RAFFERTY'S MONDAY
O My Wife, My Poor Poor Wife and Children

It is late afternoon, on a Saturday, that he comes to the front door. Rafferty opens it to find a small man, rather grubby & definitely smelly, holding a largish bundle wrapped in newspapers. He puts the bundle down as Rafferty appears. "Father, I need help." Not an unusual opening. "What's the trouble?" Rafferty asks? "Father, I've just got a lift back from up north. Our car was in an accident earlier today and my wife & our three kiddies have all been killed. This (he points to the parcel) is all their clothes and things. It's all I've got left. Can you help me with some money? I need to get straight back up there to do what has to be done?" "Well," says Rafferty, not sure of 'what needs to be done'. "That's a terrible thing to have happen. I'm very sorry to hear it. I'm very sorry for your wife and children, & for you, of course." But at a gut level, suspicion, onus of proof sort of thing, kicks in as it sometimes does when unknown people present at the door asking for money. Not least in a situation as bad as has been recounted.

"Come in and tell me all about it" Rafferty invites his visitor. Apart from a liberal sprinkling of gore, the story isn't really clear. Not even where it actually happened. Or which hospital is involved. Doubt seeps still further into Father's mind. Far be it from him to turn away someone in such a predicament. But what exactly has taken place, if anything? As if reading Rafferty's face, if not his mind, his caller says, "You can call the police at ............and ask them. They'll tell you all about it". Rafferty decides the only real option open to him is to call his bluff. "That's a good idea. Why don't we?" He seats his visitor in the entrance area adjacent to the Study, while he himself goes to the phone. There he dials his local police and explains his predicament. The policeman who takes his call is sympathetic to Rafferty's dilemma, and says he'll check the file straight away for any record of an accident in the district indicated by Raff's visitor. "Hold on a minute!" Then, "Well, father, I can't believe there could have been an accident like that without it being put on the network straight away. But let me just check our central control." After just a few momentshe comes back on the line "No, Father; it's not on! " "No, it's not", thinks Rafferty as he thanks the helpful officer, and begins to move back to his visitor in the waiting area. As he does, he senses movement. True enough. The visitor has managed to overhear Father's end of his conversation with the police, deduced from its tone that all is not well, and decided to get out while the going's good! Unfortunately for him, he mistakes a full length window beside the door for the door itself, and just saves himself from hurtling out through the glass in a real accident this time. He almost bounces off the long, closed window barring his way, then quickly locates the door, and makes good his escape, running down the drive as fast as his legs will carry him. His poor, poor 'wife's and kiddies' clothes' are left in their newspaper bundle which on quick inspection proves to be just that; a bundle of old newspapers!

Rafferty is indignant and then furious! He dives into his car, backs down the drive, into the street, and heads in the direction he's glimpsed his visitor heading. He drives slowly round streets he knows pretty well, looking for his quarry, the while calming a little at the thought of his own, or his own poor, poor wife's or his children's clothes ending up in a paper wrapped bundle such as he's just been bequeathed. It takes a while, and a few streets, but at last he locates his visitor, heading back towards the city centre, still not wasting any time. Rafferty pulls the car up right by the footpath just ahead of the so recently 'bereaved', who is taken aback, to say the least, by this visitation in reverse. Rafferty stomps out. Then, calmer by now, not sure whether to laugh or cry, but managing to keep a straight face, he gives the man a dressing down, assuring him that if he ever hears of him "trying that one on again", he will personally march him to the nearest cop shop and give him in charge. Then he hands over a fiver, with an "On your way, and keep going! Don't let me ever see you back on my patch again!" "Yes, father; No father; Yes father" the quarry flings over his shoulder as he beats it!

Later, Rafferty has the grace to be at least a little ashamed of the poor way he's handled this situation, and in his prayers that night, finds himself thinking aloud to God about which one of them needs forgiveness more: the little man for 'trying it on', or himself for being so uncharitable as not to believe him! All he gets in response is what sounds like a cross (!) between a snort, a chuckle, a growl, and, of all things, a sniff.