The Gift Room Page 6

  Alexander held out his right hand to introduce himself, his wine glass still held in his left.

  “Good evening, vicar, I am Alexander Talbot.” The vicar took his hand firmly.

  “Good evening, Alexander, I am Brian Woods, and you have deduced my occupation: the black suit and dog collar are a bit of a giveaway!” He smiled again. The vicar was in his mid-sixties and had a face that looked well lived in, and yet was personable and warm. For a moment the two men looked at each other, neither wishing to speak next. Alexander was not expecting what came next from the vicar’s mouth.

  “I know who you are. I saw you in the shop this morning and could not immediately place you, but after a couple of hours, whilst I was trying to wrestle with my sermon for Sunday, I remembered. We met before, a few years ago now. You were very upset in my churchyard and it was your sister’s grave that you were visiting.” The vicar only then let go of Alexander’s hand. He let it drop as the words crossed the threshold and Alexander soaked them up.

  “Yes, that’s right. Good memory. To be honest, I did not expect you to remember. In fact I thought you were about to say something about my parents… sadly missed, etc, etc.” Alexander felt as though he were defending his position. Did he have to go into the difficulties of his relationship, the history of his private family cold war?

  “I agree that would have been the obvious statement to make, Alexander, but perhaps in the circumstances the obvious would not in truth reflect the reality.” The vicar was starting to grow on Alexander; in fact he seemed to have more of a grasp of him than the solicitor had this morning.

  “Would you like to come in?” Alexander asked. “I have discovered my father’s wine rack and you are welcome to join me for a glass.”

  “Thank you, that would in fact be rather pleasant.”

  Alexander led the way through the hall and into the kitchen and the vicar followed him, closing the front door quietly behind him.

  “Please take a seat,” said Alexander, pointing in the general direction of the kitchen table and chairs. “I shall dig out a glass and open another bottle. Red ok? Please ignore the post mountain, it was behind the front door when I opened it this morning and despite my good intentions of looking through it… well let’s just say events have overtaken me!” Alexander popped back into the hall and through the dining room door to retrieve a bottle of wine. He quickly walked back into the kitchen and having fetched a glass for Brian sat opposite him at the table and wine poured into both their glasses. Brian then reached for his.

  “What shall we drink to?” the vicar asked.

  “A good life,” replied Alexander, and they clinked their glasses together and drank.

  “That is the name of a favourite film of mine,” Brian replied, as they set their glasses down on the kitchen table.

  “Yes, I know it: Russell Crowe discovering there is more to life than money.” Alexander had seen the film a few years previously, at the suggestion of Julia. She had always picked good movies to watch and this one had struck a chord. Whilst he was not about to quit the City career he loved to run away to France and work in a vineyard, as the character in the film had, he had appreciated the sentiment of the movie, the idea that there was more to life than the pursuit of money and success. There needed to be a balance, that was the moral he took from the film.

  “I often find that people seem incapable of finding a balance in their lives,” Brian responded, as though he were on exactly the same wavelength as Alexander. “They become obsessed with money or career or just one part of their existence - well, with their lives, I suppose – and then miss the most important element that is often right under their noses. I seem to remember that, in the film, the main character discovered love and a sense of belonging in southern France, a long way from his old life as a flashy city trader in London. I appreciate there was a geographical separation in the film, but I suspect people miss matters close to home when they become too fixated upon material success.”

  “Are we talking about just the film or perhaps my parents and my family?” Alexander was often told by Julia that he lacked subtlety and this was probably a time when he could have done with her usual guidance, he realised his bluntness on this occasion could be taken the wrong way by the vicar. He was relieved to hear the response.

  “At the risk of sounding more like a counsellor than the local vicar, do you want to talk about them?” Brian said in a matter-of-fact sort of a way that made Alexander instantly relax.

  “Can I show you something?” Alexander asked, somewhat abruptly. He suddenly felt the need to share his parents’ mysterious, secret room with this vicar whom he had only just met.

  “Yes, of course,” Brian replied, without hesitation. “Before I became a man of the cloth I was an officer in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy for 22 years. I have seen pretty well most things that can shock. Not, of course, that I am assuming it is going to be a shock…” Alexander at once understood the lived-in face that the Vicar had. He stood up and led the way upstairs to the landing. The vicar followed. As they reached the door of the bedroom with all the presents in it, Alexander paused. Before reaching for the handle, he turned and looked at the vicar, who was a few feet behind him.

  “Did they go to church much? My parents, I mean?” he asked, although he didn’t know why he wanted to know at that point in time. He somehow felt it was important before he opened the door and showed the contents to a non-family member.

  “If midnight mass counts, most years I would say they were regulars! Well, once a year is regular!” Brian smiled at Alexander. “In fact, to be honest, your mum and dad would often visit your sister’s grave - I would say every month or so - and I would find them sitting on a rather decrepit bench close by, just looking at the headstone. They would always be very pleasant in passing the time of day with me but, as I say, rarely ventured inside my office, so to speak.” Brian paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I just want to understand them - and this - a little more.” And with that answer, Alexander opened the door and revealed the Gift Room.

