The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder

by Miller Caldwell

  They began to take their seats coddling their hot mugs, not sure how the evening would progress.

  ‘So it’s just us for this group therapy?’ asked Alan.

  ‘There are a couple more. Perhaps late arrivals or perhaps they will not take up this offer. I don’t know. It’s voluntary but I am pleased to see so many of you. I feel I can give you all a fresh start.’

  ‘Fresh start in Life?’ asked Karen.

  ‘If that’s what you want, why not? We can get out of our boxes and explore if you wish. Remember what happens in this room, stays in this room. Let’s make a start. So, I have this woollen ball in my hand. I’ll throw it. When you catch it you have the floor to tell the group something interesting about yourself. Say as much as you feel comfortable in disclosing. I’ll give you a moment to think.’

  Some heads looked up for inspiration; others sought the powers of eloquence from their stare at the floor before them. Many must have thought it too early to be speaking to strangers. How the session should have started was not on their minds either. But there was no time to retract or complain. Tony threw the ball from one hand to the other in a parabolic arc. It was hypnotic, a distraction for some. It prepared itself for a higher trajectory.

  ‘Okay.’ The ball was thrown to Alan. He caught it in both hands.

  ‘Well, I’m Alan. I’m 56 years of age. Gave up a career as a professional footballer and became a Methodist preacher. Given up scoring; now saving, as it were.’ The group laughed at his humour. ‘I write poetry too. Well doggerel and verses I make into songs.’

  ‘Do you sing the songs,’ asked Tony who then slapped his thigh. ‘Of course you would. How else could they be songs? Silly of me.’ The group relaxed with broad smiles recognising that even the psychiatrist could make a mistake.

  ‘Well yes, I play the guitar and sing them. Sometimes lead the congregation in singing the choruses.....but not recently.’

  ‘I see so are all the verses, sort of...well...sort of church songs?’ asked Karen.

  ‘I used to play in a folk group before I was ordained.’ Alan’s eyes looked for approval. Had he said enough? Tony nodded with a relaxed smile and Alan was relieved to launch the ball to Lizzie. Karen wondered what his songs were about.

  ‘Oh, well, I could tell you I was capped for England twice. Table tennis. Quick reflexes I’ve got. By training, I’m a computer analyst.’ Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘I’m a Christian. Some would say evangelical. I don’t mind what they call me. I am one of His hand servants, heeding his call.’ She had had her say. She threw the ball to Marty. Some felt Lizzie’s contribution stepped over the mark. Was she out to convert them? It was a natural concern. She must have been nervous, they imagined. Only Tony was pleased that it was curtailed. That was an achievement for Lizzie. The ball came to Marty in surprise. It fell off her lap. She bent down to retrieve it.

  ‘I’m a maths teacher. Brought up as a staunch Roman Catholic in County Mayo. I found the Baha’i religion answered more of my questions than any other so, that’s why, I guess, I’m here, well that and my illness.’ Marty threw the ball to Karen. Karen was not ready to speak. Marty’s contribution had been too short. She felt short changed. She threw the ball back to Marty.

  ‘I’d like to hear more about you Marty, something outside religion. What makes you tick?’

  Marty caught the ball. ‘I’m sorry. I was too brief wasn’t I?’ Her comment was received with smiles. ‘Drums I played. Started off in an Irish Pipe band but when I was a student I became the fourth member of a group. The Bactrian View we called ourselves. I play mouthorgan too.’

  ‘Bactrian View, that’s profound. Tolstoy?’ questioned Karen.

  Marty smiled. ‘Took it from a camel I saw in a weekend magazine. A Bactrian camel, standing on its own. I wondered what you would see from such a height. That’s when the View came to us.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ Karen remarked, her eyes still in the hot desert somewhere watering a camel.

  ‘So that’s me. Well, if you add in my dog Smarty. He’s a collie.’

  Marty had disclosed enough. She threw the ball again to Karen. She kept it this time.

