Fisher of Men

by Pam Rhodes

  “And how were they? Were they holding hands? Did it look like they were an item?”

  “Oh no, they were far too clever for that. But I know. I know!”

  “But you want Debs to be happy?”

  “She’ll never be happy with a plank like that. He’s totally wrong for her!”

  “So who would be right, then?”

  Graham looked at Neil as if he were totally stupid.

  “Not him, that’s for sure!”

  Graham grabbed for his beer, his face like thunder. Neil picked up his pint too, his expression thoughtful.

  “Graham, do you think it’s possible that you care for Debs more than you let on?”

  “Don’t be daft!”

  “Just hear me out for a second, because I can’t help wondering if you’ll never think anyone is right for Debbie – except perhaps you?”

  Graham took a sharp breath as if he were about to refute such a ridiculous idea – but then he stopped, his face troubled as he digested this thought. Finally, he spoke.

  “It would never work. We know each other too well.”

  “Not much of a learning curve needed between the two of you, then.”

  “But if we fancied each other, surely we’d have done something about it before now?”

  “Do you fancy her?”

  “She’s great looking – a little on the short side, but nice legs and she looks really good when she laughs – and she laughs a lot…”

  “So you do fancy her?”

  “The question is, could she ever fancy me?”

  “Well, even I’ve noticed the way she looks at you when she doesn’t think you can see – you know, just like you, with that soppy smile on your face when you think she won’t notice.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  Graham grabbed his beer again, although it didn’t reach his lips as he slumped back in his seat.

  “Even if it were true – even if we did fancy each other a bit, and I’m not saying we do – how would we ever change the way we’ve always been with each other?”

  “Ask her.”

  “What? Tell her all this, do you mean?”

  Neil nodded. Graham shook his head.

  “She’d laugh. She’d think I’d lost my marbles.”

  “OK, say nothing. Leave her to Police Van Man.”

  Graham’s reaction was immediate.

  “How could I tell her?”

  “Go round and see her.”

  “And say what?”

  “Say whatever you really feel. Be honest. You’ve always said she knows you too well to let you get away with anything but honesty.”

  “And you don’t think she’ll tell me to shove it – because if I lost her friendship, I’d hate that…”

  “She may. But she might not. She might be very glad to hear what you’re feeling. And I think your friendship is strong enough to survive a chat like this. If she doesn’t feel the same, you can just laugh it off, pretend you were joking.”

  Graham stared into his beer. “Perhaps it’s this conversation that’s the joke. I’m not sure about all this at all.”

  “Then don’t do anything. Just stand back and let Debs get involved with someone from work, if that’s what she wants. And be happy for her, Graham. She deserves that from you.”

  Graham snorted irritably, and the two men continued to drink in silence.

  “How many tickets are you allowed for your ordination?” asked Margaret. “It’s only a few weeks away now, and there are quite a few people from St Stephen’s who’d like to go and wish you well.”

  “I think we’re each allowed fifteen guests, although I can apply for more tickets if I’d like them. St Albans Abbey is a big place, and there are about twenty students being ordained deacon, and then about eighteen of us deacons who will be priested.”

  Neil and Margaret were in the church office running off posters for a Flower Festival service they were planning for the last weekend in June. The event always took place across the middle weekend of the famous Wimbledon tennis tournament – and everyone, tennis lover or not, knew it always seemed to rain over Wimbledon fortnight! Over the years, it had frequently occurred to the organizing committee at St Stephen’s that they should change the date of their celebration weekend, but no one had ever got round to doing anything about it.

  “I can’t believe it’s almost a whole year since I became a deacon,” continued Neil. “I started properly here at St Stephen’s right after my ordination service – but of course, I’d first been up to meet you several weeks earlier.”

  “I can never see a pork chop and not think of you!”

  He grinned sheepishly.

  “So who will be in your party at the Abbey?” she asked.

  “Mum, of course. She may disapprove, but she’d never miss an occasion like this. You and Frank, Wendy and her parents, Peter and Val – and Harry. He’s really excited about it!”

  “So there are six places left. Let me know what thoughts you have about them, because there’ll be a waiting list for any tickets going spare.”

  “That’s a nice thought,” mused Neil. “They’re a lovely lot, the St Stephen’s crowd, aren’t they?”

  Margaret looked across at him. “You’ve worked your way into their hearts, Neil. You’ve done well this year.”

  “Have I?” There was a vulnerability in his face that was so endearing, Margaret couldn’t help but smile.

  “When I think how you were forever blushing bright red when you first arrived…”

  “Don’t remind me!”

  “And now I know I can rely on your judgment in almost all situations. I’m not saying you haven’t still got a lot to learn…”

  “Thank goodness we stay curates for three years, at least. I’ll probably need a decade or two before I feel I’m really up to the job.”

  “Well, I will be glad to have you on my team as a priest in your own right next year. You’ll be able to do so much more then.”

  “And hopefully serve this community as I intended to from the start of my journey into priesthood.”

