REUNION

I barely recognised him. And it wasn’t just the long dress, the shawl and straggly grey wig; his pallor, the dark rings under his eyes, the shadowed cheeks presented the visage of a spectre, such as might have been conjured up by the pen of Edgar Allan Poe.

‘My God, father – what have they done to you?’ I expostulated.
‘What are you talking about?’ came back in a voice, firmer and stronger than one might have expected from a spectre.
‘Well… I mean, just look at you…’ my voice tailed off helplessly.
‘You stupid boy. I’m in character. It’s the dress rehearsal for our production of Cold Comfort Farm; I’m playing Ada Doom.’
‘Well I’ll be buggered’ I gasped in astonishment.
'Don't say that, son - not in here. Sit down.'

‘I sank gratefully into the proffered armchair.

(to be continued)