Matthew Byrne: ‘Nancy from London’

This wonderful traditional song appears on Matthew’s most recent album, ‘Horizon Lines’.

In my opinion, Matthew Byrne is the finest interpreter of traditional folk songs in Canada today. He learned his traditional songs the old fashioned way – from his mum, who learned them from an aunt, etc. etc. He has a wonderful singing voice, and a superb guitar-playing style. As a guitarist myself, I was amazed to discover that he plays with a pick rather than with his fingers; I’ve never have believed flatpicking could sound so much like finger-picking.

His website is here. Edmontonians – my friend Bill Werthmann tells me Matthew is on the list of performers for the 2018-19 season of the Northern Lights Folk Club. January 19th 2019!


‘God of Power and Love’ (a sermon on Isaiah 6:1-8)

This past week I was away at our diocesan clergy conference, and on the last day of the conference – Thursday morning – Bishop Jane led us in a session on preaching. Part way through the session she asked us to reflect on what it was that we wanted to say in our sermons for this Sunday. And then she asked us a couple of even more interesting questions: whydo we want to say that, and how does what we want to say connect with our personal sense of passionfor God and God’s message?

Today is Trinity Sunday, and maybe the last thing you’re expecting to hear on Trinity Sunday is any sort of passion! Maybe you’re expecting a dry theological discourse about God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Maybe there’ll be some clever sermon illustration – like the three leaves of a shamrock – or the fact that water can take the form of ice, or liquid, or gas. It all sounds a little forced and contrived, and at the end of the sermon your vision of God is somehow lessthan it was before, as if Einstein had been deluded enough to think that E=MC2can adequately sum up the whole of reality.

That’s notwhat I want to do here this morning. I want you to leave church this morning with a bigger view of God, not a smaller view. I want you to catch a glimpse of a God who is far beyond anything we can possibly understand or imagine – a God who can never be reduced to a neat formula. I want you to leave this morning excited about a relationship with a God like that. I want you to think to yourself “Wow! A God like that would be amazing to know – even if we can never adequately describe him! You could spend a lifetime getting to know him and hardly scratch the surface!”

I think we can catch some of that excitement from our Old Testament reading today, from the book of the prophet Isaiah.Let me set the scene for you. We’re told that Isaiah had this transformational encounter with God ‘in the year that King Uzziah died’ (v.1). This was a time of uncertainty and change for God’s people; Israel and Judah were feeling small and vulnerable against the might of Assyria and its new king, Tiglath-Pileser. In this context, God gives Isaiah a vision of who the trueking is, a vision that emphasizes God’s power and majesty and holiness.Isaiah seems to have had this vision in the temple; perhaps he had gone there to pray or take part in a sacrifice. What does the vision tell us about the Lord, the God of Israel? Look at verses 1-4:

‘In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance around him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
the whole earth is full of his glory”.

The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke’.

 Notice: Isaiah doesn’t try to describe the Lord’s appearance. That’s a common feature in stories of God’s appearances in the Bible; they describe the edgeof the field of vision, and the ‘court personalities’ around God, but not God himself. Why? Because the authors know there’s no human language adequate to the task of describing the God they’ve seen. The most Isaiah can bring himself to say is that the Lord’s throne was ‘high and lofty’, and ‘the hem of his robe filled the temple’. I don’t know if any of you have seen the coronation photographs of Queen Elizabeth from 1953; she’s a fairly small figure but she’s wearing an absolutely enormous cloak, stretching all around the platform she’s standing on. And Isaiah sees God as the high King of all kings, with a massive cloak that stretches around him, so huge it fills the entire temple building.

Truly there’s no language we can use, no picture we can create, that can adequately describe God. The Bible uses all sorts of images for God: the rock of our salvation, the Good Shepherd, the Lord of the armies of heaven, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the true heavenly Father, and so on. But not one of them is big enough to give us a complete picture of God.

Nowadays I think we have an even stronger sense of the majesty and indescribability of God than Isaiah did. Think of what we know about the universe today! The universe is about 14.5 billion years old, but God was there before the big bang, and through all those billions of years God has been present, sustaining the whole thing. Ever since the big bang, the universe has been expanding at incredible speed, and the distances are truly astronomical – pun intended! Alpha Centauri is one of the closest stars to us, but it would still take us four years, travelling at the speed of light – which we can’t do, of course – to reach it. The light from some of the stars in our night sky has taken millionsof years to reach us. And yet God created all that, and God holds it all in hands of love.

How can we ever begin to describe such a God? Isaiah uses the word ‘Holy’ three times: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory’ (Isaiah 6:3). The word in the Hebrew scriptures is ‘qodesh’ and it means ‘apartness’, ‘set-apartness’, ‘separateness’, ‘sacredness’. When applied to human beings it means ‘set apart for God’. A holy person is a person or nation God has set apart as his own special possession; the Church is ‘holy’ because we, its members, have been set apart by God as a people belonging to him.

But obviously when applied to God himself the word has a slightly different meaning. “Set apart”. “Separateness”. We might say the emphasis is on the differencebetween God and us. God isn’t just the biggest thing in all of creation; God isn’t ‘in’ creation at all. God’s love is the force that keeps the whole of creation going. He’s completely different from us: his love and knowledge and goodness have no limits.

How can I possibly understand such a God? How can I do anything but fearsuch a God? In God’s presence I must be smaller than an ant! Me trying to understand God is like an ant trying to understand quantum physics! That’s why the Israelites were forbidden to make graven images of their god. Any image you could possibly make of God is inadequate; no image can ever do justice to the original.

And yet, that’s not the end of what the Bible has to say about God. Isaiah thinks at first that it is. He sees the glory of God and his brain feels like it’s exploding; all he can think about is what a sinner he is and how angry God must be about his sins.

“Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the king, the LORD of hosts!” (6:5).

I must admit to having a grunt of recognition here! I imagine what it might be like if God had hung a digital recorder around my neck, and on the day of judgement he just leaned forward and pressed ‘play’, and suddenly I’m listening to all the unkind and cruel and judgemental things I’ve ever said – all the lies I’ve told – all the times I’ve ever spoken without thinking – all the times I’ve put other people down – all the times I’ve said things to impress people. I’m well aware of the damage I’ve done over the years by my words. Truly, I’m a man of unclean lips. How can someone like me stand up in the presence of a holy God?

And yet there is cleansing with God. In the Hebrew scriptures the people offer sacrifices on the altar for the forgiveness of sins. In Isaiah’s vision there’s an altar there with burning coals on it: the angel picks up a live coal with a pair of tongs and touches Isaiah’s lips with it – which I can’t imagine would have been a pleasant experience! But the result is purification: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out” (v.7).

What are we saying to someone when we forgive them? We’re saying, “Yes, you’ve hurt me, but our relationship is worth too much to me for me just to throw it away. So I’m not going to hit back; I’m not going to cut you off; I’m going to continue to love you and be there for you”. In other words, forgiveness is an act of love.

‘Holy, holy, holy’ is Isaiah’s vision of God. But in our Gospel reading we hear another word for God: ‘love’.

‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have everlasting life’ (John 3:16).

What can we possibly say about a love like this? This earth is huge to us but it’s a pin-prick in the vastness of the universe. How could God care about one tiny planet in all his enormous creation? How could he care about the two-legged creatures who’ve been walking the face of that planet for a tiny part of the time it’s been in existence? And is it even conceivable that he could care for oneof those creatures as an individual: the one I call ‘Me’?

This is the big question in the human heart, isn’t it? Does God notice me? Am I so tiny in the enormity of the universe that God misses the fact that I exist? Or is it possible – can I begin to hope it’s true – that God not only knows I exist but loves me with a love so passionate that he was willing to come and live and die for me, and for every other ‘me’ that has ever lived on earth?

This is the amazing truth the New Testament writers want us to believe. John tells us about it:

‘God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son t be the atoning sacrifice for our sins’ (1 John 4:9-10).

In other words, the almighty creating power that gave life to us and everything else that has ever existed is first and foremost a power of love. Right at the centre of the universe is an awesome and holy being who isn’t a tyrant in love with his own power. Somehow, in a way that we can never fully take in, the holy God Isaiah describes is a God who is all love– pure, holy, just, righteous, faithful and unconditional love.

‘In this is love’, John says, ‘not that we loved God but that he loved us’ (1 John 4:10). God’s love is always first; its only because he loves that I can love. And I might work my whole life long to fill up my bucket with love, while all the time, God’s love is like a mighty ocean. That’s where I can fill my bucket!

The coals from the altar touched Isaiah’s lips and brought him forgiveness. Today the bread and wine of Holy Communion will touch our lips to remind us of Jesus’ love for us; we’re invited to eat and drink our forgiveness and healing. Yes, we’ve fallen short – we haven’t loved God with our whole heart and we haven’t loved our neighbours as ourselves – but ‘God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him’ (John 3:17). So you’re invited to come to him again today – to receive his forgiveness and healing – and to go from this place knowing that you are held in the loving embrace of the God who made you for the pleasure of knowing you.

And one more thing: you’re also called to tell others about this God who loves them.

In verse 8 we read,

‘Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

God is still sending people today. The love of Jesus needs to be shared with everyone, and God has chosen to share it through you and me.

In 1981 the words of this text inspired a Jesuit priest, Father Dan Schutte, to write a song that’s become a classic. Here’s the first verse

I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry,
All who dwell in dark and sin my hand will save.
I who made the stars of night, I will make their darkness bright.
Who will bear my light to them? Whom shall I send?
Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart.

Come to this God today. Don’t be afraid. He’s calling you to a journey of discovery. All your life long you’re going to be getting to know him, and you’ll never come to the end of him! There’s always going to be more to discover about God!

Come this morning; let the holy sacrament touch your lips and enter your body as the forgiving love of Jesus touches you deep down inside. And then go – you are sent, as disciples of Jesus, to spread his love wherever you go. God says to you and me today, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” I hope you will join me in the words of Isaiah: “Here am I; send me”. Amen.

‘A Time to Mend’ Chapter 38

Link back to Chapter 37


Over the next few weeks spring came to Oxfordshire. The days lengthened, the rain showers did their part in greening up the grass and trees, and the spring bird migrations were in full force.

We continued to spend a lot of time with my mother. She gradually got into the habit of staying over a couple of nights each week at Mike and Becca’s flat in town, and Emma and I sometimes hosted her for supper, along with Becca and Mike if they were free. Rick and Alyson sometimes had us all over to their place; Rick was discovering a new hobby in cooking, and he enjoyed discovering interesting recipes in his cookbooks and trying them out on us. “Anna likes helping me out, too”, he said to me one day.


“Really. She’s been helping Alyson for years, and lately she’s decided she doesn’t mind helping me too. And I like having something the two of us can do together”.

“Very cool. And the recipes are good, too”.

“Thanks! Maybe one day I’ll retire and become a chef”.

“Maybe ‘Lincoln Green’ will come come and play at your restaurant”.

“Oh God, no! All those songs about drownings and stabbings – very bad for the customers, you know!”


I knew my father’s death was still hitting my mother hard. I spent as much time as I could with her, and she talked freely with me about her loneliness and sadness and general lack of energy. I was used to seeing her as the steady, unemotional member of our family, the one we relied on to hold things together and get things done; it was a new experience to see her openly struggling with depression and having difficulty with simple everyday tasks around the house.

Emma was a big help here. She realized what was happening, and as she had done with my father, she quickly moved into her familiar supporting role without any fanfare or fuss. At least once a week, if she wasn’t studying or working at her placement and if I was busy with marking and other schoolwork, she would take the car and drive out to Northwood to spend the evening with her grandmother. When I asked her what they talked about, her reply was almost identical to what she had said a year ago about her conversations with Sarah: “We talk about everything, Dad. Actually, a lot of the time she talks, and I just listen”.

Emma said very little to me about the decision she was struggling with herself, although I knew she talked occasionally with Becca, and with Matthew and Alanna. She was well aware that the longer she waited to put in an application, the harder it would be to get into the University of Saskatchewan if she should decide to take that option. The anxious parent in me wanted to raise this issue with her, but I restrained myself; she knew about deadlines as well as I did.

I heard from Mickey several times. His calls always came late in the evening, sometimes after I had gone to bed; he never stayed on the phone for long, but his questions about Colin were persistent and relentless. What had he been doing? What had I been doing with him? Had he mentioned his father at all? What had Wendy and I been saying to him about his father? On a couple of occasions when he called I could tell he had been drinking; his comments were erratic and some of his words were slurred, and he refused to take the hint when I told him I needed to end the call.

I was honest in my replies to his questions; I told him that Colin rarely spoke about him, and when he did it was not complimentary. Wendy and I actually tried to avoid any mention of Mickey around Colin, but when we were alone together we admitted that we were worried about his interest in his son. “He’s just jealous of the fact that Colin obviously likes you”, Wendy said to me one night, “but that scares me. Jealousy does bad things to Mickey”.


One evening early in May Wendy and I went out for a walk to the village of Old Marston. It was a warm evening and we were both wearing jeans and tee-shirts; we walked as far as the old church of St. Nicholas, then turned back and stopped in at the Red Lion pub for a drink on the way home. Wendy had been unusually quiet, and I could tell she had something on her mind, but I was learning that when something was bothering her I needed to be patient and wait until she was ready to talk about it. After fifteen years of marriage to Kelly, this was a new experience for me.

We sat in the beer garden behind the pub, with a trellis over our heads and spring flowers in pots around us; there were a few other people out there sitting at the tables, but it was not crowded. Wendy took a sip of her cider, gave me a little frown and said, “Sorry I’ve been a bit preoccupied tonight”.

“Something on your mind?”

“Yes. Colin got a cheque in the mail from Mickey this morning”.

“A cheque?”

“For £25,000”.

I stared at her; “Is this about my dad’s inheritance money?”

“I think so”.


She nodded; “Exactly”.

“How does Colin feel?”

“He’s really angry. He doesn’t want to take a penny of Mickey’s money; it’s been bothering him for years that I get child maintenance for him, and he really wasn’t happy when I told him Mickey was going to be helping with his vocational college costs. But this has crossed the line”.

“Is he going to send it back?”

“Or tear it up and write his dad a scorching email about it”.

“And what do you think?”

She shook her head. “I sympathize with him, but I’m worried about what Mickey will do. He can be so volatile”.

“Have you mentioned that to Colin?”

“Yes, but he’s determined. I asked him to wait forty-eight hours before making a decision; honestly, he was ready to tear it up as soon as he took it out of the envelope this morning”.

“That might be a problem”.

“Yes. I’m going to ring Rees after I get home”.

“Are you going to have him talk to Mickey?”

“Yes, but I’d prefer to do it before Colin does anything with the cheque; at least then we can present it to Mickey as a conversation, not as a fait accompli”. 

“Even though it is a fait accompli”.

She shrugged; “I suppose you’re right, but what else can I do?”

“I know”. I hesitated, and then said, “A couple of times when Mickey’s called me lately I’ve noticed he’s been drinking”.

She nodded slowly; “I’m not surprised”.

“Be careful about this, okay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Tom”.


A few nights later I went with Lisa to hear a concert of choral music at the Sheldonian Theatre on Broad Street. The program included works by Palestrina, Gibbons, and Byrd; the unaccompanied voices sounded ethereal, and I could tell by the expression on Lisa’s face that the music was touching her deeply. I had always enjoyed Gibbons’ English compositions from the 16th century, but the Latin pieces by Byrd and Palestrina were new to me, and at times I had to concentrate hard to follow the intricate weavings of the melody lines.

