by I Beacham
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through or the nightmares that haunt you. What I read fills me with fear, and I’m over here, thousands of miles away, safe in rural sleepy England.”
Joey’s arms tightened around Sam as she spoke.
“I thought I was above it all, Sam. I thought I was invincible and that nothing would happen…not to me, or to anyone with me. But it did. And it’s shattered my world. I’m scared shitless. I’m scared to be what I was before, in case this happens again.”
Sam wanted to tell her that was unlikely, but Joey spoke first.
“I know, I know. It’s unlikely to happen to me again, but it doesn’t stop the fear. And I’m ashamed.”
“Why?” Sam whispered.
“I’m ashamed because I shouldn’t be like this. I’m an investigative journalist. It’s my job, my career. It’s something I’ve done all my working life. I’m supposed to be tenacious, indomitable, and relentless in the search for revelation, and for truth. Not cowering away like this.”
“You’ve been traumatized. You’ve lost your confidence.”
“I’ve lost faith in myself, Sam. I’ve lost my belief. Without that, I’m nothing.”
Sam rose from the motorbike, turned around, and sat down again facing her. She took her hands back into hers.
“I fear being successful.” Joey paused. “When I went back to work, they put me in front of the camera again. It was easy stuff for me, but I kept breaking down. It was almost a deliberate thing, like I wanted to fail.”
“Why do you think you did that?”
“So the wonderful Josephine Barry won’t be expected to go back out there. They wanted me to.” Joey stared hard at Sam. “You must think I’m a coward.”
“I don’t. It takes guts to have done what you have. But bravery isn’t a bottomless pit.” Sam shook Joey’s hands, lightened her voice, and smiled. “If you were a believer, this is the part where I tell you that God does not give us the power to think and rationalize for nothing.”
“I lost my friends, Sam, all of them. I was the only one that got out. They were murdered.”
“Yes, they were, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my fault. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Sam saw survivor’s guilt on Joey’s face. She also saw a barrier descend and watched as Joey distanced herself from the memories. Sam wouldn’t push.
“It feels like there’s a liquid inside me, Sam, that is sloshing around violently. I can’t control it and it’s hitting the sides all the time, knocking me around.”
“Then stop moving. Stand still and stop setting yourself standards. Be kind to yourself and give it time. Liquid settles and finds its level. Don’t fight it.”
Unexpectedly, Joey smiled. “You have a very calming influence.”
“That’s because I’m a vicar. It’s what we do.” Sam rubbed Joey’s hands “None of us are as strong as we make out…as we’d like to be.”
“You are.”
Sam laughed and shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“Well, you look it.”
“Inside I’m crying,” Sam said.
Joey looked as if she wanted to hear more, but Sam thought it hardly the time. “A conversation for another day,” she said. She gave Joey’s hands a squeeze. As she did so, for an infinitesimal moment, a look passed between them. Whatever it was, it was mutual and they both grew self-conscious and suddenly ill at ease in such close proximity.
Sam distanced herself and hopped off the motorcycle.
“When will you test the bike?” Joey remained seated.
“I can’t today, no time. But maybe tomorrow, after Sunday service.”
“You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”
Sam was shocked. “I’m not testing her without you. Are you free? Say, about twelve thirty? I don’t have evening prayers until after six. We could ride out somewhere and have lunch.”
Joey wasn’t playing the organ tomorrow; Maude was back in town. She had no arrangements. A bike trip would be fun.
“What if it breaks down?” she asked.
“It won’t. I have faith.” Sam grinned. “But if it does, we’ll have a long walk home.”
“I’ll put my walking shoes on.”
Sam stepped back and trod on something.
“Oh, not good.” She bent down and picked something up. It was a bolt. A bright shiny new bolt.
Joey and Sam shared a glance.
“Call me suspicious, but isn’t that supposed to be in the bike somewhere?” Joey said.
Sam took a deep breath. “Well, it isn’t now, and I’m not going back into the casing.” She studied it before handing it over to Joey. “Here, put this in your pocket. It’s your lucky bolt. Keep it on you.”
“A lucky bolt? Isn’t it supposed to be a rabbit’s foot?”
“Dare to be different.”
Joey placed the unused bolt into her pocket. “I’ll treasure it.”
The earlier embarrassment forgotten, Joey eventually left leaving Sam to prepare for evening service.
Sam tidied the tools up. As she did, her mind was awash with conflicting thoughts.
She didn’t doubt that Joey was traumatized by what had happened on the Syrian border. She didn’t doubt she was drowning in guilt and suffering from PTSD. That was all to be expected. But Joey seemed too intent on blaming herself for the death of her colleagues. The fact was the rebels had fired on them and all but Joey had died. Those actions had not been Joey’s to control. Sam wasn’t sure why, but she sensed there was something else that plagued Joey. Right or wrong, Sam wanted to help. All she could do was wait, be patient, and listen.
The second issue on her mind was more complicated.
