Outside the Health Dept, Elliot Vance holds a vigil for an ailment no one believes in. Beside him, Marian Shaw ensures the flame – literal and not – stays alight.
On a rainy Tuesday evening, outside Guardian City’s Department of Health, Elliot Vance strikes his tuning fork against the heel of his shoe, holds it to his wrist, and frowns into the misty night. “Listen,” he says, his voice grave. “It’s happening now.”
The small crowd, such as it is, lean in. Kevin from the the weekly periodical Quizzical furrows his brow in concentration. Sylvia, whose dog allegedly suffers from the same ailment as Eliot, apparently, tilts her head. Dennis, who has come out for a cigarette and some fresh air and somehow found himself inducted into the movement, takes a thoughtful drag.
Elliot, 38, suffers from Spontaneous Venous Resonance Syndrome.
Nobody’s ever heard of it.
A pause. A steam omnibus rumbles past. The tuning fork vibrates softly in Elliot’s grip.
His constant companion
“There,” he says. “You feel that?”
Nobody feels that.
At his side, Marian Shaw adjusts her scarf. She has come straight from work, carrying a canvas bag full of carefully printed leaflets, the top one slightly warped from where she had shielded it from the rain. She wears sensible boots and a well-worn navy coat and an expression of weary melancholy. She has – without discussion – appointed herself as Elliot’s second-in-command. She does not call herself this, nor does he. It is simply what has happened.
It was Marian who had arranged the vigil. She had consulted the Guardian City authorities for permission, if it were necessary,, drafted the press release, and sent it to every journalist in the city. No-one replied. Not one shows up.
But Elliot and Marian in their own way and with their different agendas are undeterred.
“Marian,” Elliot says, without looking at her, “the candles.”
A candlelight vigil
She opens her bag and wordlessly handed them about. They are beeswax, purchased at some expense, because Elliot dislikes paraffin on principle and because he thinks it worsen his condition. Along with toast, travel on public transport, oats, brass instruments and jelly.

SVRS – Spontaneous Venous Resonance Syndrome – is, according to Vance, a little-known but devastating condition in which the body’s veins vibrate at imperceptible frequencies, disrupting circulation, sleep, and, allegedly, “the very harmony of the human form.” The medical establishment remains sceptical. Elliot remains unbothered by their scepticism.
We ask Marian, later, what she thinks about all this – about the vigil, about the campaign, about Elliot himself. She waves a hand. “Oh, well. It’s really all about the work, isn’t it? I support what Elliot is doing.”
A question of faith
Do you believe him?
She is unequivocal in her faith in Elliot’s integrity.
And what does Elliot want to achieve?
“Recognition,” says the 36-year-old. “For his cause.”
And what about you, Marian. What do you want to achieve?
“Oh, I just help where I can.”
She has been helping for three years. She take notes at council meetings, books venues for talks that were sparsely attended, writes summaries of medical journals and stands quietly behind Elliot while he accosts disoriented junior health ministers at networking events.
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When pressed – when we ask if she ever thinks the movement might gain more traction, if there was some key moment ahead where all this might turn – she hesitated, just slightly. Then she says, “I think when the time is right, people will pay attention. He’s very… determined.”
The crowd drifts away
At the vigil, Elliot speaks at length about the medical establishment’s refusal to acknowledge SVRS. Marian nods in all the right places. When his candle blows out, she scurries forward and relights it. When he goes on for too long, she gently reminds him about the weather and how people are getting wet.
By 9:45, the gathering has dwindled. Dennis wanders back to the pub, Kevin heads to his office to write up his notes, and Sylvia’s dog is barking at a bin. Elliot stands, momentarily lost in thought, before clapping his hands together. “Right,” he says. “Marian, shall we debrief?”
She nods. There would be letters to send reflecting on the growing protest. Another vigil to organise, perhaps, in a month’s time. She falls into step beside him, the two of them disappearing into the night.
We ask Elliot, what about Marian?
“Who?” He is thrown briefly. ‘Oh, Marian. She’s a trooper is she not?”
She never answered when we asked what she, personally, believed.
But she was there, wasn’t she?
She will always be there for him.