Next day he avoided everybody and darted out of the YMCA before he could have another awkward conversation. Mulling it over whilst unpicking the threads on the suits logo last night he had decided that he did need to check on a few people and see what the consequences of his actions were. The feedback part of a feedback loop. He should try to check on the other workers, Skender in the hospital, maybe the work site if they had fallen behind due to expected workers being a no show and at the outside the home owners with a new ventilation system. That last was probably more Sken than himself but he was somewhere on the chain of events so he might see what he could do.

It was time to be selfish though. All of that was secondary to finding his family. For that reason it was back to the offices of Lfanda resource management. See if anyone remembered him. He walked to the train station and went to the taxi rank. Sitting in the cab who had been at the front of the rank he watched the grey low buildings whip by. Twenty minutes later he paid and walked into a two storey building. In all honesty it was a surprise to see, it looked like a large amount of effort had gone into making the place look it was just another patch of parkland. The entry and the car park were both underground but the two floors above ground seemed just too much effort. It looked like the building had been built in some sort of ziggurat style and then covered in top soil which had “wild” plants artfully placed around it. The net effect was a giant green boil in the middle of an industrial estate.

Curious Morgan walked round the estate and noticed three other buildings whose decorator had done the same. Eventually he formed a theory, from the ground these arrangements looked silly but maybe that was not where they were supposed to be viewed. Was this camouflage from aerial viewing? Seemed a lot of effort but maybe he was still thinking in pre alien terms. Questions, add it to the list he supposed. The third time round the estate he was ready to go in and approaching Lfanda entrance saw a couple of security guards outside the building start to approach, he guessed they were looking for him. “Excuse me sir but you’ve been observed wondering through the estate. Could you tell us what you’re doing here and show us your ID. If you have no business I will have to remind you that this is private property and ask you to leave.” All very polite and reasonable but it was the first time anything approaching officialdom had asked for his ID so he tried to squelch any nerves whilst handing it over.

The guard talking to him took the ID passing it to the second who took out some sort of laptop which scanned it with a beep, then it was handed back. Looking at the display the second man asked “So Mr Oxbridge could you explain what you are doing here? And why were you moving around and between lots?” Truth or lie? With a mental shrug he went with lie. “I have an appointment with a Gareth Manson at Lfanda. I was early and decided to kill time by looking round.” More tapping on the phone and the second guard looked up at his colleague, “there is an employee there with that name. Lets escort him so that he doesn’t get lost”. Without resisting he followed them to the Lfanda unit. Stepping up to reception they told the receptionist to get Mr Manson. They didn’t leave until he was told to sit and wait, whilst polite and professional he found them just a little bit intimidating and was glad when they left.

Sitting and wondering what to do next he almost laughed. Approaching him was a portly fellow in a suit nothing at all as Morgan remembered him. Gareth had been a young man straight out of uni obsessed with Tai Chi, yoga and orienteering. The middle aged spread on him was a shock and one that he had to fight to keep off his face.

“I’m sorry Mr Oxbridge but I don’t seem to have any notes about our appointment. If you’ll go through to meeting room 7 I will try to find what the status of your account. Coffee and tea are both available” Lfanda was or at least had been a company that purchased rare commodities and shipped them for companies that did not have in house expertise to do that themselves. Confident competence was what they sold and admitting they could not find a file must be grating. Morgan relented “don’t bother looking this is a speculative visit on a personal matter. I have no appointment, there is no file.” Clearly shifting mental gears Gareth relaxed and with a much less obsequious tone “oh. Alright well come along anyway and tell me what Lfanda can do for you.” So far so expected, it had been hammered in that you never knew who your next customer could be when he was there and that ethos seemed to still apply.

Sitting in the meeting room some things just did not change. The fact that all meeting rooms looked like this room was still true. They both busied themselves getting a drink and then sat across from each other. Morgan thought about explaining but worried about being asked for proof or just assumed to be insane continued the strategy that had got him here. Lying.

