The Name I Call Myself

by Beth Moran

  Where are you?

  Work

  It’s Tuesday! Marriage prep. Last one! You promised to be here.

  There was a three-minute wait before my phone whistled a reply:

  Sorry. Forgot. I’ll be done in half an hour.

  I hurried out into the foyer and phoned him.

  “Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I’ve just got to wrap this contract up. I’ll be there in an hour, tops.”

  “It’ll be finished in an hour. You promised you’d be here.”

  “I know, I really am sorry. How about I pick you up and we can do the questions at mine? I’ll order some food. Light candles. Put on some music. I’d prefer to spend our first evening together in two weeks alone, not in a crowded church hall.”

  “We have to attend the course if we’re going to get married here, Perry. You know that. This could mess up our plans.” I leaned against a radiator and closed my eyes.

  “Your plans.”

  “What?” I stood up again.

  “That church is your plan, not mine. I’ve contributed no plans to this wedding whatsoever. Just the money. Which I earn by staying late some nights and getting three point four million pound contracts done. I’m sorry if I don’t have time at this exact moment to talk about which one of us should empty the bin, discuss our non-existent sex life or what makes you feel loved. I’ll see you later.”

  He hung up. Stung, and slightly shocked, I said into the phone, “Actually, I feel loved if you turn up when you say you will and follow through on your promises. Maybe instead we can discuss whether this whole marriage thing is a great big, ugly, expensive mistake.”

  Jamming my phone back into my bag, I glanced up to see Dylan standing a couple of metres away from me, head down, hands in his jean pockets.

  Crackling with humiliation, I hurried past him, in the direction of the toilets. As I reached his shoulder, he lifted his head and looked right at me. His eyes were like I’d never seen before. As though a storm – a tornado – raged in their depths.

  I locked myself in the ladies’ room, squeezed my eyes shut tight, and kicked the toilet a few times, bruising my toe on the porcelain.

  “Right, Faith. Pull yourself together. It’s a spat. Every couple has them. And you’ve been in way more humiliating situations than this in the past few months. Who cares what Dylan thinks?”

  I took a deep breath, checked my flies were done up, poked my head around the door to make sure Dylan had gone, and marched back to the marriage course, dialling it back to a breezy saunter once inside the room.

  “Right.” Zoe, the lovely course leader, smiled. “I’m pleased to welcome Dylan, who you’ve all met, to the final part of our course.”

  Right, of course Dylan is here. Where else would he be?

  “Now, in a few minutes Dylan’s going to run through some of the practicalities of your wedding day, and give you the chance to ask any questions. But before that, we have a final exercise to round off the course. Are you all sitting nice and close to your partners?”

  Of course the in-love, blissful, happy couples who kept their promises and turned up when they said they would were sat together, as close as they could get away with, considering we were in the house of God.

  “Ah. Is Perry not going to make it, Faith?”

  The other couples untangled themselves enough to turn and peer at me, sitting bolt upright in my chair near the back.

  “He got caught up at work. When he picks me up, we’ll go through everything together. I’ve been making notes for him.” I waved my notepad, fast enough that no one could read my sprawling message to Perry, which included my opinion of his late-night money making, and where exactly he could stick his gazillion, gatrillion pound contract. “You work away; don’t worry about me.”

  Gavin, who generally remained silent until Zoe nudged him, frowned.

  “Well, we can’t have you sat there on your own. The whole point is you articulate your feelings.”

  “It’s fine. Like I said, we’ll do it later.”

  “Why don’t you work with Dylan for now? I’m sure he’d be happy to stand in.”

  I shrivelled up in my seat, stealing a look over my shoulder at where Dylan stood, leaning against the back wall. He did not look happy to stand in. Arms folded, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, he looked like a pirate facing down a flotilla of the British navy.

  “What do you think, Dylan?” Gavin asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on now!” Zoe laughed. “It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he practically growled.

  Zoe put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be silly. It’s just an exercise. You don’t have to pretend to be Perry, just help Faith think through the questions.”