When we emerged onto Broad Street at about nine-thirty we stood still for a moment outside the theatre, the crowd milling around us; Lisa slipped her hand into my arm and said, “Are you going to come back to the house for a cup of hot chocolate or something?”

“Sounds good”.

When we arrived at the Howards’ Lisa let us in the front door with her key; stepping into the front hallway, she called out, “Anyone home?”

It was Colin who answered; he opened the living room door, and I saw immediately the expression of fear on his face. “Colin”, I said, “What…?”

“Dad’s here”, he whispered, “and he’s drunk”.

“Oh shit!” Lisa exclaimed; “Has Mum called the police?”

“No – he’s been threatening her”.

Lisa pulled out her mobile; “Is Mum all right?”

“Yes, but…”

I heard Mickey’s drunken shout from the living room. “Who’s that? Why don’t you tell them to come in?”

Lisa keyed in in a number and brought her phone up to her ear. “I’ll go outside to call the police”, she whispered to me; “Can you go in and try to help Mum?”

“Okay; maybe you’d be better to stay out there”.

She shook her head as she slipped outside and closed the door quietly behind her. I put my hand on Colin’s shoulder; “Right; let’s go back in”.

Wendy and Mickey were standing in front of the chairs on either side of the fireplace; Mickey’s long grey hair was untidy and his clothes were creased and dirty. As I moved closer and held out my hand to him I could smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I didn’t know you were coming to Oxford, Mickey”, I said quietly.

“You!” he exclaimed. “What gives you the right to give my son money and then refuse to let me do the same?”

“Neither of those statements are true”, I replied.

“Fucking liar!” he cried, lurching a little as he stepped forward and grabbed my arm; “I told you not to get between me and my son!”

“Why don’t you sit down?” I replied, trying to keep my voice as even as possible; “We can talk about this over a cup of coffee. Is there any coffee, Wendy?”

“I can easily make some”, she replied.

“Sit down!” Mickey bawled at her; “I don’t want any coffee! I’ve come to take Colin home with me!” He tightened his grip on my arm and fixed me with his drunken stare; “Don’t you try to stop me!” he warned.

I heard the front door open and close, and a moment later Lisa slipped into the living room. “The police are on their way, Mum”, she said, moving over and putting her arm around Wendy’s shoulders; “They’ll be here in five minutes”.

“Fucking bitch!” Mickey cried, and before I could stop him he had lifted his arm and slapped Lisa hard across the face. She cried out, her hands flying up to protect herself as he raised his hand to strike again, but I grabbed him from behind, grasping his outstretched arm. “Lisa, you and Colin get outside; you can wait for the police out there”.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mickey cried, twisting in my grip with surprising speed. I saw his clenched fist too late to avoid it, and the next thing I knew I was staggering backwards from the impact of a punishing blow to my jaw. Mickey raised his fist to strike again, but I sidestepped him, and at the same moment Lisa and Wendy both grabbed him from behind. “Mickey, stop this!” Wendy cried; “This isn’t going to accomplish anything for you other than sending you back to jail”.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you!” he retorted, twisting in their grip and wrenching himself free. “But I can get out of the country, you know”, he said as he turned to face us again; “I can take my son somewhere where you won’t be able to find us”.

Colin laughed; “You’re out of your mind!” he said scornfully. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

Mickey stared at him for a moment, then turned to look at me, lifting his finger accusingly at me. “I told you”, he said slowly, his speech slurred, “not to turn him against me”.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of that all by yourself. Look, why don’t we all sit down and talk about this quietly? This confrontation is getting us nowhere, and it certainly isn’t helping you get what you want”.

“Sit down until the police come, you mean?” He shook his head, a sinister smile playing around his lips. “I’m not such a fool; I don’t think the police or the courts are going to give me what I want”. He looked from me to Lisa, then to Wendy, and finally his gaze rested on Colin, standing by the open door to the front hallway. I saw the fear in Colin’s eyes, and was opening my mouth to speak when suddenly Mickey darted across the room and grabbed him by the arm.

“No!” Wendy screamed, and the next moment she had flung herself on Mickey, her hands pulling at his, trying desperately to free Colin. Colin was fighting too, yelling and pulling against his father’s grip, and after a moment’s desperate struggle he succeeded; Mickey fell back against one of the easy chairs by the fireplace, and Wendy pushed Colin toward the open doorway. “Get outside and wait for the police!” she cried.

“I’m not leaving you in here with him; he can’t take on all four of us”.

Mickey was getting to his feet slowly, and I saw the drunken rage on his face. “Can’t take on all four of you?” he repeated, thrusting his hand into his pocket; “Let’s see what you say about this!” As his hand came up from his pocket again I heard the click, and as the light flashed on the polished steel I realized he was holding a switchblade.

I heard Wendy catch her breath. “No, Mickey”, she said, and I heard the tremor in her voice; “Please don’t do this. Put the knife down, and let’s talk”.

He took a step forward, the switchblade moving in slow threatening circles in his hand. “I took to carrying this in Iraq, you know”, he said. “Wanted to protect myself; all sorts of nasty people out there. A couple of U.S. Marines taught me how to use it; handy little thing, isn’t it?”

I felt my heart pounding as I realized that I was facing the exact situation we’d discussed hypothetically for years in Bible studies about nonviolence: what would we do if someone carrying a knife or a gun threatened our loved ones? Did nonviolence mean we should just sit back quietly and let the attacker kill us all? I took a step forward, my eyes fixed on the switchblade as it moved slowly in Mickey’s hand. “Wendy, get everyone outside”, I said quietly.

“No”, she replied, “I’m staying with you. Lisa, please get your brother outside”.

At that moment Mickey lunged forward, thrusting the knife toward my body. I sidestepped him again, putting out my leg as he went past; he swore as he fell to the floor, and the knife flew from his hand toward the corner where Lisa was standing. She bent instinctively and grabbed it; I heard Mickey cry out in rage, and the next thing I knew he was lunging toward her on his knees. She backed against the wall, the switchblade pointing toward him. “You bastard!” she cried out; “You touch me and I’ll kill you – I swear I will!”

He got to his feet slowly. “No you won’t”, he said softly, straightening up and taking a step toward her; “You wouldn’t dare”.

He had his back to the rest of us now; I glanced across at Wendy, and as our eyes met she gave a slight nod. We moved forward slowly as Mickey said, “Give me the knife, Lisa; you know you’re not going to use it”.

She was breathing heavily, the switchblade steady in her right hand, and as I looked into her eyes I saw the hatred there. “Oh, you are so wrong!” she whispered menacingly; “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years!”

He stopped moving, and I guessed that he had suddenly realized she was serious. “Now don’t do anything foolish, Lisa”, he said slowly, his speech still slurring a little; “You don’t want anything like this on your conscience”.

I saw the sudden fury flash across her face. “My conscience!” she screamed, taking a step toward him. “My conscience! Fuck you, Mickey; my conscience is absolutely clear! You’re a pig, and I’m going to stick you just like a pig!”

He took a step backwards; I nodded at Wendy, and we each grabbed one of his arms and held him fast. “Put the knife away, Lisa”, I said, holding tight as Mickey struggled in our grip; “We’ve got him now, and he isn’t going to hurt anyone”.

She shook her head slowly, the knife steady in her hand, the point a mere couple of feet from Mickey’s belly. “There’s only one way to make sure he never hurts anyone again”, she said coldly.

I saw her lunge forward with the switchblade, and instinctively I reached out, trying to keep my grip on Mickey with my right hand and grab her wrist with my left. In slow motion, I saw the switchblade slice into my left hand; I fell against Mickey in agony, the blood streaming from my wounded hand. I heard Wendy’s cry as Mickey and I both went over backwards; I saw Lisa standing over us with a stunned expression on her face, still holding the bloodstained knife, and at that moment I heard the police sirens in the distance.

I did my best to ignore the pain in my hand as I rolled over and tried to hold Mickey down; I saw my blood smearing his shirt and sweater as he struggled in my grip. “Colin, help me!” I cried out. “Wendy, get that knife away from her!”

I saw Colin drop to his knees, pinning his father’s other arm and shoulder to the floor. The sirens were outside the house now, and as Mickey continued to struggle against us I heard the front door open. “Police!” someone cried, and the next moment two uniformed policemen were in the living room. I saw them taking in the situation, glancing at the switchblade in Lisa’s hand and the blood streaming from my wound. The one with sergeant’s stripes on his arm frowned at Lisa as she stood there, her face white, her breath coming in short gasps. “I think you should give us that knife, miss”, he said.

She nodded slowly and handed him the knife, the tears beginning to run down her face. Then she knelt down beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Dad”, she whispered; “that was such a stupid thing to do!”

“What’s happening here?” the sergeant asked as he closed the switchblade and slipped it into his pocket; “Whose knife is this?”

“This man is Mickey Kingsley”, Wendy replied; “he’s my ex-husband, and he’s served jail time for assaulting me and my daughter Lisa here. There’s a court order requiring him to stay away from Lisa and me and his son Colin here. He came into this house tonight and threatened Colin and me. Tom here is Lisa’s father; he and Lisa were out at a concert, and they came back to find Mickey here. Mickey attacked us and eventually threatened us with that knife, but Tom was able to trip him up and he dropped it. Lisa picked it up, and unfortunately she lost her temper and attacked Mickey with it. Tom stopped her, but as you can see his hand was wounded”.

The sergeant nodded slowly; “You agree with that story, do you, sir?” he asked me.

“I do”.

“It’s all lies!” Mickey screamed; “Can’t you see I’m the one who’s been assaulted here!”

“You don’t seem to be the one who’s bleeding, though, Mr. Kingsley”, the sergeant replied. “Let him go, please, sir”, he said to me; “we’ll handle it from here”.

I moved over and pulled myself up into a sitting position on the floor, holding my wounded hand and trying to staunch the flow of blood. The two policemen pulled Mickey to his feet; he cried out in anger and tried to struggle against them, and they pushed him face forward against the wall, one of them holding him there while the other snapped handcuffs in place on his wrists. “We’ll get him into the car”, the sergeant said, “and then I’ll come back in and get some more details”. He glanced at my hand, and then said to Wendy, “You’d better ring for an ambulance; that looks like a nasty wound”.

“I’ll do it”, Lisa replied, getting to her feet. “Mum, get something to bandage Dad’s hand until it gets here”.

Wendy bound up my hand with strips of an old sheet, and I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my head swimming, watching the red bloodstains spread across the white bandages and feeling the throbbing pain in my hand. Wendy sat on the floor beside me, her arm around me; Lisa sat in an armchair by the fire as she and Colin answered the policeman’s questions. A few minutes later the ambulance arrived, and when the paramedics came into the living room I saw to my surprise that one of them was Mike Carey. “Hello, Tom”, he said, crouching down in front of me and taking my wounded hand in his; “What have we got here?”

“It’s a stab wound, Mike”, Wendy replied; “It was an accident”.

“How are you feeling?” he asked me.

“A bit light-headed”, I replied.

“You’ve lost a bit of blood; I’ll dress that hand and then we’ll take you to the hospital. Wendy, can you make him a quick cup of tea while I dress the wound? Put a couple of spoonfuls of sugar in it”.


She went out to the kitchen to put the kettle on; Mike slipped on a pair of surgical gloves, and then slowly unwrapped the blood-soaked cloths from my hand. He cleaned up the wound with disinfectant swabs, shaking his head and saying, “You’re going to need some staples there”. He was just finishing the dressing when Wendy came back into the living room with a mug of tea. Squatting down beside Mike, she handed it to me and said, “Can you hold this with your good hand?”

I nodded, taking the mug of tea from her; she leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, then glanced at Mike and said, “Are you taking him to hospital?”

“Yes; he’s going to need some staples. What happened here, Wendy?”

“Mickey attacked us with a knife. Tom got in the way”.

“Right”. He glanced at me and said, “Can you get up without fainting?”

“I’ll have a try”.

“Take a few sips of that tea first, and then take your time; we’ll help you”.

I sipped the hot sweet tea for a moment, feeling the warmth as it went down. After a minute I nodded and handed the cup back to Wendy; Mike and his partner put their hands under my arms and slowly pulled me to my feet. I stood still for a moment, the world spinning around me. “Hold me up, Mike”, I said; “I think I’m going to faint”.

“We’ve got you”, he replied; “Deep slow breaths, okay?” He glanced over at the policeman who was now getting slowly to his feet. “Sergeant, I need to take Tom to hospital”, he said.

“Okay”, the policeman replied. “I can get a statement from him later”.

“Is it alright if I go with Tom to the hospital?” asked Wendy.

The policeman nodded. “Going to the JR?” he asked.

“Yes we are”, Mike replied.


Wendy rode with me in the ambulance, her hand holding mine as I lay on the stretcher. At the hospital I was given a local anesthetic and a doctor cleaned up my wound again, fastened it with surgical staples, and bandaged it up. I was given some blood and a couple of other injections and was then taken up to a room on one of the wards. “We don’t expect any complications”, the doctor explained to me, “but we’d like to keep you in overnight just to make sure”.

There were three other people in the room with me; visiting hours were long over, but Wendy sat with me for a few minutes, holding my hand in hers. “I expect Lisa’s already rung Emma”, she whispered,

“She’ll want to come”, I replied; “I know she can’t, though; I know she’s got to wait until visiting hours tomorrow. What time is it, anyway?”

“About twelve-thirty”.

“Can you let Becca know? She’ll tell my mum”.

“I expect Mike’s already told her”.

“Of course; I should have thought of that”.

“It’s possible you’re not thinking too straight, my love”.

I nodded and tried to smile; “I suppose not”.

At that moment a nurse appeared at my bedside; “Time to go”, she whispered apologetically to Wendy.

“Right”. Wendy got to her feet, bent and kissed me on the lips. Holding her cheek to mine, she whispered in my ear, “You sleep well, alright?”

“I will”.

As she straightened up I put my hand on her arm and said, “Wendy, tell Lisa it’s okay, alright?”

She nodded; “I will; see you tomorrow”.


The next day was a Sunday, and Emma picked me up at the hospital in the early afternoon, after the doctor had looked at my hand again and pronounced himself satisfied. There was blood all over the shirt and pants I had worn into the hospital the night before, so I had asked her to bring me in some clean clothes to wear. She appeared at the door at around one o’clock with a backpack slung over her shoulder; I saw her glancing around for a moment, taking in the other patients in their beds, and then she saw me in the corner, standing beside my bed. She came over, put her arms around me, and held me so tight that I could hardly breathe. “Are you okay?” she whispered in my ear.

“Oh yeah – a bit sore, but no lasting harm done”.

She continued to hold me close; “I was so worried when Becca called me”.

“I’m okay now”.

She released me, stepped back a little and took my injured hand in hers, scrutinizing the dressing for a moment. “No infection?”

“Apparently not, nurse”.

She laughed, and I leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Are my clothes in that backpack?”


“Right – give me a minute to change into them, and then we can get out of here”.

When we got home, she insisted that I sit down in my easy chair by the fireplace; she went out to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, and then we sat across from each other for a while, drinking coffee and talking quietly. It was a warm afternoon, and through the open window we could hear the sounds of children playing outside and cars going by on the street.

