Crusaders

by Richard T. Kelly

  ‘But God’s revelation was not set down once and for all time. Not even in the tablets of stone. Why? Because we are God’s children. We grow and change, as children do. And God watches us. Do you really imagine that God’s own view of his children doesn’t change just as we change?’

  Gore didn’t bother to check for Barlow’s displeasure. What he did assess, and appreciate, was the keen attention of Pallister.

  ‘If I might digress just for a moment – perhaps you’ll have heard me on the radio recently, or read the column I’ve been doing for the local paper, talking about some matter of politics?’

  Aloud harrumph from the pews – Albert Robinson, ever so easily riled.

  ‘Some say that churchmen shouldn’t get involved in these things. But politics are our daily bread, aren’t they? We can’t escape them even if we wanted to. If God has a purpose for this world, politics must be a part of it. Of course, I don’t pretend to know His purpose. But I do know it’s a matter of what’s right and best for us as humankind. How can politics be free of that?’

  *

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think, Reverend.’

  Gore raised his eyebrows but kept his lips veiled by the rim of his teacup.

  ‘You’re over-busy, you are. Excuse me, but on the bloody radio and all, banging on about them bloody Bosnians …’

  Not your bloody business, Albert, thought Gore. It was annoying, though, that Pallister, next in line for the meet-and-greet, had to witness his being harangued. True, he had got himself exercised at length by Dragan and Dijana, a fretful but pleasant pair of young Orthodox migrants who sought him out for guidance on housing. He had only directed them to the Citizens Advice Bureau, and understood they were to be accommodated in one of the fearful high-rises of the Scotswood Road. But their story had struck him sufficiently as to recount it during another appearance on Chris Carter’s show, and in his occasional column for the Journal.

  ‘I thought you were for us.’

  ‘I am, Albert.’

  ‘I’ll tell you, you’re not – not if you’re on the side of strings being pulled for people who’ve just blown into somewhere and want it all handed them on a plate. You can’t be for everybody.’

  The pensioner waved a snappish hand and turned, nearly clashing into Pallister, at whom he peered with similar contumely before shuffling off. Gore supposed he might just have lost one more punter. He ought then to be working the flagging room, asking after everyone’s health. But Pallister could scarcely be expected to wait, nor did he look minded to. Meanwhile, and rather to Gore’s irritation, Simon Barlow seemed to be circulating purposefully, chortling keenly, giving the glad hand to one and all.

  Pallister whistled through his teeth. ‘Tough crowd you get in, John.’

  ‘Oh, some people, they’ve just got to get their tuppence worth. Thanks for coming, anyway. You didn’t bring your camera crew?’

  ‘Naw, man, I thought you’d have one ready for us.’ He glanced around the sparse hall. ‘No, they weren’t wrong, it’s a job you’ve got on here. You deserve every encouragement.’ He slotted his folded Order of Service into his jacket pocket and rubbed his palms as if removing a sully. ‘Anyway. This was good, thanks, got to shoot off now, pick up my lad for the day.’

  ‘You have a son?’

  ‘I thought I told you. Suzie didn’t mention? I’m nowt but an invoice to her, aren’t I? Look, so what about my offer? Have you had any thoughts?’

  ‘I’m thinking it over, as we said.’

  Pallister crooked a forearm, jabbed at his watch-face. ‘Statute of limitations, mind, eh? C’mon, man. I’ve not got for ever. That forum I told you about? It’s this Thursday. If we’re doing this, I need you there.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you before then.’

  ‘Try and be sharper, eh? I’m not back in London ’til tomorrow night.’

  Into Pallister’s place stepped Mrs Alison Boyle, sighing as she squared loose pages of sheet music needlessly between her hands.

  ‘Is it all okay with you, John? What I’m doing?’

  ‘Fine, sure. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Oh, just you never say, so I wouldn’t know.’

  And off she trotted, point made. As he frowned Gore felt a soft hand on his shoulder. ‘Oh! Lindy.’

  ‘Aye, Lindy. Listen, you. I want a word.’ And she threw a light pretend punch at his arm. Fully decorated this morning, mascara and mauve eye-shadow, fuchsia lips and framboise rouge, little pink clips in her hair. For November it was a summery sort of ensemble, and he noted she didn’t wear a bra either. But then he supposed it was the local custom. She looked nice, for sure, and he knew he ought really to tell her as much.

