Paul had sighed, rubbed his beard. 'You usually find they accept it during the funeral. And that's when they need support the most.'
And having been married for fifty years, with never a day apart, Anita knew that support would be intensive indeed.
True to form, Mrs Noble had broken down during the funeral. And now, she sat in the vicarage, her wizened old hand cupped in Anita Stowes', and the residue of tears around her eyes.
'The funeral is so important,' Anita said, attempting to give comfort. It gives closure. And it gives comfort that from now on he will be with God, waiting for the day when you join him.'
She seemed to cheer a little, then. 'So I will see him again?' she said.
'But of course you will. And when the time is right, you will be with him forever.'
Mrs Noble seemed to stare into space then. And moments later, she closed her eyes and died.
As she did so, Anita Stowes was certain she saw an elderly couple walking hand in hand by her side.
THE MAN WHO COULD HEAL
'Well we've got to do something about it,' said Jenny Bannister as she sat down for dinner. 'She's becoming impossible. And she's been totally taken in by that man.'
Dr Paul Bannister sighed. The problem had been brewing for some time, and it was seriously affecting his family. His wife, Jenny, was approaching paranoia. And his wild but intelligent daughter was becoming uncontrollable.
'I'll have a word with Bob,' he said. 'See if we can do anything about it.'
Hence, after dinner, Paul Bannister kissed his wife goodbye and headed off to the Royal Oak, where he knew Bob would be having a leisurely pint, as he always did on a night.
'Evening, doc,' said Zac Jones, a big, gorilla-like man of fifty with greying hair. 'Your usual?'
Paul said hello to the landlord and replied in the affirmative. Sgt Bob Barnes was sat on a barstool by the bar, talking to Zac.
'Can I have a word,' said Paul, to which Bob gave him due attention.
'It's this new preacher fellow who's moved in to the village. He's certainly suckered my daughter, and I can't seem to keep her away.'
'She isn't the only one,' said Bob, 'the fella's getting quite a congregation.'
'Well is it legal what he's doing?'
'As far as I can tell, it is. I'm sorry doc, but there's nothing I can do.'
Zac joined the conversation. Sipping at his habitual whisky, he said: 'Well I wish you'd do something. The little shit has even conned my Lisa. And the locals just don't like the idea of a landlady praying.'
The following morning, things had got no better. Paul was not in the mood for surgery, as his daughter had not come home that night.
Eighteen years of age, Rachel had done this before, but he couldn't get it out of his mind that the new preacher was behind it. And when Mrs Ryan entered his surgery, straightened her otherwise arthritic hand, and told him she wouldn't need drugs any more, it was time for drastic action.
'Well I'm with you,' said Rev Anita Stowes as Paul explained the problem to her. 'I've been getting it from many of my parishioners. The guy is a charlatan, and he's doing untold spiritual damage.'
And so it was that the two of them joined forces to go and see the preacher and attempt to sort him out.
Roger Powers welcomed them with a smile, and, inviting them in, sat himself down between Rachel Bannister and Lisa Jones.
Across from them was Mrs Ryan, flexing her supposedly arthritic hand in a way Paul Bannister would never have dreamt possible. Fighting the urge to drag his daughter out of the house and make her see sense, he sat down.
Anita Stowes sat down beside him, and immediately noticed the attraction of the man. Some thirty five years of age, he was exceptionally good looking, and had eyes that seemed to burn deep into the soul.
'We want you to stop what you're doing,' said Paul. 'You're doing untold damage to my patients.'
Roger Powers smiled. 'But it seems to me that I'm making them better.'
And thus it went on, with Roger Powers having a suitable answer to every point they made.
Later, in the Royal Oak, Anita Stowes said: 'So what do we do now?'
'I'm not sure that we can do anything,' replied Paul.
Following which, an inspired idea came into his head. Waiting for Zac Jones to walk past, he said: 'I guess we're just going to have to accept that he can do anything he likes to the ladies, including Lisa Jones.'
It was half an hour later that Sgt Bob Barnes stood outside the house, remonstrating with Zac. 'You do know I should arrest you for this,' he said.
'And you do know I could bar you for life,' replied Zac.
Anita Stowes shook her head at Paul. 'It's not exactly the most professional outcome,' she said.
At that moment, a black eyed Roger Powers stormed out of the house, threw his bag in his car and drove off, followed by a tirade of abuse from Rachel Bannister.
'So you've realised what he was?' asked Paul, her father.
'Did I ever,' replied Rachel, 'what a wimp.'
'And what about you, Mrs Ryan,' he asked.
Her arthritic hand was causing her pain, and Paul noticed it was shrivelled up once more.
'All I know,' she said, 'is that I wasn't in pain, and now I am.'
As for Anita Stowes, the following Sunday her spirited sermon on the subject of quacks caused her quite some angst.
THE SILENT MUSICIAN
Dr Paul Bannister stopped his car outside the house. It had been hard to find, but now he was here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a garden full of colour, as if an oasis in an otherwise bleak and barren land.
'It's beautiful,' said Miles Jackson, beside him. The words were too loud and distorted, and to the trained ear it was obvious that Miles was deaf.
Paul Bannister stroked his auburn beard. Said: 'But what do you know of beauty? I thought the whole world was desolate to you now.'
At the corner of his eye, Miles saw a man, standing in a profusion of flowers. Rather than look at them, he seemed to smell the very air about him, and as Miles wound down his window, the scents rushed in, as if beauty was carried on the wind.
Lip reading was still difficult for him. He had had hearing for so long, and he had to watch Bannister's lips carefully to make out the words. He said: 'What am I doing here, doc? What's the point of it all?'
It had been many weeks ago when Miles Jackson first burst into Bannister's surgery. 'You've got to help me, doc,' he said. 'My music, I can't hear my music.'
Paul had tested him there and then, before sending him to a specialist. But he sensed he would have a complicated case in Miles. It was how he had put it. He couldn't hear his music. Hearing other things such as voices, the birds outside, didn't seem to matter to him. Only the music mattered. And it was obvious his problem would become an obsession.
For weeks after the loss of his hearing Miles Jackson wandered aimlessly round the village. Whilst previously he had hardly been seen, now he couldn't be missed. The anger, the despair was all too apparent.
'You've got to find something else to do,' Bannister told him, after complaints - after Sgt Bob Barnes had had to caution him for public nuisance.
'What else can I do? I've been a musician all my life. It is my living; it is my hobby; it is my love affair. What else can I do when there is only one thing I want?'
Paul had been to the Reverend Anita Stowes for advice. 'It isn't impossible for him to carry on composing,' she offered. 'Beethoven managed it. Maybe you should push him in that direction.'
Paul had sighed as he sat next to her. 'I may not know much about music, but two things I do know. There are two types of musician - those who compose for others, and those who compose for themselves. And Miles is the latter, and if he can't hear it, it isn't worth doing.'
'So what do you intend to do?'
'To try and get through to him. To shock him.'
'But how?'
It was Zac Jones, landlord of the Royal Oak, and not a particularly compass
ionate man, who came up with the answer. 'I'm telling you, doc, I know it's a shame for him, but any more trouble from him in my pub, and I'll bash him until he hears the bells.'
'As understanding as ever,' said Paul.
'Got no time for moaners,' he said. 'Shit happens. You get up. You carry on. Full stop.'
It was then that he pointed out the pictures on the wall.
Miles Jackson noticed that the man had gone in now, the aroma of the garden having refreshed him.
'Let's go in,' said Paul. 'There's someone I want you to meet.'
It was the same man he saw as he entered the room. Miles could sense both sadness and a purpose in his stance. And as he had his back to his guests, he painted frantically at the easel, and Miles could see the expert way he captured a scene before him.
'That's beautiful,' he said in his loud and distorted voice.
