"It sounds like every religion that has ever been!" said Joan. "And, for me, I don't care what religion it is, it works for me. It's very practical. It's how I dealt with Mum's death, with your job fears, with Martin's breakup and it's how I'm dealing with this. I know it works."
"Oh dear," said Arthur, smiling at his wife. "Just when I think I'm beginning to know you, you pull another rabbit out of the hat!"
"Poof!" said Joan laughing and slapping Arthur's knee playfully.
"So, I know nothing about this miracle book ..." said Arthur.
"A Course In Miracles," corrected Joan.
"Sorry, A Course In Miracles book," said Arthur. "I know nothing about it but it's caused a small miracle in you, my love, if you don't mind me saying so. So let's try it here. What do you think, Emily?"
"Well, nothing else is working, is it!" said Emily, sitting back and smiling sadly. "The police haven't found him and nor has anyone else. What do we have to lose?"
"So, Miracle Woman, what does the good book tell us we should do now?" asked Arthur, partly in jest, partly in dread.
"Nothing," said Joan.
"Nothing?" asked Emily, sitting up, surprised.
"Nothing," said Joan.
"Nothing?" asked Arthur.
"No, nothing at all," said Joan. "What it says is that nothing has happened."
"Nothing has happened?" asked Arthur.
"Nothing has happened." said Joan.
"Nothing has happened?" asked Emily.
"Nothing has happened," said Joan. "Now, I don't really get it and, yes, it does sound illogical but what it says is that this whole world is an illusion, it's not really here."
"Not really here?" asked Arthur, trying desperately to think of something original but failing badly.
"Not really here," said Joan. "The course says you don't have to get it. You don't even have to believe it. You just have to try to get it, to show a little willingness."
"Willingness for what?" asked Emily, sitting back with a frown.
"Willingness to try to get it that this world is an illusion. That it's not really here," said Joan.
"It's not really here ..." said Arthur, still failing in the originality department again.
"It's not really here," said Joan. "I know this chair is real, I know you're real, Emily, and I certainly don't want you to not be here, Arthur. You're real to me, love, and I certainly don't want you to disappear in a puff of smoke!"
"We're here but we're not?" asked Arthur, going bright red with Joan's public words of affection. He wasn't used to such things. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of illogic and really needed a life belt very soon.
"Just bear with me, love; Emily," said Joan. "All this in the world is an illusion - it's an insane illusion."
"It's certainly insane!" said Emily, laughing for the first time.
"That's a good step!" said Joan, turning to her. "You see, if you can just accept that this world, this busy, physical world, is insane - absolutely, totally insane - you'll stop trying to work it out, analyse it, make sense of it."
"Oh, I've given up trying to make sense of it with everything that's happened over the last few years!" said Emily, smiling grimly.
"Great, so you're on the way to sanity!" said Joan. "Now, so we just start by giving up trying to work anything out, just knowing it's insane ..."
"But how can it be insane if it doesn't exist?" asked Arthur, as a blinding flash of inspiration finally hit him.
"I don't know, love," said Joan, patting his knee again, smiling. "The course says we don't have to believe it. In fact, we can even actively reject it. We just need a little willingness to see things another way."
"Mmm," said Arthur, finding real words difficult to find again.
"Okay, I'm willing!" said Emily, sitting up with more vigour than she'd shown previously. "Life has been so insane for me and I just can't make sense of it. It's just not working for me, actually, so I'm ready to try another way - any other way! What do you think, Arthur?"
"What I think is that the whole thing sounds so totally mad but it has actually worked for Joan. She's different, I know she is, and I'd like to have something of the difference she's experienced. That's what I think." said Arthur, smiling, shaking his head. "If the madness works, let's try it!"
"So, we show a little willingness to try to accept that the world's insane, it's not really here," said Joan, summing up. "So, if it's not really here, what is?"
"Oh my God, now what?" asked Arthur with a strange buzzing in his stomach, a strange and uncomfortable buzzing.
"You're absolutely right, Arthur! There's your God!" said Emily, laughing. "That's all there is. God!"
"God?" asked Arthur, finding his originality with words slipping away again.
