Lamplight in the Shadows

by Robert Jaggs-Fowler

  ‘I have to confess that I do, from time to time, listen to what my brother says. Not that I would care for him to know that.’

  He placed a finger on the keyboard and a thin, high note echoed around the chapel. He pressed a few more and, having satisfied himself that he was in the right place, proceeded to play a somewhat stilted melody, accompanied by the background puffing and occasional wheezing of the stertorous bellows.

  ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘I think it is the theme tune from Love Story.’

  ‘Ha! My talents are not wasted!’ He stopped pumping the bellows and the notes slid to a groaning halt. ‘My God, that’s knackering.’ Then, with a theatrical look towards the roof, added in a pompous voice, ‘Sorry, I should say “Gosh! That is exhausting for one’s quadriceps”,’ and made an exaggerated sign of a cross over his chest.

  Janice laughed. ‘Can you play anything else?’

  ‘Not a thing. If music is a form of language, then what you have just heard is all I can speak in that particular tongue. But at least I can claim to be multi-lingual.’

  He closed the lid of the harmonium, swung his legs back over the stool to face Janice and remarked, with what he hoped was an innocent expression, ‘How is your love story going, sister-in-law dear?’

  Before she could answer, the windows were illuminated with lightning and a particularly loud clap of thunder rolled overhead, followed by more streaks of forked-lightning that reflected off the lime-washed walls of the chapel, imparting a somewhat eerie glow. Jules watched as she opened and shut her mouth in silent response, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before the chapel was plunged back into comparative darkness. Janice turned and walked slowly to the lectern, fingering the carved wooden edge before speaking again.

  ‘I think you already know the answer to that.’

  ‘Well, I get the impression that life is not the proverbial bowl of cherries.’

  ‘You could put it that way.’

  She continued to trace her finger through the accumulated dust, pausing when she came to the closed bible and then, almost absent-mindedly, outlined the book itself. Jules left the organ stool and walked across to the front pew facing the lectern. Seating himself in the corner at the far end, he leant back, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

  ‘When did it start to go wrong?’

  ‘You could say that it was never really right.’

  ‘Surely there must have been a time when you both thought it was good?’

  ‘Perhaps… though probably for the wrong reasons.’

  Jules watched whilst she continued her finger drawing, her head firmly down, as though reluctant to catch his gaze. It was a few moments before either of them spoke again.

  ‘I was training as a nurse and hated it. I hated the job and the studying; I hated living in the nursing home – except it was better than living at home. I only agreed to nursing as a means of shutting them all up. My sister – she’s older than me – was always the brainy one. When she left school, she landed a job in a building society. Almost immediately, they encouraged her to take some qualifications and now she is a branch manager. Her husband works in a law court as a court clerk. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. It was my mother who suggested nursing – I think she always wanted to be a nurse herself.’

  The sudden noise of the chapel door opening stopped her speaking. She looked up warily. The sound of the falling rain intensified, but nobody entered.

  ‘Don’t worry. It is just the wind. I must have insecurely fastened it. So, where were you? I think you were just saying about your mother wanting to be a nurse.’

  ‘Well, that’s it really. At least that’s the reason I was living at the hospital.’

  ‘Which is where you met James?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did he propose to you?’

  ‘He didn’t.’ Janice looked up at Jules. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘How we got engaged?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, I thought he might have done.’ She paused to trace another line across the front of the dusty bible cover. ‘I asked him when it was leap year. You know – 1984; it is supposed to be a woman’s prerogative then, isn’t it?’

  ‘And he accepted.’

  ‘Yes – though, not at first. He seemed a little reluctant to commit himself, but finally came round to the idea.’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted to qualify first?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You seem uncertain.’

  ‘I’m not sure that he really loved me.’

  ‘That seems a little harsh. What makes you think that?’

  ‘I think he was just lonely at the time. You know, tired of being on his own, studying all the while.’

  ‘Couldn’t the same have been said for you – well, at least without the studying?’

  Janice gave a rueful grin.

  ‘You’re probably right. He seemed like a good catch – you know – my passport from drudgery. After all, marrying a doctor is supposed to be exciting, isn’t it?’

  Jules inclined his head and said nothing.

  ‘Well, it may be for him; exciting, that is. It is not for me. Ever since we’ve been married, he has studied for more and more qualifications and now he is even speaking of becoming a priest as well as a doctor, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘Surely the partnership offer in Bishopsworth has been a good thing?’ he responded, ignoring the incongruity of her last sentence. ‘That means you will be able to settle down in a new house and then, who knows, James might begin to feel more settled himself.’

  ‘Which is fine for him. It is just that I don’t want to go to Bishopsworth. I don’t want to be in Barminster either. I…’

  She paused, stopped drawing and once more looked towards Jules.

  ‘Go on,’ he encouraged, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘I… I don’t think… I don’t think I really love him anymore.’

  Her last words were half-drowned in a tearful rush as she leant against the lectern and buried her head in her hands. Jules walked to her and placed a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. As he did, more lightning illuminated the chapel, revealing the outline of James standing at the back. The two brothers stared at each other for a few moments before James turned and walked out.