  His scowl, if possible, intensified.

  “It’s fine,” I said, trying to press myself as deeply as possible into the chair fabric. “I can sit here and think about them by myself. I don’t mind. Or, or maybe I should just go?”

  “You can’t go!” Zoe slapped Gavin on the arm.

  He coughed. “No. You can’t go. Isn’t Perry picking you up?”

  “And?” Zoe said.

  “And we haven’t given out the gifts yet. Please stay.”

  I looked down, feeling the eyes of the class on me. Well, nearly all of them.

  Zoe sung out, “Allie and Tom, please save it for after Dylan says, ‘You may now kiss the bride’!”

  A sheepish Allie and Tom unlocked lips.

  “Look, I’ll just sit here. It’s fine. I can go over my notes.”

  I opened my course workbook and began reading it furiously, pointedly ignoring the angry bear behind me in the corner.

  “What does it say then?”

  I rolled up my eyes to see him pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards, leaning his arms across the top.

  “You don’t have to do this.” I flapped my hand at the book weakly.

  He leaned his head forwards in one fluid motion that betrayed something of the energy contained.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, running his fingers through his mop of hair, a sure sign he felt awkward.

  “Then don’t. I said, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. You look like the girl at the party nobody asked to dance, reading a book in the corner and trying to pretend she doesn’t care.” He squinted at me, the storm clouds in his irises dissipating. “You weren’t that girl, were you?”

  “I didn’t go to many parties.”

  “Well, I went to a few. And I could never leave her sitting there. Even if I did get grief for it later.”

  “Grief? From who?” I asked.

  “From my mates, who couldn’t believe I always asked the least popular girl to dance. From the girls, one of whom developed a terrifying obsession about me. From Jennifer Jones, who I actually wanted to dance with for about three years.” He shook his head, sorrowfully. “She wouldn’t look at me because I chose another girl over her.”

  “So you were always this noble, even in your wilder days? Rescuing the damsels in distress?”

  “I was. I can’t help myself. Ask me the first question.”

  Rattled by his presence, I gabbled out the question without thinking. “What are the three things you love most about your partner?” A rush of prickly heat engulfed my neck and chest.

  Dylan didn’t pause. “You’re incredibly brave. And make a mean turkey pie at a moment’s notice. You’re the kind of inside and out beautiful that makes men want to forget everything that matters and go on some crazy quest to conquer the world, just to lay it at your feet.”

  Oh my. I gaped at him. Utterly undone.

  He smiled and shrugged, resting his chin on folded arms, still on the back of the chair. For a moment I had a sudden fantasy this might be real – that I was here on the marriage course with Dylan, preparing to spend the rest of my life with him – kind and gallant, and who rescued lonely, unloved girls who didn’t feel beautiful
.

  “Your turn.”

  I tried to get the cogs in my brain turning again. “The three things I love most about you?”

  He raised one eyebrow at me and said nothing, but I caught the faint flush of pink rise up his cheeks.

  “Perry! Of course, Perry. The things I love about Perry. My fiancé. I knew that. I’m a little bit flustered. You were answering as Perry. I knew that. Obviously. Perry. Right. What was the question again?”

  Rescued lonely girls, even though he didn’t really want to dance with them. Get a grip, Faith.

  “That’s it! What do I love most about Perry? Well. I love that Perry, um, likes to take care of me…”

  Dylan narrowed his eyes. He was right. I didn’t especially like being taken care of.

  “And he makes me laugh. And, well, if I’m honest I don’t know what I’d do without him. Does that count?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Dylan stood up so fast he had to grab the chair to stop it tipping over. He shook his head, lowering his voice so I could barely catch it. “You were right. This was a stupid idea.”

  He strode over to Gavin and Zoe, smiling at them and saying something too quiet for me to hear. After nodding at the clock on the wall, Zoe clapped her hands to regain our attention and we moved on.

