crewcut. "Shut your mouth, you're spilling the beans."

"Ah, oh, yeah, guess I did," said Shorty. "Forget I said that."

"Yeah, well, if we don't deliver, we gotta be in a whole heap of trouble, you might say," said Crewcut. "And we prefer you's in trouble den us, so give us da key and we'll be gone and no trouble!"

"Right, yes," said Mary, still wondering what Toby seemed to be trying to tell her - something hopeful, she hoped, but what it could be she had no idea.

"So lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary!"

"Oh, sorry, Mary," said Crewcut, missing his place in his script.

"So Mary what?" asked Mary, walking up to him. "So Mary, if we break her arm or smash a hole in this wall, the key will magically turn up, you'll get your precious file and we'll all be deliriously bloody happy! Is that it?"

"Uh, no, not quite," said Crewcut, stepping back a pace. "We don't want to hurt anyone. We were told no damage to people or property. Just get the file."

"You have no idea how relieved I am about that!" said Mary, stepping forward again. "But, right now, you'd love to bust a limb, see some blood, hear a scream. Right?"

"No Ma'am, we just want the file, easy like," said Shorty, coming to his friend's rescue.

"Easy like," said Mary, turning on him and savouring his phrase. "Easy like. All just little lambs in here, these pathetic little clerical types. Say boo and they run. Is that what you thought?"

"Well, yeah, ah no," said Crewcut, looking everywhere except at Mary.

"Yeah, well we don't just bow down to cowards like you trying to muscle in here and stuff us around!" said Mary venomously. "You think you haven't hurt anyone?"

"Well, no ..." said Shorty. "Nobody been harmed."

"You've scared the living bejeezers out of a dozen people, you've stuffed up our day here with your stupid antics and we're all going to have to work late, for no extra pay and we're going to have to beef up our security from now on. You think there's no cost?"

"Well, y ..." said Shorty.

"Well, hell, of course there's a cost!" said Mary, turning on him. "I predict that we're going to have a lot of people calling in sick over the next week or so - your intrusion is traumatic and unwarranted and a lot of people here are going to be upset for months. I hope what you get paid is worth all the heartache, pain and cost you're causing!"

"Look lady ..." said Crewcut.

"Mary!" said Mary, turning back on him.

"Ah shut up! I'll call you what I like, LADY!" shouted Crewcut.

"Ah, so the big man has finally found some balls," said Mary, quietly.

20 – Praying To Change Me, Not To Change God

Eek, our employer has run out of money and so the job's finished and so has the free house that goes with it. So, we could be jobless and homeless by 3rd September. This is definitely a time for TRUST!!

And so I pray for many things – job, house, money, security, certainty, trust and for God to be here with me. I don’t pray to change God – I pray as it changes me.

And here’s the next instalment of Mary’s story, continued from yesterday …

"The self same lesson, lassie," said James, patting her hand. "You can't force folks to accept your way o' things. If they're not ready for change, you've got to be the one to change. Fair or not, that's just how the world works."

"So you think I should be nice and sweet and agreeable all the time, just to suit them?" asked Mary grimly.

James opened his mouth to speak when Isobel put her hand gently on Mary's and asked, "How many buns have you sold since you've been up here this time?"

"How many buns?" asked Mary.

"Yes dear, how many buns have you sold?" asked Isobel, smiling. "How many moments of true peace and happiness? How many moments of what you might call a breakthrough, a success, have you had?"

"Uh, none!" said Mary, grinning sheepishly. "I don't suppose I've sold a single bun!"

"And how many buns would you like to sell on this trip?" asked Isobel.
"Well, even one sale would be an improvement!" said Mary, sighing. "But why do I have to do all the work, all the bending and compromise?"

"Because you can, lass," said James. "Because you can. You're blessed with a little willingness to make a difference; they're not. They're happy in their misery and may never change. That's how my customers were ... still are. That's how your customers - family and everyone else you meet - are. Some will change , some will be as you'd like them to be but most are happy in their misery."

"But it's still unfair!" said Mary sitting back running her fingers through her hair.

"You sound just like a young baker I once had a chat with!" said Isobel. "Would you rather be them - happy in their misery, unwilling and unable to communicate effectively, frightened."

"Frightened" asked Mary.

"Yes, frightened. I was," said James. "Anger comes from unmet expectations - the world owes me this and I'm not getting it - and then there's fear in not being able to control the world. Yes, anyone who is angry is frightened."

"Oh, I hadn't thought about it like that," said Mary, sitting forward again. She looked at her watch. "Gosh, it's late and I'm keeping you from your dinner, aren't I?"

"Aye and you're welcome to join us," said Isobel. "But I suspect ye'll be wantin' to go home and sell a few buns."