  ‘I’m not a cleric. My religion is token more than an actual practice, but I am a church organist, one that’s a little out of tune at present.’ The polite company smiled more than laughed at her answer. She hinted she had almost no faith, the first to do so. ‘I teach music in school and am the annual musical director of the Christmas pantomime. Oh and I’ve just joined the local Ramblers.’

  Karen threw the ball back to Tony, with a charming grin.

  ‘Thanks. I hope that broke the ice a bit. Now I think we will now......’

  ‘But I threw the ball to you. Which is your God Tony? How does it work for you?’ asked Karen.

  Tony was taken aback but tried not show it. Instead he steadied himself. He uncrossed his legs. He took a sigh as he gathered his thoughts. Then there was a knock on the door. Tony went to open it instantly, giving him a moment longer to compose his answer.

  ‘Come in Farook. Help yourself to a tea or coffee and come and join us.’

  ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ he said bringing his hands together before him in a clasp of forgiveness.

  ‘Not at all. You are not too late. We’ve only just started. Observing prayer time delay you?’

  He nodded. Then he shook his head. ‘That would have been a good excuse. But the truth is I was not too sure about coming here. It took some persuading ......of myself. Yes, I do speak to myself. Anyway carry on. I’ll join you in a moment.’

  Tony returned to his seat.

  ‘You were about to tell us about your God, Tony.’

  ‘Yes Karen I was. You see I am an agnostic. I see God, if He exists, and He may well do so, as the Random Process Generator showering some with favours while ignoring others who need help. A sort of insurance policy provider bringing calm and order to anxious minds. An insurance policy which is stubborn to pay out.’ He felt relieved to have owned up to his disbelief although he had let himself down by playing into their hands. He had to retain professional distance from now on, no matter how difficult it might be with this diverse group.

  ‘So you’re the odd man out Tony, a non-believer?’ asked Alan.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit hard? I mean I am not denying the possibility of there being a God, but until I am satisfied that there is one, I remain agnostic to the idea.’

  ‘So no faith at all? No God? Not an easy concept for me to accept,’ said Farook as he approached, stirring his well-sugared tea.

  Tony pointed at Farook’s mug. ‘Go on read it out.’

  Farook looked around the room. Smiles met his eyes to encourage him. He raised the mug to focus and his lips smiled through his beard. It seemed they had already read the ceramic text of his mug.

  ‘Worry works! 90% of the things I worry about never happen.’

  ‘Very true. To those who worry too much, take note,’ suggested Tony.

  ‘I worry about God, perhaps he’s not a man?’ teased Lizzie.

  ‘The Christian Church has always had a bit of a problem with God’s gender. He doesn’t have one. But to talk about him is impossible without giving him a gender,’ said Alan.

  ‘I see what you mean. Calling God ‘it’ seems a bit rude, talking as if God was an impersonal force like gravity or inflation. So God has to be “He” or “She” and in a patriarchal society there’s no contest. As The Catechism of the Catholic Church says: God is neither man nor woman: he is God,’ said Alan with clarity.

  ‘I think we can all accept that,’ said Tony.

  Two empty coffee mugs were placed on the floor.

  The silence was awkward for a moment. As if headlights had made them freeze. Karen moved uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘I think...I mean...I’m not sure what we’ll get out of these meetin
gs. Er... what I’ll get out of them. How will this group develop, how will it benefit me or what will we be talking about in the weeks ahead?’ she asked.

  Alert eyes looked at Tony for clarification.

  ‘From my perspective, we’ve got off to a good start. I see a relaxed group being able to speak to one another which in turn relieves tensions and instils confidence, the latter being the very tools of socialisation.’

  ‘But where’s it all going?’ asked Marty.

  ‘How would you like it to proceed?’ asked Tony somewhat provocatively.

  ‘If this was the last meeting, I’d go away feeling it was a lost opportunity,’ said Alan.

  ‘Yes I can understand that. But at the back of my mind is the fact that we all had mental issues and we’ve all got some religious background. Are we addressing both or either?’ said Marty.

