‘She’ll come back.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I said your sister will come back, Mr Thomas. I shouldn’t worry.’
‘Jones?’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing really, nothing at all,’ and returned to his chair, sat, turned his back on the visitor.
‘I know what being alone means,’ Jones said. The sharpness surprised Jones.
‘Do you indeed?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You can light this fire, Jones, you can do the things you want to.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Jones, and went straight off into the kitchen. He heard the loud slam of the Minister’s study door. Head in hands, Thomas leaned across his desk.
‘I am blind with trust.’
He could hear Jones in the sitting-room, suddenly caught the scent of wood smoke.
‘Him,’ he thought. ‘Him! Of all people. Mocker! Mocker!’
Crockery sounds floated in from the kitchen, he heard the wood crackling in the grate, and then the light tap on the door.
‘Mr Thomas.’
He came out, sat in his usual chair. ‘Thank you, Jones.’
‘Welcome,’ Jones replied, and sat opposite and watched the Minister drink his tea. ‘The way you are looking at me, Mr Thomas,’ he said.
Cup at lip, Thomas studied him. ‘Only because I know you,’ he said.
‘You know about me? You only said that because I know about you.’
‘Do you really?’
‘Sometimes I’m sorry, and sometimes I’m not.’
‘You used to come to Penuel on Sundays, and now you go no way.’
And flatly, Jones replied, ‘I go no way.’
Thomas put his cup on the hearth. ‘Pity,’ he said.
‘Many things are a pity.’
‘We walk the same bridge, Jones, but we’ll never meet.’
When Thomas took up his pipe, and lighted it, Jones was glad.
‘With feet in two worlds, Mr Thomas, it is sometimes difficult to stand up straight.’
‘Jones?’
Jones leaned forward, eager. ‘Yes?’
‘You are a confusing person, Jones.’
‘Sorry, Mr Thomas.’
It seemed to Jones to be the only thing to say at that moment.
‘I could save you, Jones.’
‘Save yourself,’ said Jones.
He watched the Thomas shoulders slump, and then he rose, once again stood over Jones.
‘My sister said to me last night, Mervyn Thomas, I am going away, and I will not come back.’
‘Terrible.’
‘Writhing in the flesh,’ he thought, ‘writhing’ and he saw the Minister as a man, wide open. ‘He’s full of doors, you can walk in anywhere. I could go right in. Now.’