Outside her parent's house she stopped and listened. The only sound was the television. She wondered if they ever really talked with each other and realised, sadly, that it may never change and that it wasn't her job to try and change it. She immediately felt lighter and skipped up the steps and into the kitchen for a glass of cordial.

"Why're ye looking so happy with yeself, lass?" asked he mother, without turning as she mashed potatoes.

"Not sure really," said Mary. "I guess I'm just happy to be home."

"You wouldn't be so happy if you had to do the work to feed another mouth, would ye!" said her mother gruffly.

"Would you like some help there, ma?" asked Mary.

"Aye no, I've done it on my own for all these years and I suppose I'll be doin' it this way till I die," said her mother, spooning mashed potato into a bowl.

Mary went through and watched television with the men, in silence, watching the thoughts going through her mind. Actually, there weren't many at all where, before, her mind would have been a whirl of anxiety, trying to anticipate problems and solve them before they happened.

Dinner was held in silence, upon laps in front of television. Mary actually enjoyed the silence and the company - she needed nothing of anyone. They continued their silent dance while they each got themselves dessert and then cups of tea and Mary began to see the comedy of it all - three people in one house, doing practical things around each other and actually living in their own separate worlds. She had as much companionship living on her own!

Eventually, the television was turned off and her father, getting up from his chair, said, "Aye, Mary, this London may be a wondrous place but I ken you're needing to come back home, time to time, for a dose of sanity!"

Mary detected a wee smile and appreciated that she had, at last, been acknowledged. And, maybe, in his own way, he was seeing the insanity of his household but had not the skills to make it sane. Maybe.

Angus, who now felt he had permission to address his sister, said, "Aye Mary, it is grand to see ye lass. Will ye be stayin' a few days?"

"Yes, a few days," said Mary. "Do you want me to bring your lunch down to your work, tomorrow?"

"Och aye ... ah ... I suppose," said Angus, caught between gratitude and embarrassment of having his sister at work. "Aye, I suppose you could if you wanted to."

'Whoopee!' thought Mary. 'I've passed the first test - being allowed into the men's domain. I think I've sold two buns tonight ... well, one and a half anyway.' As the men left she stood up and bumped into her mother and then realised her mother had come over to hug her. 'This is a first,' thought Mary, uncertainly. But she wasn't going to miss the moment. She hugged her mother back, easing into it gently, softly. It felt so warm and good. Then she heard her mother sniffing over her shoulder. Her mother pulled back and retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve.

"Aye it's a chill place, this. I have a wee sniffle," her mother said. "Aye lass, I ... ah ... you used to push us away all the time but yer ... ah ... nicer this time." Her mother fled and Mary dabbed at her own tears and smiled dreamily.

'Whew!' she thought. 'Maybe I've sold three buns tonight. A world record in the Collins household!'

She sat back down while the others shuffled around upstairs, going to bed, and wondered if everyone was so lonely, so separate, as those in her family ... as so many people she'd met. As she pondered while the upstairs became quiet, a deep peace overcame her and she had the strong impression, somehow, of everyone in the world, desperate to feel connected, desperate not to feel alone but not knowing how to ... in fact, most not believing that they could ever feel connected and at one with anyone else. A sadness came to her and she realised that's how she'd felt all her life - alone, separate and yet yearning for the opposite - to be connected with someone, something, anything ... but knowing that it was never possible. And, as that thought of separation became more personal, more about her, she realised that she could feel connected - did feel connected, even just a little, to her family when she'd stopped grasping for it. The years of isolation, feeling like she was different, didn't belong ... all of it washed past her as debris in a swollen river. She watched the dirty water and broken logs of her discontentment flood past and the raging river eventually slowed to become a gentle brook - clear, sparkling and alive. Yes, so alive and content with itself. She had a clear sense, somehow, of being enveloped in loving arms - warm and caring - and they stayed around her as she climbed the stairs to her bed and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

The rest of the week passed rather amicably. More amicably than she'd ever known. Mary didn't learn anything - no hidden secrets, no unfulfilled dreams, no deep wisdom - but she did feel something ... a fullness in her heart.

Of course she did pop back into her old behaviour from time to time - whining, demanding, asking questions - and, eventually, she'd catch herself asking, "Will I sell any buns doing what I'm doing now?" That question would bring her back to surrendering to the moment, to giving up, giving in and feeling that now-familiar peace envelop her. Even when she stuffed up, they seemed happy that she'd apologise - something she'd not really done before.

Staying out of her mother's kitchen, that sacred space, she bought food and took it round to the Fordyces, several times. Amid their protests that she shouldn't, they enjoyed convivial chats and they reminded her, often, what a quick learner she was - even quicker than James had been! This pleased her immensely.