"So we just sit here and let God do it all?" asked Arthur, checking that he'd summed up correctly. He eased himself back down to the floor as he realised Chloe was having trouble fitting some pieces together. Maybe, too, he admitted to himself, it was easier fitting Lego together than fitting these new ideas into his mind - they just wouldn't go in properly. Perhaps Chloe felt just like him, struggling to fits pieces together.
"Well, yes, we give over to God but we don't actually do nothing at all," said Joan, patiently. "We just don't do anything in our own strength ..."
"Our own strength?" said Arthur, interrupting, with the dread feeling that it was becoming less comprehensible, not more, as he'd hoped.
"Yes, our own strength. And no, I don't fully get it and I don't do it all the time, I must admit," said Joan, smiling ruefully. "I keep falling back into my old way of doing things - deciding what must be done and trying to make them happen my way." Arthur smiled at the frank confession of her bossiness and his dread of her uncompromising demands. He didn't trust his mouth to say anything at this moment and kept it firmly shut.
"Well, what is this new way?" asked Emily. "If we do nothing, what do we do then?"
"What we do - and I'm still learning all this - is to ask the question and leave it at that," said Joan.
"Just ask a question and leave it at that?" asked Emily, frowning as she ran her fingers through her fine, blonde hair.
"We ask and we listen. We don't decide what to do, we listen and the still, small voice for God speaks," said Joan, uncertainly. "Oh, gosh, it all sounds rather silly when I say it like that but it works, believe me!"
"So, what question do we ask?" asked Arthur, unable to restrain himself any longer.
"Whatever's bothering you. Whatever you need an answer to," said Joan, admiring the Lego house that Chloe had just showed her, with great pride. "That's lovely, dear. You're very clever."
"So, that's why you suggested we state our question about Dad," said Emily, looking like a light bulb had just been turned on in her head. "We ask 'where do we find Samuel Lord?' Then we wait for the answer. It can't be that simple, really?"
"That's the problem, we love things to be complicated and we mistrust the simple. We reject the simple answers," said Joan. "The really difficult bit is staying out of our own way, of not stopping to listen and of jumping in with our most logical actions."
"What's wrong with logic?" asked Arthur, taking his seat again, shaking his head in confusion.
"Nothing's wrong with logic, dear, if we know all the facts," said Joan. "The trouble is that we never, ever, in any circumstance, know all the facts and so we apply our logic to half the problem, not all of it."
"Mmm, I suppose you're right," said Arthur.
"The Universe, God or whatever you call that which is bigger than all of us, does know all the facts and so its logic is the only reliable one," said Joan.
"So we ask 'where is Sam Lord'?" asked Arthur, hoping desperately that Joan would say 'yes'.
"Not quite. My suggestion, dear, is that we ask what are we meant to do in this moment," said Joan. "We ask what action we should take, right now, and the rest will be revealed."
"So, it's quite practical, really," said Emily. "Kn
owing where he is doesn't help us to know what to do about it."
"Exactly!" exclaimed Joan, clapping her hands and giving everyone a fright. "Oops, sorry, I just love this stuff! Right now we don't need to know where he is or how he is - if we did, we may still not know what to do about that situation. We always ask for action in the present, what to do right now."
"So we just sit here and Poppa will come in?" came a small, uncertain voice from the floor.
The adults all chuckled and two looked at the other one, expecting an answer. The answer came but it took a little time to rattle round in Joan's brain, travel down to her throat and come out of her mouth.
"Well Chloe, we do sit and listen and wait," said Joan, uncertainly, "but I don't think your Poppa will just pop through the door."
"Down the chimney like Father Christmas?" asked Chloe, excitedly.
"No dear, we probably won't see Poppa today," said Joan, patiently, as Chloe's face dropped. "You see, God talks very quietly, in our heart, and if we're rushing around doing lots of busy things, panting and stressed, we may not hear him."
"So we sit in silence and wait for God to speak?" asked Emily.
"Ah, sort of," said Joan, smiling through her embarrassment. "Look, what I'm saying is that if we stay alert, stay present to each moment, the answer may come to us - will come to us. It might not be loud and in dazzling lights. It could be - usually is - subtle, quiet, less obvious. That's what the course says, anyway ... I think."
"If I play here quietly, is that alright Mummy?" asked Chloe, obviously concerned. "I'll listen very carefully."
"Of course it is love," said Emily, smiling at Chloe. "Just ask God for help to find Poppa and keep on playing - an answer or idea might come."
"At the risk of repeating myself, what do we do now?" asked Arthur, feeling restless and the need to do something. "I really should be getting on with the work I picked up today." He was instantly reminded of the altercation at the AIL offices, a few hours ago, and wondered how Mary and everyone else was. He hadn't even told Joan about it yet. As he stood up there was a knock at the front door.
"Oh, Mummy, do you think that's God?" asked Chloe, leaping up and beating Arthur to the door.
"No, no, Chloe ..." said Emily, realising her words were in vain and unsure of whether to stand or sit.
"She's really getting into this, isn't she!" said Joan. "Let's us just sit back and see if it is God!" The women smiled to each other and then laughed, releasing the tension in the room.
Search for Sam
Monday, 12th March 2012, 1.16 p.m.
Arthur opened the door to Martin. "What are you doing here, in the middle of the day?" asked Arthur, shaking his hand and leading him in to a seat. "I thought you'd be at work."
"I had to come out here, just up the road, to mediate a property dispute ... oh, we haven't met," said Martin, suddenly seeing Emily as he sat down and stood again.
"Yes, sorry Martin. This is Emily and her daughter, Chloe," said Joan. Emily stood and they shook hands. Actually, thought Arthur, they just stood and stared at each other for the longest time, with their hands touching, not moving.
"So good to see you, Martin," said Joan.
"Uh, yes," said Martin, detaching himself from Emily and the trance he seemed to be in. "I just thought I'd see how you two are, after Nana's ... ah, you know ..."
"It's okay, Martin, you can say the word funeral," said Joan. "We were all there."
"Yes, yes of course," said Martin, blushing as he ran his hand through his thick black hair. Arthur thought Emily's pale skin had taken on a slight colour recently, too.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Martin?" asked Joan.
"I could murder one, thanks Mum!" said Martin. "It's thirsty work dealing with people who won't see plain logic." Arthur, Joan and Emily all smiled at each other. "Oh, did I say something?"
"We've just been talking about logic," said Arthur, hoping the subject would go away, somehow.
"Look, I'll go and make us all a cup of tea and we can tell you about it then," said Joan. "Would you like to give me a hand, Emily?"
"Yes, of course," said Emily, looking relieved to have something to do rather than sit there looking jittery, thought Arthur. Martin seemed to stir her up somehow. Maybe they knew each other from somewhere, he surmised. He watched the women take the crockery out and turned back to Martin, to discover he was on the floor, showing Chloe how to put pieces together to make a person. Martin playing with a child? On the floor? Arthur couldn't believe it. For the second time in a week he saw his son showing affection and having fun. He sat back and smiled in wonder.
"Yes, Dad, I know what you're thinking," said Martin, looking up, embarrassed again. "I never did this with my own kids. Well, I do now and I love it!"
"What's happened?" asked Arthur.
"What's happened?" asked Martin. "What's happened is that the dragon's gone and I'm allowed to play with my children. You know what teachers are like - they think they're the last word on how to deal with kids. Ruth just never allowed me to go near them unless I did it the way she prescribed. I could never get it right in her eyes."
"Oh, Martin ..." said Arthur, sadly.
"Anyway, she's so besotted with this new bloke, I don't think she cares if they exist or not or how I treat them," said Martin, with traces of anger and sadness. "She's had them for a few hours but seems to have lost interest so I get to play with them my way and it's fun. It's really fun! It's what you used to do with me, Dad."
As the women returned, talking excitedly, trays in hand, Martin leapt as from an electric shock. "Can I help you with these?" he asked Emily, taking the tray of tea cups from her.
"Ah, yes, thank you," said Emily, obviously surprised by this unnecessary show of help.
