Grace

by Morris Gleitzman

  It always worked when Miss Parry said it in class. But the warehouse men mustn’t have been fans of that bit in the Bible because they ignored it too. They kept pushing Dad and only stopped when Mrs Benotti from next door came out and threatened to call the police.

  I rushed downstairs, thanking God for giving us such a kind neighbour.

  But when I reached the street, Mrs Benotti had gone indoors and the warehouse men were grabbing Dad again.

  ‘Stop that,’ I shouted.

  I tried to get closer to Dad, but I was grabbed too. Cain got his arm around my chest and I was like a bundle of chaff.

  ‘This is my house, you mongrels,’ Dad shouted. ‘I’ve got a right to see my family.’

  ‘You know you can’t, Gavin,’ said Uncle Vern. ‘You’ve been expelled.’

  Dad stared at Uncle Vern with the expression he always got when an argument was starting.

  ‘Why can’t we just discuss this?’ said Dad. ‘Or is discussing things against the law now? Is there an Anti-Theological-Disputation Act I’ve missed?’

  I silently begged Dad not to use long words. Things always got worse when he used them.

  ‘You know why you’ve been expelled,’ said Uncle Vern in his church elder voice.

  ‘I just want to see my wife,’ shouted Dad, struggling.

  ‘She doesn’t want to see you,’ said Uncle Vern.

  I was shocked to hear my own uncle tell such an evil lie.

  Well that’s what I thought. Until Uncle Vern held his mobile out to Dad, and Dad put it to his ear.

  ‘Deb?’ he said.

  He listened for a while, and then his shoulders slumped and he handed the phone back.

  ‘See?’ said Uncle Vern.

  Talk about gobsmacked.

  I was.

  Totally.

  I couldn’t believe it. Mum would never say she didn’t want to see Dad. There must be a mistake.

  Cain was still gripping me tight but I managed to peer around to try to see where Mum was. There was no sign of her running out of the house to explain that it was all a misunderstanding.

  The warehouse men were leading Dad to a parked car.

  ‘No,’ I screamed.

  Dad said something to them. They both looked at me. Then they brought Dad over.

  Cain let go of me.

  ‘There’s been a mistake,’ I said to Dad. ‘That couldn’t have been Mum on the phone. It must have been somebody putting on a voice.’

  Dad gave me a long hug.

  ‘It’s OK, love,’ he whispered. ‘God will give us the strength to find a way through this. Be strong, and help Mum be strong too.’

  The warehouse men pulled Dad away from me.

  I didn’t understand.

  Why couldn’t Dad tell it was someone putting on a voice?

  ‘I’ll see you clowns in court,’ Dad said to Uncle Vern and the other men. ‘Give you a chance to get acquainted with a couple of the Lord’s more popular inventions. Reason and justice.’

  The warehouse men put Dad in the car and drove off with him.

  Cain didn’t try to grab me again. He could see I wasn’t moving because woe and confusion were upon me and I was having a lot of trouble being strong.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  I ignored him.

  Uncle Vern came over.

  ‘You poor kid,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have to go through that. Why couldn’t he just do what he was told and stay away?’

  I could see Uncle Vern didn’t want an answer, so I ignored him too and hurried indoors.

  There was a question I desperately wanted an answer to.

  What was going on?

  Chapter 10

  I ran into the lounge room.

  Mum was sitting on the settee. Her face was pale and she was holding her Bible so tightly her knuckles were white.

  ‘They’ve taken Dad away,’ I said. ‘There’s been a mistake. Dad thinks you don’t want to see him.’

  I felt bad even saying it. Mum obviously knew there’d been a mistake, that’s why she was looking so miserable. But why hadn’t she come outside to explain?

  ‘There hasn’t been a mistake,’ said Grandpop’s voice.

  I turned round.

  Grandpop was standing just inside the doorway with his arms folded.