  After a brief talk from Dylan, and a short “Q and A” session, Dylan made a hasty exit, and Zoe and Gavin closed the marriage course by giving out gifts to each of the couples, and me, then praying for us. Their prayer for me included requests regarding Perry’s work–life balance, valuing our commitments to one another, and making wise decisions. Gavin then asked God to make sure Perry turned up on time for the wedding. Everybody laughed, so I guess he meant it as a joke, but I’d never heard anyone make a joke prayer before. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Those prayers about lifelong commitments, giving ourselves to each other, being devoted and loving each other more and more every year, and becoming as one. Really? I mean, really? I didn’t know a single couple like that. Except for Zoe and Gavin, who were now gazing at each other as they reminisced about their forty-odd years as one.

  Class dismissed, the others giggled and smooched their way into the night, while I stayed behind and helped stack chairs and wash mugs. Relieved the mortification was over, I still felt sort of sorry to leave. I liked Zoe and Gavin. I liked coming to Grace Chapel’s easy peace the first Tuesday of every month. I liked it when they prayed for me and the easy peace nestled round my shoulders and came home with me for a while.

  I did not like waiting half an hour after the class had finished for Perry to pick me up.

  Not wanting to seem like a nag, or as if I suspected I’d been forgotten by my husband to be, definitely not wanting to be the first to call after Perry had hung up on me, I loitered for another fifteen minutes until Zoe and Gavin were packed up, coats on and ready to leave.

  “Have you rung him, checked he’s on his way?” Zoe asked.

  “It’s fine, he’ll be here in a few minutes. You go. I’ll wait in the car park.”

  “You can’t do that! It’s bucketing down. We’d give you a lift, but we don’t have a car. And then when Perry comes to get you, he’ll think you’ve run off with someone else! Or been abducted!”

  Zoe and Gavin laughed as one.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind the rain.”

  “Well, at least let me get you an umbrella; there’s a spare one in the kitchen.”

  As she went to fetch it, the office phone rang.

  “I’d better get that. Maybe it’s Perry.” Gavin went into the office and spoke briefly to whoever it was, coming out again just as Zoe returned, brandishing a purple Peppa Pig umbrella. “Here we go.”

  She handed it to me, taking the opportunity to give me a hug at the same time. “God bless you, Faith. And that man of yours. It’s been lovely getting to know you. Just leave the brolly propped up by the door when you’re done.” Pulling back, she took Gavin’s hand as they walked me out. “All right, Gavin? Why were you sneaking about in the office?”

  “The phone rang.”

  He opened the door to let me and Zoe out, as we braced ourselves against the wet wind attempting to blow us back in again.

  “Who’s calling at this time?”

  “Nothing important.” They began to hurry down the steps, while I stayed huddled beneath the overhang of the roof. “Just that bloke again, asking about a redhead called Rachel.”

  “Well, I think the only redhead who comes here is Faith.”

  “I told him that.”

  “Right. Bye Faith!”

  They disappeared into the stormy night, just about the same time the world shattered inside my skull.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I stood frozen, a deer in headlights, panic running through my veins like a stampeding herd of buffalo. When I finally managed to steady my hands enough to phone Perry, it rang straight through to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.

  “Okay. No need to panic. He’s not phoning the chapel if he’s hiding round the corner, is he? Lurking behind that bin over there, or in the shadow of that massive, creepy tree. Argh! Stop scaring yourself and think of a plan to get home. Or at least out of the rain until Perry turns up.”

  I ran through my options. Out loud. It helped drown out the sound of my terror.

  “One. Phone Perry. No, tried that. Two. Phone a taxi. Only there aren’t any taxis for miles. And I haven’t got any money. Three. Phone a friend. Ooh yes. I have some friends now. How about Marilyn? No. The twins’ll be asleep and Polly’s gone to stay with her parents. Who else?”

  I thought about the other choir members, but the few I knew best had no transport, or had to get up early in the morning, or, let’s face it, weren’t the level of friend I could call up at eleven o’clock at night to pick me up, ferry me six miles through a storm, and then drive home again. Even if I did have any of their numbers, which I didn’t.