Her brother, Angus, promised to visit her sometime in "that London town". She knew he wouldn't but his attempt at connection was touching.

Her father had obviously spent some time ferreting around in the attic and gave her three photos of her childhood and two of him as a child. He'd explained the photos with obvious and badly concealed emotion. On the last evening her mother had asked Mary if she'd help with the dinner and, though much of what she did was the wrong way 'o doin' it, she knew it was an honour never bestowed on anyone else before.

She left for London with an empty head and a full heart, quite oblivious that the universe had hatched plans to test her new-found sense of deep peace.

18 - Friendship's About Being There, Not Being Right

Recently, a friend of mine (I'll call her Mary) decided to have an abortion and, boy, did that bring out the Righteous Ones, the Ones Who Know and the Ones With Spears of Judgment.

You see, my country has never been attacked and I fondly imagine that, if it was, I'd choose not to fight, for two reasons. Firstly, I've always won my fights by a hundred yards and, second, I know of no war in which there has been a winner. Wars are only for losers. However, I know that I do not know what I'd actually do if that terrible time ever came about - it's a lottery as to whether I'd crouch in cowardly supplication, proudly stand in defiance of fighting or take up arms with the rest of them.

It's all very well to theorise about what we might do, what we should do, but it's quite another thing when the time actually comes. It therefore behoves me not to judge those who either take up arms or those who do not. I don't know what I'd do and I cannot in clear conscience make a ruling on others.

And so with Mary: I know some anti-abortionists who tossed their theories away when they, themselves, became pregnant. Theory is fine, especially when we're talking about what someone else (not us) should do. Theory is all very well when we're talking about some nebulous possibility.

In the spirit of that, then, I just do not understand "friends" who tell Mary that she's a bad person, that she did the wrong thing and that they know better than her what decisions she must make in her life.

Believe it or not, having to make the decision of to abort or not to abort was not the favourite time of Mary's life - it was an absolutely crappy time and the whole thing brought her down in depression, self-doubt and a whole lot of other negative feelings. It was not a time that she had the strength to easily withstand the slings and arrows of those who she thought were friends … that was the last thing she needed.

What she actually needed, my friends, is not judgement and being right but support and being there - practical friendship and not theoretical nonsense. Your thoughts?

And now to Mary Collins who has very few friends ... continued from the previous blog ...

The next day she had shrugged off all those silly notions and questions and had girded herself in the warrior's black suit. She'd even donned a black tie to prove she was done with all that prissy, crying stuff.

She'd stormed into the office, rearranged the organisation chart and then, when everybody had arrived, she held a ten-minute meeting to tell everyone who was promoted, demoted and moved sideways. She knew that some of the rearrangements weren't entirely logical but decided that the whole place needed a damned good shake-up anyway - keep the buggers on their toes. That afternoon she had formed two new policies that she should have obtained approval from Commonwealth Insurance's Washington head office for, but she wasn't in the mood for all the paperwork, justifications and two months of procrastination, so she went ahead anyway. It was fortuitous that her boss was on extended leave and that his deputy, the chinless wonder of an Operations Director, had a terror of ferocious women and had conceded to Mary's bizarre ideas without a whimper of objection.

The first policy was that no claims, from any client for any reason, would be accepted on first application. Certain minor claims would also be rejected on second application. It saved a lot of paperwork and money and if clients had the gumption to make a claim after being rejected twice, they probably deserved the money and so it was investigated.

The second policy was actually a protection racket, marketed as a pretence of caring for clients. It was a simple matter of creating a new type of policy to cover people who had made claims and didn't want to lose their no-claims bonus - they paid the insurance company a new premium so they wouldn't increase their premiums! The new premium was 12% higher than the no-claims bonus would have been so the company made more money and got more clients who, weirdly, thought the insurance company was caring and protective of them. Of course, Mary had to clear the idea with the statisticians but none of them could fault her logic or maths.

When head office found out about it they were up in arms. How dare she break protocol and go over the heads of her superiors? Of course, an example had to be made of her, a young upstart. Can't have people thinking out of line, acting like renegades and encouraging others to do the same - where would things be if chaos reigned? She was summarily dismissed and the insurance club, the British Insurance Institute, was told never to hire her for she was nothing but trouble, uncontrollable, disrespectful and the rest. Of course, everyone at the club heartily agreed with Commonwealth Insurance's representative's sentiments and commiserated on his company's misfortune in hiring her in the first place. Within days, through the mist of her shock and depression, there appeared letters and phone calls from nearly every member of the insurance club, very healthy offers of employment. Mary chuckled at the duplicity - they held no trust of honour to their clients and here, she realised, they held none to one another.