  ‘There hasn’t, has there,’ he said to Mum.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Mum didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell Grandpop he was totally wrong. Didn’t tell me everything was going to be OK. Just chewed her lip and kept her hands clenched as if a mega-struggle was going on within her.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening.

  I sat next to her.

  ‘Mum?’ I said, pleading.

  Nannie hurried in and gave Mum a cup of tea. Mum held it as if she didn’t even know it was in her hands.

  ‘We have to go and get Dad back,’ I said to Mum. ‘Or at least try to phone him.’

  Mum looked at me. She tried to say something. But she had so much misery upon her she couldn’t get the words out.

  Grandpop came and stood over us.

  ‘No, Grace,’ he said. ‘We won’t be doing any of that.’

  I stared at him. I stared at Mum. I stared back at Grandpop.

  Nobody was saying anything.

  Nannie started to cry.

  ‘Mum,’ I pleaded. ‘Tell Grandpop. Tell him you want Dad to come back.’

  Mum’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, Grace,’ she said. ‘I do want Dad to come back, but it’s not that simple.’

  Grandpop sat next to me on the settee. I wanted to get up and run, but the room had gone wobbly and I was having trouble breathing, so I stayed there.

  ‘A clever girl like you,’ Grandpop said to me, ‘probably knows how many humans there are on earth.’

  ‘About six billion,’ I said numbly.

  ‘And of those six thousand million souls,’ said Grandpop, ‘how many will go to heaven?’

  I stared at him.

  Cataclysmic woe was upon our family and he wanted to do a Sunday school quiz?

  ‘Eleven thousand four hundred and twenty-two,’ said Grandpop. ‘That’s how many members of our church there are around the world. Less than twelve thousand of us have been chosen by the Lord to dwell with Him. And until that time comes, all God requires is that we obey the rules. Including the one that forbids us to live with outsiders.’

  Grandpop was a very important man, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

  ‘My dad is not an outsider,’ I shouted. ‘So you’re wrong. There are eleven thousand four hundred and twenty-three of us.’

  I sat in front of my bedroom mirror, miserably brushing my hair.

  In our church, if you were female, the longer your hair got, the more devout and obedient the elders thought you were. And they told us how each night when we brushed our hair, we were making our faith stronger.

  Tonight my hair was tangled and I couldn’t even get the brush all the way through it.

  I put my hairbrush down and closed my eyes.

  Grandpop and the other elders must have told Mum it was a sin to want Dad back. If she believed them, what could I do?

  I sat with my face in my hands and for the first time in my life hopelessness was upon me.

  But only for a moment.

  Then I felt the hairbrush moving through my hair in strong, gentle strokes. I looked up. It was Mum. She was standing behind me, brushing out the tangles. She must have come in while I was being depressed.

  ‘There’s something I haven’t told you, love,’ said Mum quietly. ‘The main reason Dad’s been expelled. I didn’t want to worry you, but I can see now you need to know.’

  Mum hesitated and I could see that painful thoughts were upon her.

  She was right, I did need to know.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said.

  Mum took a deep breath.

  ‘Last week,’ she said, ‘Dad mentioned someth
ing in church he shouldn’t have.’

  Mum hesitated again.

  ‘What was it?’ I said.

  ‘For the last few months,’ she said, ‘Dad’s been trying to persuade me to leave the church. With you and the twins. He wants us all to leave the church together.’

  I stared at her, shocked.

  ‘I know,’ said Mum. ‘But poor Dad’s been in torment for a long time. He’s been getting more and more unhappy. He says the church tries to control our lives too much. How we think. And he doesn’t reckon it’s fair on you kids.’

  I struggled to take all this in.

  I could see Dad’s point. But it wasn’t that bad. He and Mum had taught me to think for myself and they’d do that for Mark and Luke too. OK, from now on we’d have to keep our thoughts to ourselves a bit more, but we could manage that.

  Poor Dad. I knew he was trying to do his best for us all, but he didn’t have to go this far. God would be so hurt if we left the church. Plus we’d never be allowed to see our family and friends again.