“I am looking for my Uncle Morgan William Oxbridge. Our families drifted apart and well family history is kind of a hobby. This is the last place we knew he worked and I used your name as he had described you as a up and coming young man in the company. I am hoping that he left some sort of forwarding details or maybe HR has an address for pension payments? That would be ideal but anything really.” Gareth sat back with a pained expression “Morgan. Now theres a name I have not thought of for a while, shame really we were good friends.” Looking at his tablet he frowned. “It was all quite a shock. Mr Moran I am sorry to say that you have come to a quite literal dead end. If I remember right he was injured in a car accident, maybe a bridge collapse? Something anyway, the point is he got a really bad head injury and was permanently hospitalised. After a while it became clear that his condition was not going to change and because he was still alive there were no death duties for the family. His wife needed that money so she petitioned the courts to turn off the machines, it became this really big legal battle about rights and Catholics and who knows what else so it got sent to the high court. The old Bailey. That families luck, well they were there for the drop. They were in the bailey bunker when the aliens went in. Dead, all of them just dead. If you were looking for some sort of family reunion then sorry but no. The monument to the dead has the names of the departed, I understand some people find comfort in that”

There was more talk. Lots of dignified silences when several of his colleagues came round and told him how sorry they were and what a wonderful family they had been. He left and they hid the relief well. He had got what he came for. Damn it all he had got what he came for. Reception organised a taxi . He had no idea why he gave the address where his parents had lived. It just seemed right to go back to where he had first met Joanne. Dropped off by the taxi he looked round looking for familiar sights. That afternoon he just walked round his old neighbourhood. The park where Annie had first cut her lip and come crying to him. Joannes favourite hairdressers. The registry office. He was numb to it all, he should be screaming, getting drunk, something. Instead it was like his head was filled with a white noise that was trying to suppress the horror that he could feel slowly overcoming the barriers. He had no idea how he ended up talking to the priest. Apparently he was the priest at the church his parents went to when they were alive. And now he was outside the church quietly sobbing and a priest was talking to him.

This would not do. Grief is private, shame is public. Crying in public was shameful he should go before he disgraced himself further and tried to go even while sobbing. Father Emmett was not having that, not letting him go he took him into his accommodations next to the church. Mindful that a moment to pull himself together was really going to be essential he stopped struggling. Never very religious Morgan was not sure if seminary training included grief counselling or if empathy was a developed trait but over the next ten minutes with gentle coaxing and encouragement from the man opposite he pulled himself together enough to at least know what was going on around him.

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It had become popular to ask what Britishness was before his assault and based on nobody being able to define it the claim was made that it didn’t exist, it was a shame that those making that claim did not watch Morgan realise he had become a bother. Manifesting that most British of emotions embarrassment he stood up “Oh father I must apologise, what can I say, oh goodness I, I’ve imposed on you”. Raising a hand the priest cut him off – “Nonsense. Do you prefer your testament old or new? I mean we could talk about acts 20:35 but I much prefer my admonitions old school, Hebrews 13:16. If you don’t know them look them up. The gist is I serve god and I do it by helping those in need. No offence but you strike me as a man in need. Allow me to feel useful, tell me what ails you” His face settled into calm patience and Morgan normally would have assumed it was an act but something radiated sincerity. His embarrassment bled away and he sat down. Wiping at his face with a tissue the priest had produced like a stage magician out of nowhere he started. “Well Father I guess the long and short of it is I have been away. Away for a long time and I have come back looking for my family only to find them dead. I just had hopes of getting back to my life and they are just ..gone”. The priest nodded sympathetically muttering something about jail being cruel in so many ways. Realising he should explain more fully Morgan started to tell his tale.

It took about 20 minutes and a second pot of tea with sponge for the whole sad sorry story and the priest who had named himself as Father Emmett sat back shaking his head. “I find myself thinking about a talk in seminary by a visiting lay fellow. He talked about how god was present in all things and that miracles are in the small words and deeds of others. He had this whole thing about not one of us ever seeing something large so learn to revel in the glory of the small. Morgan. How would you go about proving anything you have said to say a sceptical priest?” Sitting back he fixed Morgan with a hard stare “You really should you know – god is divine but I’m not and before I can do something irrevocable I try not to rely on faith.”

It had been cathartic and a bone deep weariness was replacing the anguish. Much as he wanted to retreat to his room and never come he did not have the rudeness in him to ignore Father Emmett so he struggled to think “Well I’m not sure I can. I mean I could bench press a lot to prove my strength but I could just be strong. You could probably get in touch with the hospital and they could prove I was discharged, well sort of discharged and Brian at the Y could confirm some of it but you cant hear voice I assume and I don’t look like I used to even if I found old photos so.” He petered off and made a vague hand wave.