  “Oh!” It was less an exclamation and more a statement of fact that Brian uttered as he walked in behind Alexander and surveyed the piles of presents. The wedding present lay unwrapped on the floor, as was the discarded 21st birthday paper from the watch present.

  “I guess I had better explain. You see, I have had no relationship with my parents for 25 years. I was contacted by their solicitor last week, after their deaths.” Alexander paused. He realised that he was recounting the facts with little emotion. “Well, long story short they left me a letter that they asked me to open here, at their house, and I did so. Within that letter they referred to this room and I came up here and this is what I was faced with. It seems they have filled the bloody place with every birthday and Christmas present for me and my family for the last two sodding decades, and never bothered to send them.” Alexander felt the anger quickly welling up inside him. He looked around the now familiar room at the present piles, all carefully gift wrapped and labelled.

  “They never bloody well met my children or my wife. We never shared Christmas, they never came to a school function or a Christmas carol concert. They never wanted to see my kids in a school play or watch them in a cricket match. They wanted no part in my life or that of my family. They just sat in bloody Devon, hoarding their money and creating a weird room like this to ease their consciences.” Alexander felt he could not stop himself; the red wine and the emotion of the day had finally got the better of him and tears flowed down his face. A comforting hand was placed upon his heaving shoulders, but still Brian said nothing.

  “Fuck ’em.” Alexander spoke without worrying about the vicar standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder. He turned and walked past Brian, who stood to one side, his hand having dropped from Alexander’s shoulder as he moved. Alexander walked through the door and downstairs, where he resumed his seat at the kitchen table and took a long drink from his wine g
lass. He wiped his eyes on his handkerchief and then felt calmer.

  Brian had followed him downstairs after a few minutes, perhaps giving him some time to compose himself, some space before they resumed their conversation. He then took his seat opposite Alexander at the table. He too took a big sip of wine and then looked at his host.

  “It takes many years to train for the role I have now,” Brian began speaking softly. “You often deal with moments of great joy and also great sadness. Only last week, on the very day I heard of the sudden loss of your parents in that terrible accident, in the afternoon, I sat down with a lovely young couple who are to be married next Easter in my church. In fact I retire in May of next year, so they will probably be the very last people that I have the pleasure of seeing walk down the aisle as husband and wife. I may not have had to face the sort of challenges that my colleagues in inner-city parishes do, but one usually sees the majority of life’s idiosyncrasies over time in a country parish. Families often have their problems, Alexander, and different people within them deal with them in different ways. Christ has taught us that forgiveness and love are paramount.” Brian paused; he was pleased to see that Alexander had calmed down and was no longer crying. “Don’t feel you have to hold back your emotions on my account,” he continued. “Too many men seem to think that it is unacceptable to cry, even in today’s enlightened society - which, frankly, is utter rubbish.”

  “I did most of my crying for my parents a long time ago,” Alexander replied. He felt more anger inside now than anything else.

  “But you still cry because you feel they have missed out on your family?” Brian enquired.

  “No, it’s not that simple, funnily enough I almost wish it were. My family are brilliant, they are simply the best accomplishment of my life. I want that somehow recognised, I want my parents to say, Alexander you are a good dad, you provide for them, you attend their sports days, you encourage them to succeed, you support them when they try to attain things.” Alexander paused. “Yes, that’s it. In short, I want my parents to have been proud of what I have accomplished as a family man. I think I have succeeded where they failed. I guess I am angry because their death has robbed me of that chance of being recognised by them.”

  “Alexander, the couple who I would see in my churchyard every month or so but would not come inside to a service were not going to have their moment on the road to Damascus. Some do, I am pleased to say, but others live their lives in their own ways. I have learned not to judge. God loves all of us… unconditionally. He does not just love those who come inside for the service; he loves those who sit outside on a bench in the sunshine so that they can be close to their departed daughter.” Brian paused. “Alexander, you say you would have liked your parents’ acknowledgement of your accomplishments, but who is to say they did not indeed acknowledge them? Perhaps you feel that they should have shown you that acknowledgement. But it is not true to say that it was not there. Surely the gifts upstairs are a testament to that.”

  Alexander paused for a moment. “Yes, I get that, I suppose. But surely for there to be love, it has to be demonstrated in a way that the individual who is supposed to be on the receiving end of the act can feel it? I mean, I am no great theologian, but surely God allowed his only son to be crucified on the cross so that all could see that he loved the world. Now I am about to mix my religious metaphors up completely, but ‘hiding one’s light under a bushel’ springs to mind!” Alexander was calmer now; in a strange way he was enjoying the conversation with the vicar. Was he trying to justify his feelings of anger and resentment towards his parents?

  “When one studies the Bible, one soon realises that there is always a facet that can be used to back up a particular point of view. You make a good suggestion regarding the crucifixion. Of course the demonstration had to be in public for the world to understand the love that Christ has for us all. But does the world need to know about the unconditional love parents have, or indeed had, for their surviving child? Surely it is for the child to know of that love - and does that have to happen all through their lives, or can it occur just at the end? After all, the crucifixion was at a point in time. Perhaps the question that you need to answer is not whether your parents should have demonstrated their love for you in a traditional way, but in fact why is it so important to you that they did – or, rather, did not? Why do you need their approval or acceptance?” Brian reached forward and finished his glass of wine.

