Chapter 5

It might be thought strange, but it was Friday before Delia went to see Bert in Hospital in Chelmsford. She got reports from Dulcie, of course, but there might have been several reasons; she could not have given a simple explanation.

Part of it was that she had got very much into cleaning the house. Part of it was the feeling that he was, in some way, there with her as she worked. Partly, perhaps, she didn't want to see that remarkable, proud and strong-willed man reduced to total dependence. Along with all those she had an underlying feeling of being unworthy of his friendship. So she dusted and wiped and swept and vacuumed, even wiping down the woodwork. It may have been imagination, but she felt he knew and approved of her efforts.

It was Thursday evening, after the service, that Dulcie asked her to go. She, Dulcie, had a number of things to do before Sunday and would not have time. Delia agreed to do so, but then nervously asked Dulcie how she should go about making a commitment to God.

"Just ask," Dulcie replied, "just say in your own words what you want. There are many aspects to a relationship with God. There's a tricky balance between us choosing a path and being submitted to the will of God. But at it's simplest, it's about trying to ... it's hard to express ... the glib way is to say, 'walk with Jesus', but that begs the question what that means. I'm sorry ... I'm not helping much, am I?"

"How did it work for you?"

"I don't remember saying anything. I was overwhelmed by the reality, the Presence, of God – what we call 'immanence'. I was aware of His love, his forgiveness, his desire to heal me, to deliver me from my addiction. I just ... surrendered." She chuckled, "I'm told I was in a sort of trance, jabbering away in some language I'd never learned, for about an hour. I just had no awareness of the passing of time. I think for you, it means choosing to surrender ... deciding, consciously. Everyone's different, you see."

Delia closed her eyes and, after a short while slipped to her knees, resting her forehead on her hands on the back of the pew in front; her lips moved silently. Dulcie watched, and after a few minutes stood very quietly and backed out of the pew. Peter had been talking quietly to one of the tiny congregation, who bade him goodnight as Dulcie approached, and left.

"I'll wait here for a while," Dulcie told her husband, "and lock up behind Delia when she's finished."

He just looked his question at her.

"She's finally made her choice, I think," Dulcie told him, "though she might still be arguing, I suppose."

As she was speaking, Delia rose from her place, looked around and made a bee-line for Dulcie, positively beaming, on arrival flinging her arms around her ... Dulcie reflexively returning the embrace. Releasing Dulcie, Delia turned to Peter and held out her hand; instead of shaking it, he moved in and hugged her. At first, she stiffened and tried to pull away, looking at Dulcie, but Dulcie caught her eyes, shook her head slightly, smiled and winked, so she relaxed into Peter's embrace, realising as she did so that it felt much like the encounter she had just had with God ... it was loving and accepting, but completely without sexual connotations.

Peter released her. "Welcome home, Delia," he said with a warm smile.

"Yes ... welcome to the family," Dulcie added.

Delia could not remember the last time she'd ridden in a bus. She was taken aback by the price of the return fare and not impressed with the level of comfort. After her husband's BMW ... she probably needed to ask about getting that back from the Police ... or even Dulcie Hanson's Zafira, it was ... not impressive. Even as she thought it, she scolded herself for her old ways of thinking.

Bert was propped up in bed; his face still distorted by the stroke, one arm limp on the covers, but his eyes were still alive and brightened as they saw her enter the bay. He raised his good hand in a wave.

Snagging a plastic chair from the window, she sat facing him and captured his hand in both of hers. He mumbled something she couldn't make out. Clearly he realised she hadn't understood because he made a big effort to make his mouth work.

"You ... r ... goo ... wo ... ma'..."

Her eyes prickled and she shook her head.

"You ... aaare." he insisted, holding her eyes with his.

Not knowing what else to do, she began to talk about what she'd been doing the previous day or so, finishing with her ride on the bus – a self-deprecating account that clearly amused him.

"Be ... er 'an..." a confused mumble. After several attempts, she caught on that he was trying to say 'TCV', which obviously meant nothing to her. It took several more attempts for him to explain it meant 'troop-carrying vehicle'.

She nodded, "I told myself I ought to feel lucky I was riding, not walking," she said.

He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes.

"Are you tired? Do you want me to go?"

He moved his head from side to side in negation and held on to her hand. He was breathing so shallowly and so quietly, she didn't notice when he stopped. She did notice his grip slacken. She could tell he wasn't right and pressed the call button. The nurse that arrived took one look and twitched the curtains round the bed before touching first his wrist, then his neck for a pulse.

"Will you come with me, er, ma'am?"

The nurse – wearing a sort of lilac tunic with a purple belt, and hence a Staff-Nurse – led her to the ward office.

"Just a moment, if you don't mind, and Sister will be in to speak to you."

It was more than a moment, but not so very long before an older woman in a navy blue uniform came in.

"Mrs. Cooper?" It was a rhetorical question. "Reverend Hanson said we could expect you today. I admit we weren't expecting quite the situation we have just now..."

"He's gone, isn't he?"

"Yes, he has. I'm afraid there wasn't anything more we could do. We discussed things with Reverend Hanson and ... as far as we could ... with Mr. Westwood. There's no doubt neither wanted us to fight to keep Mr. Westwood alive but unlikely ever to walk, or speak clearly, again especially as we were certainly going to lose the fight. It was really only a matter of time before he had another bleed. As it is, his life ended peacefully and with dignity and, if I may say so, in the company of someone whose friendship he valued highly."

It was difficult for Delia to keep her voice level and she was never sure afterwards how she managed, but, "I really only knew him a few days ... a ... remarkable gentleman." Her eyes prickled and she had no control over the tear that trickled down her cheek.

"That's as maybe," the nurse said gently, "by all accounts, you made those last few days quite special for your ... remarkable gentleman."

By that point the tears were flowing freely and Delia made no attempt to answer. The Sister reached a box of tissues and placed it next to her. "Feel free to sit here as long as you like," she said, "and I'll have someone bring you a cup of tea. Do you take sugar?"

At Delia's shake of the head, she left and some minutes later a young student nurse brought her a cup of tea and left her to her thoughts. Once she had achieved a superficial degree of composure, she thanked the Sister and left. She rode the bus home in a little insulating bubble of numbness. Bert's house brought her a little comfort again as she went about the necessary business of continuing to live. Over the next days she also gained comfort from her growing familiarity with the rhythms of life in the church community and busied herself about the house and the Rectory. A date for the funeral was set, just a fortnight after his death.

Hubert Westwood's passing definitely had an effect upon the church, but other matters were pressing too. Peter took a call from Bill Stanton mid-week after the death; Dulcie was not available, but it was arranged that she call him the following day.

"Mrs. Hanson..."

"Dulcie, please..."

"Very well. Dulcie, your husband said you'd be willing to help us out here with Jack Cooper."

"Yes, Bill. As long as you realise I'm not anxious to be involved ... and I will be asking an old friend for support."

"Not your husband?"

"No ... he has responsibilities here and I have in mind someone much more experienced."