The man turned, said thank you, and stood there staring through sightless eyes.
FROM ANOTHER PLACE
When Benny Johnson came running into the Royal Oak that night, no one quite realised how much the village would change. 'Come on out and see!' he said, excitedly.
'See what?' asked Zac Jones, the landlord.
'Out there! In the sky! A big, bloody, UFO.'
Pints were predictably swilled and the running of unsteady feet could be heard throughout the village.
'Well where is it?' asked Zac, short of breath.
'It was there.'
'Yea. Sure.'
'I'm telling you, it was there.'
And that should, of course, have been that. But when the local paper learnt of a UFO sighting in the area, they were quick to respond.
'It was maybe a hundred yards across, saucer-shaped, and with pulsating lights. I thought it was going to emit a blue beam and abduct me, but I'm safe.'
'And would you like to make any comment?' asked the reporter to Dr Paul Bannister.
Paul sat behind his desk, a jovial expression on his face. 'I'm sure the local beer is quite alright, but we really must be careful of quantities.'
'And what about you, vicar?'
Reverend Anita Stowes sat on a pew, speaking in an empty, echoing church: 'Maybe if more people went to church,' she said, 'there wouldn't be a spiritual vacuum in their lives to be filled with New Age trash like this.'
But once a UFO has been seen, it is inevitable it will be seen again - especially when the local paper offers a reward for sightings.
'Is there anything you can give them?' asked Sgt Bob Barnes a couple of nights later. He and Paul Bannister were stood by the green, watching a group of strangers staring up into the sky. Some had brought telescopes. And a chap of a mystical sort of bent gyrated and chanted to the side by the butcher's shop.
'I'm afraid not, Bob. There seems to be no cure for this kind of insanity.'
Two day later, a second UFO was spotted. 'I'm telling you, doc, I did see it,' said Benny Johnson.
'Now come on, Benny. Look what's happening here. We're getting reporters and nutters from across the globe, all coming to see something that only you claim to have seen.'
'So what are you saying?' said Benny.
'It's quite simple,' said Paul. 'If you say you never saw anything then the whole circus would calm down and we could get on with life.'
But as is often the case with medical advice these days, Benny Johnson left the consultation, walked onto the green and said: 'It was like a vision as much as a reality. It was Godly - as if we're finally beginning to know where we came from.'
The following night the enthusiasts were out in force.
'It just can't go on,' said Anita Stowes as she stood in the Royal Oak, remonstrating with Zac Jones.
'Sorry vicar,' he said. 'Haven't got the time now.'
And he was right about that. The Royal Oak was heaving; as it had been every night since the UFO flap began. And who knows how long he could keep the run going.
'As long as you want,' said Benny Johnson, later that night, another day's free ale in his belly, and a couple of hundred quid in the bank.
THE HOUSE VISITOR
WARNING: You might find this one scary.
'I just don't know what to do. It's driving me mad. And I don't know how much more I can take.'
Sara Benson was, indeed, at the end of her tether. A woman with two children - Demi and Sophie – she’d had enough these last weeks since her partner left, and the situation was getting out of hand.
Rev Anita Stowes was sat before her in the church. 'So how bad does it get?' she asked.
'It's terrifying. We'll all be asleep - well, I say asleep; we don't really get sleep any more - and suddenly comes the bang. And then another. And then scratching sounds. And finally that voice. It makes your hair stand on end.
'And then, during the day, things will fly across the room, and things will fall off shelves and smash. And once or twice we've even had small fires start. Oh, vicar, what am I supposed to do?'
So that is how Rev Anita Stowes was introduced to her first poltergeist. And she had to admit, as she sat downstairs in the house that night, that she was out of her league. I wish I had help on this one, she thought. Then she remonstrated with herself. What more help did she need that God Himself?
It was perhaps half way through the night when she suddenly heard the scream from upstairs. Racing up the stairs herself, she felt an intense cold as she did so, and as she walked into the girls' room, the cold intensified.
