Heat pumps and lentils. And a nice glass of Marsala
“It’s as if we inhabited completely parallel worlds,” said Jane.
“I didn’t
really hear what happened,” said her brother John, who was reading the paper at
the kitchen table.
“He wanted
to bring some garden waste through the passage.”
“So?” John
looked up. “You said the neighbours have access to the side-passage through
your garden. I believe that’s quite common in these terraces.”
“Well, yes
but these guys are busy working in our garden.”
“A heat
pump? Silly green nonsense,” said Trevor.
“You mean
you don’t care about climate change?”
“It’s all a
myth. You’re just wasting money.”
“You’re
selfish and ignorant, Trevor.”
John had overheard
this; he had groaned inwardly and poured more coffee. He had earlier spilled a
quantity of ground arabica after trying to open the packet, which was
impossible to open; it was a special brand from a Ugandan cooperative that Jane
bought online at great expense. He now looked through the back window; Trevor
and Jane were standing on the deck so he could only see their bottom halves,
Trevor in long shorts and trainers, Jane in skinny jeans and large Doc Martens.
“And
where’s my son’s ball?” Trevor was asking.
“It’s quite
safe. He shouldn’t let it fly into my garden like that. He can have it when he
comes and asks me politely,” said Jane.
John sank a
little further down in his seat. He put some more sugar in his coffee, which
was rather bitter.
Later, in
the evening, Jane went out to her community self-help group, where they
discussed promoting tolerance. “I’ll be back about nine and we can heat up
those lentils for supper,” she called out.
“How
lovely,” said John.
He sat on
the deck, enjoying the warm evening air and sipping a glass of Marsala while
reading the Book of Revelation, which always afforded him a certain amusement. Some
time after Jane had left, the door to the next-door garden scraped open and
Trevor appeared, dragging two large bin liners of bindweed. He did not notice
John at first but struggled through the narrow gap between the deck and Jane’s
back wall, then suddenly stopped. “Hallo, Father. I’m sorry to disturb you; I
thought there was no-one here,” he said. He sounded a little abashed.
“My sister
has gone out,” said John. “Don’t mind me. I’m staying with her while I’m on
leave.” He stood up. “May I take one of those? They look rather awkward.”
Together
they took the bags through the passageway and loaded them into the boot of an
elderly Mercedes saloon with tinted windows, metallic black paintwork and
stylised wheels.
“I’ll take
them down the tip in the morning,” said Trevor. “Bless you for helping,
Father.”
John
chuckled. “John will do,” he said. “Come and have a glass of wine.” He sat
Trevor at the small wrought-iron table on the decking, and poured him a glass
of Marsala. “It’s a little sweet but very drinkable. Supplies from Father
Godfrey at St John’s down the road. He buys his communion wine in bulk.” Trevor
looked a little startled, so he went on: “Don’t worry, it’s not consecrated. If
it was we’d go straight to hell, of course.”
“We’d meet
some interesting people there, though,” said Trevor. He picked up the book John
had been reading. “Any good?”
“Oh yes,”
said John. “That’s our company instruction manual. It’s a free download if
you’re interested.”
Trevor
flipped the book open at the passage John had had open. “And I looked,
and behold a pale horse,” he read, “and his name that sat on him was Death, and
Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of
the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the
beasts of the earth.” He put the book down. “What does that even mean?”
“It means
we’re all stuffed,” said John. He chuckled and poured a little more Marsala
into Trevor’s glass.
“It sounds
like the sort of thing your sister says about climate change,” said Trevor.
“Ah well,
she might not be wrong there,” said John. “Please take my sister as you find
her, Trevor. She has a good heart.”
“I am sure.
What on earth does she make of you being a priest?”
 |
Wikimedia Commons/Tarquin |
Trevor
looked back at him with a thoughtful expression. “And do you?”
“No, I live
in Haringey,” said John. “My sister is all right, Trevor. She is three years
older than me. When we were children she dressed me and took me to school. She
had to. Our father had gone and Mum was a drunk.”
“Oh,” said
Trevor.
“Dinner’s
ready, Trev,” called his wife from next door.
He stood
up. “I’d better go. Have you eaten?”
“Don’t
worry about me,” said John. “But thanks.”
When Trevor
had gone he sat back in his chair, squinting to read in the gathering dusk.
“And
when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of
the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and
kill them,” he read. He sighed, and went into the kitchen for more Marsala.
As he entered he saw Trevor’s son’s football in the corner. He hesitated for a
moment; then he took it outside and rolled it through the gate to the garden
next door.
More flash fiction from Mike:
