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Out on the street Grace felt uncomfortable. She knew she had been less than honest with Dr Adams. She was well aware it was the manuscript that had triggered this latest episode, yet she wasn't prepared to talk to her therapist about it. People were rushing everywhere in an attempt to get home quickly, and as she stood in the middle of the street it was almost as if she was reacting in slow motion with her questioning thoughts hampering her reactions. She felt a sharp blow to her side. A man had collided with her. Grace opened her mouth as if to protest, but for some reason no words would come out.

"I am so sorry. I shouldn't be wearing sunglasses but, you know, it's vanity."
He made no attempt to remove the glasses and Grace wondered what his eyes were like.
"Don't worry. I wasn't really with it. Honestly it's not a problem. I'm fine."
He moved off with a final smile and wave "Sorry. Glad you're ok" and with that he was lost in the sea of people. She needed to get away from all these people.
Still feeling tense Grace pondered her next move. She didn't want to go to work it wasn't really worth it at that time of day, and anyway she didn't want to start creating more stories to explain her absence. She wasn't ready to go home either; in fact she wanted to be alone, just to have some time to think about the last couple of days and Dr Adam's suggestion. She didn't understand herself why she was so resistant to the idea of hypnotherapy; the testimonials Dr Adams had given her to read some time ago were impressive. It clearly worked for some people and there was every reason to believe that it would work for her but still deep down she knew she wouldn't do it. She just needed to try and get her muddled head together. Remembering there was Catholic Church nearby she decided to go head in that direction.

The Church and its pews were empty except for the two ladies silently, but reverently polishing the floor surrounding the altar. Holy Dusters' Father John used to call them. Her mother had been elated when asked to join this group. In her eyes it was the most meaningful role a woman could expect to be granted by the Catholic Church. It was better than an invitation to a Royal Garden Party. It meant she was someone in the parish. Every week she would polish zealously, as if her ascension to heaven depended on it. As a child Grace could never understand her mother's obsession with the Church; as an adult she came to realize that her mother for whatever reason had been incapable of showing her husband and daughter the love they needed instead all her emotions were reserved for an invisible God who was always faultless in her eyes.

Learn more about this author, Noleen Wyatt-Jones.
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