The Healers

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On Saturday they went for a ride into the country. Like an old married couple, although marriage had never been discussed, never even been thought of as far as anyone knew. They stopped for lunch at a pub in Morpeth. There were four sorts of real ale and in the back room drinkers were playing traditional folk music on fiddles and pipes. The musicians had between them a large number of children all brightly clothed in what seemed to be fancy dress long velvet skirts and silk waistcoats. The children danced between the tables and ate crisps by the handful but caused no real bother. Ramsay was driving and only took two halves of Gladiator but Prue tried all the varieties of beer and after the meal felt quite tipsy. Since being a student she’d always liked beer but it went straight to her head.

“Where now?” Ramsay asked as they stepped out into the street. It was a warm blustery day in early May. A group of old men walked jauntily down the drive from St. George’s, the big psychiatric hospital, now on the verge of closure. A sudden gust of wind blew a shower of blossom from one of the trees along the drive and covered them in small pink flakes. The men stood still for a moment and then began to laugh, turning slowly round and round so the blossom fell to the ground.

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