Chapter 6

Don Upthorpe;

I got home. Can you wonder I was nervous? The first thing I noticed was that everything was drab. And it was somehow... cold. Now, I know we kept the house cooler than most people, but it was more than that. I left my jacket in the hall and loosened my tie. You probably don’t realise how significant that was. I made my way to the kitchen, where Alice, my wife, was preparing our evening meal.

She looked round as I entered. The first thing that registered – just for a second – was how stern she looked. But moments later, as she saw me, her face contorted and she screamed.

I stepped toward her, stretching out my hand.

Her face screwed up even more. “No! Keep away! Leave me alone!”

I didn’t understand. This was my wife! “Alice!” And moved closer.

She backed away.

I moved more quickly, reached out, touched her shoulder.

She convulsed and collapsed. I didn’t understand, but I had to do something. I believe that’s a ‘man thing’. Problem? How do I deal with it?

What should I do? Pulled out my phone and started to dial 999. Stopped. Alice’s face was pink; she was breathing, looked relaxed. What should be my first resource? I opened my mouth and began to speak ... gibberish again. As I prayed, she changed; changed in such a way that I instinctively backed away. Her skin darkened to an ebony, her hair from brown to black, but what was really worrying was her face. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to describe that. I think I have seen ... evil. I left her there, and went to sit in the lounge, continuing to pray. Whatever else it did, it calmed and reassured me. I found myself quoting Psalm 91;

Much more confident, I returned to the kitchen, where my wife had returned to her usual appearance, but was still unconscious on the floor. I went to her.

When I approached, though, she grimaced, and growled. I took out my phone, and called for an ambulance. Perhaps, in hindsight, I might have called Dulcie, but, well, I didn’t. Not then, anyway. I couldn’t tell them exactly what had happened, just that my wife had collapsed and was unresponsive. When the paramedics arrived – not quickly, as I said I didn’t think it was an emergency – I let them examine her. I did demonstrate her response to my touch. They just shook their heads, and took her away.

Out of my depth, I called Dulcie, but she was not available, since she was leading the evening office, but Liina said she’d get her to call when she returned. Not being domestically inclined – ‘housework is for women’, of course – I decided to go and find a meal in a local restaurant. Can I just insert here, that I am writing this in retrospect, and no longer believe that house work is just for women? Amongst other gender bias ideas? I really have changed, though I still lack the skills of some of my new friends. Before, I didn’t often go out to eat, and when I did looked for old-fashioned ‘British’ food. Meat pie. Roast meat. Stew. Steak-and-kidney pudding. Sausage and mash. Fish and chips.

Do you know how hard it is to find that sort of meal these days? Not wanting to spend the evening looking for a meal, I bravely entered a Chinese restaurant and ate chicken, bamboo shoots and water-chestnuts with rice ... surprised that I actually enjoyed it.

Dulcie rang as I was finishing, and I asked if I could call her back when I got home, which she happily agreed to.

I got home, made some tea – that much I can manage – and called the Rectory. Liina answered, but transferred my call to Dulcie’s study. I explained what had happened. One of the things which surprises and impresses me about the lady is her serenity. Another is her compassion. She didn’t berate or criticise, preach or otherwise demean me, just listened. When I finished, she said, “That sounds demonic to me. It’s certainly a reaction to the presence of the Spirit in you. I’m afraid I can’t offer to visit her; she isn’t a parishioner and is a member of another church. I’d recommend you call your pastor to visit her...”

“I’m afraid he won’t be much help,” I said. “This is all well out of our experience and doesn’t fit in with our theology. Our church’s theology ... doctrine.”

“Dispensationalist?”

“Sorry?”

“Dispensationalism is a theology which teaches that the miracles and supernatural gifts displayed in the early church ended with the passing of the Apostles. That we’re in another dispensation.”

“Ah! Yes, exactly.”

“There are various ways in which Christians excuse the lack of power in their lives. That’s just one of them.”

I sighed. “I ... well, I never questioned the teaching at church. And I never expected anything in this life, just heaven in the next.”

Dulcie didn’t respond to that. But after a pause, said, “You can always come to see me, or I can recommend a different church in your area, but I’m reluctant to try to persuade you to leave your church. There’s always a chance that a change in one member causes the church to grow – spiritually, that is. The first thing is to contact your pastor about your wife. Then go from there.”

I sighed again. “Okay. Thanks, Dulcie. I’ll think about this, contact Mister Abercromby, and pray. Not necessarily in that order.”

She laughed, a lovely sound. “You’ve grown already, Don. Bless you.”

I hung up and dialled James Abercromby. Not that I’d ever used his first name.

“Hello? Trinity Reformed Church. May I help you?”

“Mister Abercromby, this is Don Upthorpe.”

“Mister Upthorpe! What can I do for you?”

“My wife collapsed when I got home this afternoon and I had to call an ambulance.”

“I’m sorry to hear that! I suppose they took her to Broomfield Hospital?”

“I didn’t ask, but I expect so.”

“Let me know when you have any news, and I will, of course, visit.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“Good bye.”

I think the thing that struck me most about the conversation – with a Christian pastor – was the complete lack of reference to God. That shows how I’d changed...

The next day I breakfasted on cereal and toast – slightly over done toast, but I was proud of the effort – and instant coffee. I went to work. Mid morning, my mobile phone rang.

“Don Upthorpe.”

“Oh, Mister Upthorpe. I’m Sister Hopkins at Broomfield Hospital. We couldn’t find anything physically wrong with your wife, and she surfaced early this morning. She ... I’m sorry to say ... it was felt necessary to refer her for a psychiatric assessment. I expect you’ll be hearing from them.”

“Well, thank you for letting me know, Sister. Perhaps I shall be able to visit later?”

“I should put that off for the time being, Mister Upthorpe, but her doctor will be in touch.”

“Thank you, anyway. I’ll let you get on. Goodbye.” Why could I not visit my wife?

“Goodbye.”

It was evening before I received a call from Doctor Jones at the Linden Centre.

“Mister Upthorpe. How are you?”

“Coping. I’m afraid I’ve never learned to cook! But I can work out how to work the washing machine. But poor Alice...”

“I see. I wonder if you might come to see me tomorrow afternoon?”

“Not a problem.”

“Would you be in for a visitor in the morning?”

“I certainly can be. The office can get along without me.”

“Then we’ll do it that way. I can’t give you a time for the visitor, I’m afraid.”

“No problem.”

In the morning, then, I called the office to explain and told them I might not be in for a few days. I popped to the local mini-market for some basic supplies, bread, milk, and so on.

The visitor? A plain-clothed police officer. He showed me his warrant card, and I let him in the lounge.

“Well, detective-inspector. What can I do for you?”

He looked at me steadily. “I’ve been asked to look in on you in view of your wife’s ... condition. This is not a formal interview, and she’s not making any complaint; so far, anyway. If you don’t mind telling me, have you had any disagreement with her recently?”

I explained the situation with our daughter. It was a long story. He looked sceptical at my encounters in Maldon, but I gave him Dulcie’s phone number. After he left, I called her to let her know he might call, and I didn’t mind her giving her side of the story. In the end, between Dulcie and Rebecca, the authorities seemed to be reassured I wasn’t a domestic abuser. Though in a way, I recognise that I did abuse my daughter. I am just grateful that she was able to forgive me and we are reconciled.