  Yes, there was option four. Someone who happened to live in the manse right behind the church where he worked.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not after the weirdness of the evening, pretending to be on a marriage course together, with the new, growly, pirate Dylan, and the you’re so beautiful I would die for you thing. The way that thing made my newfound resolve melt, along with my insides, I could not turn up on his doorstep, sopping wet, and beg for his help once again because Perry had let me down.

  I would rather fight off Kane with the Peppa Pig umbrella.

  Come on, Peppa, we’re tough stuff. We can do it!

  I huddled against the door, wishing, hoping, praying Perry had not forgotten me. The longer I waited, the worse it would be if I did knock on Dylan’s door. What if he had gone to bed?

  Enough! I’m walking home. So I get a little wet? What’s the worst that could happen?

  My rational self gave my ridiculous, mixed-up, more-scared-of-knocking-on-Dylan’s-door-than-a-murderer-on-the-prowl self a mental slap around the chops. It’s dark, and raining, and the footpaths will be a bog. Remember the camping hike. You could actually die if you try to walk home. Kane won’t need to come and find you. Your own stupid pride will do the job for him.

  I stopped for a minute at the bottom of the steps, an enormous puddle lapping at my ankle boots, and wrestled with common sense.

  What if I catch the flu again?

  Furious at Perry, the storm, Dylan, marriage classes, my ugly past and confusing future, and of course mostly myself, I kicked a nearby lemonade can against the metal gate securing the far side of the chapel from the car park. Once wasn’t enough, so I kicked it a few more times. Then I used a tissue from my bag to pick it up and deposit it in the recycling bin.

  Ducking my head into the rain, wielding Peppa Pig in one hand, and using the pathetic glow from my cheapo phone as a torch in the other, I began making my way along the side of the building, in the direction of home. I crept towards the end of the wall. Heart hammering. Eyes straining. Feet squelching.

  Sudd
enly, someone burst around the corner and, with no time to alter course, slammed into my chest, pitching me stumbling backwards.

  I landed with an oomph in a stream of gravelly water, the umbrella and phone clattering to the ground as I instinctively reached back to protect my fall. All light now extinguished, I sensed as much as saw the person who’d knocked me over looming over me. Scrabbling for the umbrella, I sucked in as much air as my petrified lungs could muster and screamed.

  Whew. I could scream. Somewhere behind the paralysing, hysterical fear, I impressed myself. And as the long seconds – one drawn-out, endless, Munch-type scream – passed, and my brain began to slowly unscramble, I knew that if what loomed over me was indeed the monster of my nightmares, the best thing to do in this village chapel car park was to make as much noise as possible.

  If nobody came to my aid, they’d at least come to complain.

  And if I thwacked the monster a couple of times in the face with the umbrella, so much the better.

  Or so much the worse, as the man – and it was a man judging by the size and the shape of his shadow – grabbed the umbrella and wrenched it off me, tossing it aside before trying to take hold of both my arms as I lay there on the wet ground. I fought with him. Fought for my life. Fought like I should have fought Snake, the memories crashing over me. Eventually, he gave up trying to wrestle my arms, and pressed one hand firmly over my mouth. While I tried to prise it off enough to bite down, he yelled into the vacuum created where my scream had been.

  “Faith! It’s Dylan.”

  It took a few more seconds for my neurons to process those words. Dylan.

  Oh.

  Ah.

  Whoops.

  “Are you going to let me help you up?”

  I nodded. He pulled me to my feet, the rain running off his brow as he peered through the darkness.

  “I thought you were kids causing trouble. I really didn’t mean to crash into you. Are you hurt?”

  As soon as he let go, I fell against the wall, my bones like water, and began to slide back down to the ground.

  “Ah, no. Don’t do that.” He swept me up against his chest, and when my legs refused to steady, he scooped me up and carried me. I must have weighed twice as much as usual due to the gallons of water in my clothes. Burying my head into his shoulder I clung on as he jogged across a stretch of grass before dumping me onto a welcome mat and unlocking a bright red wooden door into a cottage.