  “Amen to that,” agreed Margaret quietly. “Now, stop yacking and finish that printing before you make us both late!”

  The following weeks passed all too quickly, and by Monday of the week leading up to his ordination ceremony, Neil’s bag was packed and standing by the front door, ready for the following evening when he would be going on three days of retreat before his public commitment to priesthood during the service that weekend. He was looking forward to a time of prayer and preparation before taking this huge and important step in his ministry.

  Wendy had suggested that she drive him down to the retreat house near St Albans Abbey on Tuesday evening, so that when they next saw each other at the end of the ordination service, he could travel home with her and other members of the St Stephen’s congregation who were coming to support him during this moving occasion.

  It was in the early hours of that Tuesday morning that Neil woke with a start as his house phone rang in the dead of night. He was so disorientated, he almost didn’t recognize what the sound was, but as realization dawned on him, he leaped out of bed with a sense of foreboding at the thought of what could possibly be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the morning. His heart skipped a beat when he not only recognized Claire’s voice, but heard the note of panic in it.

  “It’s Harry! It looks like he’s had a heart attack!”

  “Have you called an ambulance?”

  “They’re here now, and I want to go with him to the hospital.”

  “What about Sam? Do you want me to come over and sit with him?”

  “Do you know, I think I’d rather have you sitting with me at the hospital? That may be an odd thing to say, but I don’t want to be there on my own.”

  “Of course, I’ll gladly help in any way I can. What about Sam, though?”

  “I’ve rung Jan and Paul and they’re already on their way over to take him across to their
house.”

  “Good idea. He gets on well with Beckie and Brendan.”

  “Yes, best not to worry him too much about Harry until we know how he is…”

  Claire’s voice faltered.

  “Look, I’ll be right there. Just hold on.”

  “Oh Neil, he looks so ill…”

  “I’m on my way!”

  Minutes later, when Neil reached the house, Jan had already turned up in her dressing-gown to carry the sleeping Sam across to spend the rest of the night with Beckie and Brendan (which, when he woke up, he would love). The ambulance crew had finished their basic examination of Harry, and once they had carried him safely into the ambulance, they wired him up to an array of flashing monitors. Claire climbed into the ambulance to hold Harry’s hand on the journey whilst Neil followed behind in his own car. He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was five past four.

  Even at that time in the morning, the A&E department was busy with patients ranging from the walking wounded to the really worrying. Harry plainly fell into the latter category because he was instantly whisked away, leaving Neil and Claire to register his details at the desk and sit down in a rather drab, impersonal side room to wait for news. An agonizing half hour later, they had still heard nothing.

  “Supposing they can’t save him?” Claire’s voice trembled as she spoke her most dreaded thought out loud.

  “He’s a tough old bird, our Harry. And I always thought he seemed really fit for his age.”

  “So did I,” said Claire, her eyes filling with tears. “He’s always on the go, doing the garden, sorting out meals, running the house, looking after Sam, busy at the church… He never stops, does he? And I was too tied up in my own life to see that. I’ve worked him into the ground, haven’t I? I did this to him!”

  Instinctively Neil reached out to put his arm round her shaking shoulders.

  “No, Claire. This isn’t anyone’s fault – and especially not yours. You and Sam make Harry’s life. He loves you both so much and he knows real contentment just because you’re around.”

  “So why this? What did he do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing – except, I suppose, he’s getting on a bit now, and this is just one of those awful conditions that affect people as they get older.”

  She looked up at him.

  “An act of God, do you mean? Don’t think much of your God if he lets this happen to someone like Harry, the dearest man in the world!”

  At just that moment, the door of the room opened. Claire’s eyes were wary and fearful as the consultant walked across to sit down beside her.

  “Your uncle is very poorly, I’m afraid.”

  Neil felt her shoulders tremble as she breathed deeply, unable to reply.

  “We very nearly lost him. If you hadn’t got the ambulance team on the scene as quickly as you did, I don’t think he’d be here.”

  “Is he…?” Claire seemed unable to form her words. “Is he going to die?”

  “Without treatment, yes, I think it’s unlikely he’ll get through the next twelve hours.”

  Claire’s hand shot to her mouth, and tears began to course their way down her cheeks.

  “But,” continued the consultant, “I’d like your permission to take him down to the operating theatre as soon as possible. The arteries around his heart are badly clogged. A triple bypass should give him a fighting chance to get through this.”

  “And in his present condition, is he strong enough for an operation like that?” asked Neil.

  “Good question, because honestly we won’t know the answer until we try it.” The consultant looked at Claire. “He’s nearly eighty, isn’t he?”

  “No!” was her sharp reply. “He’s nowhere near eighty. He’s seventy-eight. Don’t think you can write him off as an old man! Harry is full of life, always active, always running around doing things for people. He’d never give up on life – never!”

  The consultant’s eyes softened with understanding and sympathy as he spoke.

  “Unfortunately, at his age, however he feels about life, it may be his body rather than his mind that gives up. All I can say is that we’ll do our very best for him.”