  I looked at Mum anxiously.

  ‘What about you?’ I said. ‘You don’t want to leave the church, do you?’

  Mum hesitated, but only for a second.

  ‘Our family has been in this church for three generations,’ she said.

  I could tell from her voice how she felt. She didn’t think we should leave the church either.

  I should have felt relieved, but I didn’t. Because now I beheld how bad things were. How hard it would be to get Dad back.

  ‘Is this the reason?’ I said. ‘Why you didn’t want to see Dad tonight?’

  Mum put the hairbrush down.

  ‘Try to understand, love,’ she said. ‘The church needs to punish Dad and I have to go along with that.’

  I opened my mouth to tell her she didn’t, but Mum gently put her fingers on my lips.

  ‘It’s for Dad’s sake,’ she said. ‘If we let the elders do their punishment, there’s a better chance they’ll let Dad back in later. And I want that as much as you do, Grace.’

  I thought about this.

  Then I put my arms round Mum’s waist and hugged her.

  How could I ever have doubted her?

  Instead of getting depressed, I should have been thinking of ways I could help get Dad back.

  Chapter 11

  In bed I talked to God for a long time.

  I told Him I forgave Grandpop for his mean maths, because I knew poor Grandpop was just scared that having Dad around would stop us all getting into heaven.

  ‘As if,’ I said to God.

  I told Him Mum didn’t need to be forgiven, because she was doing what she thought was best for Dad. And because Grandpop had been a really strict father when she was little. I knew God would understand how hard it is to stand up to a parent you’re scared of, even though like me He’d never actually had the experience himself.

  ‘We’re lucky,’ I said to God.

  I thanked Him for helping me work out a way of getting Dad back. It was a simple plan. I was going to find Dad and beg him to stop getting into arguments in church and persuade him to be meek and obedient so the elders would allow him back in.

  ‘Thanks heaps,’ I said to God.

  Finally I told God I was going to do my best to be meek and obedient myself in future so our family would never be in trouble with the elders again. But first I was going to have to break a few church rules to find Dad and for that I apologised in advance.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said to God. ‘I hope you understand.’

  It was very late when I finished talking to God.

  But I still had lots to do.

  I reached under my bed and slid out the cordless phone I’d hidden there. I took the phone book from under my pillow, pulled the covers over my head, and dialled.

  Finding Dad wasn’t as simple as I’d hoped.

  When you start ringing all the hotels in the phone book at 2am in a kid’s voice and asking them if they’re four star, a lot of them won’t tell you. And even the nice ones get a bit grumpy when you ask for a person who’s not even staying there.

  ‘Gavin Hillgrove,’ I whispered to yet another hotel.

  ‘You’ll have to speak up,’ said the cross voice at the other end.

  Before I could explain that I had to keep my voice low on account of the large number of people sleeping on camp beds at our place tonight, the covers were pulled off me and the phone was snatched from my hand.

  I blinked in the glare from my bedside lamp.

  Uncle Vern was standing there with the phone to his ear.

  ‘It’s the Hilton,’ I said.

  Uncle Vern hung up.

  ‘So, Grace,’ he said. ‘Would you like a drink? Something to eat?’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ I said.

  Uncle Vern nodded for a while.

  ‘You’re going to be a much happier girl,’ he said, ‘if you can manage to do one very difficult thing. Pretend your dad’s dead. I know it’s painful. I feel terribly sad too. We’ll all be grieving for a long time. But it’s what we have to do.’

  I thought about this.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ I said.

  Uncle Vern frowned. I hoped he wasn’t getting another headache.

  ‘OK,’ he said gently. ‘Think of it like this. Your dad’s a plane that has tragically crashed. The plane is lost. It can’t be found. It’s gone.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  Uncle Vern stood looking at me for a while.

  ‘Any time you need to talk to me, you can,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  He turned off the light and went out with the phone.

  I lay awake, thinking.

  Uncle Vern was wrong. Dad wasn’t lost. He just needed to be found.

