Henry Tucker had almost sunk his teeth into the slice of toast when Alice screamed at him to stop. He stared at his wife, the food poised at his lips.
“Look, Henry,” she pointed. “Look at your toast.”
He held it up and examined it, front and back.
“Jesus Christ!”
“I know,”Alice said. “That’s what I thought as well.”
Henry peered closer, studying the image on the back of the browned bread. He shook his head and glanced up at Alice, who kept nodding hers like a toy dog in the back of a car.
“It’s a miracle,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. She blessed herself. “Just wait ’til Father Kelly hears about this.”
Henry delicately placed the toast on his palm and looked anxiously at Alice.
“What will I do with it?” he asked.
Alice frowned and then dashed out of the room. Henry remained rooted to the spot until she returned with an empty goldfish bowl. He placed the toast down on the table and Alice carefully covered it.
“I think I’ll phone Father Kelly now,”Alice said.
“Do you think he’ll make it here with all this snow?”
“I never thought of that.”
“And he’ll be busy organising everything for Midnight Mass.”
Alice sighed and folded her arms, glancing between Henry and the goldfish bowl.
“But surely he’ll want to see this,” she eventually said and Henry nodded without looking at her. He didn’t want to let the toast out of his sight.
When the priest arrived, Henry could hear him stamping his feet at the front door, cleaning his boots of the determined fragments of snow which clung to them. Alice ushered him through to the kitchen and Henry stood aside to let him see.
“My goodness,” Father Kelly said.
“I know, Father,” said Henry. “That’s what we thought.”
The priest leant over and stared more closely.
“That’s uncanny,” he said. “It’s Robert Powell’s double.”
You can email me at author@paulcuddihy.com or tweet me @PaulTheHunted