Though strangely comical, it was also a sad moment for Mary as she realised what a greedy, faithless world she'd thrown herself into. Though she had rejected the plodding poverty of her parents, she realised what good and honest people they were and she yearned for that for herself.

Though there was pressure from the job offers to answer quickly, she decided to return to her native Scotland for a holiday. Before she did, however, something made her decide to have one interview before she went. Perhaps it was sort of insurance or a way of providing comfort, knowing that something would be organised for when she got back. Anyway, she called Sam Lord of Allied Insurance Limited, dressed in her favourite "power" clothes and arrived like a virgin, more nervous than she could have guessed at, three hours later.

As he introduced himself, he held her hand a little longer than was usual, while looking deeply into her eyes. She was surprised - intimidated and thrilled, somehow - and felt a little unsure about how to respond. His plump white hands had never performed manual labour, she surmised, and one of them gently grazed her shoulder and she felt comforted to be steered towards a family of lounge chairs in one corner of his massive office. As she eased herself into the ample folds of the black leather chair, she wondered if it was such a good idea to have worn a clinging knee-length skirt. As she wondered how to extricate herself gracefully, she surveyed the oak-panelled office that looked more like a library than an office. Deep green carpet soaked up the sounds and the absence of technology suggested that the modern, outside world stayed outside. This serene and stately island amid the mayhem of the world's financial capital spoke of a guardian with taste and a determination to rule his world his way. She accepted a coffee - Columbian - that appeared almost as soon as she chose it, at the hand of Mr Lord's threateningly young secretary.

He seemed to be in no hurry to talk of business or her career and he was most interested in her family and personal interests. He had a way of coaxing out her intimate details without causing discomfort and, on more than one occasion, she had the strange feeling that he already knew the answers to his questions. When he did, eventually, move on to her experience and career aspirations, she knew for sure that he had done his research thoroughly. She felt comforted by his genuine interest - and flattered, in fact - and a little trapped. She knew, without a doubt, there would be no comfort in this position, no safe place to fall as his subordinate. The soft and nurturing glove of his considerable charm, she just knew, could easily and quickly be exchanged for the sharp steel gauntlet of his anger. A far cry from the insipid niceness with which she had previously been surrounded, her spirit felt the call of the wild - a challenge she knew would test her and one she knew she couldn't walk away from.

"So, Mary, what do you think you're worth to us?" he asked, giving her the unexpected challenge of putting a value on herself.

His brazenness emboldened her. "I don't have the answer right now, Mr Lord ..."

"Sam. Please do call me Sam," he said, interrupting her.

"Oh, ah, Sam," said Mary, trying to recover when she was just getting under way. "You're asking a direct question that I have no answer for." He smiled patiently. "I've been totally engrossed in the insurance industry since I left school and, as you know, my world has been rocked and I have a sense that my whole perspective on anything, especially my work, is severely out of kilter."

"Such honestly and self-awareness from one so young," he mused. "What would help the return of your right perspective?"

"Time out," said Mary, blushing at the compliment and at the embarrassment of wondering if she should really be here, looking for a job. "I've decided I need to get out of the industry, out of the city, and reconnect with my roots for a while. Then I'll be ready for work."

"Not for too long, I hope," said Sam, leaning forward, interested.

"I don't know," said Mary, leaning back, acting more nonchalant than she felt. "It may be a week, it may be a month. I just don't know - the last few weeks have been very trying and I want to return to work fully restored."

"Return to the work of insurance, I hope," said Sam.

"Well, it's all I've ever done and I do seem to be very good at it," said Mary, surprising herself. "But, I do find myself treading on very sensitive toes at times."

"You sure do!" said Sam laughing and clapping his hands as he settled back into his chair. "That, my dear, is just what we need here and why we're having this conversation. Things need shaking up around here, around the insurance industry in general, and I'm looking for a co-shaker. As I said, that's why we're having this conversation, Mary."

"I suppose it is," said Mary musing. "I'm just finding it hard to believe an insurance mogul, like yourself, could be a stirrer - I didn't think they existed in these large corporations. They all seem to be so ..."

"Insipid!" said Sam, finishing her exact thought. "Let me just say, Mary, that when - not if - you come to work here, you'll have a lot of pleasant surprises," he said, looking meaningfully at her.

"Yes, right," said Mary, unsure if the surprises would be business or personal ones. "Let me take my mini-sabbatical and I'll call you as soon as I'm back on balance and ready to commit."

12 - Who's In Your Club?

Once upon a time there was a Great White Hunter, in pith hat and safari suit, exploring the jungles of Africa. Ahead of him were his jungle boys, slashing a path with their machetes and, behind were his porters, carrying all his necessary supplies. He had been exploring thus for many months - no white man had ever been so deep into the jungle - when, suddenly, they came upon a clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a massive bull elephant, lying on its side, recently killed. Beside it was a little native man, arms akimbo, one foot on the elephant, obviously proud of his kill.