  ‘James!’ Jules finally blurted, but was speaking to the shadows.

  ‘What?’ Janice raised her head as she spoke, her voice stricken with concern.

  ‘I… er… James…’ Jules hesitated before continuing. ‘I was about to say that James will be wondering where we are. We ought to try to get back to the cottage as soon as the rain eases.’

  ‘You won’t tell him what I said, will you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to distress you. Here, wipe your eyes with this. I am afraid your make-up is not exactly waterproof judging by the black streaks on your cheeks.’ Jules offered her his handkerchief, which she took but did not immediately use.

  ‘You won’t, will you? Please? Promise you’ll not say a word?’

  ‘I promise I won’t repeat a word of what has been said,’ Jules carefully replied, looking from Janice towards the spot where James had been standing. ‘I cannot envisage any reason for me to do that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She moved forward and gave him a light kiss on one cheek before vigorously applying the handkerchief to her ruined mascara. Having blown her nose, she made to return the handkerchief to Jules. The action made her laugh. She paused and then stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll return it to you once I have washed it! Come on, Sir Walter Raleigh.’ She linked her right arm with the left arm of a rather pensive Jules. ‘See me safely back across that wild savannah!’

  As they moved towards the aisle, Jules glanced at the front cover of the bible, where Janice had drawn a heart with an arrow passing through it. It resembled those sketches young teenagers tend to draw around
the initials of their latest boyfriend. Only in this case, there were no initials and the arrow was broken.

  * * *

  ‘God rest you merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…’

  As she completed her cooking, Connie Armstrong sang along to the Christmas record she insisted on playing for the occasion of the family’s pre-Christmas celebration. She was immune to the tension she perceived had been present throughout the afternoon. Whilst she had no idea as to what it was all about, neither had she any intention of asking. Having raised her two boys in a small house, she was used to the frequent power struggles as they vied for supremacy. She knew of no reason why their sibling rivalry should have changed simply because they were now adults and leading their own lives.

  ‘Oh, good tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…’

  Rinsing a used saucepan, Connie looked out of the window into the darkened garden and saw nothing but her own reflection staring back. Earlier, she had asked Janice if she wanted to assist with the cooking. A daft idea, as it soon became apparent that the woman did not have a clue and Connie had said nothing when Janice finally slid out of the backdoor for a cigarette. She sometimes worried about James and how he fared when faced with a wife who did not cook. That said, he looked well enough, albeit a bit thin for her liking.

  ‘I hope you have that wine open, Jim,’ she called to her husband in the general direction of the sitting room. ‘The first course will be ready in a few minutes.’

  In the sitting room, Jim and his two sons were enjoying a glass of Bollinger, which had been a gift from Jules. Of Janice, there was no sign.

  ‘I bet it is prawn cocktail,’ whispered James to his brother.

  ‘Does she know any other?’ Jules replied with a knowing grin. ‘One day she will surprise us and do something challenging.’

  ‘Like soup?’

  They laughed, drawing their father’s attention.

  ‘What is the joke, lads?’

  The brothers glanced at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. They would say nothing that would imply that they were ungrateful for their mother’s efforts.

  ‘Nothing much, Pops. I was just pulling Jules’ leg about his squeamishness this morning,’ he replied, tactfully changing the subject.

  ‘I guess it doesn’t do for us all to be the same, does it?’ Jim continued. ‘As they say in Yorkshire, there’s nowt as queer as folks!’

  The nuance behind his comment, unintended and lost on their father, caused James and Jules to splutter into their champagne.

  ‘I guess we have to agree to that, Pops,’ choked James, as Jules tried to adopt an air of mock indignation.

  ‘Anyway,’ Jim continued, with the slight unease that he was missing something at his own expense. ‘If you two are ready, we ought to go and take our places at the table. Your mother will get cross if we don’t.’ He drained his flute and placed it on a side-table. His sons followed suit.

  ‘I’ll go and fetch Janice down,’ said James, moving in the direction of the stairs.

  ‘No need, James,’ Jules called after him, having entered the dining room to find Janice there, distributing the first course. ‘Are you ok?’ he remarked, sotto voce, to his sister-in-law. She nodded briskly in response, glancing towards the door as she did so.

  ‘You haven’t said anything, have you?’

  ‘No. Not a word.’

  She was about to speak again, when James walked in.

  ‘Ah, Janice, there you are. Do you need any help?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. You’re sitting over there.’ She indicated to a seat in the far corner of the table, adjacent to the fireplace, where a log fire was crackling and spitting.

  James did as he was bid, squeezing himself into the corner. Jules moved to sit next to him.

  ‘No, Jules, you are sitting here.’ She gestured to the next seat. ‘I’ve given the men the table legs to contend with.’

  As Jules took his allotted seat, James stared around the dining room with a sense of déjà vu. His home as a child had been in Kent, not Devon. However, the room before him now was decorated in a style that transformed it into any one of his earlier Christmases. The same decorations intermingled with horse brasses and other brass ornaments especially polished for the celebration. Strings of fairy lights festooned the walls, being draped across picture frames and then looped up to light fittings from where they swooped down to the windows to circumscribe the frames. The darkness outside caused the glass to be reflective. As a result, the lights transformed the windows into mirrors akin to those found in actors’ dressing rooms. They reflected the whole room. The ultimate illusion was that the strings of lights continued into the garden, across the paddock, into the fields beyond and on into eternity. A veritable fairyland.

