The Self Preservation Society by Alan McQueen

Author:Alan McQueen [McQueen, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: G2 Rights Ltd
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen - Confirmation

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The early evening rain beats relentlessly on the plastic sheeting of the roof above Father George’s head. As he delivers his tired speech to the assembled congregation of eight hardy souls, a large droplet cascades from the upper reaches of his beloved and beleaguered church and splashes on his forehead and runs down his nose.

Wiping away the raindrop he asks the five old ladies and three old men to join him in prayer; a thought runs through his head that if ever he needed a sign, this is it. He takes a casual step to his right to avoid any further dampening just as another large droplet heads southward. The splash on the old stone floor is almost audible and he offers up a silent promise to his ‘boss’; he will use the money he is about to steal for the good of the community.

With a broad smile he begins his prayers to make his flock feel as though their time in the house of God is worthwhile and not just an excuse to (almost) get out of the rain.

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Alex pads around in the dark. It’s 5:30am. Gym time. He rubs his eyes as he looks around the lounge. The empty wine bottles and discarded clothes telling their own story. He picks up several (expensive) pieces of underwear and his mind flashes back to the fashion show Shelley had treated him to. He piles her clothes on the divan and takes the two wine glasses and empty bottles into the kitchen. He looks around for his gym bag and not being able to locate it, opens a small cupboard under the stairs. He reaches in and picks up the smart leather bag and is about to duck his head out when he catches sight of a collection of retail bags, all pushed to the back of the small cupboard. Expensive sounding names with expensive looking logos. His insides churn. More expense. What can he do? How is he ever going to get out from under Shelley’s mountain of debt? Well, he might just have the answer.

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Harold and Blanche sit watching TV. She is half-reading a novel; he is half-reading an electronics magazine.

The next programme starts; it is a reality show where a retired couple are shown three houses in a holiday destination of their choice; a place to make their home in their twilight years. Harold looks over at his wife. Dutiful, faithful, supportive, loving and giving. The only woman he has ever loved. He can see the glistening in her eyes, the dream that was hers being thrust in her face as a factory worker from Bromsgrove and his brassy wife are deciding which property in Sicily might suit them for their dotage.

Harold watches her intently as the couple discuss how they will enjoy sipping wine on their terrace as the sun goes down.

If ever a woman deserves to be given her dream, Blanche is that woman. Harold sets his jaw and feels steel flowing down his backbone.

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