  ‘That will be for you to decide.’

  ‘Come on Tony, that’s not fair.’

  ‘I want it to continue. I need it,’ said Farook.

  Eyes turned towards him for a fuller explanation but it was not forthcoming.

  ‘I need to pass you the ball, Farook. We’ve all held the ball. When you have it you can tell the group something about yourself.’

  Farook took on board what had been said. He caught the ball in one hand. He smiled. ‘We love our cricket in Pakistan.’ His comment brought happy smiles to the fore. ‘I came to Britain when I was five years of age. My parents were ambitious for me, not so much my sisters. They wanted me to live out their dreams. British schooled, university trained ...you know the drill. But my father in his last few years felt the education I had received should serve to lay a firm foundation in our Mosque. So instead of finding a profession, I became the Imam. That was in the late 90s.’

  The group felt a privileged insight into Muslim life was well under way. Their interest was perceptible from their forward seated positions.

  ‘In August 2001 I visited a cousin, Sahil, in Florida. I had not seen him for ages and so it was a welcome break and I was relaxed. I had a wonderful time. Although I still had my daily prayers to attend to, Sahil paid little attention to his faith. We discussed this for some time. I was not angry with him. I saw young men leaving the Mosque and not saying their prayers but worshipping their mobiles. Times were changing for some Muslims in the West.’

  ‘I didn’t think that could happen, Farook,’ said Alan.

  ‘It happens in all religions does it not?’ Heads acknowledged that it did but were surprised that Farook had mentioned the fact at all.

  ‘From Florida I went to New York where there is a sizeable Muslim population. I wanted to see the city so took a bus down town to the centre. I planned to see the Empire State building. A building I had heard of as a very young boy in Pakistan.’

  Farook stopped. It was if he was there again or perhaps thinking why he was mentioning his travels.

  ‘Then it happened. I heard the aircraft’s engines whine as if it was directly overhead. I looked up. It went straight into the side of one of the Tower buildings. I froze looking at what I was seeing. What an accident, not more than a few hundred yards from where I stood. Others were frozen to the spot too. As if a starter gun had sounded, we all headed towards the building. In my mind there may have been many dead but many injured too. Perhaps some prayers for the injured, the deceased and the dying were my duty.

  I got to the base of the burning Tower and saw the final seconds of life for the bodies falling to the ground from the affected floors above. I knew this was a very serious accident.’

  ‘Gosh 9/11. You were there Farook?’ The question need not have been asked but Farook lifted his eyes and nodded to Marty.

  ‘Then another explosion occurred. I presumed the noise had come from a collapsed floor not far above me. But the shrieks and sobs, the shouts and the curses began and I realised a second plane had hit the other tower.’

  Farook’s account created a silence as each relived the horror and terror of 11th September 2001 in their own minds.

  ‘That was when I realised, only one faith, one corrupted faith was responsible. Mine. Yes, thousands were killed that day but also too many Muslims. This was not the faith I knew nor did it represent my feelings. It was a watershed in my thinking. We had to live in a peaceful world and that meant change. But change was not on the minds of my fellow worshipers. They were at a loss to explain how this could come about. They saw it as a fresh generation fighting against traditional conservative Western values.’

  Farook’s account brought him great sympathy. It was heartfelt.

  Mugs were then returned to the table amid muddled comments but all present were amazed that one of their fold had been at the centre of a horrific worldwide televised crime.

  Tony brought the gathering back to the present.

  ‘Then let’s meet next Monday night.’

  A few heads nodded making their views apparent.

  ‘I’m up for it,’ said Lizzie.

  A show of hands suddenly sprung up like fir trees. ‘Yes, I’ll definitely be here,’ said Farook.

  ‘Er...it seems to me ....that there are quite a few of us ....who play music. I wonder...’ said a hesitant Alan instantly feeling he had swerved the group away from its original purpose.

  Eyes looked at each other. It was hard to gauge if it was a lukewarm response or a lit taper about to explode.