“Wendy and the kids are coming over for supper”, she told me; “They’re going to cook something and bring it with them. They wanted us to go over there to eat, but I told them it would be better for you to stay here and rest”.

“You did, did you?” I said with a smile.

“I did; I plan to take good care of you until you’re well again”.

“Thanks, love, but I’m pretty well again already”.

“That’s not what I hear from Auntie Becca”.


“Yes; she’s been talking to your doctor, and she told me about the wound and the surgical staples and all that. It’s going to take a while for that to heal up, Dad”.

“Do the rest of the family know?”

“Becca talked to Grandma this morning; she’s probably going to bring her over in an hour or so to have a cup of tea and a visit. I called Uncle Rick this morning myself; they all send their love”.


“Dad, what exactly happened?”

I took a long sip of my coffee. “When Lisa and I got back to their place after the concert Mickey was already there; he was drunk, and he’d been threatening Wendy and Colin. He got aggressive pretty quickly; he slapped Lisa and then attacked me. We tried to restrain him, and that was when he pulled the switchblade. Fortunately he was so drunk that it wasn’t hard to avoid him; I tripped him, he dropped the knife, and that would have been the end of it if Lisa hadn’t picked it up. She was really angry, and she took a stab at him with the switchblade. I tried to stop her, and unfortunately my hand got in the way of the blade”.

“What happened then?”

“That was when the police arrived”.

“Did Lisa get arrested?”

“No, and I don’t think that’s going to happen. No harm came to anyone except me, and I’m not going to lay any charges against her. Mickey slapped her pretty hard across the face last night; I won’t be surprised if she has a pretty good bruise when I see her”.

“You’ve got a pretty good one yourself”.

“Yes, I saw that in the mirror this morning. I’d forgotten that he landed a punch on my jaw before he pulled the knife”.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, love”. I took another sip of my coffee, frowned, and said, “The problem is, I can’t help thinking that it was at least partly my fault”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Lisa always said there was no point in trying to have a peaceful relationship with Mickey; she’s never thought it was a good idea for me to be having conversations with him. And maybe if I’d listened to her, last night wouldn’t have happened. I might have put the whole family in danger by my actions. That’s not a pleasant thought”.

She leaned forward and put her hand on mine; “You can’t know that, Dad”.

“No, but it does bear thinking about”.

“So you think that loving your enemies was wrong in this instance?”

“No, but I think the way I chose to love may not have been appropriate, given the other relationships I was in”.

“What do you mean?”

“The relationships I was in with Wendy and the kids put me under a certain obligation to protect them from harm. My actions toward Mickey might have had the unintended effect of exposing them to harm. I’m not saying I should have been mean toward him; I’m simply saying it might have been better if I’d given him a polite but firm refusal right from the start”.

“That’s twenty-twenty hindsight”.

“Yeah, I know. I guess we all muddle through in our lives, trying to find the right thing to do”.

“I guess so”.

I drained my coffee cup, glanced at hers, and said, “Can I get you some more coffee?”

“No, you definitely cannot!” she replied with a grin, getting to her feet and taking my mug from my hand. “What is it about this ‘I will wait on you hand and foot until you’re better’ idea that you don’t understand?”

We both laughed; I took her hand for a moment, smiled at her, and said, “Thanks, love”.

“You’re welcome”, She stooped to kiss me, then took our mugs out to the kitchen. A moment later she returned, handed me a newly refilled mug of steaming coffee, and took her seat across from me again. Putting her own coffee cup down on the end table beside her chair, she said, “Speaking of finding the right thing to do, I’ve decided not to move back to Canada”.

I took a deep breath; “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am going to go over for a couple of weeks this summer though, if I can”.

“I was hoping you’d help me show everyone around”.

“Well, I kinda promised Sarah, too…”

“You did. Of course, if Mickey goes to trial for last night’s little piece of work, that might have an impact on our plans”.

“I guess so”.

“How did you make your decision?”

She gave a little frown; “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. What you said about a transatlantic family really helped me; I realized there’s really no perfect solution to the problem – and maybe, since the problem’s built right into my genes, I should stop using that word for it anyway!”

I laughed softly; “You may have a point there”.

“So it becomes a question of what’s needed right now. I’ve started a course at Oxford Brookes so it makes sense to finish it. Grandma’s just lost Grandpa and she needs help, and I think I can play a role there”.

“So do I”.

“And I’ve been getting closer to my cousins and Lisa and Colin, and I’m not ready to leave them yet. And then there’s you and Wendy; someone’s got to make sure all of that moves along  to its proper conclusion!”

I laughed again; “You’ve really thought this one out, Emma Woodhouse!”

“Thank you, kind sir!” She gave a heavy sigh, shrugged her shoulders and said, “And then there’s Matthew”.

“You and Matthew”.

“He can be frustrating at times. He’s got way too much faith in politics and he can be a theological nerd, but he’s also super kind and thoughtful and he loves Jesus and wants to make the world a better place and…” She hesitated, smiled helplessly and said, “I’m in love with him”.

I nodded; “I know”.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I think you may be the last person in the family to have figured it out”.

She grinned sheepishly; “Are they all laughing at me behind my back?”

“No – they all think it’s kind of charming, actually”.

She was quiet for a moment, the expression on her face suddenly serious. “There’s one more thing, of course”.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to be that far away from you”.

“Thanks, love”, I whispered.

“I knew that before, of course, but I was dragging my feet, thinking about all that things I’ve just said, but also thinking about the folks back home, and Grandma and Grandpa getting older, and Auntie Millie’s Parkinson’s, and Beth and Claire and so on. But then I got Auntie Becca’s call last night, and I suddenly realized there was no difficulty at all making a decision. When Auntie Becca said you’d been stabbed I thought at first it was a lot worse than it actually turned out to be. I thought about – about losing you, and how awful that would be, and then I was like, why am I even thinking about moving away? That would be like voluntarily losing you! I mean, I know I’m going to leave home eventually and start a family of my own, but I don’t want it to be across an ocean from you”.

“No – I wouldn’t like that either”.

“So, I guess that’s where I’m at right now, Dad. And it’s not that I don’t care for Grandma and Grandpa Reimer, and if they get really sick in the future – well, I can always go over then and spend some time with them, can’t I?”

“You can”.

“So, do you think you can put up with me for a couple more years?”

I smiled at her, leaning forward in my chair and taking her hand. “I can put up with you for as long as you can put up with me”.


My mother and Becca arrived at around four o’clock. My mother was visibly shaken by what had happened, and I had to spend some time reassuring her that although the wound was nasty it was healing fine, and I would be all right. Emma then cheered her up immensely by sharing with her and Becca the news that she had decided to stay in England. I thought that of the three of them, Becca was the most obviously elated; she hugged Emma close and held her tight for a long time.

Wendy and her children arrived at around five-thirty with a casserole wrapped in a towel. As they came in I saw that Lisa had a spectacular bruise on her cheek. “Ouch!” I said to her; “That looks painful!”

“It’s a bit sore”, she agreed; “How’s your hand?”

“A bit sore too, but it’ll heal just fine”.

Wendy assured my mother and Becca that she had brought lots of food if they wanted to stay, but they had made arrangements to have supper with Mike and so they excused themselves after a few minutes of conversation. Wendy and the children put the food out on the dining table, but we ate sitting around the living room with plates on our knees because, as Emma said, “We don’t want Dad to have to move out of his easy chair”. I protested that they were making far too much out of a little cut, but at that point they all levelled withering glances at me, and that was the end of the discussion.

After supper Lisa caught my eye; “Can we go somewhere for a minute, just by ourselves?”

“Sure. It’s a nice evening; let’s go out the back”.

Emma frowned at me; “I don’t know if you should be doing that”.

“I’ve just had an excellent supper, and Lisa will be with me in case I need someone to get my wheelchair”.

She gave me a reproachful glance; “Smart ass!”

“Thank you, Nurse Emma!” 

So Lisa and I stepped out the back door into the yard and sat down together in the wooden chairs by the window; the air was warm out there, and the sun was still hanging over the western skyline.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

She leaned forward, staring straight down. “Dad, I’m really, really sorry”, she said; “What I did was absolutely stupid. If you hadn’t stopped me I’d be in jail today; I suspect that as it is, I’ve only just avoided being arrested. And then, to top it all off, you had to be the one…” She looked up, and I saw the tears in her eyes. “I am so sorry!” she said again.

I reached across and took her hand. “Don’t worry about it; I was never angry at you. If forgiveness is needed then I forgive you; I know you didn’t mean any harm to me at all”.

“I really didn’t! I stood there looking at you with all that blood, and I couldn’t believe what I’d just done!”

“Hey”, I said, tightening my grip on her hand; “Let’s put it behind us, shall we? Like I said, I was never angry with you. Anyway, I’ve got an apology to make to you as well”.

“What for?”

“For not listening when you told me it wasn’t a good idea to be having conversations with Mickey. You were right – I should have been a lot more cautious”.

She stared at me; “You mean you’re changing your ‘loving your enemies’ line?”

“No, but maybe I don’t always know the most appropriate way to love them. In hindsight, it might have been better for me to admit that my relationship with you and your mum and Colin meant I couldn’t be the one to give Mickey the help he needed”.

She smiled at me through her tears; “I really do respect you for the way you live by your principles, you know”.


She was quiet for a moment, looking at me with a serious expression on her face, and then she said, “I know it was a good day for Mum when you came back into her life, but I want you to know that it was a really good day for me, too”.

I nodded slowly. “And for me”, I replied.


Link to Chapter 39

‘A Time to Mend’ Chapter 37

Link back to Chapter 36


About a week after Will and Sally flew home, Emma and I had an unexpected meeting in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Neither of us had been sleeping particularly well since my father’s death; I had heard her a few times, moving quietly around the house, and I was sure she had heard me as well. But this was the first time we had actually bumped into each other; I went downstairs at about three in the morning to get a drink of water and there she was, seated at the kitchen table, sipping herbal tea out of a glass mug with a book open in front of her. She gave me a little smile as I went over to the sink to pour my water. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“I’ve been awake for about half an hour; how about you?”

“A little longer than that”.

“You’re going to be tired in the morning”.

She shrugged helplessly; “I don’t seem to be able to do anything about it, Dad. I guess it’s just something I have to work through”.

I took my glass of water over to the table and slipped into a chair beside her. Leaning over to kiss her on the top of her head, I said, “What are you reading?”

She showed me the book; “The Cost of Discipleship, by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Do you know it?”

“Sure; your mum liked it a lot. Kind of heavy for three in the morning, though”.

“I know. Matthew gave it to me a while back, but I don’t seem to have a lot of time for general reading right now”.

“College is keeping you kind of busy”.


“Are you still liking the new placement?”

“It’s good; I like being on a community health care team”.

“Better than acute care?”

“Different. I didn’t think I’d find it as interesting, but it’s grown on me pretty quickly”. She grinned; “People keep asking me if I’m an American”.

“Brits can’t tell the difference between American and Canadian accents”.

“I’ve noticed that”.

We lapsed into silence for a minute, both of us occupied with our own thoughts. The house was quiet, and on our residential street late-night traffic was rare. I sipped at my water slowly, and she cupped her hands around her mug. “I’ve been trying to think of my earliest memory of Grandpa”, she said.

“Have you figured it out?”

She frowned. “I’ve got really vague memories from the first time we came. I don’t think I remember actual events or conversations; just pictures or impressions. I must have been really little; I remember the spiral staircase, and sitting on the bed in my room at their house with Auntie Becca. But I can’t make Grandpa come into focus”.

“We didn’t see much of him on that trip. It was the summer of 1990; you were four and a half”.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. There’s a boat in there somewhere, too, out on the sea”.

“That was in Scotland; Becca took us on a holiday. Your mum loved the sea and wanted to go out, so we took a trip out from Aberdeen in a tourist boat”.

“Were Grandma and Grandpa with us?”

“No – they didn’t come. I never had any success getting my dad to go on holidays with us”.

“He was always working?”

“Mostly. Mum was able to pry him away for a week or two most summers, but it was never much more than that. So have you figured out what your earliest memory of him is?”

“We’re kneeling down together beside the Christmas tree; that was 1994, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah; that’s the only year we came over for Christmas. Your mum was freezing cold”.

She laughed softly; “I remember that! She was always wearing three or four layers, and she had these multi-coloured wool socks”.

“Dad took one look at her shivering and ordered an extra load of wood for the fireplace”.

“Did he? I didn’t know that”.

“He liked your mum. He never said that to her, of course; he told me a few months ago”.

“It’s sad that he didn’t tell her”.

“I know. He was in an adversarial rut. So was I, so I can’t judge him”.

She sat back in her chair, her eyes far away. “I really didn’t expect to come to love him”, she whispered.


She shook her head. “I remember pretty clearly how he was the last time we were here with mom; how he got after Jake for capsizing the punt, and how he was always saying little things to get at you. I was always easy with Grandma – and Auntie Becca of course – but I was scared of Grandpa”.

“I didn’t know that”.

“I guess I never told you”.

“You hid it well. You didn’t say anything when we were talking about moving here”.

“I wanted to do the right thing, the thing Jesus would have wanted us to do. The thing Mom would have done”.

I smiled at her; “You’re so much like her, you know”.

“Thank you; I’ll take that as a compliment. If I can be half as good a person as she was…”

“I know. But don’t try to be a carbon copy, okay? She wouldn’t want that; she’d want you to be you, the person you were meant to be”.

“I understand, Dad. Anyway, I can’t be the kind of bubbly extrovert she was”.

“Yeah, you kind of got doomed by the Masefield genes there!”

She smiled at me again; “Nothing wrong with the Masefield genes”.

“Especially when they’re mixed with the Reimers’”.

She was quiet again for a minute, and then she looked at me. “Were you scared of Grandpa too?”

“When I was young I was really scared of him. He was hardly ever home, and when he was home he wasn’t pleasant to be around. I was always walking on eggshells, afraid of upsetting him”.

“What about when you got older?”

I nodded. “I told your mum once that I hated what the house in Northwood did to me when we visited; it was like I reverted back to being that fifteen year old boy who felt like he had to fight for his right to live the life he wanted to live, and study the things he wanted to study. Whenever we came here to visit I got that ‘Oh no, here we go again’ kind of feeling”.

“Did you feel that way this time too?”

“Not so much this time”.

“How come?”

“I’m older now, and your mum had a good effect on me. And I’ve learned to be comfortable in my own skin, or so Wendy tells me”.

“She thinks you’ve changed?”

“She thinks I’ve gotten a lot more confident in myself, and a lot more mellow”.

“Do you think she’s right?”

“Probably; what do you think?”

She gave me an awkward laugh; “I don’t know – you’ve always just been ‘Dad’ to me, and I’ve always liked you just fine, ever since I was little”.

I leaned over and kissed her again. “You’re a sweetheart, and you’ve never been hard to love”.

“I love you, Dad”.

“I love you too, Emma Dawn”.

“I like it when you call me ‘Emma Dawn’”.

“I know”.

She took a sip of her tea, cradling the mug in her hands. “I did love Grandpa in the end”, she whispered.

“I know”.

“It was like he got easier to love as he got weaker and more frail”.

“You made a big impression on him, too”.

“Did I?”

“He told me that; he told me he’d never met a young person who was more genuine and thoughtful than you. And he told me that he really regretted not being able to tell your mum how impressed he was with the daughter she’d raised”.