  Next day at school I asked Delilah to help me.

  ‘Ring up hotels?’ said Delilah, horrified. ‘In the outside world? I so can’t do that. Unsaved sinners sleep in those places. Other ones answer the phones. That is so unfair of you to ask.’

  ‘Just a few,’ I begged. ‘I can’t ring them all myself. It’ll take too long.’

  Delilah made me sit down in a quiet corner of the lunch room. She put her arm round me.

  ‘I’m mega-sad for you about your dad,’ she said. ‘I mean you must so deserve it in God’s eyes, but I’m still sad for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  With Delilah it was best to appreciate the good bits and ignore the rest.

  ‘I want you to know,’ said Delilah, ‘that my dad is always available for a lend. You know, for birthday parties and leaking roofs and stuff.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said again.

  She really was a good friend.

  ‘I appreciate the offer,’ I said, ‘but I won’t need your dad, because I’ve got one of my own.’

  Delilah rolled her eyes.

  ‘Grace,’ she said. ‘I’m serious, you are so going to be judged if you carry on like this.’

  Miss Parry wished she could help.

  ‘From the bottom of my heart, Grace,’ she said as we sat in a quiet corner of the staff room.

  I could see she did.

  I could also see something was stopping her.

  ‘I’d lose my job,’ she said quietly. ‘If the elders caught me going against their wishes, I’d be expelled like your poor father.’

  Miss Parry looked so miserable I wanted to give her a hug. I hesitated in case there was a rule against it. Then I hugged her anyway. I’d already apologised to God for any rules I broke.

  Miss Parry hugged me back.

  ‘Dear Grace,’ she said. ‘I pray you get the strength you need and the happiness you deserve.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Parry,’ I said.

  She glanced around to make sure we couldn’t be heard.

  ‘Also,’ she said, ‘there’s not much point ringing hotels now. If your dad was just booked in for one night, he’ll have moved on.’

  I hadn’t thought of that.
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  I sighed.

  I needed help, but I didn’t know who else to ask. It was all very well relying on your family for help, but what could you do if they were the thing you needed help with?

  ‘Uncle Vern reckons Dad is a crashed plane,’ I said to Miss Parry. ‘Lost forever.’

  ‘Not necessarily lost forever,’ said Miss Parry. ‘They often find crashed planes. It’s just that they’re hard to salvage.’

  I stared at her.

  That word she’d just used. Salvage. I’d seen that word somewhere. I tried to think exactly where. I urgently needed to know, because suddenly I was determined to prove Uncle Vern wrong.

  Dad wasn’t a crashed plane.

  There was hope of salvage.

  It took a while, but finally I remembered.

  Chapter 12

  I’d never been on a train before and talk about stressed, my guts felt more mangled than those two fish Jesus fed five thousand people with.

  But as we clattered along the tracks through suburbs I’d never even heard of, I felt very grateful to be there.

  Silently I thanked God for the encouragement. I did the same to Miss Parry, who’d been so kind and had explained how trains worked.

  ‘It’s for a project, right?’ she’d said, and had gone straight on with details of the ticketing system and platform signs before I had a chance to commit the sin of lying.

  ‘Be brave,’ she said as I left.

  Now, jammed in a train carriage, I knew why.

  Rush hour travel was terrifying. I’d never been squashed up close to outsiders before.

  Their rude magazines were quite interesting, but their mouths were full of swear words and greasy breakfasts were upon them.

  I reminded myself they were people just like me. Some of them looked almost as stressed as I was. I wondered if any of them had snuck out of the house at 6am to try and salvage their dads and were worrying about what their Mum and Nannie and Grandpop would say.

  Probably not.

  ‘Cheer up, love,’ said a big man with a shopping bag and a bumpy chin. He winked at me. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

  I hoped he was right.

  And things did improve.

  The more stations we stopped at, the more people got off, and after a while I could actually get to my school backpack and pull out the address of Denny’s Salvage.