Sam knew Joey was a lesbian before she’d told her. She’d read it on the Internet. Joey hadn’t lied when she said she didn’t hide who she was. The consequences of that had been some particularly nasty and vitriolic discussion on social media from the loony squad about God’s retribution on homosexuals and lesbians. It had enraged Sam, and even more when some of it was written by so-called ministers of the church. That certainly answered part of why Sam was keen to be with Joey, to protect and help her. But it didn’t answer what had made her invite her back so quickly in the beginning. And why was it she heard Louise’s voice in the background whenever Joey was around?
*
Joey wasn’t lying when she told Sam she had problems sleeping.
When she managed to fall asleep, she had nightmares.
She would be back near the Syrian border and often inside the cramped cabinet under the sink. There was always something menacing and faceless hovering nearby that would fill her so full of fear, she would wake gasping for breath and terrified.
When she was awake, the slightest sound, word, or smell could bring intrusive, upsetting memories that played on her mind like an infection that would not go away.
She took to wandering around her apartment at night, grateful she was no longer at Auntie Elsa’s where she would disturb and worry her.
A surprising highlight in her life was the job with Stallion Film Productions. She hadn’t wanted to come here, but everything was working out well. It seemed they were impressed with her experience and knowledge. They liked her take on issues and her ideas for documentary angles. As much as she could, she was able to relax. No one demanded she stand in front of a camera. She was firmly a “behind the scenes” specialist.
Her work colleagues were nice too. They knew what had happened to her, but she never felt it was an issue—that people were watching her, looking for the cracks like they had back home. If stress reared its head with any of them—the BBC had demanding and tight deadlines—their answer was always a pot of therapeutic tea, then back to the grindstone.
It was three in the morning as she looked out her sitting room window. Her apartment was in an urban, built-up area, and by day, the view was unappealing. At night however, as she looked down the street and at
the line of parked cars below, life seemed different. Nothing moved, and everywhere was lit by tall streetlamps that gave off a strange green hue. Their light made the place seem different, as if the quiet, unassuming road before her might lead to a mythical land, another world.
She shivered. It was summer, but the nights were cool.
She rubbed her hands and thought of Sam yesterday on the motorbike.
Sam had held her hands.
Joey stared at them now as if there was still some visible residue of where Sam had touched her. She remembered the softness of her hands and their warmth. Was she overreacting, making a song and dance about it? It was a small matter, but to have such physical connection with another human being—it had been too long. Always before, it had been there, but when she’d needed it most, it wasn’t.
Before she went to Balshir, she never wanted for female company. They lined up. When she came back, they were still there. But after she started to fall apart, when she broke down on live national television and the press discussed her “mental state,” they dropped away like autumn leaves. Suddenly, they were sorry, they were busy. Hadn’t they mentioned they would be out of town—for months? If they saw her out, they diverted their eyes and pretended not to see her.
Josephine Barry was no longer the person to be seen with—the journalist who held an impressive array of awards and honorary doctorates. Now she was an embarrassment.
Joey was getting a painful, late lesson in life. You get out of life what you put in. She would go through women like a kid through a bag of jelly beans. Now when she needed someone, anyone, in her life, no one was there.
Maybe it was because her professional life consumed everything she did, leaving her with little time for real relationships. Maybe it was because she was shallow. Whatever the answer, it hadn’t mattered before Syria. Somehow the lack of correlation had produced balance. But now her career was in tatters, the stability was gone, and she swayed in the air like untethered rope in the wind.
For once in her life, she was lonely. There was no one to turn to except family. They were there for her and tried to protect her, but it only made her feel smothered. Now she was a stranger in a strange land. And yet she was beginning to feel at home.
She knew it had much to do with Sam.
The enigmatic Reverend Samantha Savage was in her life. A denim wearing, occasional cursing vicar with a huge passion for motorbikes, and lost souls. She wondered if that was why Sam bothered with her. In her vocation, she was privy to all kinds of private information, encountering people with every sort of issue. Joey was no different. She was someone with an issue right now. Sam’s professional sensitivity picked up on that almost immediately. Joey was probably just another person on Sam’s list of “things to do, people to sort.”
She hoped it was more than that. She liked Sam very much. Joey connected with her and found her a comforting influence; she was quieter and calmer when she was in Sam’s company. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that Sam was a vicar first and foremost. Her natural concern and benevolence was built into her job.
But it didn’t matter to Joey. Not really. Someone—someone nice—was bothering to get to know her, include her in their life, and listen. Sam really listened and heard the subtext. She was also non-judgmental. Joey was sick of those back home who labeled her and never hesitated to tell her she’d brought everything down on herself because of her lifestyle. No one seemed to care about people’s personal lives over here.
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered as she looked at the clock on the sideboard. It was after three thirty. She needed to try to get some sleep. She had something to look forward to. Sam was picking her up for lunch, and they were going for a bike ride. Joey started to smile. Maybe her excitement would chase away her guilt and the nightmares would leave her alone for once.
She ambled back to bed.
Chapter Six
“Let’s go for a spin,” Sam said.
She was sitting on her bike outside Joey’s apartment as she threw her a helmet. Joey caught it with the seasoned panache of an England fielding cricketer.