She stared at me, and I saw the tears spring to her eyes. “Did he really say that?” she whispered.

“He did. I got a little emotional about it, too”.

She moved over a little and laid her head on my shoulder. “I’m really missing him”.

“Me too; we had better conversations in the last year than we’d had in my entire life”.

“Yeah. He asked me about all kinds of things; about the music and books I liked, and what I thought about stuff in the world, and whether Matthew and I talked about his political ideas, and why I was still a Christian. When we first moved here he could be really harsh and dismissive sometimes – like he didn’t really want to listen – but as time went by he changed; he really started listening and asking genuine questions. And he told me about his life too, and when he was a kid and all that”.

“We talked about that”.

“His dad was away in the navy a lot in the Second World War”.

“I know”.

“I can’t imagine that – if you’d been away for two or three years, and I hadn’t known whether or not you were going to be killed in a battle. That must have been awful”.

“Yeah. Of course, plenty of people were going though that at the time”.

“I guess so”. She moved a little closer, and I put my arm around her. “Grandma’s going through a rough time”, she said softly.

“Has she been talking to you about it?”

“A little”.

“My daughter, the one who helps everyone”.

I felt her shrugging. “I just listen, that’s all. She doesn’t ask for my advice, but I think she likes talking to me”.

“She does”.

“Is she talking to you?”


“Comparing notes?”

“Something like that”.

“I think she’s going to need you around for a while”.

“I think so too”.


A few days later we went out to Northwood on Friday and stayed overnight; Emma had the whole weekend off, and Rick and Alyson had made the rare decision to stay over as well. Eric had elected to stay home; Rick had told me that the two them were locked in conflict again over Eric’s future, and at the moment they were hardly talking to each other. “It’s more than a little discouraging, to tell you the truth”, he said to me as we were having a pint at the pub together earlier in the week. “I’m doing my best to remember all you told me, but we just can’t seem to get past this”.

“When you’re in a deep rut, it’s hard to get out”.

“That’s exactly right”.

Sarah had been working hard at her schoolwork and was now preparing to take the GCSEs she should have taken a year before. We had been having conversations lately about her English literature coursework; all of the set books were familiar to me, and I enjoyed hearing her talk about them. “Are you going to go on to an English Lit A1?” I asked her.

“That’s what I want”. She grinned at me; “Dad just smiles helplessly and tells me I’m turning into my Uncle Tom!”

After supper that night the children gravitated up to Emma’s room; Rick and I did the dishes together, and then the four of us sat at the kitchen table for a while, drinking a pot of tea and talking.

“So what about Emma?” Rick asked me at one point. “Has she decided to stay?”

“She’s not sure yet”.

“Surely it would be hard to leave Brookes after just one year and take up back home; the courses must be quite different”.

“She’s well aware of the complications, and she’s happy here too. The truth is, she’s torn”.

“You both are, I expect”, said Alyson quietly.

I shrugged; “I’ve got many years’ experience at the challenges of a transatlantic family situation, but this is really the first time she’s felt the full force of it”.

“And she’s got a boyfriend, too”, said Rick.

“Yeah, although I’m still not quite sure whether they’re using that word”.

He laughed softly; “They’ll be the last to know what’s obvious to everyone else!”

“It’s certainly obvious to Matthew’s mum and dad”.

“Right – you work with the mum, don’t you?”

“Kathy’s my Head of English, and Jim’s the pastor of our church, so we see quite a bit of them both”.

“Is Emma really considering going home?” my mother asked quietly.

“Yes, and she knows she’s got to make a decision soon. Part of the problem is that Kelly’s mum and dad are the same age as you, Mum”.

“I’m well aware of that”.

“And Kelly’s Auntie Millie has Parkinson’s, and we’re really close to them too”.

“Are you thinking about going back too?” asked Rick.

I shook my head. “I’ve already told Don Robinson I won’t be coming back to Meadowvale school. They’re going to advertise my old job, but I’m pretty sure the woman who’s been doing it for the past couple of years is going to apply; Don says she’s great and everyone likes her”. 

He gave me a sympathetic glance; “That must have been a hard decision for you to make”.

“Yes, but I’ve known for a while I was going to make it”.

He nodded slowly. “I can’t say I’m sorry, Bro, but I know you’re going to miss a lot of people”.

“Well, I’ll take a trip in the summer again. Em might come with me for a couple of weeks; she’ll have a summer placement but she should be able to get a couple of weeks off. And there are some people who want to come with us”.

“I hear that”.

“You’re okay with Sarah coming?”

“Absolutely; thanks for giving her the opportunity”.

“You’ll have a lot of teenagers on board”, Alyson added.

“The more the merrier. I might have to rent a big van when we go to Jasper, though”.

“Are all Wendy’s family going with you?” my mother asked.

“Looks like it. Lisa’s a bit worried about slowing us down when we’re hiking in the mountains; she’s putting in some extra walking times right now, to get into practice”.

My mother laughed softly; “I know how that feels!”

“You did well, that summer you came to us”.

“That’s because I doubled my daily walking distance for six months to get ready for it!”


Rick and Alyson went to bed around ten-thirty, but my mother and I were both wide awake, so we warmed up the kettle again and made ourselves some hot chocolate. “Do you want to go through to the living room?” I asked.

She shrugged; “I’m alright here for a bit. Somehow the kitchen feels comfortable tonight”. She put her hand on mine; “I’m grateful to you all for coming out to spend the night with me. Sometimes the place seems so big and empty”.

“We’re glad to come. I hope you’ll feel free to let us know when you just want to be alone, though; I know that can happen sometimes”.

She nodded, looking down at the mug on the table in front of her. “There are days…”

“I remember”. I moved my chair toward her a little and put my arm around her, and I felt her head come down on my shoulder. “Oh, Tom”, she whispered, “What am I going to do without him?”

“I know”.

“I walk around this house and I keep expecting to see him”.

“Of course you do; you’re so used to going into a room and seeing him there, and you just can’t get your head around the idea that he’s gone now”.

I felt her shaking her head against my shoulder; I kissed her forehead, and for a few minutes we said nothing. Eventually she moved away, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief. “Look at me”, she said; “this isn’t helping anyone, is it?”

“You don’t have to help anyone. This is about helping you, and if you need to have a good cry, then go ahead”.

“Thank you”. She picked up her mug, sipped at the hot chocolate for a moment, and then said, “I know it took you a long time to get over losing Kelly”.

“I’m not sure I’m over it yet”.

She gave me a sympathetic glance. “Sorry; that wasn’t a very sensitive thing for me to say”.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure I know what it means to be ‘over’ someone. I still miss her, and I think I always will. But I don’t very often find myself in tears with no warning, like I did for the first couple of years”.

“So that’s normal, is it?”

“It was for me, anyway; how about you?”

“I wake up crying in the night, and I don’t remember if it was a dream that started it, or what it was. I can be busy doing something in here, and suddenly without any warning I break down”.

“Yeah – that’s how it was for me, too”.

“So I’m not going crazy, then?”

I smiled and put my hand on her arm. “Of course you’re not going crazy; you’re one of the sanest people I know”.

“Well, that’s reassuring, anyway!”

We both laughed, and then I said, “But to get back to what you said, I know I still love Kelly, and I think I always will. I think what’s happened is that I’ve learned to live with her absence, and I’ve learned to be happy again, which at the beginning I couldn’t even imagine. And I think it was probably a couple of years before I began to realize those things were happening”.

“And now you’ve got Wendy”.

“Yes; that definitely helps. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to make a difference to the fact that I miss Kelly, though; it’s like they’re in two separate compartments in my brain. But I’m glad not to be lonely any more”.

“I’m glad for you, too. And I like Wendy a lot”.

“She’s kind of special, isn’t she?”

“She is”.

“Getting back to Dad – it was good to see you two happy together in the last few months”.

She nodded; “It was as if we went back to the beginning again, only without leaving behind anything that had happened in between. It seems almost cruel, now, though – to have had him back for such a short period of time”.

“I know”.

“Were you angry when Kelly died?”

“I was”.

“Who were you angry with?”

“God, mostly, for not giving her back to me”.

“But you got over that?”

“I did. After a while it just didn’t seem to make any sense going around the same unanswerable questions over and over again. Kelly’s death was hard to fit into my view of God, but the world made even less sense to me when I left God out of it altogether”. I smiled at her;“Dad and I actually talked about this stuff not long before he died, you know”.

“He told me about that”.

“It was an amazing conversation – totally unexpected. It was one of those nights when I was sitting up in his room – I think it might actually have been the first night, after you’d gone over to Becca’s flat, and Lisa and Wendy had left. He woke up about four o’clock in the morning, and we started talking. I’ve got no idea how we got onto life after death, and Kelly, and God, but we had quite a good talk actually”. I took a sip of my hot chocolate, glanced at her, and said, “I didn’t know he had been a believer when he was younger”.

“He rarely mentioned that part of his life, and he had already lost his faith when we first started seeing each other. He did tell me about it once or twice, but it already seemed such a minor thing to him. Later on, of course, being an atheist became such a big part of his view of things that it was easy to forget he hadn’t always felt that way. But I think he softened a bit in the end; that was your doing – yours and Emma’s”.

“That’s what he said to me – that we hadn’t made a believer out of him, but we’d succeeded in giving him doubts about his doubts. A few nights later he had a long talk with Emma about it, too”.

“So I heard”.

“Did you know ahead of time about those instructions he left for his funeral – the ones you gave me?”


“I’ve wondered a few times what that meant”.

“It meant that you and Emma had impressed him with the genuineness of your faith, and that you’d opened his mind to the possibility there might be something in it”.

“You and Dad discussed that too?”


“You did talk a lot in the last few months, didn’t you?”

“For hours and hours”. She looked away from me; “Some days we talked from the time he got up until his afternoon nap”, she whispered, “and then again until he was too tired to carry on in the evening”.

“What did you talk about?”

“Everything. You children, and the things you’d done and the struggles you’d had – our courting days, and the early years of our marriage, and the days when you and Rick were little boys when we were living in Summertown – our memories of childhood before the war, and how much the world has changed – our grandchildren and how proud we were of them. And we had some conversations about you and Wendy too”.

“Dad and I talked about Wendy”.

“He told me what you’d said”.

“No keeping secrets around this place, is there?”

“Not for the last few weeks, anyway – time was too short”. I saw her bottom lip beginning to quiver; “It was far too short”, she repeated, and I saw the tears in her eyes again. I put my arm around her, and this time as she turned and laid her head on my shoulder she whispered, “I miss him so much, Tom! God, how I miss him! I knew when Kelly died that it must be terrible for you, but I had absolutely no idea how terrible”.

I didn’t answer; instead, I held her a little more closely and kissed her gently. The house was quiet except for the sound of someone moving around upstairs in the old servants’ wing, and I guessed that one of the children was getting ready for bed.

Eventually she lifted her head from my shoulder, smiled at me through her tears, and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “Thank you”, she said softly.

“You’re welcome”.

She got to her feet slowly, moved over to the window and drew the curtains shut. “I think there might be some Scotch around here somewhere”, she said; “Would you like a snifter?”

“That would be fine; is it up in the usual cupboard?”

“I think so; can you reach up and get it down?”

I got up, went to the cupboard above the fridge, and opened it to reveal several bottles. “Dad’s got quite a stash up here”, I said. “There’s a Laphroaig, and a twelve-year Macallan. Oh, there’s also a very nice looking Connemara, if you’re interested in going Irish instead of Scotch?”

“Connemara sounds good”.

I took the bottle down from the cupboard. “You sit down again; I’ll pour”.

“Thank you”.

I took down two snifters, put ice in them from the fridge, and poured the amber liquid into each glass. “Shall we take it through to the living room? Somehow it seems like the appropriate venue for sipping whiskey; we could put our feet up and make ourselves comfy”.

“Let’s do that”, she agreed.


I went to bed just after midnight, but for some reason – probably the mixture of tea, hot chocolate and whiskey – I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake for a while, tossing and turning; eventually I sat up, turned on the bedside light, and read for a while. At about one o’clock I got up to use the bathroom and then slipped quietly down the stairs to the kitchen for a glass of cold water from the fridge. I was surprised to see a light under the kitchen door, and when I pushed it open I found Emma sitting at the table in her pyjamas and housecoat, a mug of hot chocolate at her elbow, reading a book.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked.

“I slept for a while, but then I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep”.

“What are you reading tonight?”

She closed the book and lifted it up to show me the cover. “It’s yours, actually”, she replied; “The Collected Poems of Wendell Berry”.

“Ah”. I moved over to the sink, rinsed out a glass and then opened the fridge and poured myself some cold water; “What do you think?”

“I think he’s brilliant; I love his descriptions of nature”.

“Yeah, he’s very gifted that way. He’s a very visual poet, isn’t he?”

“Totally. I like the things that annoy him, too – I think he’s a curmudgeon of some kind, isn’t he?”

I sat down beside her at the table and took a sip of my water; “I think so. Do you have any particular favourites so far?”

We poured over the book together for a while; she read me the poems that had particularly touched her, and I shared some of the ones I liked best. Eventually she closed the book, smiled at me, and said, “I love talking poetry with you, Dad”.

“Yeah, it is kind of nice, isn’t it?”

“Did you and Grandma and Rick and Alyson have a nice visit earlier on?”

“We did. How about you and the kids?”

“It was good. Sarah and I sat up for a long time”.

“I thought you might”.

“I had a text from Colin. His dad’s been bugging him again”.

“Again? I knew he’d gotten an email a few days ago”.

“He got another one yesterday. I don’t know why his dad won’t leave him alone; he must know he’s not helping the situation”.

“Strange as it may seem, I think Mickey’s threatened by the fact that I get on well with Colin. Colin never seemed to mean that much to him when he had him to himself, but now…”


“I’ve told him that I’m not trying to be Colin’s dad, but he doesn’t seem to want to believe me”.

“I think Colin would be very happy for you to be his dad”.

I stared at her for a minute; “Did he say that?”


“In what context?”

She shrugged; “We were just talking about parents – me and Lisa and Colin – it was a few weeks ago. Lisa’s really happy to have you as her dad even though she doesn’t always see eye to eye with you”.

I gave her a wry grin; “There is that!”

“It’s okay, though, Dad – she knows that’s not always how it works”.

“And Colin?”

“He said he found you really easy to talk to, and he liked how you were always encouraging him, and he liked that we took him walking with us and that sort of thing. And he told Lisa he was a little jealous of her, because you were her dad, and he’d like to have that too”.

“I remember months ago having a conversation a bit like that with him; it was before Wendy and I decided we were a couple. He said he wasn’t really sure where he was with us; Lisa was my daughter, and if Wendy and I were married, or at least together, I’d be a kind of step-dad to him. But of course I was moving pretty slowly on that at the time”.

She looked at me steadily for a moment, and then said, “Are you and Wendy going to get married?”

“We haven’t talked about that yet”.

“Are you going to?”

“You know how to ask ‘em, don’t you?”

She frowned; “Are you scared?”


“What are you scared of?”

“All kinds of thing. I’m scared that I’m still too sad about your mom to really be able to give Wendy the sort of love she needs. I’m scared that what Wendy and I can achieve together won’t be as good as what I had with your mom. I’m scared that I’ll fall into the trap of comparing her with your mom, and not wanting to put her through all of that. Yeah – if you must know, I am quite scared”.

