THE BISHOP’S DEAD LOSS

The Bishop was shrouded in a sterile melancholia. No Paul, no Barnabus. The preoccupied silence intermittently splintered as believers, heads studiously bowed to their books, whispered ritualistic rejoinders to the calls to silence. Not like the pub book-reading club at all!

*****

My thoughts drifted back four, no five, months. The conversation flowed then with that lack of embarrassment of familiars who knew exactly where the boundaries of safe conversation lay.

            “Can’t bend… belly’s in the way.” The speaker, Betty, strained to retrieve a biscuit for Barnabus, a particularly yappy male Jack Russell, enthusiastic to the point of obvious sexual excitement whenever a woman entered the bar.  That was one reason I routinely assumed a seat in the snug opposite; in clear view but removed. The other was discomfort. The invite “Come and join us” was no longer repeated, – no doubt deterred by my repeated rebuttals. I swigged a mouthful of stout and continued my solitary reading. Chapter 5 “The Surprise Accident.”

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The Reading Room

She was there, again, long legs and arms draped around a radiator in the reading room of the city library.  With her long dark coat she looked like a spider curled up in the corner of the room.  I had seen her there a few times, always at the same time of day – late afternoon.  Now, it was early December.  Outside, it seemed the Xmas lights were diamonds, hanging and dancing between the trees.  Inside the library it was warm and dry and there was a strong smell of polish.

I had taken to going to the library most days as I wanted to look at travel guides, because I hoped to go away in January – on my  own, for the first time!

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