Shaping the Ripples Read Online Free PDF Page A

biscuits (with water for me). Christopher then invited people to share things they’d like the others to pray about. There were the usual sorts of things – friends going in to hospital and so on – and then Christopher spoke.
    “I’d really appreciate you praying for me at the moment,” he said in a voice which seemed to me to be less full of life that usual. “I don’t want to go into details, but things are a bit of a struggle at the moment.”
    When the meeting was finished, I thanked the Kondo’s for their hospitality, and got another hug from Ruth in reply. I left the house at the same time as Debbie and Carol who invited me to join them at the local pub. Both were quite unashamed of the fact that as well as enjoying the house group meetings, they were glad to have an excuse to get out of the house for one evening and leave their husbands babysitting – the visit to the pub rounding the night off nicely. I appreciated the offer, but declined and strolled home.
    On the way home, I could feel my mood starting to change. It’s a hard thing to explain, but ever since I began to remember the abuse, I find that I have spells where I suddenly feel overwhelmed by sadness and despair. It happened once when I was with Jennifer and she observed that it looked as if I “was being engulfed by darkness”. Slightly dramatic, perhaps, but it wasn’t a bad description.
    Opening the door to my flat, the sense of hopelessness was almost unbearable. I left the light-switch untouched, and walked through the living room and sat in the darkness, staring unseeing out of the window and across the river.
    On nights like this, I wished I hadn’t made the decision to keep the house free of alcohol. The theory had been that sitting drinking alone each evening would be far too easy a habit to get into; but on the really bad nights I could have done with the option of drinking myself into oblivion.
    The thought of oblivion lifted me out of my seat and, feeling powerless to resist the drive that rose from deep inside, I walked into the kitchen. I opened the drawer, and my fingers fastened tightly around the black handle of my carving knife. I turned and returned through the dark living area, to sit back down.
    I just sat for some minutes, feeling the weight of the knife and running my finger softly along the sharp blade. Finally I pressed the tip of the knife to my right wrist. Go on said the seductive voice in my brain. Put an end to it now. The pressure on my wrist increased. At that moment, it felt that it would have been the easiest and most natural thing to press harder and then start carving – and the hardest thing not to. The moment stretched, and then faded.
    I got up, and walked back into the kitchen, putting the knife back into the drawer and away out of sight. As always after these moments, I felt empty and slightly ashamed, although I was never sure if this was caused by having seriously contemplated suicide, or by not being actually able to do it.
    I knew there was no chance of getting any sleep, so I returned to the living room and turned on the television. Eventually I found a channel which was promising six hours of football from around the world, and another long night began.
    Chapter Four
    The next morning, I freshened up with a shower and managed a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast. I had dozed a little in my armchair during the night, so I didn’t feel too bad. I’d learned since Liz had left that I could function fairly well on very little sleep, although sometimes it would catch up with me and I’d have to sleep through most of a weekend to recharge.
    While putting my jacket on, my fingers touched the stiff edge of a letter in the pocket, and I remembered my promise to Ryan Clarke. I rang Barbara at home to check that both she and Katie were going to be in the office, and arranged that I would be in from lunchtime.
    Living in York, it’s fairly easy to get around on foot; so most of the time my car lives