  ‘I mean, I play guitar; Marty drums and mouth organ and Karen has the keyboard. Lizzie you sing don’t you?’ asked Alan.

  ‘Sing? Of course, every day I sing and in my bath too.’

  ‘Good. Tony, am I speaking out of turn?’

  Tony saw where Alan’s thoughts were going and this seemed an ideal bonding opportunity he felt he could encourage. Just what they needed in fact and he told them so.

  ‘Tony, do you play any instrument?’ asked Alan.

  ‘It’s not my group activity. I’ll be more of an observer.’

  ‘No, I mean, do you play any instrument?’

  ‘Well Alan, I can’t deny I play a mean saxophone.’

  ‘Great, just what we need.’

  ‘Farook do you play anything?’ asked Lizzie with an encouraging smile.

  Farook twiddled his thumbs. ‘I listen to Radio 2 when I can. It’s not encouraged. But I’d like to listen...make tea? I’m good at that.’

  ‘Right, instruments to the fore, next Monday?’ Tony could see by the smiles that the group saw a purpose in meeting again.

  10

  Out of Class

  A loose gathering formed outside as the group headed for their cars that night.

  ‘Must say I had expected individual sessions from a psychiatrist, not group therapy,’ said Marty to no one in particular.

  ‘Therapy or drugs? Much the same I recon,’ said Farook.

  ‘I’m okay with it. It’s just unexpected. That’s all I am saying. I think we’ll all get along,’ Marty skipped a couple of steps.

  ‘Seems to have done you some good Marty,’ said Alan. ‘I wish I had your athleticism.’

  ‘It’s the athleticism of the mind I need. I guess we all do.’ Marty flipped her mauve scarf around her neck.

  ‘Then mind games it is,’ said Farook fumbling for his car keys.

  ‘Mind over matter,’ said Lizzie cocking her head.’

  ‘Mind the gap,’ said Alan and they all laughed. It was on that optimistic note the car doors were opened. After hand waves and smiles the group dispersed both ways along the main road.

  11

  Getting in Tune

  Harmony prevailed as they gathered the following Monday and took their hot drinks.

  ‘I see it’s a 12 string model, Alan,’ said Marty.

  ‘Yes, Echo Ranger 12. I’ve had it a long time as you can see.’

  Alan played a three chord strum for h
er benefit.

  Karen was setting up a portable keyboard’s stand.

  ‘Can I lend a hand?’ asked Farook.

  Karen looked round at the bearded Imam and wondered if he knew anything about the instrument.

  ‘Thanks. Can you take the keyboard out of its cover please.’

  Farook eased the black and white notes from its case and brought it to the stand. His gaze lingered on the portable organ’s option buttons and slide volume controls.

  ‘Does it sit on top here?’

  ‘Yes, it will. But depends on where the electric socket is. Can you see one?’

  Farook bent as he walked around the room, running his eyes along the skirting board.

  ‘Over here,’ he called out.

  Then the door opened and eyes turned towards a man, a visitor. He was a man of excessive obesity.

  A round face with a jet black brushed back coiffure and a neat short black moustache too. His eyes scanned the group until he saw Tony.

  ‘Paul, glad to see you. Have you come to join us?’

  He shuffled forward and nodded.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. May I introduce Paul Risk, Salvationist without his trombone, right?’

  ‘Yea, but I got a new one. It’s in the car.’

  Tony looked at Paul’s slightly unkempt appearance.

  ‘Paul, a minute, over here.’

  Tony led him to the end of the room where they sat down. ‘So second thoughts?’

  ‘You could say that. I wanted to speak to you and I saw there was a light on here. Chance meeting I suppose. Coincidence I have a new instrument in the car.’

  ‘Not easy to hold a consultation here with everyone around setting their things up. Make an appointment. I can see you on Tuesday.’

  ‘Don’t need an appointment. I’m no longer a Salvationist. I’ve gained a freedom. Play when I want to. Play what I want to. I’m in recovery and pleased to be at peace with myself. That’s what I came to tell you.’