"My gosh, did you kill this elephant?" asked the Great White Hunter, astonished.

"Yep," said the little native man, smiling hugely.

"But how did you do it?" asked the Great White Hunter, no less astonished.

"With my club," said the little native man.

"Might I see this club?" asked the Great White Hunter, intrigued.

"Oh, there's about twelve of us," said the little native man.

Nothing we ever achieve is done alone. No statesman, no Olympic athlete, no successful businessman, no great artist ever did it alone.

Most of us are waiting for that "moment", that flash of enlightenment that transforms our being, as occurred with Jesus after 40 days in the desert and with Buddha after 49 days under the Bodhi tree. However, that moment of enlightenment, that abiding peace of God, eludes us, no matter what we do - we become vegetarian, give up smoking and alcohol, meditate, think happy thoughts, do nice deeds, say positive affirmations and become as "good" as we can ever be. That moment still eludes us and we feel disappointed, let down, by an uncaring (spiteful, even) God.

However, as Jesus says, "I trust my brothers who are one with me."

It is not done, he would suggest, by being good but by being one … by realising our oneness and that none of us becomes enlightened alone. Only when we see the peace of God shining in every person we encounter, will we realise it in ourselves. Only when we see the peace (not spite) of God shining in God, will we realise it in ourselves. As Jesus says, every encounter with another is a holy encounter with ourselves.

So, as an exercise, perhaps we could start with seeing the Christ in Raoul Moat, the "Northumberland killer", and also seeing it in his parents, his victims, their families, the police and everyone else involved. When we see the holiness in everyone - perpetrator, victim, bystander, fixer - equally, we may just begin to realise it in ourselves.

Then we can make the exercise more difficult, more personal. We can attempt to see the Christ in everyone we meet - our lover, the postman, the boss who fires us, the hairdresser who makes us glamorous, the neighbour who runs over our cat, the other neighbour who saves our cat. We don't actually do anything - we just see them differently.

What we often forget is that none of it is about us (our smallness) but it's all about Us (our grandness) which is so because of our oneness, our connection with all that is. When we see our path to enlightenment (however we define enlightenment) as a path along which we help our fellow humans find their enlightenment (however they define theirs), we might just … unexpectedly, accidentally … have the moment we've been waiting for … seeing in others that which we wish to experience for ourselves.

And now Arthur Bayly's story continues from previous blogs ...

Arthur thought he was unfazed by the Australian incident, as he called it, but when the busyness stopped, that queezy, hollow feeling returned to his stomach. It just sat there mocking him while he worried about who might be watching them. He went over to the drawn curtains and peered out at the deepening gloom. 'Deepening gloom,' he thought to himself, 'it's everywhere - outside and right here inside.'

"Are you OK, Arthur?" asked Joan. "You look nervous."

"Oh, ah, yes, I'm fine dear," he said, unable to look her in the eye.

"Well, stop pacing - you look like you're being stalked," she said.

"Well, if you must know, that Australian chappie has me quite rattled," Arthur said. "I just can't shake the feeling of … of …"

"Of being followed," said Joan, finishing off.

"Yes, yes, of being followed," he said, not really wanting to say it but feeling fractionally better now that he had. "I don't know why and I don't know what it might mean for us. I mean, what is it, exactly, that we're not to do? I just don't understand," he said as a shudder coursed up his spine.

"Oh, Arthur, my dear," said Joan embracing him in a bear hug. "I'm worried too … no, I'm frightened, I'm frightened. Let's be honest about it. We're both frightened and we don't know what to do about it."

"Oh Joan," said Arthur, feeling the warmth of her body and lost for any more words. He didn't want to let her go, it felt so safe and comforting … like a little boy needing his mother's hugs. Quite pathetic, really, he surmised. He went to pull away.

"Don't go now, Arthur," said Joan quietly. "I feel like a little girl needing a really big hug from Daddy. Bit pathetic, really, but there you are."

Arthur smiled and relaxed into her again. Then an idea struck him. "You know, Joan, I daresay the more we stay in here, the more we'll feel trapped. You know, not seeing or facing the enemy," he said, pulling back a little and looking into her tear-stained face. "Why don't we go for a walk, face the rotten sods … I don't know, maybe just prove to ourselves we're safe and we can do normal things."

"Brilliant, Arthur, brilliant!" said Joan, brightening. "Let's do it now!" She strode off and returned with coats and keys.

