Part One The Red Lion’s landlord was building up quite a sweat that day. He was alone behind the bar and doing a good trade. With only a week before Christmas, and the weather having a distinctly wintery feel, the unspoilt village pub, with its roaring fire had a great atmosphere at this time of year, and it seemed that on this particular day the locals were drawn irresistibly to it. What better place to congregate with friends on Saturday lunchtime, and to get into the festive mood. All that was needed to complete the scene was for it to start snowing, and judging by the appearance of the sky, that was a distinct possibility. To Alex Wainright, it seemed that half the village had descended on the pub, the nonregulars, the village hoypoloi who would generally only patronise the place at this time of year, or of course, when their friends also happened to be there. It was obvious, to Alex, at least, that these people wouldn’t be comfortable with common people, not without their cosy clique of friends. I hadn’t known Alex that long, I had only taken over the parish a year earlier, in fact as a newly ordained vicar, it was my first, and although I only had a small flock, I was still trying to get to know people better, and Alex was no exception. He came to church every Sunday without fail, and since my arrival at the village, he had retired from his job in the city. Since then, he spent a good deal of his time at the very pub where I was meeting him that day, but his frequenting of the place had nothing to do with socialising, as far as I could see, he had no friends to speak of, he kept himself very much to himself. He always appeared to be troubled whenever I saw him, would never engage in conversation when leaving church after the Sunday service, and I noticed that he had let himself go somewhat, often looking unshaven and generally rather scruffy. He’d never married, I was told, and the only one thing I knew about him with some certainty, was that despite his appearance, he lived in the grandest of houses for miles around, and certainly wasn’t short of money. Apart from that, I knew very little, as he wasn’t exactly forthcoming himself. I had discreetly asked members of the congregation what they knew about him, but many were relative newcomers to the village and didn’t know much, and the more longstanding inhabitants didn’t seem comfortable talking about other people’s affairs. It was purely out of concern, and a desire to get to know him, and indeed everyone in the village better that led me to make such enquiries, I suppose I was trying to gain their trust the best I could, but it seemed that so far I was failing and eventually I gave up asking questions that they clearly had no intention of answering. Perhaps, in the fullness of time they might open up and talk to me, but until then I would simply do my job as best I could. That is, until the phone rang one evening, I had just got out of the shower when my wife shouted from the hallway saying there was someone on the phone for me. ‘Tell them I’ll call back would you darling – who is it anyway?’ I said. There was a moment’s silence before Alice, shouted again. ‘It’s Mr Wainright.’
Almost before she had finished speaking, I’d hastily wrapped a bath towel round my waist, ran down the stairs, and grabbed the phone from her. She looked a little perplexed as I stood in the hallway dripping, and then with raised eyebrows, gave me a cynical smile before returning to the kitchen. Holding the phone to my ear, I hesitated for a moment before finally speaking, I needed to sound professional and contain my eagerness to speak with him properly at long last. ‘Mr Wainright! How lovely to hear from you. What can I do for you this fine evening?’ I cursed with muted profanities at my overzealousness, yet I needn’t have worried, as it very clearly went unnoticed. Alex dispensed with any niceties or small-talk, he wasn’t the type for that sort of thing anyway, but with a sombre tone, asked if I would meet him for a drink at The Red Lion that coming Saturday. The invitation took me by surprise to say the least. I was fairly certain my diary was clear, I knew I had no wedding ceremonies to perform, it was a quiet time of year for those, but on the lead up to Christmas, it was always a possibility I had some other duty to carry out, however small. More composed, and no matter how curious I was, I had to put my duties first and so I said: ‘Well, that would be lovely, Mr Wainright, it really would. But I really will have to check my diary first, if that’s alright?’ ‘You’re either there or you’re not vicar, it makes little difference – but hopefully you will be,’ he said brusquely. ‘Well I…’ ‘Good-evening to you vicar,’ he said, and then hung up. I was taken aback by the brief, and extremely odd conversation. Not knowing what to make of it, I stood nonplussed for a moment. There was something in his voice, I wasn’t sure if it was fear, anger, or despair, on the other hand, it could have been nothing at all, he was a difficult character to read. ‘You’ll catch your death,’ said my wife, appearing from the kitchen. ‘Go and get yourself dried off. Dinner’s nearly ready.’ ‘Yes, yes I will darling – good idea,’ I said. It wasn’t till then I realised how cold I was, nevertheless, once my wife had returned to the kitchen, I went into my study just off the hallway and quickly checked any events in my diary for Saturday. As I’d suspected, there was very little on that day in the way of church duties, except for a bric-a-brac sale organised by the local women’s institute at the village hall where I was expected to make a brief appearance. But that was in the morning, the rest of the day was completely free. Over dinner with Alice and the kids, she asked with interest about the telephone conversation. ‘So is this the old guy you’ve mentioned before?’ ‘Yes, that’s right. As a matter of fact he wants me to join him for a drink on Saturday at the pub.’ ‘Oh really? In the evening I hope.’ ‘Well, no, lunchtime actually.’ ‘Ah! Please tell me you didn’t say yes.’ ‘Um, well, as a matter of fact I didn’t have a chance to say yes, or no. Why?’
