The following afternoon at 5pm was to be a most exciting time for the new Reverend Samuel.
His parents, so proud of him, and other family members, so supportive of him, were to join him to set up his new office space, and indeed, sleeping quarters, in the room at the top of the stairs above the chapel.
Samuel hurriedly made his way to the top of the staircase, flung open the door in joyous anticipation, to find Rev. Labour slumped in a chair, behind what was to be Samuel's new desk.
Rev. Labour was staring into space, and was dribbling a little from the corner of his mouth.
"Oh no," Samuel whispered, "Please tell me he's not dead."
"He's not dead," Rev. Labour snapped, "He's dead drunk."
"Reverend Harold," Samuel gasped, "I thought.."
Rev. Labour put his hand up to quieten Samuel.
"..You thought I'd have left by now, I know."
"No sir," Samuel replied in angst, "For a moment I thought you were..dead."
For the next few minutes, Rev. Labour's hand gestures and contorted facial expressions resembled that of a game of Charades.
That did help Samuel, as the older minister's voice regularly slurred and gurgled away.
"Well, go on," Rev. Labour slowly groaned, "Lecture me about being drunk."
Samuel felt uncomfortable of course, but shook his head.
"Twenty five years at this church..Nigh on twenty five years, and forced to retire." Rev. Labour continued,
"Going through the cupboards, the drawers, the photos.
I was so chipper, so hopeful to begin with.
The last several years, I've just been towing the line.
And now I'm burnt out."
Samuel sat across from Rev. Labour and looked towards him with compassion.
"I'm sorry, Reverend Labour. It sounds awful."
"I'm sorry too, son.." Rev. Labour seized the desk with both hands, firmly looking back towards Samuel, "Sorry, for the both of us!"
Samuel looked confused.
"We are both pawns.
Pawns in a game. Used by The Board."
Rev. Labour paused.
"They're going to sell this church.
No,no.. The 'church' are the people!
They're going to sell the building, and abandon the church!"
Rev. Labour had fire in his eyes, and was now spitting across the desk when he spoke.
Drunk on wine, but enthusiastic to make himself heard anyway.
"I don't understand," Samuel replied, calmly, "They've only just hired me."
"And I have only just resigned," Rev. Labour calmed down, himself.
"I resigned because they are selling the property.
I resented the next minister, even though I had never met him, because they are selling the property.
But, the more I drink, the more I regret my actions, and feel sorry for the gullible young man."
"So, they're going to sell the property, and.. let me go?" Samuel asked.
"Within a matter of weeks,son."
First, Samuel stared at the floor, then, lost for words, shook his head and looked to the ceiling.
"And they never told..me."
Samuel's confused, emotional state would have to wait, as Rev. Labour threw his hands up.
"Help me to the kitchenette, Samuel."
Samuel became concerned.
He agreed, and ran forward to help Rev. Labour to the kitchenette, just prior to him emptying the contents of his stomach into the sink.
"Oh no," Samuel reflected, "My parents will be here soon. I don't know what to do."
"Give me a hand down to the street. I've ruined your day for long enough," said Rev. Labour, "I've ruined everything."
Samuel helped Rev. Labour down to the street, and helped him lean against the fence of the church, moments before Samuel's family arrived.
Samuel ushered everyone upstairs, before pausing to consider the dishevelled, ailing Rev. Labour, leaning on the brick fence, as people passed him by on the street.
"I'll be back soon." Samuel called out to his family.
He returned to the street, slung Rev. Labour's arm over his shoulder, and picked up his bag of belongings.
"I can't go home like this." Rev. Labour moaned.
"You're not going home." Samuel gently replied, as the two struggled to cross the road.
They entered the foyer of the Bland View Hotel, where Samuel poured Rev. Labour onto a couch.
The man behind the counter looked up from his newspaper.
"Oh dear," he said, "Your friend's seen better days."
"Ah, yeah.." Samuel replied, reaching for his wallet, "He just needs to sleep it off.
I'll pay for him for one night..and could you dry clean his suit, or something?"
"Poor old thing," the man politely replied, "Sure."
Samuel helped Rev. Labour to the hotel room, and wished him well.
"Samuel," Rev. Labour said, clasping his forearm,"You have every right to be angry.
You should hate us.
You should hate me."
Rev. Labour clumsily felt for his wallet.
"Don't worry. I've covered it." Samuel assured him.
Feeling ever worse, although the worst pain was now to Rev. Labour's conscience.
"I assumed I was your enemy," Rev. Labour lamented, "You're a good neighbour."
"That's OK." Samuel replied.
"Before you," Rev. Labour laboured to talk, "Before you go, Samuel..
Do you happen to know any good cures for hangovers?"
Samuel turned, as he was headed for the door.
"I suppose..avoid getting drunk. Offload our problems first, before having a drink..?"
Rev. Labour looked up to Samuel.
Samuel thought that he was offended.
"Not that I am trying to lecture you.
Sometimes I am misheard.
I mishear myself at times, actually.."
Rev. Labour stopped Samuel, and bowed his head.
"Samuel," he said soberly, "God has heard."
Samuel put on a happy face, as he joined his family again, to tidy up the office and his new accommodation.
Deep down though, he was troubled.
That night, as he looked out of the window, over to the renovated terrace houses, and building sites sprouting everywhere, Samuel was at least grateful for Rev. Labours (albeit brutal) honesty.
"Oh God," whispered Samuel, "What do I do from here?
Speak to me."
These words echoed through his mind, and heart, as he drifted off to sleep.