-------------------

After the deepest sleep he could remember, his body woke him up with a jolt at his habitual time of 6.30 am. He struggled out of bed, feeling his usual oppression and sense of futility at a life less lived. As he opened his wardrobe to pick out one of his several grey suits, he stopped, embarrassed. Uncertainly. Smiling childishly to himself. A hazy glow of light began to penetrate his usual cloud of foreboding, evaporating it with a lightness he was unused to. His overwhelming sense of duty to march off to work, grim and stolid, evaporated with that shaft of gentle light. He plumped down on the edge of the bed.

If today had been any previous day, he would have obeyed the soldier's call, reluctantly. He would have wearily saluted that insanely barking sergeant-major - red-faced and veins swelling - in his head, and gone to war against an enemy that was not his own. His overriding sense of duty to that crazy and fearful man in the parade ground of his mind, bellowing at him to shoulder arms and march off to vanquish an invisible enemy for the sake of work and family.

Only now, work didn't care, he'd discovered, and family expected no pound of flesh at all … never had and never will. That monstrous and grotesque parade ground screamer slowly shrank before his mind's eye and became a silly little man, mouthing senseless nothings. Arthur realised that the soldiers of war and work killed no one but themselves as they pompously strutted their loyalty to a country or a company that cared not a jot. Afraid of being seen as weak, they bowed in mute compliance to the insane rantings of a stamping, storming authority that was more afraid of them … than him.

Such strange thoughts had never entered his mind before and he wondered where his inner poet had turned up from.

As he pondered a lifetime of obedience and fear, to such insane demands - illusory demands, even - he saw the silly side of his own drivenness, his own blindness and his plodding forever onward on a mission that could never be accomplished. He saw the whole futility of generations of dumb cattle being herded to the milking shed every day, rain or shine, in sickness or in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. And, in these dark economic times, the death was usually of the employer rather than the employed, as in previous centuries. Chewing on their meagre cud, the doe-eyed cows knew that no amount of milk would ever be enough to satisfy the appetites of those who had more than they needed. As these bizarre thoughts zipped round his mind, he realised - without knowing how he knew this as he'd never tasted power or affluence - that the more he had, the more he had to fear … and that fear fuelled the desperate need for more power, money and toys. With surprising clarity he realised just how lucky he was, never having risen to the exalted position of fear of those beneath him - those who had nothing to lose but the odd night's sleep … those beneath him who he would have constantly pretended to be all-knowing while hiding the shame of his all-consuming fear and sense of separation.
He had become reunited with Joan, a person and a reason that felt more real than anything else he had known. As he felt himself plugging back into his marriage, that huge welded plug into his work began to melt and drop away.

He sat on the corner of their bed, not sure whether to laugh or cry and he found himself humming an old tune:
Ringa ringa rosy, a pocketful of posy
Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down ...

"Darling, you're singing!" said Joan, smiling from under the bedclothes.

"Oh, I didn't know you were awake!" he said swinging around, startled out of his reverie.

"Oh, I've been watching you for some time," she said. "What's going through that busy head of yours?"

"Mmm," he said, not quite knowing where to start. "We just seem to go round and round and have nothing more to show for it than a pocketful of posies … then we all fall down … whatever that means!" He smiled at her and at his own nonsense.

"Gosh, that's a bit deep for this early!" Joan said. "You're not going to work are you?"

"No, no, I was just realising that I don't have to today and feeling a trifle odd about that," he said, "and I know I don't have to but I seem to be a bit guilty about it all. My duty, you know."

"Your duty?"

"Well, yes, I was just thinking that there are so many duties one is raised to honour," Arthur said hesitantly, "and I realised, for the first time, you are my first duty … my first concern and work just doesn't have the hold it had before. I'm not sure what's happened."

"So what is your momentous decision, dear?" she asked, "to flee or not to flee?"

"Not to flee it is," he said smiling, "although, if it wasn't today, the decision would have been different - I'd be off to work, unquestionably but, somehow, I've been unplugged from that ... not sure what's happened."

"Well, why don't you plug yourself back into bed, here, and I'll bring the master up some breakfast," said Joan, throwing back the bedclothes on his side.

"But, I ... I ... should, we should ..."

"We should be getting ready for the funeral on Thursday and doing all sorts of other things but it's not even seven o'clock," said Joan firmly, "so get into this maiden's bed and we could perhaps plug into each other, somehow ..."

"Oh, ah," said Arthur, feeling a tingle rising within. "Gosh yes, well, if you insist!" He gingerly crept back into bed feeling as if he was slightly to the side of himself, watching a strange little play he didn't know the script for ... yet he was also the writer, happily unsure of what to write next. As they snuggled together he had a deep and warm feeling of coming home.

"This, my dear ... why didn't we do this more often?" he asked, brushing a stray hair back from her face. "It's ... it's just, well, so comfortable."

