There is a heavy scent of bleach around Thora's top floor flat. I suppose the master, as she refers to her husband of seventy years and Thora, have grown accustomed to it and don't notice.

"Soon be seventy one years," said the master, reminding us yet again for the third time.

"Yes you've already told us" said Thora, her voice rising in pitch.

The master's face turned sour, the thought had returned, the reason for the strained atmosphere between them.

"You're getting careless," he hissed, jabbing the air at her with his bony index finger. He dropped back into his pillow-cushioned chair and continued to mumble under his breath.

"He's still angry with me over the flannel mistake." Thora gave him a hard look biting her bottom lip and holding onto what she really wanted to say, he annoyed her, he wouldn't let her forget.

"Just because I put the wrong face flannel out for him." She looked hard at the master.

"I'm sorry," I said, seeking an answer.

"He used the wrong face flannel, I mixed them up. He used the one I wash dead bodies with for Mr Cuthbert, the Undertaker at the Co-op."

It went quiet in the room. Then the master spoke.

"Are you sure that gas fire's not poisoning us?"

It was belting out heat, turned full on, a mini furnace. I reached for another biscuit, declined the offer of another cup of tea and said I must be on my way.

"Oh, you'll miss Father Sunshine," said Thora, disappointed. Even the master indicated as such.

"Father Sunshine?" I questioned.

"Yes, I've got something here, pushed through the letterbox. Have you not had one? Just a minute."

She rummaged through a stack of papers on the sideboard.

"Ah, here it is." She handed over a leaflet to me and her face lit up unnaturally and then smiled flashing bleached white dentures. "You can take it if you want."

"Thank-you, I'll take a note of the number..."

"There's no number Father Sunshine comes and finds you," she added, smiling to the master whose face also shared an air of expectation at the impending visit.

"May I borrow this; I'll bring it back."

"Keep it."

"Look, I've got to get back." I turned to the master. "Sir, I'll see you again." The master acknowledged with a half wave of his hand.

 

I sat in my car waiting for this Father Sunshine but he didn't appear. I sighed and realised I might have misinterpreted the signals, after all how much junk mail do I see pushed through my mailbox. I'll check on them later just to make sure. I read the leaflet again. Something about it didn't feel right.

"Father Sunshine - A good shepherd knows his flock and a vital part of my ministry is the collection of souls...

Keep checking your mail box I'll be sending out my calling card.

I do believe you people have a problem...

I am your friend...

Father Sunshine..."