Shaping the Ripples by Paul Wallington

films like “Reservoir Dogs” and “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels” is that everyone thinks that to sound tough, you have to try and talk like a gangster. “If you can call finding the murdered body of a good friend “not having such a good time of things lately”, then you’re right.” I replied. “It’s nice to see how cut up you are about it.”
    “Oh, I heard it was more than that,” he smiled. “The way I heard the story, the police think you might have something to do with it. Surely “Mr. I’m so perfect” doesn’t have his own dark side.”
    I could feel anger rising inside me, but decided that the most sensible response was to walk away. As I left, Ryan had one parting shot,
    “I’d be very careful if I was you. You never know what might happen to you next.”
    I turned back to demand to know what he meant by this threat, but the crowd had packed behind me and there was no sign of him.
    Back at home, there was still no message from Christopher Upton and the phone stayed silent all evening. I made up my mind to go to church the following day, and see if he was back at work. It seemed very unlike him to have withdrawn completely from everything, especially so close to Christmas.
    Sunday morning dawned clear and very cold. It was a great temptation to stay longer in the relative warmth of my bed, but I managed to hold onto my resolve of the previous evening and got showered and dressed.
    By the time I arrived at the church, it was packed. The reason for this substantial increase in attendance was immediately clear as I noticed that the front pews were filled with children dressed as angels and kings, or with tea towels wrapped around their heads. Clearly this was the service which centred on the Sunday School’s performance of the Nativity. I scanned the church in the hope of spotting somewhere to sit. In good Anglican fashion, the back rows were the most densely packed so I moved down the church. I eventually found a spot at the edge of a pew on the very left hand side of the church and sat down gratefully. Only then did I realise that the reason this was the only unoccupied spot was because the stone pillar immediately in front cut off all sight of the front of the church.
    The first blast of organ music signalling the start of the service ended any thoughts I had about trying to move. When the hymn was finished, I recognised Christopher’s voice doing the welcome and introduction. He didn’t have too much to say over the next half hour or so as the children acted out the familiar story, interspersed with a few Christmas carols. It finished to a loud burst of applause, and with a few prayers from Christopher, it was over.
    I waited for the main throng of people to disappear, before standing and making my way towards the door. As usual, Christopher was there shaking the hands of each person as they left. Waiting my turn, I could see that although he was smiling and talking enthusiastically, his eyes looked drained and empty of life.
    “How are you now?” I asked as I approached him.
    “Still a bit tired, but much better thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get back to you but I wasn’t feeling up to talking to anyone. Thanks for the concern, though. It meant a lot.”
    I would have listed Christopher as one of the most open and transparent people I have ever met. Even so, as I walked home I couldn’t shake the strong instinct that he was hiding something important.
    Chapter Ten
    It’s a fact of life that when you’re dreading something, the time before it seems to go by at least twice as fast as normal. So Thursday, and the Christmas Dinner, arrived with predictable speed. Although I had a fair idea of what I was going to say, I felt increasingly nervous as the day drew on. George tried to encourage me not to think about it, but just to look forwards to a decent meal for a change. Unfortunately I was fairly sure that the fact that our speeches were to come at the end of the dinner