He left the house at the usual time for his weekly walk to the local shops.
He was wearing black joggers, jeans and a dark windbreaker jacket. On cold nights, scarf and gloves; black. Always the same time and on the same day. It was a fair distance, but owning a car had long been out of his reach. Apart from other considerations, his job didn’t pay well enough to cover buying one. Besides, he liked walking. He made his way to the main road where he turned right towards the town. At the cross-roads he turned left and overtly strolled past the lighted shop fronts until he came to the alley that ran down past the side of the pub, then out onto the playing fields.
Here, his demeanour became overt and he slowed his pace. He peered into the darkness as he made his way beyond the lights of the town. As he crossed the two pitches, he could not see the vehicle, let alone the man that sat in it, waiting. Waiting for him. Passed the fields he began to make something out. Yes, there it was, a small black delivery van, nestled in the dark corner of the tennis-court’s car park. Shaded as it was from the street light by a cluster of tall trees, it was not fully visible until he got within a few strides of it. It was the perfect place for it. He got in.
It took barely a minute or two to make the exchange. From him, a relatively small amount of cash. From the van-driver, an envelope containing a few tablets, easily dissolved in water, easily administered. This done, he climbed out and started his return journey. In no time at all he heard the van’s tires slowly creeping away into the night. Everything concluded in such a short time. This was the way it was; the way it had to be. Back home again, across the fields, through the town, along the main road and turning to where his father would be waiting.
Since his illness, the old man had not been the same. He would never be able to look after himself and it was obvious that his faculties were going. But he seemed contented enough, as long as there was a supply of pain medication. Morphine’s not cheap and not available over the counter.
On his money, there was no way he could ordinarily afford to buy the painkillers for his father. The analgesic meant so much to him. It brought such blessed relief, and he was so grateful that his son was paying for it.
The old man would never know that he wasn’t buying it from the chemist in town.