SERIES Tales From The

What on earth did Melinda have to do to feed Father Okoli?

MELINDA CLARKE was convinced that her duties as parish administrator went beyond her job description.

For one, looking after their new parish priest and making sure he was fed, healthy and happy, had undoubtedly fallen within her responsibilities.

That morning, the postman delivered to the parish office a large parcel addressed to Father.

The stamps showed that it was from Nigeria, Father Okoli’s home country.

What was inside it? The custom declaration was so badly scrawled that it was illegible.

“There’s a parcel for you!” she announced excitedly as soon as Father walked into the parish office.

He looked at it and tutted. “My dear old mum must be convinced that I’m starving here,” he joked. But Melinda didn’t laugh. If his mother thought that he wasn’t being properly fed, going so far as sending him food parcels, it was no laughing matter.

She resolved that she would pop round with a hot casserole later, and tomorrow she would have Father over for dinner.

****

When Melinda turned up with her casserole, Father wasn’t at home. Had someone invited him for dinner?

The generous part of her was pleased that Father was being looked after, but the selfish part was annoyed that the person looking after him wasn’t her.

She strode home and put the casserole in the freezer. Better luck tomorrow.

The next morning, the postman delivered another parcel from Nigeria.

Maybe she was right in thinking that Father was hungry: perhaps he didn’t like British food.

“This is from my sister,” Father said apologetically when Miranda handed him the parcel.

Was his entire family feeding him? She still hadn’t managed to give him her casserole or to invite him to dinner.

Melinda couldn’t take it. She excused herself and scuttled to the bakery round the corner.

“Your tea break, Father,” she announced, returning with scones, cream and jam.

If she couldn’t feed him at any other time, she’d feed him at work.

He smiled weakly. Maybe it was true that he didn’t like British food.

“If you don’t like them, I’ll get something else,” she offered anxiously.

“No, I love scones,” he said, accepting the plate she had prepared for him.

Miranda watched him carefully. At midday, he still hadn’t eaten a crumb.

When she got home after work, she searched online for Nigerian recipes and rang Father.

“Father, we’d love to have you for dinner tonight.”

“Sorry, I have a previous engagement,” he replied.

Someone had beaten her to it again! Now she was getting a little desperate.

The next day, she turned up to work with a Nigerian coconut cake.

“For your morning break, Father!” she said excitedly.

Father’s eyebrows shot up and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Thank you, but I can’t.” “Your family sends you food parcels, other people invite you for dinner, but I still haven’t been able to give you anything!” Father smiled. “Melinda, I would love to eat some of your cake, but I’m on a diet.

“I have been out the last two nights because it was my birthday and my other parishes insisted on throwing parties for me.

“I couldn’t say no when they feel sad about me moving to live here.

“The parcels from Nigeria aren’t food. They are birthday presents.

“Perhaps my mum thinks I’m becoming too thin, but she knows very well that it’s because I’m on a diet.”

Melinda laughed. She had tied herself in knots over nothing.

“Now that I know that it’s your birthday, you can’t deny me the pleasure of celebrating it, too. Will you come for dinner tomorrow?”

“I would love to.” Father smiled.

“That’s great. See you tomorrow at my place, then?”

“You can count on it!” Later, for her tea break, Melinda cut herself a slice of her coconut cake and it tasted great.

More next week.