Chapter 3

Probably Bert Westwood and Delia Cooper were equally surprised at how well they adjusted to living in the same house. By Friday, when Delia was to accompany Dulcie to HMP Whitemoor, though it had only been a couple of days, Bert thought he'd miss her presence; she'd be away most of the day. Similarly, Delia had become quite an admirer of the old soldier. She ... who had never known anything more demanding or dangerous than those ... orgies ... listened as he spoke of the jungles of Borneo, the streets of Belfast.

Listened with prickling, glistening eyes as Bert spoke of his wife, realising that she hadn't known what love was, could be. Wondering that she was learning from an old man whose business had been death, that there was more to life than existing. More than food, drink, sex, entertainment. Because of Dulcie, she'd learned that there's more than what she could see, hear, feel. That there's a ... dimension ... beyond; just ... beyond. But talking to Bert, she realised that even in this world, this existence, she'd missed a lot that was important, that gave meaning to life. She began to wonder what meaning her life had, could have.

She walked with Bert to the church for matins, sat with him, though she didn't really follow the service; there was something deeper going on inside her, both in her heart and her head.

Dulcie saw them come in together and instantly recognised that they had in some way bonded as she'd thought they might. At the end of the simple service, she approached them. Delia was clearly 'not there', but Bert pulled himself to his feet, faced her and held out his hand. "Thank you, Reverend," he said.

Dulcie took his hand, but raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What's with the 'Reverend?' I thought I was Dulcie to you."

"When you, acting as Pastor to your flock are instrumental in solving a serious problem for one of them, you deserve to be addressed with respect."

"Well, Bert. Honestly, it was Delia's idea. She saw you were distressed and offered to help, incidentally solving several problems at the same time. Really, I had nothing to do with it. And, please, let's be Dulcie and Bert again."

Bert made a 'Harrumph' sound, but said, "If you say so ... Dulcie."

"I do. But right now, I need to take your companion away for the day."

"Whitemoor, I gather."

"She told you that?"

"She did." After a pause, "I remember when that was a big marshalling yard ... and March was just 'the place you went through on the train'. I'd best be getting out of the way, though."

Dulcie let him past, then sat beside Delia. "Delia? Ready to go?"

Delia seemed to pull herself back from somewhere a long, long way away. "Dulcie?"

"The very same. I won't ask you where you were; we need to be on the road, I'm afraid."

Driving in England varies tremendously. Using motorways can add up to fifty percent to the distance travelled and sometimes nothing is gained in terms of speed; the M25, for example, around London, is sometimes referred to as 'the longest car-park in Europe'. In East Anglia, a choice often has to be made as to the best (out of two or more unsatisfactory options) route to take. HMP Whitemoor stands on the site of a former railway marshalling yard next to the undistinguished market town, March, in Cambridgeshire, roads to and from relatively narrow; Maldon, only a few miles from the A12, has similarly narrow access roads. Having studied the map ... Dulcie (still unused to East Anglia) had resorted to prayer before deciding on her route.

She chose to take the B1018 through Witham and Cressing to Braintree, to pick up the A120, which passes Stanstead Airport. It's only about thirty miles from Maldon to Stanstead and the A120 is a fast road, but it still took nearly an hour.

"Coffee," she announced, turning off into the Birchanger service area. Delia was still quiet and remote, though she did respond when Dulcie asked her what she wanted to drink. They found a slightly quieter spot and sat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Delia visibly shook herself, "I ... I'm not sure I can, yet. Talking to Bert, and what I've experienced living with you and Peter ... it's turned my world upside down." After a pause, she added hastily, "In a good way, I think. Seeing Jack ... that's part of trying to work out, well, who I really am. Because I'm beginning to wonder."

Dulcie reached across and laid her hand over Delia's. "Do you trust me?"

Delia was startled. "Why, yes; of course."

"No 'of course' about it," Dulcie commented, "you've just said we've ... with Bert ... turned your world upside down. That's got to be threatening. You may feel, I don't know, that you maybe owe us something, but that doesn't mean you necessarily trust us. The reason I asked is, you're welcome to talk through things with us. Obviously, we ... how to say it ... approach things from a particular point of view; a Christian one. I don't want you to feel we're pressuring you to do things ... think about things ... from our point of view."