“But you love each other”.


“Don’t be scared, Dad”, she whispered. “You’re a good man, and Wendy’s a great person. I think you should ask her”.

I shook my head; “I’m not ready yet, Em. Don’t push me on this, okay?”

Her eyes searched mine, and she gave a little frown. “Are you upset with me?”

“I’m not upset. I do love Wendy – I love her a lot. But it took me a while to get this far; it’s going to take me a while longer to move to the next stage”.

She nodded; “I understand, Dad”, she whispered.


Link to Chapter 38


‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh’ (a sermon on Acts 2:17-18)

One of my favourite movies is an old 1990 flick called ‘Almost an Angel’; the main character, Terry, is played by Paul Hogan, of ‘Crocodile Dundee’ fame. Terry is a criminal, but on the way out of a bank heist he sees a little girl about to get hit by a car, jumps into the road to save her and gets hit himself. To his surprise he finds himself in heaven talking to God – who looks remarkably like Charlton Heston. God seems to be a little surprised to see Terry – ‘It’s a long time since we’ve had a scumbag here’, he says – and then he tells Terry he’s being sent back to earth.

So Terry’s life changes as he sees himself as ‘almost an angel’ – “I haven’t got my wings yet”, he says. At one point later on in the movie someone asks Terry to pray for him. Terry frowns. “I could”, he says, “but it might not do any good. Last time I was talking to God, he called me a scumbag!”

I have to say as a clergy person that I gave a grunt of recognition when I first heard that line! I often get asked to pray for people! Many people seem to think that the prayers of a priest or pastor are automatically more effective than theirs. But we clergy know our own hearts, and so does God!

There’s an interesting story in the Old Testament book of Exodus. The Israelites have escaped from slavery in Egypt and have arrived at Mount Sinai where Moses first met God. God gives a dramatic display of power as he comes down on the mountain – lightning, thunder, billowing smoke, the earth shaking and so on. The Israelites are terrified, so they turn to Moses and say “Yougo up there and talk to him for us. We’ll wait for you down here! When you come back, we’ll do whatever he’s told you!”

I sometimes refer to this as ‘the cult of the mediator’. A relationhip with the living God is too demanding, too scary for ordinary people, so we set aside special, holy people and get them to do the hard work of relating to God on our behalf. They’re our ‘go-betweens’ – that’s what the word ‘priest’ means in many religions, including the Old Testament.

In the Old Testament there’s little expectation that ordinary people can know God: they’re just told to obey his commandments and show up to offer sacrifices – that’s it. Special people – kings and warriors like David or Samson, prophets like Moses and Miriam, priests like Aaron – they’re the ones who receive the Spirit of the Lord (by the way, ‘spirit’ in Hebrew is ‘ruach’ which also means ‘wind’ or ‘breath’). Kings and priests were exclusively male in Israel, and were appointed by their bloodline – a hereditary power structure. Prophets were more of a wild card – God called who he wanted, men or women, rich or poor, scholars or farmers – and they spoke the word of God in God’s name.

The cult of the mediator is still strong today. Many people think it’s Christian, but it’s really not. Interestingly enough, the word ‘priest’ is never used for Christian ministers or pastors in the New Testament. Congregations are cared for by people called pastors, or overseers, or elders. But the word ‘priest’ is used in the Church in two senses: for Jesus, our great high priest, and for the whole Christian community together. The message is clear: This is not just for the lucky few! Everyoneis invited to know God and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

We see this on the Day of Pentecost which we read about this morning. It seems as if a hundred and twenty believers were gathered together in one place, and we don’t read of there being any kings or Jewish priests among them. They are male and female, blue collar and white collar – all social classes. Suddenly the Holy Spirit fills them – God breathes his new life into them, and they’re aware of his presence in them in a new and amazing way. This new life overflows with joy; they begin to praise God in languages they’ve never learned, languages the people around them can understand. And this new life also overflows in witness: the crowd gathers, and Peter begins to explain to them about Jesus and his gift of the Holy Spirit. In Acts chapter 1 Jesus had promised them, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses” (1:8) – and that was exactly what was happening to Peter.

Our first reading gives us the first part of Peter’s sermon. The believers had been accused of drunkenness because of the joy of the Holy Spirit, but Peter offers an alternative explantion. Look at Acts 2:16-18:

“No, this is what was spoken by the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy”.

‘I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh’ (17). This doesn’t mean that everyone will automatically receive the Spirit; our God never forces himself on anyone against their will. What it means is that all mayreceive the Spirit if they choose. No one is barred because of their gender, their social status, their status as priest or lay person, their level of education and so on. All are now invited into that most intimate of all relationships – having the ‘Breath of God’ breathing in you.

The fact that this applies to both men and women is especially emphasized in Joel’s prophecy. We know that women were present on the Day of Pentecost; Acts 1 lists the male disciples and then adds ‘…together with certain women, including Mary, the mother of Jesus…’ (1:14). Joel had foretold this – a day when the ministry of prophecy would be exercised equally by men and women – ‘…your sons and your daughters shall prophesy…Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour our my Spirit, and they shall prophesy’ (17-18).

We have to admit that this equality was only partially achieved in Bible times. In a patriarchal society it was natural that people saw what they expected to see, and so we don’t see an absolute equality of partnership of men and women in this minstry of declaring the word of the Lord. But we do see signs of it, and Luke, the author of Luke’s gospel and Acts, seems to have particularly rejoiced in it. It’s clear in this text that gender makes absolutely no difference when the Breath of God comes down!

Let me say one more word about what this means. Our Anglican Church is a structured church with clear lines of demarcation between ordained and lay people. So it’s natural we should think in terms of ‘who can get ordained’. For myself, I’m happy and proud to be part of a Church that ordains men and women equally, and I’m happy to argue the case with anyone who disagrees.

But this text goes far beyond that issue. To ‘prophesy’ in the Bible doesn’t mean ‘to foretell the future’ (although prophets do sometimes do that). Fundamentally, it means to be given a messge from God to speak to others in God’s name. Joel is saying that the day will come when all people can do this – men or women, young or old, slave or free – simply because God’s Breath, God’s Spirit, is in them. There is no hint of a difference here between clergy and lay people: the Spirit is given to all, so all can speak God’s word to one another.

Note that we’re not talking about lone rangers, people going off on their own to enjoy a one-on-one ‘me and God’ experience. We’re talking about the whole community gathering together in ministry, listening to the Word of God together, weighing up what’s said together, submitting to each other, serving together – because everyone shares in the gift of God’s Spirit.

Even slaves! Verse 18 says, ‘Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy’. Slaves were the lowest social class – they were possessions, or tools, owned by others. But God values them as individuals, God breathes his Spirit into them, God makes them ministers!Imagine a first-century Christian aristocrat receiving a word of prophecy from his slave! That’s revolution! As Mary had foretold in Luke 1, ‘He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly’ (Luke 1:51b-52).

This is God’s intention: that the Gospel should go out to all people – Jews and Gentiles, men and women, slaves and free. This message is not just about having your sins forgiven and being adopted as God’s daughters and sons, although that’s wonderful enough. No: it’s also about indwelling– about God being with us and in us. God’s breath, God’s wind, God’s Spirit will live in the whole Christian community, and all can minister in God’s name. There’s no hint of the cult of the mediator here. No one else can do the hard work of relating to God for you.Youare called to be filled with the Spirit, to learn to pray, to learn to listen to God’s voice in the scriptures, and to step out in witness for him. “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you” (Acts 1:8). That’s your birthright as a baptized Christian.

A bit later on in the chapter, in verses 38-39, Peter gives the crowd an invitation:

“Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ, so that your sins may be forgiven, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him”.

The promise of the Spirit is for all who believe and are baptized. In Old Testament times the sign of God’s covenant with his people was circumcision, which was fine as far as it went, but it only went as far as half of the human race. In the New Testament the sign is baptism, which is offered to men and women alike. All can receive the Spirit and be included as equals in the covenant community.

The New Testament tells us the story of the first generation of Christians. Most of them heard the Gospel as adults; the Spirit worked in their hearts, and they put their trust in Jesus and committed themselves to him. They were baptized as adults and the gift of the Holy Spirit was poured out on them.

There are very few stories in the New Testament of Christian families applying this to the upbringing of their children; this came later. Gradually, most Christians came to believe that it was right for children of Christian homes to be received into the community by baptism. The model here is of the community as a school of disciples, wth baptism as enrolment, even at an early age. Jesus told us, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name  of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:19-20a). So we baptize our children and enroll them as Jesus’ disciples so we can teach them to follow Jesus. The promise of the Spirit is given in baptism, but it also needs to be ‘lived into’ as we pray each day to be filled with the Holy Spirit.

Today we include little Alex in this promise. As Ryan and Jenny bring him for baptism, he will take his place with us as a full member of the community that St. Paul calls ‘the fellowship of the Holy Spirit’. And when he’s been baptized we’ll pray for him in these words: ‘Heavenly Father, we thank you that by water and the Holy Spirit you have bestowed upon this your servant the forgiveness of sin, and have raised him to the new life of grace. Sustain him, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit’. We’ll also say ‘Give him…a spirit to know and love you’. In other words, he will need to learn that Christianity isn’t just about going to church and learning Bible stories. It’s about living in relationship with God – receiving power to live for God – finding joy in witnessing to others about God’s work in our lives. AllChristians are called to these things.

Including you and me. What is this saying to us as baptized Christians?

It’s reminding us that the Breath of Godis in us– but we need to breathe it in daly! It’s not enough just to breathe once – you have to breathe over and over again! So: let’s pray daily, even hourly, that the Spirit would fill us and strengthen us and guide us to live for God.

It’s reminding us not to settle for the cult of the mediator.That’s paganism, and even Old Testament Judaism, but it’s not Christianity. You’ve been offered the Breath of God – the very life of God in you. Why would you settle for an oxygen tank brough to you by someone else? Peter says, “The promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him” (Acts 2:39).

It’s reminding us that the Church is a fellowship of the Holy Spirit.The English word ‘fellowship’ or ‘communion’ translates the Greek word ‘koinonia’ which means ‘to have something in common’, ‘to share together in something’. In the early chapters of the Book of Acts we don’t see lone ranger Christians going off on private projects for God. We see a joyful community doing God’s work together. By ourselves we don’t always find it easy to discern what God is calling us to. But the Holy Spirit is strong in the community,  so we come together, we talk things through, we pray, we wait on God, and the Spirit guides us. So we’re called to commit ourselves to this fellowship of the Holy Spirit.

We’ve seen that the passage is reminding us that the Breath of God is in us. It’s reminding us not to settle for the cult of the mediator. It’s reminding us that the Church is a fellowship of the Holy Spirit. And finally, it’s reminding us to remember our call to be a ministering community, a serving community. Men and women, rich and poor, young and old, people of all backgrounds and races and classes: we’re all joined together as priests, prophets, witnesses, servants and ministers of Christ.

A pastor called Jon Wimber told a great story about this. He was the founder of the first Vineyard Church which became a community of thousands of people with a large staff and structure. One day a person called him in a state of some agitation. “Where is everyone? I’ve been trying to get hold of someone at the church for days! I met this man who was homeless, and we got talking, and I realized he really needed a place to stay and some food. So I called the church several times, but no one answered. Eventually I had to take him home to stay with me and give him some food myself. Don’t you think the church should help people like that?”

Wimber was quiet for a moment, and then he said one simple sentence: “Sounds like the church did”.

If you are a Christian, then you are the Church, together with all Christians. The Spirit – the Breath of God – lives in you, connects you to God, and equips you for the works of service he’s called you to. So: take a deep breath, ask the Holy Spirit to guide you, and then step out in faith to follow Jesus wherever he leads.

‘A Time to Mend’ Chapter 36

Link back to Chapter 35


A few nights later I was jarred from my sleep by the sound of the telephone. Reaching for the cordless receiver on my bedside table, I peered at the luminous hands of the clock; it was about one-thirty in the morning. In the darkness of the room I pulled myself up into a sitting position and put the phone to my ear; “Hello?”

“Tommy, it’s Becca. You need to come down to the hospital right away”.

“What’s happening?”

“He’s fading fast. I don’t think he’ll last the night”.

“Does Mum know?”

“As soon as you get here, I’m going to go and pick her up. Please be as quick as you can, alright?”

“Do you want me to stop by your place and pick her up?”

“I haven’t talked to her yet; I wanted to tell her in person. I don’t want Mike to be the one who tells her”.

“I can do it if you like”.

“Will you let me do it please, Tommy?”

“Okay; I’ll wake Emma up, and we’ll be down there as fast as we can”.

“Right; see you in a few minutes, then”.

“Okay”. Pressing the ‘end’ button, I turned on my bedside light, got out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown, and went across the landing to Emma’s bedroom. Knocking softly on the door, I called, “Em?”

“What is it?” she replied in a sleepy voice.

“We need to get down to the hospital”.

I heard the creaking of the bed, and after a moment the door opened; her hair was messy from sleep, and her eyes were screwed up against the hallway light. “Is it Grandpa?”

“Yes; Becca says he’s fading fast”.

She nodded; “I was thinking yesterday that it might be soon. Just give me five minutes to get dressed and brush my teeth”.

“Becca wants us to hurry so that she can leave the hospital to go get Grandma”.

“Right – I’ll be as fast as I can”.


Ten minutes later I was backing my car out of our parking spot; it had been raining for several hours, and the water was lying in puddles on the surface of the road. As I put the car into gear and pulled away, Emma took out her mobile phone; “Shall I call Wendy and the kids?”

“Sure – thank you”.

I heard her keying in the number, and a moment later she said, “Wendy – it’s Emma. Sorry to wake you up; Dad and I are in the car on the way down to the hospital and I thought we’d better call you… Yes, Becca called us a few minutes ago and told us he’s fading fast”.

She listened for a moment, and then said, “I can’t see why not”. Covering the phone with her hand, she said, “Is there any reason why Wendy and Lisa shouldn’t come down to the hospital?”

“None whatsoever; Dad and Mum would want that”.

Emma spoke into the phone again; “He says Grandpa and Grandma would want that… Right, we’ll see you down there”. Closing the flap on the phone, she said, “Lisa’s at Christ Church tonight, but Wendy’s going to call her and then go and get her; apparently they’ve already talked about what they would do in this situation”.


When we got to my father’s room we found a nurse standing beside the bedside talking quietly with Becca. My father was wearing an oxygen mask; his eyes were closed, and I could hear the sound of his laboured breathing as we entered the room. My sister greeted us both with hugs and said, “Right – I’ll go and get Mum”.

“Wait a minute, Becs”, I said; “What’s happening?”

“It’s the pneumonia; he’s never really shaken it”.

“He’s not in a coma, right?” asked Emma.

“No – he doesn’t appear to be conscious, but we assume…”

Emma nodded; “I remember”.

“Of course you do”. Becca reached out to give her another hug, and then asked, “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be okay”.

“Becs, does Rick know?” I asked.

“He’s on his way; he should be here before I get back”.

“Wendy’s coming too”.

“Good – I was hoping you’d let her know. I’d better go, Tommy”.


She turned and left the room, and we sat down in chairs on either side of my father’s bed, holding his hands, now and then talking quietly to him, not knowing whether or not he could hear us, but wanting to believe that he could.  From time to time I stole glances at Emma; her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her eyes were red from lack of sleep, and I could see the emotion clearly on her face as she watched my father’s tortured breathing.