  ‘John? Are you listening to us?’

  ‘Sorry, can we pop outside?’ He gestured to the door, conscious of his own hush. As he took her arm, he saw Monica throw him a critical glance. Come on, what’s to look at? True, several more able-bodied regulars had already pitched into stacking up the chairs. But the vicar couldn’t do everything – not every Sunday, not on top of the prep and the spadework and the diplomacy. Did he not deserve five minutes’ grace?

  They trotted together down the school corridor in silence, passing the Year Two artboard. He heard her scoff under her breath.

  ‘Ha. Typical. Fanny Blott’s taken all Jake’s pictures off the board.’

  ‘How is Jake? Where is he today?’

  ‘With his auntie. He’s got a bit cold.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  Pushing out of the front doors Gore took in the panorama of the car park. Simon Barlow leaned against his Mondeo, in the startling act of puffing on a cigarette. A few berths further away, big Sharon Price was helping her bent grandmother into the rear seat of a hatchback, the slowness painful to behold. Even she seemed to peer at him without sympathy. He turned to see Lindy kicking her square heels under the legend FAITH HOPE CHARITY.

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Well, yes, what?’

  ‘You wanted to gan outside.’

  ‘Yes but you wanted a word?’

  ‘Aw right, and you don’t?’

  She was shaking her hennaed head in sore wonder. Other parties were starting to trail out of the front doors and past the pair of them – curly Rod Moncur, his usual grin mislaid. No, Gore granted he had not thought this manoeuvre through so very astutely.

  ‘Are we a secret then? You and me?’

  ‘Well, not any more, I doubt. Look.’ He beckoned her a little further hence, closer to the wall. ‘Lindy, I’m not trying to make a fuss, I just think a little discretion is maybe necessary? It’s not – it’s just there are various issues. One is I want to have you more involved in this church, and that will be harder if I’m known to be – involved with you.’

  ‘John, if I’m dead honest? I’m not really bothered about your church. It’s not why I’m here, is it?’

  Gore absorbed this. It seemed quite the day for plain speaking.

  ‘Are you even arsed about us? I mean, do you want to spend time with us?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Look, if we’re being so honest, I was more wondering if you wanted to spend time with me.’

  ‘Well, right enough, you never pick up the phone so you’re probably a wrong ’un.’

  ‘It’s just I’ve got an awful lot on, Lindy.’

  ‘You think I don’t?’

  ‘I don’t mean it like that, it’s more … you’ve got your hours, yes? Your shifts? My commitments are a bit more nebulous. And sort of … continuous. But I do have certain specific times that are free –’

  ‘Like when?’

  ‘And, listen, and those are times I’d gladly spend with you. And Jake.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry there, John, you’re not his daddy.’

  ‘Well, come on, I don’t pretend that, do I?’

  Presenting a mask of hurt seemed to buy Gore a moment to measure his feeling. Why was he letting this slide? Work, yes – his mission, it wore a solitary cast. There again, his
own company also gave him no offence. It did not, at any rate, entail complications of this kind at every turn.

  ‘Okay, so how’s about Tuesday? Can we’s do something Tuesday?’

  ‘Blast. I can’t.’

  ‘You see?’

  ‘Wednesday, but? I’d love to see you then.’

  She swayed. ‘Right then, Wednesday. In the day, aye? You’ll come round to ours?’

  He had earned half a smile, however expensively bought. She offered her lips, and he abandoned caution and brushed them lightly with his own, a hand straying to her hip. Then he watched her wander away, and wondered what they might do to pass the time.

  Barlow was sauntering over, stroking his chin, grinning impiously.

  ‘Girl trouble, John? Blimey. Kiss and make up though, eh?’

  In the teeth of unwanted scrutiny Gore endeavoured to exude only blankness. Barlow chuckled and looked aside. ‘Oops. ’Scuse me for breathing, then. That was old Martin Pallister in there with you, wasn’t it? What got him here?’

  ‘Just being the MP, out for the community. Wants me involved in some project.’

  ‘Oh yeah? What would that be?’

  ‘God knows. It’s written on the wind.’