  “I’m sorry,” mumbled Claire. “I’m so sorry. Will it be you doing the operation?”

  “Yes,” replied the consultant.

  “How long will it take?”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s half five. We’ve only got a skeleton staff here overnight, but the full theatre team will be in at seven. I’d like to wait till then. He can be first on the list.”

  “And the delay?” asked Claire. “That’s an hour and a half of nothing. You said he’s very poorly. Will he…?”

  “He’s wired up so that all the functions necessary for life are being supported – but honestly, in an elderly patient, there’s always the risk he’ll slip away in spite of our best efforts.”

  Claire made a gesture of frustration with her hands.

  “My advice is that we give your uncle the best possible chance by taking him down for a triple bypass as soon as the theatre team are set and ready to receive him. There’s a family room upstairs that you’re welcome to wait in, and once there’s any news at all, we’ll get it to you straight away. I have to say, though, you two look beat. Why don’t you go down for a cup of coffee? Or try and get some sleep, maybe?”

  “We’re fine,” said Claire sharply. “Can we sit with him? Until you take him down for the operation, can we be with him?”

  “Of course,” smiled the consultant. “I’ll get the nurse to show you where he is.”

  Harry looked small and pale in the huge bed surrounded by equipment that blinked and beeped, with flashing lights and a startling array of tubes and wires that were linked up to various parts of his body. Neil pulled up two chairs, and they sat side by side as Claire leaned forward to take Harry’s hand in hers.

  “Uncle Harry,” she whispered, “fight! Stay with us! Sam and I love you so much! Don’t let go! Fight your way through this. You know you can!”

  “The very first day I met you,” said Neil, his voice barely above a whisper, “was also the morning I first met Harry. He told me about Rose, about losing her two years ago.”

  “He never told her he loved her.” Claire’s voice was so low that Neil could barely hear her. “I think that’s why he is always telling me and Sam how much we mean to him. He lives in constant regret that he never told his darling Rose how much he loved her.”

  “He hoped she knew – and I think she probably did, don’t you?”

  She fell silent, looking at Harry, his white face expressionless in sleep, his chest rising and falling as the machine by his side beeped out every beat of his struggling heart.

  “Do you think he really wants to join her?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t think death holds any fear for him,” Neil replied, “and he believes that in death he will meet his Rose again.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “I’d like to think it’s true. I’d like to know she’s waiting there for Uncle Harry. I’d like to think, when the time comes, they’ll both be waiting there for me too.”

  Neil looked sideways at her. “Doesn’t sound much like the atheist speaking?”

  “No, it’s the despair of someone who is terrified of losing this wonderful man who is so dear to me; someone who hopes that this life isn’t all there is, even though my head tells me that’s difficult to believe; someone who at this moment hopes with all her heart there really is something beyond what we can see and touch and prove.”

  “There is,” said Neil.

  “God? Your God?”

  “Yours too.”

  “I don’t know him. If he does exist, why should he care about the despair of someone who’s shown absolutely no interest in him until the chips are down?”

  “Because his presence doesn’t rely on your loving him, but on his unchanging love for you.”

  She sighed. “I want
to pray. How ridiculous is that, when I’ve never even thought about praying before?”

  “Oh Claire, it’s an instinct to pray, as natural to the soul as breathing and sleeping are to the body.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  Her green eyes shone with tears as she turned to him.

  “God will show you. You don’t need words. Just open your mind and heart and share it all with God. He understands. He’ll listen. He’s here for you.”

  “What shall I pray for? To save Harry’s life? Even if perhaps he really wants to go…?”

  “Everyone dies some time, Claire. Death is as much a part of life as being born. Perhaps it is Harry’s time to go. God alone knows. Perhaps the healing you can hope for in prayer is for yourself and all the rest of us who are left behind, rather than just Harry. We all need comfort and strength to get through this. But if there is one thing I am certain of, it’s that prayer has power. Never doubt that for a moment.”

  “Help me…” she whispered. “Show me how.”

  And sitting side by side, they both bowed their heads until their faces almost touched as they prayed as one, not just for Harry, but as if their own lives depended on it.

  It was half past seven before the theatre team came to wheel Harry down for surgery. He stirred enough to realize they were there, although he seemed confused and sleepy. Once they’d settled him on to the trolley, Neil stood back as Claire leaned over to kiss her uncle, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered urgently:

  “We love you, Harry. Come back to us. And you won’t believe this, but I’ve asked your God to look after you, so this is his chance! Make sure he brings you back to us, please…”

  Neil reached out to pull her back towards him so that the porter could manoeuvre the trolley out of the door, and the two of them watched helplessly as Harry was pushed down the corridor and out of sight.

  “Coffee?” suggested Neil. “You look all in. How about we grab a sandwich or something?”

  “I’m going to wait in the Family Room,” said Claire. “If anything happens, they’ll know to find me there.”

  Neil nodded with understanding.

  “Look, I’ll go and pick up some bits and pieces from the restaurant downstairs. I’ll ring Margaret too, to let her know what’s happening.”