Alyson and Rick joined us a few minutes later, slipping quietly into the room and moving over to stand beside Emma. When she saw Rick, she got up quickly; “You sit here, Uncle Rick”, she said.

“No, no”, he replied in a quiet voice, putting his hand on her shoulder; “I’ll take my turn in a minute, but for now you stay right where you are”. He glanced across at me; “Has Becca gone for Mum?”

“Yes; she should be back in fifteen minutes or so. Are any of your kids coming?”

“We woke them up and told them but Anna seemed a bit scared of the idea of coming, and Eric and Sarah said they’d stay with her. To be honest, I think they were all a bit scared”.

I nodded; “It’s only natural”.

“I’ll call them in the morning”, said Emma.

We lapsed into silence, Emma and I continuing to hold my father’s hands; my brother moved around the bed to stand at my side, and I saw Alyson put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. After a few minutes the nurse came back into the room, checked the monitors, glanced briefly at my father, and left as quietly as she had come. A couple of times Emma reached out and stroked my father’s emaciated face. “I love you, Grandpa”, she whispered.

Becca and Mike arrived a few minutes later with my mother. I could see the tiredness in her eyes, and as she came around the bed I got to my feet to give her a hug; “You look exhausted”.

“I didn’t sleep. I think somehow I knew this would be the night”.

I stepped back from the bed and she took her place beside my father on the chair I had been using. Taking his hand, she said, “I’m here, Frank, and the children are all here too”.

I put my hand on her shoulder; she glanced up at me and said, “Did you ring Wendy?”

“She’s on her way, but she had to go into town to get Lisa at Christ Church”.


Wendy and Lisa arrived a few minutes later, both of them showing evidence of hasty dressing. By then Rick had taken Emma’s place across the bed from my mother, and Emma and Lisa stepped back into the corner of the room, talking in low tones. Wendy came around the bed to where I was standing; I put my arm around her shoulders, and felt the comforting touch of her hand on my back. “Is Colin okay?” I asked her.

“He’s fine. I told him what was going on and asked him if he wanted to come, but I think he was a bit nervous about the idea of being here when your dad died”.

“I understand; not everyone’s comfortable with that kind of thing”.

We kept vigil at my father’s bedside for the rest of the night. Nurses came in to check the monitors at regular intervals, and a doctor in a white lab coat spent a few minutes in the room, taking my father’s vital signs and talking quietly with Becca. At some point Emma resumed her place at my father’s side, holding his hand, and now and then talking quietly to him.

At about four-thirty Wendy and I went out to the parking lot for a breath of fresh air. The rain had stopped, but the air was still cool and damp and I was glad I had put my coat on. We leaned against the back of a bench, our arms around each other’s shoulders. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“Okay; a bit sad, of course”.

“It’s alright to be sad”.

“I know”.

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, neither of us needing to say anything; I was enjoying the warmth of bodily contact, and it came to me that it had been a long time since I had experienced anything more than brief hugs from people. 

She spoke softly; “Your dad’s got his family around him”.

“Yes. I think he’d have preferred it to be at home, but we all knew that wasn’t going to be possible”. I gave a heavy sigh; “It was the same with Kelly. She spent the better part of the last three months of her life at University Hospital in Saskatoon”.

“Is that where she died?”


“Was the family all there?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but suddenly she shook her head in annoyance at herself. “I’m sorry; that’s such an insensitive question for me to ask you on a night like this! Forgive me, Tom; I don’t know what I was thinking”.

“Don’t worry about it. And I will tell you about Kelly’s death soon; there was something really special and unusual that happened at the end”.

At that moment Lisa emerged from the doors of the hospital and walked slowly over towards us. “Am I intruding?” she asked.

“Not at all”, I replied. “Is everything pretty much the same in there?”

“His breathing’s getting a bit quieter”.

“Are you all right?” Wendy asked her.

Lisa nodded; “A bit tired, and a bit sad”.

“I’m glad you’re here”, I said.

“Thanks, Dad”. She shrugged helplessly; “It seems somehow unfair, doesn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I get a new grandfather, and then a year later I lose him”. She smiled at me; “I actually rather like him”.

“Yeah – he’s rather grown on me, too”. I straightened my back, stifled a yawn, and said, “Well, perhaps we’d better go back inside”.


My father died just after six o’clock in the morning. For the last hour of his life we could clearly hear his breathing getting shallower, and eventually it just seemed to fade away into silence and stillness. Emma and my mother were sitting on either side of the bed, holding his hands; Wendy and Lisa and I were standing behind my mother, with Becca and Mike beside us, and Rick and Alyson on the other side of the bed. A doctor had slipped into the room at around five forty-five, and it was he who finally checked my father’s vital signs, looked up at us, and said, “It’s over”.

Becca knelt down beside my mother and put her arms around her, and for a few minutes they held each other; I could hear the sound of my mother’s quiet weeping, and I could see the tears on Becca’s face, too. Emma had gotten to her feet, her face stricken; I moved around the bed and took her in my arms. I felt her body begin to shake and I held her close. “You were with him all night”, I whispered; “That was exactly what he would have wanted”.

I felt her nodding her head against my shoulder. “I wanted to do that for him” she sobbed; “I really wanted to stay with him to the end”.

“And you did”.

After a few minutes, I felt the shaking of her body subsiding; she stepped back, wiped the tears from her eyes with a Kleenex from her pocket, and said, “I need to go out and call the other kids”.

“Are you going to call Colin too?”

“Lisa’s going to do that”.

I felt Becca’s hand on my shoulder, and as I turned to face her she spoke to me in a low voice; “We need to give Mum a few minutes in here by herself”.

“Right. I expect there are some formalities that need to be looked after, aren’t there?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until later in the day”.



Wendy invited us back to her house for breakfast, and while we were there Rick made the initial calls to the funeral director. My father had made most of the arrangements months before, and the staff already knew exactly what he wanted. “Mum and I are the executors”, Rick said to me, “but Jack Marlowe’s got the will. He’s the one who made it up for Dad”.

“I thought Jack was retired?”

“He is, but he’s still got an office and a filing cabinet at our place”. He gave me a wry grin; “He likes to come in and read there a couple of times a week, but he doesn’t interfere with stuff unless we ask for his help”.

“There are some additional instructions that the funeral home might not know about”, said my mother. “Frank wrote them down a couple of months ago. They’re at home in his study; I know exactly where to find them”.

“We’ve got a meeting at the funeral director’s first thing Monday morning”, said Rick. “We’ve got the 15th booked as a tentative date for the service, so that gives us lots of time to make sure all the arrangements are right. But today, the thing we all need is to get some rest”.

My mother looked at him quietly for a moment and then nodded, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. “You’re right, of course”, she said quietly. “I know I can leave it in your hands”.

Rick glanced around at Becca and me. “Between the three of us, I think we can manage”.


Emma and I drove my mother home to Northwood in the middle of the afternoon; by now she was totally exhausted, and we managed to persuade her to go to bed for a while. Becca had gone into the clinic for a few hours, but she had told us she and Mike would come out in time to help us cook supper.

“Emma and I may as well stay at Mum’s tonight”, I said. “With tomorrow being Saturday, we’ll have the weekend to give her any help she needs”.

“We might do that too”, Becca replied.

Wendy had been standing quietly in the background, but now she stepped forward and put her hand on my arm. “If there’s anything I can do…”.

Becca nodded; “Mum will want you to be involved, Wendy. You and the kids are part of our family; we all know how Dad felt about that”.

I put my arm around Wendy and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll call you later on; do you think you might come out over the weekend?”

“If that’s alright”.



On Sunday morning Emma and I went to church in Northwood with Wendy and my mother. Emma and Lisa had decided that they would look after Sunday dinner; they had started working on it before church, and Lisa had stayed behind to continue the preparations with a little help from Colin. Rick and his family had told us they would not be out until later in the afternoon, but there were still nine of us sitting around the kitchen table for dinner, including Auntie Brenda who had come out to be with my mother.

We sat around the table for a long time afterwards, talking and reminiscing, and it was about two-thirty by the time we finally started clearing up and taking things back to the kitchen. My mother put the leftover food into containers to go into the fridge, and Becca and I were just starting to do the dishes when my mobile phone rang. I took it from my pocket and put it to my ear; “Hello?”

“Tom, it’s Will”.

“Will! This is a surprise! It must be pretty early there yet”.

“Eight thirty; we’ll be off to church in an hour or so. How are you? We got your email yesterday afternoon; I’m so sorry about your dad”.

“Thank you; it’s tough, but in some ways it’s a relief, too, you know?”

“I know. Do you guys have a date for the funeral yet?”

“February 15th. The date’s booked, but that’s all we know for sure right now; we’re meeting with the funeral home people tomorrow”.

“Listen, Tom – I’ve got a question for you, and if the answer’s ‘no’ then feel free to say so, okay?”

“Sure; what’s the question?”

“Would it be okay if Sally and I came?”

“Came to the funeral? That’s an expensive trip, Will”.

“You let us worry about that, okay? Is your mum there?”

“She’s right here in the kitchen with us; we’re just cleaning up after Sunday dinner”.

“Do me a favour and ask her right now – as long as it’s okay with you, that is”.

“Absolutely”. I put my hand over the phone. “It’s Will”, I said to my mother. “He wants to know if you’d be okay with him and Sally coming to the funeral”.

She stared at me; “I can’t begin to imagine how much that would cost them”.

“I think they really want to do it; he told me to ask you”.

“Can I talk to him?”

“Of course”. I handed her the phone, and she put it to her ear. “Will? It’s Irene. Just a minute while I take this phone where we can talk in private”. She smiled apologetically at me, and then turned and slipped out of the kitchen.

Becca had been listening as she ran the water in the sink; now she turned off the taps, dried her hands, and turned and kissed me on the cheek. “You’ve got the world’s best in-laws, you know”.

“I’ve always known that”.

“Were you expecting this?”

“No, but somehow I’m not surprised”.

“You’ve always been there for them, Tommy; you’ve been to lots of Reimer and Weins funerals over the years”.

“Well of course – I’m part of their family”.

“They obviously feel the same way about you”.

“I know”. I rolled up my sleeves; “Let’s get started on these dishes”.

My mother returned to the kitchen a minute later and held out the phone to me; “Here’s Will for you”, she said.

I quickly dried my hands and took the phone from her; “Hey, Will”.

“It’s all arranged; I’ll book a flight tomorrow. If you guys have room for us, that’s fine, and if not, we’ll look after ourselves. I know things can get kind of crazy at times like this, with relatives coming out of the woodwork and all that”.

“You’ll stay with Emma and me; we’ve got a spare room”.

“Are you sure? I’ve seen pictures of that house; it doesn’t look too awful big”.

I laughed softly; “Don’t you start on my house, Will Reimer!”

“It’ll be good to see you and Emma again, Tom”.

“Thank you, Will; I’m so glad you’re coming”.

“Hey – you’re our son; you know that”.

“I know, but thank you anyway”.

“You’re welcome. Now, I hear you’ve got dishes to wash, so you’d better get back to them. Give Emma a hug for us, okay?”

“I will”.


My father’s funeral took place on February 15th at the Oxford Crematorium. His brothers and sister and their spouses were all present, along with some of their children including my cousin Ann and her husband Mark. Auntie Brenda was there, of course, and a number of my father and mothers’ friends, including Pat Schuster and her daughter Jana. Rick sat at the front with his family, Alyson’s hand in his. Becca and Mike sat beside my mother, and Wendy, Colin and Lisa sat with Emma and me, and Will and Sally. Owen and Lorraine were a little further back in the chapel, and Owen’s father and mother were with them. Toward the back of the room I saw Jim and Kathy McFarlane with Matthew and Alanna; I had noticed Matthew spending quite a bit of time with Emma in the days since my father’s death, but she had not said anything about it to me, and I had not asked.

My mother had surprised me a couple of days after my father’s death by handing me a sheet of funeral instructions in his handwriting. As I had expected, he had not wanted a standard church ceremony, but in a short note addressed to me at the bottom of the page he had said, “Prayers and observances according to your Mennonite religious tradition may be added at your discretion, Tom”. We had asked Jack Marlowe to lead a short memorial service with stories and remembrances of my father’s life, and at the end Emma read a short passage from the Bible, and I led a simple prayer of thanksgiving. Afterwards there was a reception at Northwood; my mother had insisted on making the arrangements for it, and she had hired a catering company to provide a stand up lunch in the music room at the back of the house.

I made a point of talking to as many people as I could at the reception, but I especially enjoyed catching up with my old friend and honorary cousin, Jana Schuster; I introduced her to Lisa, and soon the two of them were chatting away in German. Over by the piano I could see Wendy sitting with Will and Sally; she had taken to them immediately, and they had gradually warmed to her, although I knew it had been a struggle at first for Sally. Wendy and I had talked about this on the phone a couple of nights after they arrived; “It’s perfectly understandable, Tom”, she said. “She can try to think her way through it as much as she likes, but in her heart I’m taking her daughter’s place, and that’s going to be hard for her to accept”.

“But you’ve been quite clear from day one that you’re not trying to take Kelly’s place”.

“I know that and you know it, but it’s taken you a year to accept it, hasn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right. You usually are”.

She laughed softly; “I think you’re confusing me with some other woman”.

“I don’t think so, Wendy”.

Toward the end of the reception Will and Sally came over to the corner of the room where I was standing talking to Owen and Lorraine. Will looked up at Owen and grinned; “I do believe you’re getting taller, Owen Foster!”

“I think you’re shrinking with old age, Will!”

“Oh, that’s been happening for quite a while!”

They both laughed, and Will glanced at the two of us and said, “It’s really good to see you two together again; it must have been great for you to be this close after all these years away from each other”.

“Actually Tom’s been rather busy”, Owen replied. “Especially in the last few months. I’m hoping I might see a bit more of him now”.

Sally glanced over at Wendy, who was standing by the piano talking with Emma and Colin. “Are we going to get a chance to hear ‘Lincoln Green’ before we go back?” she asked; “We’ve heard about you three for so many years”.

“Would you like to?” said Owen.

“We definitely would”.

“I’ll have to check with our lead singer; she’s got a mind of her own, you know!”

“I already checked with her”, Sally replied mischievously; “She said it was up to you!”

“Oh, well then, I expect we’ll make it happen!”


Late the next afternoon we went to the offices of Masefield and Marlowe in Oxford for the reading of my father’s will. My mother had insisted that I bring Wendy with me, which was why we were meeting late in the afternoon, after her last tutorial of the day. As we gathered in my brother’s luxurious office I saw that Becca had brought Mike as well; Jack Marlowe was sitting behind Rick’s desk, and the rest of us took our places on various chairs and sofas around the room.

The will was much as I had expected it to be. He left his share in the house to my mother, and he left educational bequests in the amount of £25,000 each to all of his grandchildren and to Colin, with an additional amount set aside for any grandchildren who might come along in the future. Various smaller bequests were listed, and then the remainder of the investment money was to be divided equally between Rick, Becca, and me. At this point Jack looked up from the document in his hand; “I haven’t got the exact figures yet”, he said.

“I don’t expect there’ll be much after the inheritance taxes”, said Becca.