  Barlow wore the aspect of the ravening hound denied its haunch, but seemed resolved nonetheless to divert his energies. ‘Huh. Anyway. That sort of half worked today, didn’t it? I mean, with the obvious problems.’

  ‘It’s been better. Today was a fall-off. I had some support missing.’

  ‘Yeah, I was hoping to see these bouncers of yours. Nah, you’ve done okay, John. Done it your way. I respect that. We’re different, I know, but we both plough our own furrow, don’t we? You and me? Lone wolves. The diocesan mob up here, they haven’t a clue how to handle me neither.’

  ‘You’re maybe not the easiest man to handle, Simon.’

  ‘Oh, I try to fit in. You don’t hear me moaning about women priests any more, do you? I don’t need the aggravation, it’s a waste of time. And energy.’ He produced his packet of Silk Cut, extended it to Gore. ‘No? It’s the workload’s got me on these. No, seriously. My thing is, I just want to make my point, have it noted, then get on with my job. Working for the gospel on Tyneside.’ He flared up and exhaled. ‘Some causes are lost. There’s always others.’

  Gore glanced behind him. ‘Simon, I ought to head back in.’

  ‘Hang on, no, listen. We ought to talk. I wanted to say – do you remember Gavin Knott? From back at Grey?’

  ‘Gavin. Yeah, I do. Augustine fan. Quiet sort, serious.’

  ‘You didn’t keep in touch though? I thought you two were matey?’

  ‘No, not so much. I know he went to London. Lewisham, I think.’

  ‘He did, yeah, close to a pal of mine. Anyway.’ Barlow sighed.

  ‘The thing is, Gavin, he’s – ah well, the bad news is he’s HIV-positive is what he is.’

  Gore’s hand went to his brow. ‘No. Oh no. That’s awful.’

  ‘Yup. Sad to say.’

  ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’

  ‘This pal of mine. It’s not news yet, but it’s gonna be. Bound to be.’

  The news had dismayed Gore more than he could have anticipated. Casting his mind back now, he was surprised that Knott had ever let himself succumb to an expression of sexuality. His catastrophe then seemed doubly cruel.

  ‘Oh, it’s tragic, yeah. Real tragedy, for him.’ Barlow sighed. ‘But there’s an issue there too. Don’t you think?’

  The amity had slunk out of Barlow’s even gaze, as Gore now supposed it had been bound to. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how else you dress it up, John. We bang on about these things and no one ever listens. It’s just a fact, but. You don’t get up to that sort of thing, and you don’t get diseases that kill you.’

  ‘Is that what you’d say to Gavin?’

  ‘What would you say, John? After all this time? “Sorry, pal”? Look, I didn’t want the poor little sausage to suffer. I didn’t want people like him to ever get in that jam in the first place. You know that, John, I’ve always said it. It’s time to get it out on the table and say “Enough”. Our Church wasn’t meant to be just a refuge for a load of mixed-up gaylords. Sheepish little closet-cases, always saying “Judge not”. All because they’ve got every reason to fear getting judged. This is serious, John. If they won’t go now, it’s time they got shown the door.’

  ‘You mean a witch-hunt.’

  ‘This is a broad church, mate, but there are limits. I mean, what you were saying in there – God changing his mind and all that crap. Near the knuckle, son. I’d half a mind to get up there and clip you one. So, no, I wouldn’t mind the odd heresy trial. It’d weed out the traitors. Shield the faith.’

  Replete with his enemy’s malice, Gore took a deep breath. ‘It’s such a gift you’ve got, Simon, to be so cheery when everything out of your mouth sounds like a threat.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be taking it personal, mate.’

  ‘Why not, mate? You’re stood there all twinkly like you’ve got something up your sleeve to ruin my day and you can’t wait to say it.’

  ‘There’s no secrets with me, John. At least give me that much, I’m clear as day where I stand. Who I stand with. I’ve got my own group up here, we’re two hundred strong. Not some bunch of loons.’ He had drawn closer. Gore could smell that tobacco-breath, and a certain cologne sharp as pine-fresh toilet cleaner. ‘Now, it’s our view that the Church teach its members to abstain from sex outside of matrimony. Or else pay the cost. And, that ministers do likewise. Or else be disciplined. Cos what does Revelation say of Jezebel, John?’