  Connie came through from the kitchen carrying the last two plates for the first course.

  ‘Hmm, prawn cocktail – my favourite,’ said Jules, winking at James. ‘Ah, and a delicious glass of Mateus Rosé to accompany it. Just like old times.’

  James clenched his teeth, trying not to laugh at his brother’s veiled sarcasm. The touching predictability of their parents was an old joke of theirs, though not a concept to throw back at them too often. After all, perhaps we will both end up like that one day, he thought.

  ‘I knew you would like it,’ his father replied, pouring a glass each. ‘It is your mother’s and my favourite, isn’t it, Connie, love?’ He glanced towards his wife, who now sat sandwiched between her two sons.

  ‘It certainly is. I can remember when we were first married, your father said—’

  ‘Well, now that we are all seated,’ interjected Jules, keen not to go down the route of a story already heard numerous times over the years, ‘let’s drink a toast to us all and Christmas.’

  ‘A toast to us all and Christmas,’ re-joined James, raising his glass.

  ‘To us all.’

  ‘Christmas.’

  As the general clinking of glasses settled, Connie had another go.

  ‘As I was saying,’ she said, replacing her wine glass on the table, ‘I can remember when—’

  ‘Yes, Mum, we know. We’ve heard it all before.’ James patted her on the arm. ‘Changing the subject, I see that there is a possibility of snow next week. Perhaps you will have a white Christmas this year. What do you think, Dad?’

  ‘If we do, then I hope it isn’t as bad as some of the past ones. There have been times when the drifts in the lanes have been as high as the hedgerows. The only thing that could get through was the milk truck and then only once the farmers had cleared a way through with a tractor. Fortunately, Colin – he’s the farmer down the road,’ the aside was for Janice’s benefit, ‘he still has a herd of milking cows, so we should be ok here. He can’t afford not to get the milk out.’

  ‘Didn’t someone get stuck in the chapel when it snowed one year?’

  ‘So the story goes, although it was before our time here. Apparently, it was quite a blizzard with visibility down to just a few feet. It was two men. They did not spot this house farther down the road. However, they stumbled across the chapel and were able to get in out of the weather. Rumour has it that they had no food and nothing but melt-water to drink for almost four days.’

  ‘They did survive, then?’

  ‘Oh yes. When it stopped snowing, a parishioner went to check on the chapel – to see if it had any leaks or something of that nature. Anyway, he found them in there, cold as anything and hardly able to move. He did not recognise them as local people and they seemed confused as to where they lived, so he called for an ambulance. It turned out that they had escaped from Dartmoor prison a few days before it had started snowing. The prison staff had searched the local moors, but had given up once the snow set in. They hadn’t bargained for them getting as far as here!’

  ‘So, they missed their Christmas lunch – spent it in a form of solitary confinement, you might say – and then got returned to jail for their efforts!’ said James. ‘Y
ou see, God will ensure that your sins are punished!’

  ‘Lucky for them that the door still had a proper latch on the outside,’ said Connie.

  ‘Who needs a latch when you have a cigarette holder?’ asked Jules, brandishing his in the air like a wand. ‘It worked wonders this morning, didn’t it, Janice?’

  Janice looked up sharply at her brother-in-law, but said nothing.

  ‘We took shelter there when the storm broke,’ Jules continued. ‘You know, after we left you with that gory business in the farrowing shed.’

  Jim nodded. ‘I wondered where you had got to. The broken latch is actually on the roof beam on the right of the porch. I did offer to repair it for them, but they said it keeps the vandals out.’

  ‘But not enterprising young men from the City,’ said Jules, fixing a cigarette into the holder.

  ‘Jules! We are still eating.’

  He paused at the rebuke from his mother, started to say something, thought better of it and meekly replaced the holder in his jacket pocket.

  ‘I gave Janice an organ recital.’

  ‘Oh, you poor dear!’ sympathised Connie, turning to her daughter-in-law. ‘Whatever had you done to deserve that?’

  ‘He was quite good, really,’ said Janice, causing Jules to attempt a theatrical bow whilst seated.

  ‘He said it was something you used to play, James – though I’ve never heard you do so.’

  ‘What was it, Jules?’ Connie enquired.

  ‘Oh, it was just the theme tune from Love Story.’

  ‘And I thought the noise we heard was the storm getting worse, didn’t you, Pops?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Connie said anxiously. She had seen many a round of good-humoured banter between her men-folk end up in a mindless argument as they became entrenched within their own viewpoints. She was not allowing that to happen today. Instinctively, she looked to change the subject.

  ‘Wasn’t it the chapel-folk who were famous for some uprising in Devon, James?’

  ‘Oh, that sounds interesting,’ enjoined Janice, more relieved than Connie to have a new topic discussed.

  ‘I guess you are speaking of the Prayer Book Rebellion?’ said James.