“No, actually, your father was wealthier than you think”, Jack replied. He told her what my father had told me, about the money he had received from his father and had left in investments. “Inheritance tax doesn’t apply to what he’s left to your mother”, he continued; “bequests to spouses are exempt. For the money he’s left to you three and to the grandchildren, the first £325,000 is tax-free; after that it’s taxed at 40%. As I said, I haven’t got the exact figures, but I’m pretty sure that after taxes and the other bequests, the three of you will be dividing a sum of approximately £550,000 between you”.

There was a stunned silence in the room; from the expressions on the faces of my brother and sister I could tell that my father had not said anything to them beforehand. Becca’s face had gone white; she gripped Mike’s hand and whispered, “Oh my God! I had no idea…!”

“But what about you, Mum?” Rick asked.

“Your Dad and I have had joint bank accounts for years”, my mother replied; “There’s more than enough money in those accounts for me to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Don’t worry, Rick; your Dad and I talked this over very thoroughly before he died”.

Jack Marlowe folded the document in his hands and replaced it in its envelope. “These things take time to wind up”, he said, “so it’ll probably be a couple of months before we’re in a position to actually make any of this money available to you. Meanwhile, if I can be of any help to any of you, don’t hesitate to ask”.


Wendy suggested that I tell Lisa and Colin myself about my father’s bequests to them, and so I invited them to come up to our house after supper. Emma and I had a quiet supper with Will and Sally; I didn’t say anything to them about my father’s will, and they seemed to know instinctively that I didn’t want to talk about it. I mentioned to them that Wendy and the children were coming around later, and Emma said, “I’ll make some oatmeal cookies if you like?”

“That’d be fine”.

“Would you like us to make ourselves scarce for a while?” asked Will.

I shook my head; “There’s no need”.

“Are you sure?”

“I am”.


Wendy and the children arrived at about eight, just as Emma was taking the first batch of cookies out of the oven. Colin came into our living room, sniffed at the air, and observed, “Something smells very good in here!”

“Fresh oatmeal cookies!” Emma replied with a smile as she came into the living room from the kitchen.

I made a pot of coffee and we sat around the living room, talking quietly about the events of the last few days. Eventually Lisa said to me, “You and Mum haven’t mentioned anything about your meeting today”.

“No”, I replied; “We wanted to get you all together so that we could tell you about it”.

“Were there some surprises, then?”

“Not for me”, I replied, glancing at Wendy; “Dad had discussed it with me a while back. I could tell that it came as a surprise to almost everyone else there, though”.

“What did he do, Dad?” Emma asked softly.

“Well, he turned out to be a much wealthier man than I’d known. He’s left the house and all his money from his own business earnings to my mum, and apparently it’ll be quite adequate for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Nothing unusual about that, of course, but there’s more”.

I paused, took a sip of my coffee, and continued. “Apparently he received a pretty substantial inheritance from my grandfather when he died eighteen years ago, and he never touched that money; he simply invested it. Out of that money, he left bequests to all his grandchildren to help with their education. That includes all three of you; he’s left each of you £25,000”.

Lisa’s face went pale; “Oh my God!” she whispered.

“That will pay for your postgraduate degree, if you still want to do it”, Wendy said softly.

“I’d be an ungrateful idiot not to do it, wouldn’t I?”

“But why has he left me money?” asked Colin; “I’m not one of his grandchildren”.

“He wanted to include you”, I replied; “He mentioned that to me specifically”.

“Wow – I wasn’t expecting anything like that. It’ll certainly help with my apprenticeship costs”.

“There’s one more thing”, I said. “Dad’s investment money turned out to be a very large sum. Of course, there are going to be inheritance taxes to pay, but when all that’s been taken care of, he’s left the rest to Rick and Becca and me. It’ll be about £180,000 for each of us”.

There was a stunned silence in the room for a moment, and then Lisa said, “Mum, would you please marry this man, or something?”

Everyone laughed, and I saw Wendy’s face flush. “I’m not so desperate that I need to marry a man for his money!”

“No, but it does add to his many other attractions, doesn’t it?”

Wendy gave me a sympathetic glance. “Actually, I think this is going to be a struggle for you, isn’t it?”

I nodded slowly; “You know me well”.


Will and Sally did a few days of touring by themselves before going home. They flew out of Heathrow on the Sunday afternoon a week and a half after my father’s funeral; I drove them to the airport, and after we got them checked in we sat in the café together and had a cup of coffee.

“So”, I said to them, “what did you think of England?”

Sally grinned; “I want to come back when it’s a little warmer!”

“Yeah – February’s not the nicest month”.

“It’s still very beautiful, though”, said Will, “and Oxford’s quite impressive. I’m glad I had the chance to see the place you grew up and the college you went to. And of course the main thing was seeing your mom again, and Becca”.

“Your mom’s amazing, Tom”, said Sally quietly; “I can’t believe how strong she is”.

“She’s not feeling quite so strong in herself. When she’s with the grandchildren she tries to be strong for them, although she doesn’t seem to worry about that with Emma”.

“And Emma’s found herself a boyfriend”, Will observed.

“I think so. She doesn’t say much, and I try not to pry”.

“Glad to see you’re following my good example”, he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

I laughed softly; “You’re my role model, Will!”

“Don’t forget to call and check on her when she’s not expecting it!”

“Oh, I plan to make a real nuisance of myself!”

“What are his plans?” Sally asked.

“Matthew? He wants to change the world, I think”.

“He and Em will be a good match, then”.

“Yeah, but their methodology’s not the same. Matthew’s doing a master’s degree in political science right now, and I think he still wants to get into politics in some form. Em’s more of a ‘change the world by following Jesus’ kind of girl”.

“He’s a Christian too, though, right?”

“Oh yeah, and he’s very thoughtful about it”.

“You like him, then?”

“I really do”.

“So is she going to stay here?” Sally asked quietly.

I shook my head; “I don’t think she knows, Sally. And she’s a smart girl; I think she knows it’s early days with Matthew yet. They haven’t even told me they’re dating, although I suspect they will before too long”.

“It’s obvious how much she loves her cousins”, said Will. “And her sister”.

“That’s been a beautiful thing to watch”, I replied. “Rick and Alyson are really happy about it”.

“You and Rick are getting along okay?”

“Rick and I are getting along very well. Dad and I were, too”.

“You’re going to miss him”.

“I am”, I replied. “For the last year or so, we’d really been enjoying each other’s company”.

“Kelly would have been very happy”, said Sally softly.


We were quiet for a couple of minutes, sipping our coffee, each of us occupied with our own thoughts. Eventually I cleared my throat and said, “Can I ask you guys something?”

“For sure”, Will replied.

“I’m uneasy about Dad’s money”.

He nodded; “I thought you would be”.

“Wendy and I are the same that way; we’re not too interested in accumulating stuff. And while I can’t deny it would be useful to help with housing costs – not to mention trips back to Meadowvale – I still can’t help feeling awkward about it”.

“It doesn’t sit well with your Anabaptist conscience”, said Sally.

“That’s exactly right”.

“So if you chose not to keep it, what would you do with it?” asked Will.

I shrugged; “I don’t really have any developed thoughts on the matter. I guess that’s partially connected to the fact that I haven’t settled in my own mind what I’m going to do at the end of the school year, either”.

They exchanged glances, and Will said, “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled; “This is me, Tom. You can be honest with me”.

“I’m not trying to be dishonest”.

“You and Wendy are in love with each other”.

I nodded; “We are”.

“And you’re a lucky man; she’s a wonderful woman and you’re well suited to each other”.

“I think so”.

“Are you going to ask her to marry you?”

I shook my head slowly; “You’re way ahead of us there. It took me the better part of a year to admit to myself that I was falling in love with her”.

“Because you weren’t over Kelly yet”.

“Because I didn’t even want to be over Kelly yet”.

He looked at me steadily for a moment, and then he said, “But you’re not going to want to leave Wendy and move back to Meadowvale, Tom”.

I shook my head. “No”, I whispered, “I don’t think so. I’m really sorry. It’s not just Wendy – it’s Lisa and Colin, and my mum, and Becca and Mike, and Rick and Alyson and the kids…”

“Your mom’s going to need some help”, Sally observed.

“Yes, she is”.

“It’s okay, Tom”, said Will, putting his hand on my arm. “We’ll miss you like crazy, but you have to do what you think you’re meant to be doing. And it’s pretty clear to me what you’re meant to be doing”.

“Me too”, said Sally, with tears in her eyes, “Although I hate the thought of you and Em being so far away”.

“We hate it too”, I whispered, feeling the emotion welling up inside; “You have to believe that”.

Will nodded; “We do”.

“You guys will always be a mother and father to me. Nothing’s ever going to change that”.

“We know”, he replied, “and because we’re a mother and father to you, we want our son to be happy. We don’t want him to be sad and lonely for the rest of his life”.

“Agreed”, Sally said, taking out a tissue to wipe her eyes.

“We’re always going to be coming to visit”, I said.

“We know that. And if we think you’re neglecting us, we’ll unleash our secret weapon”.

“What secret weapon is that?”

“Beth; she can be pretty persuasive”.

I laughed softly; “Yes she can”, I agreed.


Link to Chapter 37

‘A Time to Mend’ Chapter 35

Link to Chapter 34


For the next few days we spent every spare minute at the hospital. My mother was at my father’s bedside almost every waking moment, going to Becca and Mike’s flat each night around ten and returning the next morning as early as the hospital would let her in – usually around nine. Rick and Becca and I managed to persuade her to let us handle the night shifts; she seemed to feel better about leaving my father if one of us remained at the hospital with him, so we took it in turns. Once Emma joined me in my all-night vigil; I fell asleep, and when I woke up at around four in the morning I discovered she and my father talking quietly together. When I asked her later what they had been talking about, she replied, “A lot of things. You and Mom, me, Meadowvale, nursing, Christianity…”

Almost every night Wendy came back with us to the hospital after supper, accompanied either by Lisa or Colin; somehow, without it ever really being talked about, Wendy had taken it upon herself to provide a light supper for us at her house. The only one who raised any question about this was Rick; we were cleaning up the dishes one night before going back, and he protested that she mustn’t keep on putting herself to all this trouble and expense.

“Don’t be silly, Rick”, she replied quietly; “I’m the obvious person to look after it”.

“How’s that?”

“Well, I’m not as emotionally connected as the rest of the family, am I? I mean, I know you call us ‘the extended family’, and that’s really nice of you, but we’re not really in the same category as the rest of you, are we? And you’re all tied up with what’s going on at the hospital; you don’t want to be bothered with worrying about supper every night, and I’m happy to take care of it”.

“But you’ve got to work, and I’m sure you’re a big wheel over at Merton”.

She laughed; “I’m a lowly college tutor, that’s all! I give lectures, lead tutorials and produce paper – and with a little effort at rearranging things, most days I can get away a bit earlier”.

“Well, we appreciate it. And by the way, I don’t think we’re going to let you get away with that ‘not really in the same category as the rest of us’ line. Did my brother tell you that? Tom, did you tell her she wasn’t really in the same category as the rest of us?”

I had been bending to load the dishwasher; I straightened up, leaned on the kitchen counter, and said, “Not that I remember. Maybe it was Em; hey, Em”, I called, “did you tell Wendy she wasn’t really in the same category as the rest of us?”

Emma put her head around the door of the kitchen. “Not in the same category?” she replied with a frown; “So how come she’s doing all this cooking for us? And anyway, she’s Lisa’s mom, and Lisa’s my sister – sounds pretty connected to me!”

Wendy smiled at us; “You’re all very kind”, she said gently.

Rick shook his head; “The kindness is definitely working both ways. Thank you”.


Owen and I weren’t seeing much of each other, but he called me most nights to check on the situation. One night when we stayed particularly late at the hospital he left a message on my answering machine; it was just after ten-thirty when we got home, but I called him back right away to explain. “Dad was in quite a lot of pain”, I said, “and they were trying to adjust his meds. Mum wanted to stay to see if they could get the situation resolved”.

“Did they?”

“Not completely. There’s really not a lot they can do”.

“Is this from his femur?”


“Is the tumour still growing?”

 “Yes, and he’s really not strong enough for them to do the targeted radiation any more”.

“Is he still communicative?”

“Oh yeah – there’s nothing wrong with his mind. He sleeps a lot, though; they’ve got him on a pretty high dose of pain meds”.

“How’s everybody else doing?”

“Mum’s exhausting herself. We’re trying to make sure she gets enough rest, but I don’t really have the heart to lay the law down about that. I remember what it’s like; you want to be there every minute you possibly can. And personally, I don’t think it’s going to go on much longer”.

“Are they saying anything about that?”

“Not really; it’s just a hunch”.

“Well, you’ve seen it before”.


“Are you finding that hard?”

“Yes, but there’s nothing I can do about that”.

“Well, let me know if you need a coffee break, alright? Any time of the day or night, I’ll make it work”.

“Thanks, mate”.

“And give my love to Emma – and Wendy”.

“I will”.


The next night Emma and I got home around ten; we hung up our coats in the hallway, and as we moved into the living room she said, “I’ll make the hot chocolate”.

“Okay”. I glanced at the answer phone; the message light was blinking steadily. “I’ll check for messages”, I said; “It’s probably Owen again”.

As Emma went out to the kitchen I pressed the button on the answer phone. The machine beeped, and I heard the voice of Mickey Kingsley. “Tom – Mickey here. I’m going to be in Oxford over the weekend; I’ve got a contract to take the photos for a story someone’s doing on one of the colleges. Ring me at home, please; I’d like to meet with you while I’m there”.

Emma walked slowly back into the living room. “He’s coming to Oxford?” she said.


“Are you going to call him back?”

“I’ll call him in the morning before I go to work; it’s a bit late now”.

“What are you going to say?”

“I really don’t know”.


Emma was meeting another student for an early coffee and study time the next morning, so she left the house just after seven. I went out for a walk, and when I returned I put some toast in the toaster, poured myself a cup of tea and sat down to call Mickey. I keyed in the number of his London flat; I heard the phone ring three times before it was picked up, and to my surprise a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”

“I’m sorry”, I said. “Perhaps I’ve got the wrong number; I was looking for Mickey Kingsley”.

“Mickey’s gone to work already; can I take a message?”

“I’m sorry – who am I speaking to?”

“This is Marina”.

I hesitated, and then said, “Are you related to Mickey?”

“Who wants to know?”

“This is Tom Masefield calling from Oxford. Mickey left me a message last night; I got in late, and I’m returning his call at the earliest opportunity”.

“Ah, yes, sorry – we’ve talked about you. I’m Mickey’s girlfriend”.

I was astonished; “Mickey’s girlfriend?”

“What’s the matter?” she asked icily; “Isn’t he allowed to have one?”

“Of course – I’m sorry, he just never mentioned to me…”

“Have you got his mobile number?”


“Ring him on his mobile then”.

She hung up, and for a moment I sat there motionless with the phone in my hand. Then I shook my head, pressed the ‘end’ button, and put it down on the kitchen table. Getting to my feet I went over to the counter, took my toast from the toaster and spread peanut butter on it. Taking it back to the table I sat down again, picked up the phone, and called Wendy’s number.

“You’re up early this morning”, she observed.

“I’m always up early; I’m just not in the habit of making early phone calls”.

“Something wrong?”

“Did you know that Mickey has a girlfriend?”

“A girlfriend?”


“No, I didn’t know that. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s a handsome devil and he’s never been able to go without sex for any length of time. How did you find out?”