Sara Benson was on her knees on the floor, cuddling a screaming Sophie in her arms. As for Demi, she was levitating some four feet above her bed.
As Anita stood there, eyes wide and manic, she decided there and then that God may well be alright, but she could do with just a touch of human help as well.
'And you're quite sure you didn't imagine it?' asked Dr Paul Bannister the next morning.
Anita held out her shaking hand. 'What do you think, Paul?' she replied.
Paul wasn't sure. But he was sure that Anita Stowes was not the sort to be easily frightened.
'I don't think I know the family,' he said. 'Tell me about them.'
'Well,' said Anita, 'they came here about a year ago. A healthy lot. Not married, but Sara was a Christian, although her partner wouldn't come to church. Two kids aged ten and thirteen. And then, suddenly, they had a massive argument and her partner walked out. And he hasn't come near since.'
Paul was sceptical. ‘It sounds like a typical emotional brew,’ he said. ‘The family is in turmoil, fearful for the future, and in my opinion, they create the problem themselves.
‘You mean they – and I – are hallucinating it all,’ retorted Anita.
'That’s how it seems to me,' said Paul.
'Well if that's the best help you can give me, I suppose I'm on my own.'
'You can always take me with you, and let me see for myself.'
The following morning Anita Stowes was rather less than embarrassed, but unable to explain what had gone on the previous night - which was, of course, absolutely nothing.
'I suppose you're convinced I imagined it now,' she said as they walked away from the house.
'Not at all,' said Paul. 'Infact, I'm quite sure something is going on now.'
'And how do you work that out?'
‘What I saw last night convinced me that this is a family in deep trouble, and most of these cases involve a pubescent girl like Demi. They act like a focus for the family’s problems. And from there, almost anything can be imagined.'
'Okay,' said Anita, trying to keep her growing temper in check. 'So what do you suggest we do?'
'What's all this about "we",’ said Paul. 'It's your problem.'
'Thank you very much.'
Paul laughed. 'No, I mean. What I suggest you do is an exorcism.'
Anita stopped, shocked. 'You, do an exorcism?'
'That's right.'
'And why on earth would you want me to do that?'
'Because if a Christian-based family is in turmoil, the
best way to ease their minds is a ceremony that they think will work.'
Two days later, the Benson Poltergeist made its last appearance as a suitably gowned Rev Anita Stowes exorcised the house with gusto. And for then until eternity, the vicar and the doctor regurgitated the same argument.
'And I'm telling you it was God,' said Anita.
'And I'm telling you it was in the mind,' said Paul.
And never the twain would meet.
BANG, BANG, YOU’RE DEAD
Sgt Bob Barnes couldn't help but wonder about the universe.
Or at least, fate and coincidence. He recalled the conversation of just a couple of days ago. Zac had just refilled the drinks at the Royal Oak when Bob said: 'I don't care what you think, doc. There are times when violence is the only answer.'
Dr Paul Bannister stroked his auburn beard, drank some of his pint. 'I disagree. Violence just leads to more violence. And I cannot think of a single situation that couldn't be talked out, if you just gave it long enough.'
At that point, one of the regulars went that little bit too far. Both the policeman and the doctor watched as Zac went over to him, said: 'Are you going to behave yourself?'
When he refused to reply, Zac wrestled him to the ground, dragged him to the door and flung him out. Returning behind the bar, he winked at the commentators and said: 'Compromise, gents. Use both. It never fails.'
It was a couple of days later that Sgt Bob Barnes was patrolling the village when the call came in: 'Control to all units. Be on the look-out for car registration number *******. Suspected involved in armed robbery. Approach with caution.'
The message received, that very car appeared, heading out of the village. Bob Barnes immediately knew what to do.
Waiting for the car to pass, he turned in pursuit, blues and twos wailing. However, he was just about to radio in when a car pulled out in front of the target, causing him to swerve and overturn, leaving Bob no time to pull up, crashing his own car in the process.