‘Well, it may have slipped your mind, but you did say you’d come Christmas shopping with me – remember?’ ‘Ah! Yes, I did, didn’t I? But look darling, couldn’t we go shopping during the week, how does Monday sound? It may be less busy as well.’ ‘John, you promised!’ ‘I know, I know! I’ll make it up to you – that, I do promise. Look! What if we make a real day of it? We can have lunch out and do some late night shopping as well. We can get someone to mind the kids – what do you say?’ ‘Hmm, well I suppose it’ll have to do – if you really promise!’ ‘I really do promise, yes. Thank you darling.’ ‘What’s so important that he’s inviting you for a drink anyway? He’s always been such a grumpy old bugger!’ ‘I don’t know really, I just get the feeling he needs help, that’s all, and grumpy old bugger or not, he is after all, one of my flock, so...’ ‘Yes dear, whatever you say dear.’ Anyway, the Saturday arrived, and after some polite socialising amongst the mainly ageing ladies of the women’s institute, drinking the many cups of coffee thrust upon me, then listening to suggestions from the church committee secretary regarding the midnight carol service on Christmas Eve, I was finally able make my excuses and leave for my meeting at the pub. It was with mixed emotions I waded through the packed bar, being greeted by just about everyone, including the overworked landlord, some offering to buy me a drink as I squeezed past them. I was beginning to feel apprehensive about the whole thing, if as I suspected he needed help of some kind, whether it be spiritual support, or something else, would I be able to help? This was potentially my first real test as a vicar – would I be able to help him? Or would I fail him? I began to wonder if he was there, I hadn’t spotted him anywhere, and it crossed my mind that I hadn’t phoned him back to confirm I would meet him. I simply assumed he would be there, whether I turned up, or not, at least that was the impression he gave over the phone. I had negotiated my way through the merrymakers until I’d almost reached the far end of the pub, I’m not sure if it was just me, but the heat was overpowering, and the inane jabbering of the drinkers was beginning to get to me. It was so hot; I rather unceremoniously tugged at my dog collar and put it in my coat pocket. At this point I was beginning to feel quite ill, perspiration forming on my forehead, and a slightly dizzy sensation, perhaps it was some kind of panic attack, I don’t know, but I felt very self-conscious and wanted to leave. ‘Over here, vicar,’ came a muffled voice. It came from my right, at first I couldn’t see anyone, but I recognised it as Alex’s. Then, peering through the odd gap between the bodies, I caught sight of him; he was sitting alone at a small table tucked away in a corner. Somehow, I felt a great relief in seeing him and fought my way through to join him. My first impression was that he looked a good deal smarter than I had seen him before, he was clean-shaven, his grey hair was neat and tidy, and he wore a crisp looking shirt complete with tie, a waistcoat and an immaculate corduroy jacket.