“There was a message for me to ring him when we got home last night. I rang his house this morning, a couple of minutes ago, and a woman answered. When I asked who she was, she said she was Mickey’s girlfriend, Marina”.

“Marina? Interesting…”

“Do you know her?”

“Well, it’s not a common name, is it? A couple of years before we broke up he did some photographic work for the Spencer family – you know, the family Princess Diana comes from? Marina was a distant relative – sort of a ‘third cousin, once removed’, you know? I think she was a sort of fashion designer in London. If it’s the same Marina, he’s known her for a long time. Very posh”.

“I’m not sure – she didn’t say anything about herself”.

“What did Mickey want?”

“He wasn’t there – he’d already left for work, but I knew what he wanted; he’d told me in the message he left last night. He’s coming to Oxford this weekend and he wants to meet with me”.

“He’s coming to Oxford?” I heard the sudden chill in her voice.


“When, exactly?”

“I’m not sure; I haven’t spoken to him yet”.

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Could you do something for me, Tom?”

“Of course”.

“Could you find out exactly when he’s going to be here?”

“Are you going to go away for the weekend?”

“Yes; I’ll ring Rees and arrange to take Lisa and Colin down to Chelmsford. I’ll also ask Rees to ring Mickey and lay down the law”.

“Wendy, are you all right?”

“He’s never done this before”, she replied in a voice suddenly devoid of emotion; “He’s never come to Oxford since he got out of jail”.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just find out when he’s going to be here”.

“I will. I love you”.

“I love you too”.


I met Mickey for morning coffee on Saturday at the Randolph Hotel. I had stipulated that it be fairly early, as I had schoolwork to do and I also wanted to spend as much time as possible at the hospital with my father. Mickey had readily agreed; he had work to do and only a weekend to do it in, he said, so why didn’t we have breakfast together? I had been on the brink of agreeing when I suddenly found myself feeling very strange about the thought of Mickey, the man who had once broken the jaw of the woman I had come to love, treating me to breakfast at the Randolph. So I used Emma as an excuse; I enjoyed having breakfast with my daughter on weekends, I said, and I proposed coffee at 9.30 instead.

If Mickey had wanted to intimidate me by his success in his chosen profession, he could not have chosen a better location to do it. The drawing room at the Randolph had chandeliers hanging from a high ceiling, polished wood paneling on the walls, a large fireplace, and elegant tables covered with white tablecloths. It was already filling up, even at this early hour; the maître d’ directed me toward the far corner of the room, and as I approached the table I saw Mickey sitting there alone, a cup of coffee at his elbow, reading the newspaper.

I stopped for a moment, looking at the man who had loomed so large in the lives of Wendy and her children. He was still wearing his curly hair long, but it had gone almost completely grey, and he was wearing a pair of reading glasses as he studied the newspaper. There were lines around his eyes, but with his long patrician nose, high cheekbones, and cleft chin, he was wearing his years well. Wendy was right, I thought; he was still a handsome devil, and the clothes he was wearing – casual, yet obviously expensive – were carefully chosen to underline the youthfulness of his appearance.

He glanced up from his newspaper, saw me standing there, and got to his feet. “Welcome, Tom”, he said, holding out his hand with a bright smile.

I took his outstretched hand; “How are you feeling, Mickey?” I asked.

“Better, thanks. You’re looking well; the years have been good to you. Have a seat”.



“That would be great”.

He signalled for a waiter, ordered a second cup of coffee, and then turned to face me again. “So – still teaching, then?”

“Yes – I seem to have settled into it”.

“Bit of a difference between Canada and here, I should think?”

“Canada’s more laid back. Discipline’s a bit better here, but I don’t care for school uniforms any more – I’m used to a less formal approach”.

“Really? I seem to remember your father being a rather conservative lawyer or something like that”.

“Yes, but I didn’t pick up many of my habits from him”.

The waiter arrived with my coffee; he set it down on the table, and I thanked him as he turned to go. Mickey waited until I had taken a sip and then said, “So are you and Wendy a couple now?”

I cradled my coffee cup in my hand, eyed him for a moment, and said, “Tell me about Marina”.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, maybe I’ve been misreading you, but over the past few months you’ve rung me a couple of times, and whenever you’ve talked about Wendy and asked about our relationship you’ve sounded rather jealous and possessive. If I’d been going by your tone, the last thing in the world I’d have expected would have been that you had a girlfriend”.

He avoided my gaze. “Wendy’s obviously moving on; why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason at all – except that when you talked to me you didn’t sound like a man who was moving on”.

“And what about you – are you two moving in together?”


“Is her newfound religion making it difficult for you?”

For a moment I didn’t answer; I sipped at my coffee, looking at him steadily. Putting the cup down on the table, I said, “What do you know about my life after I went to Canada?”

“Nothing. I know you came back with a daughter; I’m assuming she has a mother somewhere in Canada”.

“She had a mother in Canada, yes. My wife Kelly died of cancer, four years ago this coming May”.

He stared at me for a moment, and then said, “Well, I put my foot in my mouth with that one, didn’t I? I’m very sorry; I didn’t know”.

“No, and there are a few other things you don’t know, either. Kelly and I met in my first year in Saskatchewan; her last name was Reimer, and she came from a Mennonite family. She’d moved away from her family faith as a young teenager, but was on her way back into it when we met. I was curious about that, too, and I ended up making that faith journey with her. We lived our married life as practicing Christians, and Emma and I have carried that on. So when you asked if Wendy’s newfound religion was getting in the way of something – well, you couldn’t have been more wrong about that, either”.

He smiled ruefully; “Shall we start again?”

“I think that would be a good idea”.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to since the last time we met”.

So I told him about my move to Meadowvale and how the community had adopted me, about Will and his family and my growing relationship with them, and about my marriage to Kelly. I told him about Emma’s birth and Kelly’s bouts with cancer, about our trips to England and Mexico, and about Kelly’s death and how Emma and I had dealt with it. Finally I told him about my father’s illness and our decision to come to England, and my surprise at finding Colin in my class and meeting Wendy again.

“Quite a story”, he said when I was finished.

“I don’t know – it seems pretty ordinary to me. What about you – what have you been up to?”

“No need to play ignorant with me, Tom; I’m sure Wendy’s given you the gory details”.

“To a certain extent, yes”.

“I lost my marriage, and I went to jail, but I’ve managed to crawl out of that hole and I’m actually doing quite well for myself at the moment”.

“I hear your career’s going well”.

“I’ve been lucky; I got some good contracts early on, and my name got around. I’ve developed a bit of a reputation for going to hot spots and taking photographs; I tend to be one of the first ones newsmagazines call on when they want pictures taken in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. You know – all the places you need to wear a flak jacket”.

“You were in Afghanistan too?”

“I was. Actually, I was there several times before the invasion. One of the American magazines did a feature on the Taliban and I did the photography for them. I’ve been in the Sudan a few times, too, and I was in Rwanda while the genocide was going on”.

“It sounds like an exciting life”.

“Well, this is the first time I’ve actually been injured in the pursuit of photographs, and I have to tell you, it’s caused me to think again about my exciting life. I don’t know if I want to go back”.

“I guess not”.

“Still, I’ve done well financially; I can afford to take it easy for a while”.

“Except that you’re not taking it easy this weekend – you’re working, and rather soon after your release from hospital, too”.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have taken the job if it hadn’t been in Oxford”.


“It gave me an excuse to come up and see you”.

“So this whole work trip was just a pretext?”

“To a certain extent, yes”.

I put my coffee cup down on the table slowly. “I don’t like the feeling of being manipulated, Mickey”.

“I’m sorry you see it that way – I wasn’t trying to manipulate you”.

“When someone hides part of the truth from me in order to get me to do what they want, I call that manipulation”.

“Call it what you like”, he replied, his tone suddenly cold.

We looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then I saw him glance behind me. “Ah – Marina’s here”, he said.


“Yes – she came for the weekend with me”. He stood up slowly, a smile spreading on his face, and I turned in my chair to see a woman coming toward the table. I guessed her to be in her late thirties; her brown hair hung loose behind her back, and she was wearing designer jeans and a white jacket, her face discreetly made up. I got to my feet as Mickey put his hand on her arm; “Tom Masefield, may I introduce Marina Spencer? Marina, this is Tom”.

She took my hand with a dazzling smile; “I’m delighted to meet you”, she said.

“Likewise; sorry we got off to a shaky start on the phone the other day”.

“I’m sorry, too”.

We sat down again, and Mickey signalled for a waiter. “Coffee?” he asked Marina.

“Yes, please”.

“How’s yours, Tom?”

“I’d enjoy another cup if you’re ordering, thanks”.

“Of course”.

He ordered fresh coffee for us all, and then turned to Marina and said, “Tom was just filling me in on everything that’s been happening since he went to Canada all those years ago – it’s a fascinating story. He’s been teaching in a small town for over twenty years”.

“I take it you enjoyed it?” she asked me.

“I did; the place became home”.

“Have you got a family?”

“One daughter. I’m a widower, actually”.

“Oh – I’m sorry”.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’m a fashion designer of sorts. I own a little company in London. Never married, no children, but I’ve got lots of uncles and aunts and cousins and nieces and nephews and all that”.

“Are you from London originally?”

“Yes, I was born and raised there, but my family’s from Northamptonshire, and I’ve still got lots of relatives in the Midlands”.

“So you’re from the famous Spencer family, are you?”

She nodded; “I am”.

“And how long have you two been together?”

It was Mickey who replied. “We’ve known each other for quite a long time actually. I did some work for some of Marina’s relatives and they wanted some photographs taken on an estate of theirs in the Midlands – not Althorp, but another property. I was between jobs at the time, and they contacted me about it. I went up for the weekend, and that’s where I met Marina”.

“We kept in touch in London”, she continued, “and I moved in with Mickey about nine months ago”.

A waiter appeared silently at our table, a tray of coffee cups in his hand. We waited while he set the cups on the table; I thanked him, and he nodded and slipped away without a word.

“So how are you getting on with Lisa?” Mickey asked me.

“Fine; I’m enjoying her, actually”.

“She’s done well for herself at Oxford, I hear?”

“She’s very bright, yes”. I took a sip of my coffee, glanced at my watch, and said, “I can’t stay for too long, Mickey – was there something you specifically wanted to talk about with regard to Colin?”

He nodded; “He’s my son”, he said, “and I’m very sorry that I’m not allowed to see him”.

“He emails you, doesn’t he?”

“Occasionally. Usually I have to prod him a bit to get a reply”. He hesitated, gave a little frown, and then said, “Tom, you’re obviously quite fond of Wendy so I don’t want to cast aspersions or anything, but the fact is, she’s done a good job of turning Colin against me”.

I looked him in the eye; “I think you did a pretty good job of that yourself”.

“I’m not surprised she’s said the same sorts of things to you”.

I sipped at my coffee slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. Shifting a little in my chair, I said, “Here’s what I know. A couple of years after Lisa was born you started hitting Wendy, and you did it regularly for the next twelve years – sometimes when you were alone with her and sometimes in front of the children. Of course Wendy took the blame for a lot of this – abused women tend to do that – but she drew the line after twelve years of abuse when you attacked Lisa as well. Colin’s afraid of you, but not because of anything Wendy’s told him; it’s because of what he remembers about life at home with you. And Lisa hates you, plain and simple – in fact, when she found out I was even having a conversation with you it made things very difficult between us for a while”.

He shook his head; “I can see they’ve poisoned your mind, too”.

“I should think so!” Marina added hotly; “I’ve been living with him for nine months, and I’ve never seen any of this so-called abusive behaviour!”

I put my coffee cup down on the table. “Look – I don’t want to get into an argument with either of you. The facts about Wendy and Lisa’s injuries are a matter of medical record, Mickey, and you know that. Still, you tell me you’re trying to get your life together and you want to have some contact with your son in the future, and I think that’s good. But it’s not going to happen if you continue to deny responsibility for what’s happened between the two of you”.

“So you deny that she’s influenced Colin in any way?” asked Marina.

“Have you met Wendy?”

“Of course not – Mickey’s not allowed to have any contact with her”.

“Then I think you should reserve judgement”.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say: I think you should reserve judgement. You’re claiming I’ve only got Wendy’s word to back up the abuse stories. Actually that’s not true – I’ve heard them from Colin and Lisa too, and Rees Howard was the one who found Wendy and Lisa after Mickey assaulted them”. She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up my hand and said, “Hear me out. You’ve implied that I’ve only got Wendy’s word to go on, but the same is true for you: you’ve only got Mickey’s word to go on. And if you tell me that you love Mickey and you know he’d never lie to you, I’d respond that I love Wendy and I know she wouldn’t lie to me, either”.

“So she told you the truth about Lisa being your daughter immediately, did she?” asked Mickey sarcastically; “Right from day one?”

“That’s different. She concealed that from me because she was afraid of me getting angry if I found out the truth”.

“So you can’t say she’s always been truthful with you”.

“I think that’s in a different category”.

“Of course you do”, Marina replied; “It’s no surprise that you would take her side”.

I could feel myself getting annoyed with Marina’s presence, but I was determined not to lose the initiative in the conversation. “Let me ask you this”, I said to Mickey; “Do you deny the court record from your trial? Do you deny the truth of the medical records from that assault on Wendy and Lisa?”

“You know I can’t deny them”, he replied, avoiding my gaze; “All I’m saying is that they were more of an isolated incident than Wendy made out. She had a very good lawyer, and the courts are always biased against the husband in cases like this”.

“So we’re basically at an impasse. You insist that Wendy’s lying about the extent of the abuse; she maintains she’s not. Meanwhile, you want me to work for a reconciliation between you and Colin”.

He laughed grimly; “I’m not simple enough to believe that you would do that. All I’m asking is that you not get in the way”.

“How could I possibly get in the way? I’m not his dad and I have absolutely no authority or influence in his life”.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you actually have a growing influence in his life. In the few emails I’ve had from him in the last few months he’s spoken very highly of you. He really enjoys it when you and Emma take him out walking or canoeing; he loved that walking trip you made to the Peak District last year. He doesn’t say much about how he feels, but he doesn’t need to – it’s easy to read between the lines”.

“Still, if I tried to put any pressure on him to do something he didn’t want to do, I’d get nowhere – he knows his own mind”.

“All I’m asking is that you not try to influence him against me”.

“I think reconciliation between you and Colin would be a good thing, Mickey; I just don’t think it can happen unless you’re willing to admit the truth about the past – to him, and to yourself. I understand why you don’t want to do that. I know how hard it would be for you to have to admit the damage you’ve done in Wendy’s life, and the lives of her children”.

He smiled indulgently; “Well, as I said, I’m not surprised that you believe everything Wendy’s told you – and I can’t really blame you for it. Just keep an open mind, please, and remember – it’s not wrong for a man to want to see his son occasionally”.

“I’m sure it’s not”, I replied, draining my coffee cup and getting to my feet. “Look, I have to go; my Dad’s very weak, and I need to go to the hospital to spend some time with him”.

“Of course”, he replied, standing up and holding out his hand. “Thanks for coming out, Tom; I hope things go better for your father”.

“Thank you”. I shook his hand, then turned to Marina and said, “It was good to meet you”.

“And you”, she replied, but the expression on her face was cold.

“Keep in touch”, said Mickey.

“I can’t promise anything; my life is rather hectic at the moment”. I smiled at them both again, then turned and made my way out.


Link to Chapter 36