  Alexander noticed, quickly reached for the bottle, and poured his guest another glass. Then he did the same for himself.

  “I don’t know, in short,” replied Alexander. “I have been successful at work, I hold down a very well-paid job, we live a comfortable, even traditional existence. I commute into London from our Surrey home. We bought at the right time and have seen our home rise in value exponentially. We have raised three great kids, my eldest has just finished at Oxford and we are so proud of him. My argument with my parents was because I left university early and have no degree. Will now has his in modern languages and, after yet another gap year, will start what I have no doubt will be a brilliant career.”

  Alexander paused. “I guess vicar… well, Brian… I suppose I could sit here and wax lyrical about my accomplishments in work, but somehow I needed them to be recognised by my parents. I wanted that proverbial pat on the back. Is that wrong? I don’t know. In a way I don’t usually shout about my accomplishments, but what matters most to me is my family and I wanted that recognised by the two people who raised me. Why I want that approval is beyond me. Perhaps I feel insecure in myself with my relationship with them.” Alexander answered his own question.

  “Does that weird room upstairs prove my parents loved me, or just prove they didn’t forget me? I just don’t feel the love. I guess that’s it.” Alexander reached for his glass and took a long drink of his wine. At that moment his phone rang.

  Alexander answered it straight-away. “Darling, hi. God, it is lovely to hear your voice.” He noticed Brian smiling at him.

  “Alexander, please tell me you have left that house and booked yourself into the pub or something?” Julia did not sound angry, just concerned.

  “Well, actually I was about to pack up here when there was a knock on the door,” he replied, and was about to continue when Julia interrupted.

  “Don’t tell me, they bloody well have not died at all, the whole thing was a hoax to get you to drive all the way down there…!” Julia laughed at her own sense of humour.

  “Darling, I am only joking around… you know, trying to use humour to diffuse a difficult situation. This whole day has, after all, not been that easy, either for you down there or me at the end of the phone.”

  Alexander chose not to reply to her frivolous comment or her explanation.

  “It was Brian, the local vicar. He had seen a light on in the house and was concerned. We are just sharing a glass of wine and having a chat,” Alexander explained, and Julia was pleased to hear him sound calm. She was even more pleased to hear that he had some company. She was becoming increasingly worried about him being alone in his dead parents’ house.

  “Well, I am pleased you have some company. Can you arrange the burial etc. whilst you are at it, or is he smarting at not having had the church mentioned in the will?” Alexander knew his wife was only being flippant but somehow, although this was not the most appropriate time, she could not resist it.

  “I have an idea,” she continued. “Don’t tell him till you have agreed the costs of any service with him - you never know, he may do it cheaper if he thinks there is some cash coming his way for the crumbling wreck of an old church that he doubtless has!”

  “Darling, I have not discussed funeral arrangements at all. I don’t even know if there is some paperwork with the solicitor which covers their wishes in that respect. I understand my parents were not great churchgoers anyway.” Alexander looked across at the vicar and raised his eyebrows. Look, darling, Brian is here and I think it is rude to chat to you
for long, so I will call later, OK?” Alexander was aware that Brian was just sitting quietly opposite him.

  “Sure, no probs, call later and look after yourself. Love you.” And with that Julia rang off.

  “Sorry.” Alexander looked at Brian. “I suppose my wife does have a practical point in that we could address the funeral arrangements whilst we are here.”

  “Of course we can, if that is what you wish,” Brian answered. “Usually in my experience the deceased have left some guidance as to their wishes with their executor, their solicitor?” He looked at Alexander.

  “To be honest I don’t really know. I met the chap in Exeter first thing this morning - God, that seems like an age ago! And then came straight here to read the personal letter from my parents and…” Alexander paused. “You know the rest.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand. Well, if I can help with the arrangements, please get in touch with me. We have a rather clever website now, so it’s easy to click and send your friendly local vicar a quick email. Phyllis, one of our more technically minded regulars - I guess you’d call her a silver surfer - helped set it up a couple of years back.”

  “Obviously the detailed options available for your service needs are not on the website but in essence we can either arrange a burial service, or just a service of remembrance followed by liaising with the crematorium, if that is what they would have liked. Indeed, we can then have their ashes interned, which is of course what we did for your sister.” The vicar’s voice trailed off slightly.

  “Well, leave it with me,” said Alexander, “and I shall check. I guess they would like to end up here alongside my sister, and if that is where they would come to sit in the churchyard, then I hope that is what they would have liked.”

  “That is a very considerate approach, if you will forgive me saying so,” Brian replied. “Now can I be presumptuous and ask you what you intend to do with the rest of the presents? I appreciate you can tell me it is none of my business, but to be frank it is so unusual I am rather intrigued.” Brian leaned forward and drank some more red wine.