"Comfortable? Comfortable!" said Joan in mock horror. "So you think I'm fat?"

"No, no dear, not at all," said Arthur trying to recover lost ground. "I didn't mean physical comfortable. It just feels, well, comfortable like, oh, I don't know. All I can say is it's like coming home. It just feels right, so right."

"Yes darling, I know what you mean," said Joan quietly as her free hand moved down his body.

10 - I Cannot Be Upset By A Fact

As Jesus said, we cannot be upset by a fact.

We are currently living in a rent free cottage, on a 2½- acre property, surrounded by trees (woods) which are surrounded by two golf courses in one of the most expensive parts of Britain - none of the houses here are valued at less than £2 million pounds. To many people, that sounds idyllic. Well, two days ago we were told that we had to move on as the owner has financial problems and she needs to rent the cottage out to generate some income.

The fact is that we must move and the other fact is that we had decided to move anyway - to Oxford, hopefully. Anyway, to the first fact - the part that could sound scary is the fear of what next … Where will we live? Can I find a job? Can I find a job that's both enjoyable and pays enough to keep us in the style we'd like to become accustomed to? It's a credit crunch and I'm a foreigner so will I get a job? On and on my monkey mind would chatter if I let it.

Interestingly, at the exact moment that we were being told that we must move on, I received an email from a university in Oxford, asking me to come up for a job interview!

So, again, there is a fact - tomorrow I am having a job interview. But just imagine what my monkey mind does with that fact. Yee hah! Back to teaching which I love. It's an international university so I'll probably be able to travel. It's good money and long holidays so we'll see lots of Europe … and on and on the crazy man inside chatters on, weaving beautiful fantasies of what could be … if I let him.

There is nothing to be afraid of except that which we weave within our tiny scull-spaces. There is nothing to be excited about except that which we weave within our tiny scull-spaces. In fact, there would be no arguments, war or pain if all we dealt with were facts … The Truth. If we simply sat with the facts of our lives, rather than flying off on the wondrous fantasies we weave, we would have nothing but the abiding and unconquerable peace of God. After all, isn't that what we're all looking for?

So, what are the facts of Arthur Bayly's story - continued from previous blogs ...

Amanda was around at their place in fifteen minutes, in civilian clothes. Arthur and Joan had another cup of tea and Amanda cradled an instant coffee, without enthusiasm. She listened to their story.

"Have your coffee before it gets cold," said Joan.

"Oh, ah, yes, I don't usually drink instant," said Amanda, looking embarrassed. She sipped at her coffee with little obvious relish.

There was a thump at the front door and Arthur leapt up and returned with the evening paper. At the bottom of the front page was a photo of the woman and her child. He read the story out and it was mainly the woman's point of view. He was surprised that she considered him a hero and wanted to thank him, if she could contact him to do so. Arthur felt quite uncomfortable. Joan leapt up and took the paper from him.

"Who's that behind her in the photo, Arthur?" asked Joan.

"No one ... oh, gosh, it's blurry but it could be that young man, the one who gave me my keys," said Arthur, wondering if it was really such fun being 007.

"Who took your keys from you in the first place," said Joan firmly.

"Yes, maybe he did ..." said Arthur.

"Look, it's not a good photo but it's something to go on," said Amanda, standing to leave. "I'll get another paper and start some inquiries."

"But we've got you from your home - why don't you stay for tea?" asked Joan.

"What, and deprive me of my reheated, malnourished, microwaved chicken and spud?" said Amanda, laughing as she ran her hands through her golden curls. "That would be lovely, thanks."

As they sat down to dinner, some time later, Joan insisted on saying grace.

"OK, help yourself to this," said Joan, pushing bowls of steaming food towards Amanda. "We don't usually say grace but I just wanted to thank my mother for her help. Maybe she can help us more from where she is now."

"Probably not yet," suggested Amanda. "Wait three days."

"Three days?" asked Joan.

"Well, most indigenous people think that it takes three days after death for spirit to assert itself," said Amanda.

"Assert itself?" asked Arthur, wondering how a perfectly ordinary English supper had so quickly turned into a ... a, um, talk on death and all that odd stuff.

"Yes, sort of get itself together," said Amanda. "Most of them believe that when we die, our spirit is given three days to decide whether it wants to stay in spirit or to return to earth. What a study in America found was that twenty five percent of bodies in morgues actually came back to life within three days."

"Oh my God, do they really?" asked Arthur, unable to continue spooning out peas from the bowl.

"Yes, it seems there's a sort of waiting period while we're given a choice about coming back or not and we can do so within those three days, even defying medical science," said Amanda.

"What a lovely subject for supper," said Joan, chuckling.

"Oh sorry," said Amanda, blushing.

"Oh, no, go on, this is fascinating," said Joan. "I want to know what happens."