Delia snorted. "Dulcie ... I can't imagine how you could have put less pressure on me. Except ... well. You've been so accepting ... forgiving ... open..." She absent-mindedly slurped coffee and stared at the hand covering hers. There was silence as they both sipped at their drinks; they might have been in a force-field bubble; insulated somehow from the hustle and bustle of everyday frantic business. Then, looking into Dulcie's eyes, went on, "I think ... it's love. That's all I can think of. But if so, I've never known what love is before."

"Don't try too hard to understand," Dulcie said gently, "there's many different sorts of love. The sort of love that you have because you're related to someone, parents, siblings ... is different from love for friends, and different again from erotic love, which is not identical to romantic love. It's ... actually hard to explain. You know how some mothers, not all, may be willing to die to save their child? Well ... the Son of God died for me and for you." She squeezed Delia's hand and let go. "It's time we were back on the road."

Once out of the service area and back on the road, the first part of the journey was straight-forward; M11 north, turning off onto the A11 passing Cambridge to join the A14. They made good time, turning off the A14 onto the A142 after only about half an hour. That was the end of the rapid progress, though. On the single-carriageway road, through or past Chippenham, Fordham, Soham, to Ely, then Witchford, Sutton, Mepal, Chatteris and Doddington to March, they took an hour and a half to cover the thirty miles or so. Unsurprised, Dulcie had allowed for the time and they ate a sandwich in March before rolling up at the prison at one-thirty.

After the routine security and identity checks (by two very polite female officers) they were shown into a small, rather austere room; the chairs were reasonably comfortable though.

While they were waiting, Delia commented, "I thought you were pessimistic about how long it would take to get here, but it wasn't just about this visit, was it?"

Dulcie gave a little chuckle, "You got me. I thought the trip would give you a lot of time to think and us a chance to talk."

Delia nodded and might have said more, but a man entered the room; tall, wearing dark trousers and a grey shirt with a clerical collar.

"Mrs Cooper?" Looking at Delia, and "Mrs. Hanson?" Looking at Dulcie. "I'm Bill Stanton, the senior chaplain here." Still looking at Dulcie, he added, "I was wondering at your purpose in coming..." He had an air of hostility about him; later both Delia and Dulcie would comment, independently, on it.

"Purely pastoral," Dulcie said, calmly, "I am overseeing Mrs. Cooper's bail conditions; she has been staying with my husband and myself and was nervous at visiting on her own. I can appreciate your concern, of course; as one of the victims of the crime you might well wonder why I would be here."

"Indeed ... and I understand you suggested to the Police Mrs. Cooper's husband be exorcised."

"I did; the men involved acted in an entirely irrational manner..."

"Well, I hope you appreciate that I am responsible for the ... spiritual well-being ... of the inmates here. I cannot countenance any unauthorised rituals."

"And I would not be so irresponsible as to perform any rituals without consulting you and the medical staff involved in Mr. Cooper's care." Dulcie kept her voice low and quiet, though she was at that point becoming somewhat annoyed with Reverend Stanton.

It was, perhaps, as well that another person entered the room at that point; it made it a little crowded, but his appearance removed some of the tension.

"Ah, Bill ... you beat me to it. Can you introduce me to these two ladies?"

The chaplain looked as though he'd just swallowed a lemon, but none the less did as he was asked. "Zack, Mrs. Delia Cooper, your patient's wife, and Reverend Dulcie Hanson" (indicating each in turn) "her Parish Priest. Mrs. Cooper, Mrs Hanson," (nodding to each in turn) "this is Doctor Hendricks, the Forensic Psychiatrist responsible for Mr. Cooper's care." There was definitely a snide tone to his emphasis of her title.

The two women smiled at the doctor, who seemed to be a more congenial character than the chaplain; he responded with a, "Nice to meet you." Before going on, "I hope you don't mind giving me a little of your time before you see Mr. Cooper?"

They shook their heads with another smile, though Dulcie said, "Actually, my husband is the Rector of the Parish. But I am a licensed Minister with pastoral responsibility for Mrs. Cooper and it was felt more appropriate that I accompany her than my husband."