"We were just talking, Martin. Emily's keen on car racing," said Joan. "Family One or something, she said."
"Formula One, Mother," corrected Martin.
"Oh well, whatever it is, you used to be fanatical about racing cars when you were small," said Joan. "Remember all those cars you collected? And you knew all the drivers and everything about it!"
"Yes, I did, Mum, but that was long time ago," said Martin, perhaps a little sadly.
"But Emily's mad about it too!" said Joan in her unstoppable way. "Why don't you take her to the next racing meeting or something?"
"But Mother! I hardly know her ... Emily," said Martin, shuffling backwards and going very red. "I'm not sure if it's appropriate."
"Appropriate? Of course it is! Two enthusiasts for racing cars - why wouldn't you go together?" said Joan, with logic unassailed by feelings.
"Darling, Martin has just lost his wife," suggested Arthur. "He's probably feeling a little ... ah, raw at the moment."
"Bloody overwhelmed, actually!" blurted Martin. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to swear but life's a bit topsy turvy right now. I just need time to collect myself, that's all."
"But you'd enjoy yourself ..." said Joan.
"Darling, you might be right but just give our boy a little time," said Arthur.
"But he really does need to get out and stop moping," said Joan.
"I understand, Martin," said Emily gently, her quietness stilling the noise. "I went through a separation five months ago and I still find myself paralysed at times. Not moping or complaining, just uncertain and unable to act or think clearly at times. Annoying ..."
"My God!" said Martin, sitting forward, teacup in hand. "That's just like me. I feel quite useless at times - one of the kids will ask me a stupid question like where's the sugar or something, and I just can't think. My brain's in neutral. I get really annoyed with myself."
"Well, it does get better, I can assure you. 'This too will pass,' I say to myself," said Emily, reaching across to pat his knee.
"See!" said Joan. "They've got so much in common. Why don't you two ..."
"Joan, JOAN!" said Arthur, unable to contain himself any longer. "Just leave well alone and give Martin space to work himself out or wh
atever they say. He's a grown, intelligent man and I don't think he's about to sink into depression or alcoholism or anything ..."
"But," said Joan. "I just thought it would be so nice ..."
"It would be more nice if we stopped ordering others' lives around and let them be, darling," said Arthur, patting her hand and smiling gently.
"Thanks Dad, thanks," said Martin, wiping tears from his cheek. Emily had not taken her hand from his knee and he looked at her, smiling softly.
"I suppose you're right, Arthur," said Joan sighing. "But you used to be such a dynamo, Martin, a bossy britches and now you've gone all gooey and soft. It's just not the Martin I know."
"Well, if it's goo he needs to be right now, then goo's fine," said Emily. "The goo will set in its own sweet time."
"Thanks Emily," said Martin, his hand now on hers. "Thanks for that. I keep thinking I'm losing it. I really don't like myself at the moment but I can't seem to stop it. My mind just wanders off and doesn't come back and I'm so moody, up and down and roundabout. I'd hate to know what the kids think." He put his cup on the coffee table and sighed.
"What they think, Martin, is that you're there - with them, feeding them, putting them to bed, taking them to school," said Emily. "Yes, they may have a cranky father, at times, but at the moment you're there and they know that."
Martin collapsed back into the chair with both hands over his eyes.
"Oh Martin ..." said Joan, leaping up to comfort him.
"No Joan, let him cry," said Emily with quiet authority.
"But, he needs a hug," said Joan, standing there indecisively.
"No Joan, you need a hug as you feel uncomfortable," said Emily. "But your hug will stop his tears and he needs to let it all out. Wait till he stops."
"Right, okay," said Joan sitting quietly, obviously caught between seeing her son's pain and thinking about this new idea of Emily's.
"Oh, Emily, you do understand!" said Martin. "I feel such a fool, such a failure, but I can't make it stop. But you say it will pass?"
"Yes Martin, it will if you don't try to stop all the sadness and anger and everything else bubbling up when they want to," said Emily. "It probably doesn't feel like it's getting better and then, one day, you realise that you've been quite coherent and normal for hours on end - maybe a whole day - and you start to feel like there's progress at last."
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