"Well, I don't know that. I don't think anybody really does," said Amanda, warming to her subject. "But this three day wake up thing is why most traditions wait at least three days and why they have the body at home in an open casket - it allows the body to wake up and get up. Hiding a body in a drawer in a mortuary goes against all that."

"Oh, my gosh, I hadn't thought of that!" said Joan, gravy jug poised in mid-air. "Do you think we should have my mother at home with us, Arthur?"

"Oomph," said Arthur, surprised at such a question while his mouth was full of mashed potato.

"Look, I wasn't actually suggesting anything like that," said Amanda, smiling at Joan and probably wondering how long the gravy jug would remain suspended above Joan's food. "Did you want some gravy?"

"Oh, yes, sorry!" said Joan, pouring her gravy and passing it to Amanda.

"All I was suggesting, based on the indigenous people I've worked with, is that you may not get any help from your mother for at least three days."

"Looks like we're on our own, dear," said Arthur, relieved at the turn of conversation.

"On our own ... I don't think we're ever on our own, Arthur" said Joan, smiling. A worrying little spider began crawling about in Arthur's tummy - the conversation seemed to have turned itself back to the dark and shadowy places he did not want to venture into.

"You're right," said Amanda and Arthur studied his steak rather intently, hoping not to be noticed ... hoping it would all go away if he pretended he couldn't hear. "Even in my darkest of times, there was always help when I asked. I just had to want to listen."

"You mean you've had spirit speak to you, do things for you?" asked Joan with peas and steak on fork, aloft.

"I don't know if I'd call it spirit as I don't know what it was," said Amanda, trying to explain the unexplainable. "But I do know that when I've been in an impossible position, when I've needed help or answers, when I've stopped to listen, the impossible seemed to happen."

"What, like miracles?" asked Joan who realised her fork had not yet reached her mouth, then swallowed said peas and steak.

"Like I said, I can't put labels to these things - like spirit or miracle - but things just seem to happen, people seem to turn up unexpectedly, and you're set back on the path again," said Amanda. "Hey, this is the best meal I've had for ages, thanks, and these squishy peas are yummy!" She tucked in enthusiastically.

"Squishy peas? Oh you mean the mushy peas!" said Arthur, chuckling and relieved to be on solid ground again. "That's an English delicacy. We're very proud of our mushy peas. Without them we wouldn't have conquered the world, created the Empire or won the war ..."

"Arthur, you're being quite silly. I don't know what's got into you!" said Joan, smiling while shaking more salt over her potatoes and brussell sprouts. "But I want to know about all this help Amanda's talking about. Go on."

Arthur settled back to his dinner a little mollified to think that things like spirits and miracles had not been dispensed with yet. Like a gazelle at the water hole, he remained alert.

"Well, after my really dark time, when I started to come out of it ... did Arthur tell you?" asked Amanda.

"Yes, he told me a little of it," said Joan.

"So, I decided I needed a job but not one that was too taxing - my mind was a bit, you know, fragile," said Amanda. "So I ended up going for an interview at a government department, doing office work."

"And, by a miracle, you ended up here!" said Joan laughing.

"Well, sort of, but it took several interventions, shall we say," said Amanda. "I went to the interview and the office at that address was shut and so I went next door to the police station to ask where they'd moved to, met up with a friend I hadn't seen for ten years, had lunch with her and ended up joining the police!"

"So you ended up working for a government department!" said Arthur, deciding it was safe to join in again.

"Huh! I'd never thought of that!" said Amanda, helping herself to more boiled potatoes from the bowl. "Then, two years later ... I suppose you want to hear the end of this boring story?"

"It's not boring at all, Amanda," said Joan. "Go on!"

"I usually do - go on that is!" said Amanda. "So, after two years I found out about this exchange programme with Britain and I had always wanted to travel and, well, because I'd helped in a case in the Coromandel - a relatively remote part of New Zealand - where there'd been smuggling of drugs and other things going on and there'd seemed to be links with England, Scotland and America and it had seemed to have something to do with insurance scams - I'd worked in insurance before ..."

"You worked in insurance?" asked Arthur. "That's where I've always worked!"

"Who do you work for?" asked Amanda, about to spear a potato and stopping suddenly.

"I work for AIL," said Arthur, "up in London"
"AIL? Oh my God!" exclaimed Amanda, going quite red.

"Well, as I told you earlier, I don't work there any more, as of today," said Arthur, hoping to stop that creeping spider in his stomach from starting up again. Amanda's reaction did not help.

"Of course, of course, you're not there any more, are you," said Amanda in a vain attempt to act flippant.

"Is AIL involved in any of this?" asked Joan, asking the question Arthur wanted to but couldn't.