‘Mr Wainright, hello! So glad I didn’t miss you.’ ‘Take a seat vicar.’ I took my coat off, hung it over the back of the chair, and sat facing him. ‘I took the liberty of getting a drink for you, hope you like real ale.’ ‘Well, thank you, that’s very nice of you Mr Wainright. I’ll get the next one,’ I said, taking a sip of the beer. ‘Wow! That’s strong stuff,’ I laughed. ‘Yes, well I’m used to it I suppose.’ ‘Oh, I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m very happy with it. It’s just a bit stronger than… Anyway, it’s good to see you Mr Wainright, you look well.’ ‘Hmm, do I now? Well that’s good to know. Call me Alex, by the way, vicar.’ ‘Oh, yes alright – Alex, and please, why don’t you call me, John.’ ‘I’d rather not if you don’t mind, vicar.’ ‘Alright, whatever you’re comfortable with – Alex.’ I took another modest sip of beer before continuing. ‘Anyway, so what is it I can do for you, Alex?’ I think I may have visibly winced at the lack of subtlety in my question, but my directness didn’t seem to concern him, if anything, I think he probably welcomed it, unintentional as it was. ‘What can you do for me, you say?’ he chuckled. But with more sombreness, he continued. ‘Very little I suspect, vicar. Very little indeed.’ ‘I’m sorry Mr Wainright, forgive me, I mean, Alex, but I don’t quite understand.’ ‘No, it’s alright vicar, it’s I who should apologise, I’m not deliberately prevaricating, you understand, it’s just that, well, it’s difficult to know where to begin.’ ‘Look, Alex, I know we don’t know each other terribly well, but I’m a good listener, and whatever it is, you can talk to me quite openly, just take it slowly, I have all the time in the world.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I wish I could say the same vicar.’ I hesitated for a moment, before asking: ‘Are you…are you ill, Alex? Is that it?’ ‘No, vicar, I’m not ill. In fact, as far as I know, I’m in the best of health.’ ‘Well, that’s good news anyway,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t mean I’m not going to die, vicar,’ he retorted gravely. I looked at him somewhat puzzled for a moment and trying to think of something sensible to say before opening my mouth. Whatever it was on his mind, it looked as if it would take some skill to get him to open up, and I was beginning to wonder if I had that kind of skill in the real world. ‘Well, you know, Alex, we’re all going to die – our physical bodies, that is. But that’s just the beginning of a new, better life, there’s nothing you should fear about it. Besides, I’m sure you have many years ahead of…’ ‘Vicar! You’re not in the pulpit now. Do you think we could dispense with the sermon until Sunday?’ Although in no way offended, I was more than a little taken aback by his bluntness. Yes, Alice was quite right, he was a grumpy old bugger, I was well aware of that, but this, it seemed to me, was more than simple grumpiness. At the very least, I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, I was stuck on how to proceed with the conversation without ruffling his feathers more than I already had. ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I didn’t mean to sound… well, you know, like a vicar.’
A silence fell as I took another mouthful of beer and he downed the rest of his pint in one go, then slamming the handled glass onto the table. ‘Another one, vicar?’ he said, raising himself. ‘Oh no, not for me, thanks. I’ve still got almost a full pint left,’ I said, showing him my glass. ‘But please, let me get this one, it’s my round.’ He ignored me and made his way through the crowd to the bar. If nothing else, it gave me a breathing space in which perhaps I could come up with a better strategy, it was clear that something was troubling Alex, so far, I felt I hadn’t handled it terribly well, and was not only failing him, but also myself. I sipped at my beer and awaited his return. ‘Hope he’s not getting you drunk, vicar.’ The words from Ron Ashby, one of the native villagers, took me by surprise. I looked up at the ruddy-faced man standing directly behind me with a group of similarly ruddy-faced men, all of them who I knew to be farm labourers in the village. They weren’t like Alex in any way, they were simple people with simple needs, obviously from less well-off backgrounds, but happy. ‘No Ron, not at all, just a social drink,’ I said. ‘Ah, well just you watch it, vicar, Alex could drink any one of us under the table these days,’ he laughed. ‘Really? Do you know him well, Ron?’ His expression changed, as did his jocularity. He sat himself down on Alex’s chair. ‘I used to know him very well, vicar. We were good friends once. Of course, I’m going back years now – to the early sixties, when we were kids. Went to the same school and everything. He was very bright of course, stood out next to everyone else. His father wanted to send him and his sister off to boarding schools, but as I understood it, his mum wouldn’t have it. Nice lady, she was. He changed though, kept himself to himself at school, we never saw each other after school or anything, but that was after… Anyway, he eventually went off to university, and then I heard he had some high-flying job in London, I didn’t see him again until his parents died and he inherited the house and moved back to the village.’ ‘You said something about him having a sister?’ I said. ‘You didn’t know?’ ‘No! I had no idea. So where is she now?’ ‘Hollie? Thought you would have known, vicar, after all she’s buried in your churchyard.’