  ‘Simon, I don’t give a –’

  ‘“I have given her time, time to repent of her sin, but she is unwilling. So I will cast her on a bed of suffering. Then all will know I am he who searches hearts and minds, and I will repay according to deed.”’

  ‘If you could only hear how stupid you sound –’

  ‘I hear myself very clear, John. I have listened to my conscience, I have looked into my heart, like a laser I’ve looked, John. And I am content that I live as God wants. Now I’m looking at you, son. And I’m not impressed.’

  Barlow wheeled away and seemed almost to dance the distance back to his Mondeo. The citing of Revelation, Gore supposed, had just made his day.

  *

  Monday morning and he dallied by the bulletin board, carefully apart from where Cliffy stood, woeful, before a clerk’s window. Gore had Kully Gates to thank for this assignment, and though he hadn’t quite mastered the fine print in respect of the new ‘Jobseekers Allowance’, he accepted her view that his presence might be of vague use to Cliffy. He hadn’t seen inside a dole office for a decade either, and the new set-up seemed daunting as well as glum. The carpet was sadly worn, a solitary aspidistra wilted gently by the window to the street. But the security provisions looked very new, new as the navy cable-knit sweater on the burly bored-looking man by the door, whom Gore took to be some sort of bouncer.

  He perused the cards pinned under VACANCIES. ‘Barperson wanted, £3.60 per hour.’ ‘Deputy Manager, Call Centre, £7,300 p.a.’ ‘Catering assistant, £3.20 per hour, 6-day week. Shifts.’ Which of these – he wondered suddenly – might he be moved to try his hand at? If he absolutely had to, were he cast out of his living by Witchfinder Barlow?

  The thought was dispelled by noises from over his shoulder, and he spun. Cliffy was still by the window, but thumping on the counter. Gore darted to the boy’s side. The female clerk had a file cracked open before her.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘How man, I telt you, she won’t let us have me dole.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, are you any relation to Mr Petty?’

  ‘He’s my friend. He belongs to my congregation.’

  ‘Well, as I’ve advised him, his entitlement’s elapsed.’

  ‘I don’t understand, sorry, how can that be?’

  ‘It’s policy, I�
�m afraid. We have to withdraw social security from the claimant for a certain time if instructions have been ignored.’

  ‘What instructions?’

  ‘Mr Petty refused an offer of work without cause.’

  ‘I didn’t get me bastad hair cut.’

  ‘That’s right, a maintenance post at the Telewest Arena. The employer’s conditions were very clear, and I advised Mr Petty there would be a penalty if he chose not to want to satisfy them. He signed a contract.’

  ‘You can’t just say – I mean, he must have another chance.’

  ‘Sir, I’m sorry, you don’t know the whole story. He’s been told umpteen times if he can’t show us evidence he’s been actively seeking work, and that means paper evidence –’

  ‘Aw, piss off then if you think I’m a liar.’

  That, Gore knew, was not a political move.

  ‘Sorry, but if you must shout I’ll have to have you escorted off premises.’

  ‘This is fuckin’ bollocks,’ Cliffy protested, slamming the counter again with his feeble fist. Gore flinched, but he did not suppose the gesture could possibly make matters worse – until the hitherto listless security guard loped toward them. Gore placed a proprietary hand on Cliffy’s shoulder.

  Out in the street, he groped for what might be the paternal response.

  ‘Look, Cliffy, don’t worry, I can check into this for you.’

  ‘What can yee do, man? You’re useless.’

  That stung. ‘Well, look, I do know somebody who might help …’

  He patted his coat pockets. The card was there somewhere, with both office and mobile numbers. And this would be a reasonable test of good faith.

  *

  ‘The problem’s not your little friend. It’s the really useless ones who spoil it for the rest.’ Pallister sighed and leaned back in his swivel chair, at the end of a day that appeared to have told upon him. ‘Frankly, we’re concerned about benefit fraud. You’ll say that’s Tory behaviour, I bet. But it’s got fairly clear to me the state shouldn’t have to fund certain ingrained habits that are basically anti-social. So – you tighten the rules. But, yeah, they do then tighten on everyone. The just and the unjust.’