God forgive her, but Sam had prayed all morning that her two Sunday services would pass quickly and without the usual string of parishioners waiting afterward to chat. Her prayers were answered. Not a single person approached her, and she’d left church in record time, getting home to change and fire up the motorbike.
Sam was in high spirits. She wanted to test the bike out and see if the recent irritating problems were resolved. But more, she was looking forward to spending time with Joey. Her bonhomie had peaked when Joey had approached her waving. Sam didn’t miss the surge of pleasure that crossed Joey’s face. She was excited too. Sam found herself hoping that the emotion was more for her than the joy of a bike ride on a hot sunny day.
Joey climbed on behind her.
“We’re going Bridgnorth way,” Sam said through the lifted visor. “I know a great place for lunch.”
She dropped the dark plastic back down over her face.
Then they were off.
Sam took it easy until they were out of town. Once onto the longer country roads, the biker demon took over. With a flick of her hand, she increased speed and heard the corresponding power kick in beneath her. She felt Joey behind her, closeup, like she had been in the kitchen. Her arms were wrapped tight around her waist, and something deep inside Sam warmed.
It didn’t take her long to realize Joey was no newcomer to biking. She’d said she’d ridden with her father a lot. It showed. As Sam veered left on a tight corner, so did Joey. The two of them were like liquid fusion.
The sun glittered through a copse of trees in the distance as they passed Shatterford and Bellman’s Cross. They rode past the old wood mill to the left and a fancy home that had once been a school hall. The road forked, and Sam turned right and up the sloping hill. At the top, she could see the country pub she was heading for in the distance. She increased speed again, wanting to put the bike through its paces. She dared the bike to let her down. But nothing fell off. Nothing went clank. No engine power loss. All the old signs of misery were missing. Another of Sam’s prayers might have been answered.
The pub grew larger and Sam finally came to a halt under a large oak tree in the parking lot. Shade was a necessity on a hot day like today. She removed her helmet before alighting.
Joey’s was already off and she was shaking her long hair loose. As she ran her fingers through her locks, Sam’s breath caught and something inside her tingled. Joey was throwing her head back and actually laughing.
“God, that was exhilarating. I’ve missed rides like this.” She set her blue eyes on Sam. “And you, you’re an accomplished rider. I loved every minute of that.”
Sam wasn’t used to such praise. She hid her pride with humor.
“Translated…I didn’t fall off.”
Joey bowed her head graciously. “Not even close.”
Sam patted her on the arm in a friendly gesture, nudging her into the pub before her own head grew too large to get through the door.
“Do you think we’ve fixed her?” Joey said.
“She sounds good. The test will come when we leave. I see you have your walking shoes on.”
“I never take chances.”
“All the kicking on the planet won’t start her if we’ve failed. Let’s get a drink and order. We may need the sustenance.”
The drinks were barely in their hands when Joey said, “Yesterday, you said you’re crying inside.”
“I did?”
“You did. It was when I asked if you had issues.”
“It was only a figure of speech.” Sam tried to make nothing of it.
“It was said with meaning.”
“It wasn’t anything important.” They’d only just arrived and Joey was straight into the serious stuff.
“It’s important. I heard it in your voice.” Joey wasn’t going to let this drop.
Sam sighed. “I haven’t even si
pped my drink and you’re into this like an attack ferret.”
“Forget at your peril that you’re dining with an investigative journalist. I don’t hang around. I like to get straight to the point.”
Sam nodded. “How could I forget?”
They moved outside to a rectangular picnic table and back into the sunshine.
Sam didn’t want to bleat, but Joey was persistent.
“If you really must know, I have no church treasurer. The last incumbent left some months ago, and I’ve been doing the job since. It’s a big enough task at the best of times, but now? You might have noticed that I have an impressive church with no roof. I have no money at this time for repairing the roof so I’m also spearheading the appeal. I’m also down one curate so there’s no one to assist me in my admin, pastoral, and liturgical responsibilities. I’m actually supposed to have two given the size of the parish. Sorry you asked?”
Joey shook her head so Sam continued.
“What I do have is a growing congregation with increasing needs. I have builders in my church at all hours. I have dust everywhere, and I have woodworm. I have one particular vicar who gives me nothing but issues. We clash. And finally, I have a phone that rings off the hook and I think I’m going mad.”
“But apart from that everything’s fine,” Joey responded dryly.
Sam smiled.
“I guess it’s the recession and the church is not immune. They need us to do more with less. The powers that be seem to forget we’re human too. When I started at St. Mary’s I was given a large geographical area with a sizable population. Now that parish is half the size again, and with increased responsibility. There are times I meet myself coming back from places. I hate moaning, but things get depressing sometimes.” Sam took a long drink. “But I have a wonderful team of willing volunteers, and for that I’m grateful. But they’re not permanent and they can’t baptize, marry, or bury people, or administer to religious needs.”
Sam gave a throaty groan. “Oh, and as of this morning, Maude, my organist, has given me one month’s notice. She says she’s too old to do this anymore.”