Father Emmett stood up, “I have a service in half an hour and though I feel the hand of God in this my parishioners have fire insurance to pay. Mr Oxbridge come here tomorrow if you would, it would be troublesome to have to come find you and I think you owe me for the tissue and the sponge cake. We will continue this conversation tomorrow. Oh and I won’t be listening to this voice even if I could hear him, I have rather firm theological concerns about amoral voices .Say quarter past ten? Yes quarter past ten. I look forward to seeing you then. Unless you wish to attend services please leave me time to prepare” and somewhat sharply he pushed him out of the rectory.

Morgan realised there was a lesson there-even those dedicated had other things in their life. Still the time had been valuable to allow him to pull himself together. He could feel the fear, the anguish and the horror bubbling up fighting to reduce him once more. They would succeed, he was ready to be destroyed but he would at least do it in private. He would return to his room and let others have peace. The walk home was brutal and he nearly cracked several times, it was the strangest things that set him off. The smell of bread made him think of family breakfasts, the sound of a car stereo reminded him of complaining to Joanne about music from Annies Room. It was a triumph to get back to the YMCA but not one that could have been explained to others, nonetheless if there was an award for the stoic suppression of grief it should have gone to him. Ignoring everyone he went to his room.

For dignities sake his night was his own. Next morning he came late to the cafe area and seeing nothing available left anyway. His stomach had emptied itself several times in the night and he was feeling light headed but he did not want to beg or wait while some sort of plastic cheese was melted onto cheap bread. He was aimless, drifting and the only thing that seemed like worth doing was thanking the priest who had talked him down. That phrase had suicidal connotations and he just hoped they were misplaced. Walking to his old family church he realised he was going to be late but kept to a sedate pace anyway. Arriving about half past he knocked on the door and waited.

A middle aged Nun opened the door and glared at him. “Morgan?” she accused. Lacking the energy to be bewildered he just agreed and asked if Father Emmett was there. “No, well yes but its me you’re here to see. Now come in and tell me this cock and bull you have turned the fathers head with” and with that she turned and strode into the rectory. Following her he came to a familiar room with a familiar set of chairs with a familiar face.

Father Emmett stood up with a grin and said to the Nun “See Joan, god provides. I told you to have faith and now he is here.” With an attitude of long suffering trials she ignored Father Emmett and indicated where Morgan should sit. Turning to Father Emmett “Look Richard this is my meeting, my responsibility. I thank you for your guidance but get out”. “John 16:22 add it to your reading” he said to Morgan while exiting. Sitting down she fixed him with a steely gaze and made him recount his story once more. Sitting back as he finished she took a long breath and exhaled slowly.

“We have checked what we could. You have school dates right for your daughter, there was a patient with your name at the William Grove Facility but without contacting them directly not a lot more to be said. Brian does not like you but has not contradicted what you said. May god forgive me but I was pleased to find out that Mr Skender was no longer plying his trade. So what can be checked has been checked.”

This all seemed like a lot of effort for a walk in but maybe this was what churches did. Old jokes about Vatican conspiracies ran through his mind as he thought of the church as an international detective agency and he almost smiled. “I’m sorry but why am I telling you this? Are you some sort of Catholic social services and this is an assessment? What’s going on.” She sat up and after a pause started talking “ The sisters of St Loreta believe in worldly works in addition to intercessory prayer so yes sometimes I do feel like a social worker but no today I am here to help a novitiate. Father Emmett thought you could help a novitiate who has been having trouble taking her vows. Having heard you I agree, I might even listen to his stupid sermon about the miraculous everyday”. At that she stood up and started to walk towards the door, Morgan started to follow but she turned round pointing an accusing finger at him “ I am going to ask for cleaning supplies, we keep this rectory clean and you sir are dropping crumbs everywhere” and she left. Bemused he sat down again and decided to have a slice of cake, his first despite her accusations, while waiting.

It was a short wait as she came back with another nun this one in slightly plainer garb grey rather than black. She was a tall young lady with her left arm free and the right strapped tightly to her body. Her black hair was short and poorly maintained but none of that overrode her face. Morgan stood up the cake falling from his hands “Annie?” he croaked.

As the grey robed novitiate turned to look at him Joan exclaimed “What did I say about crumbs!” pointing at the fallen cake.