Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

God bless this woman, he thought. And help me not to mess her up even more.

  For a few moments the silence, the scent, the very sensation of her being here made his senses swim. The garrulous, keeping up appearances Mrs MacInnes, the unlucky deserted Alison, and the angry and possibly now terrified Jen seemed distant. Even Juan, Alicia and Hacienda; Eric, Muirhouse and Raúl Álvarez faded. Maybe El Señor would work it all out after all. For the first time he admitted that this was what he wanted; he wanted it to work out and he wanted Gillian to be part of the finally completed puzzle. He wanted it a lot.

  Suddenly the phone rang, shattering the moment. Should he answer it or not? He decided he would.

  “Hello. Gillian Lockhart’s flat…”

  “Eh… is tha’ David Hidalgo?”

  “It’s David Hidalgo speaking. Who’s this?”

  “Eric. Ye telt me tae phone ye if onythin’ happened, like. Well… eh… this is me phonin’.”

  What on earth was it now? Had Raúl tracked down the elusive Eric and was now holding a gun to his head? Maybe it was merely that the chip pan had caught fire and devastated the flat.

  “Ok Eric. What’s happened?”

  “Ye’ll niver believe it. Ye ken ye telt me ah could read ony o’ the stuff oan the shelves but no tae go into yir office?” Ok. That was it – Eric had accidentally pulled down a shelf of reference books and in trying to put it back had trashed all his sermon notes.

  “Go on Eric…”

  “Well ah fund this wee book aw aboot gettin’ aff drugs – which is whit ah want te dae onywae, like.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “An’ at the back o’ the book it says Goad wid help ye an’ that.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “But ye had tae say this prayer and gi’ yir life tae Jesus, ken.”

  “Ok.”

  “So, if ye said this prayer, like, then yid be a Christian. An’ Goad wid help ye get aff the drugs… an’ look efter ye…” David couldn’t quite believe where this might be going.

  “So what did you do Eric?”

  “Ah said the prayer! So that means ah’m a Christian noo – jist like you – and Goad’s goat tae help us get aff the drugs. An’ no let Raúl blow us up. Is that no right?… Is that no right Señor David… Hullo?… Ye still there?”

  David locked up the flat, dumped the rubbish at the gate, glanced up again at the first-floor window, then set off down the hill, into Warrender Park Terrace and along Whitehouse Loan before cutting across the upper part of Bruntsfield Links towards the flat. Becoming a Christian was a major life decision. It involved a change of values and lifestyle, even for the most normal “good living” citizens. For Eric it would be as foreign as being set down in the middle of the Sahara, given a can of Coke, and told to get on with it. Who said God guaranteed to make cold turkey go away? And he normally didn’t make the likes of Raúl Álvarez go away either. At least he hadn’t for him. It would be sad to see someone genuinely wanting to make a change in their life so disappointed, but how could that not be the outcome? He had wondered if it might turn out to be a good thing that Eric was too scared to go back to Muirhouse. Maybe if he could somehow separate himself from his Muirhouse buddies and lifestyle, then he would stand a chance of getting his drug use under control. Maybe the church could have sponsored him through rehab. There would be ups and downs, renewal and screw ups, but eventually he might be ready to start thinking about spiritual issues not just the chemical ones.

  But Eric was running remarkably true to form. He had somehow found an evangelistic tract aimed at drug users. He had read enough to get the gist of it. He had read he had to “give his life to Jesus” for a new drug-free life. He had accepted everything at face value, prayed the prayer, and was now expecting everything to be magically different – just like the man said. Which would be worse, David wondered, letting him go on in this simplistic illusion to crash when everything didn’t work out like magic, or disillusion him now before he even got going? He’d never been a big fan of the snappy, happy, simple gospel tract. Now even less than before.

  David unlocked the door to find Eric standing waiting for him with his life-giving booklet clasped to his chest. He was all smiles.

  “Hullo there, brother!” was his opening remark.

  David had absolutely no recollection of ever having seen the booklet Eric was proudly waving in his face: “Freedom in Christ: Recovery from Addiction through a Meeting with Jesus”. It made it sound as if there was to be a public presentation in the Town Hall to which all were invited. The cover showed a junkie injecting heroin in an alleyway with three crosses in the background. It looked as if day were breaking, and the wasted figure slumped against the wall was looking up at the dawning light with an expression of longing and hope. David found the whole thing distasteful, shallow, and trite.

  “Ok, Eric,” he began, hanging up his coat and hat. “How about you make us both a coffee while I have a look at this, then we can talk?”

  “Nae bother,” said Eric and disappeared down the hall whistling the chorus from “Parklife”. David got the impression that if he’d asked Eric to pop down and run the mower over Bruntsfield Links he would just have asked him where to put the clippings. He certainly seemed a changed man from the figure who had spent last night sat on the sofa with his arms clamped round his knees, shivering and muttering.

  David popped the Buena Vista Social Club on and let the soothing tones of Eliades Ochoa singing about Chan Chan and his girlfriend on a Cuban beach calm his nerves. The booklet was much as he had expected, full of lurid stories of ex-addicts living lives of increasing depravity until drifting into a church service by accident, only to find the preacher speaking as if straight to the heart. Going forward at the altar call, they “prayed the prayer”, found freedom in Christ, got rid of their dope, joined the church, got a job, met a beautiful girl from the Midwest, and were now happily married and active in missionary work. All this could be yours too for the small price of praying the prayer on the final page. David had rather expected a further invitation along the lines of “… and if you have found this message helpful please send $50 to the following address…” but instead, there was the offer of free literature, telephone counselling, a website, and the invitation to book a speaker for your own event.

  Of course he believed in “freedom in Christ” – in principle. But right now he was finding it a bit tricky to match the simplicity of the message with the complexity of life. If he had learned anything in the twenty years of Warehouse 66 it was how long, difficult, and turbulent was the road to getting clean. He knew the temptations, the threats, the pressures, the triumph of each tiny step and the agony of failure. Actually, he was feeling a bit protective of Eric already. Despite his bull-in-a-china-shop antics, he was fed up with the way things were and wanted a change. And he obviously had a fair streak of basic Scottish decency to want to try to help Jen. Now a convenient straw had drifted by and he’d grabbed it with both hands. Maybe it might help if Juan could pop over and they could speak to Eric together. Juan knew more about how this worked from the inside than he ever would.

  Eric reappeared with not only two mugs of coffee but also a plate of biscuits nicely arranged and a carton of milk.

  “Didnae ken if ye took milk or no’,” he explained, setting the whole lot down on a rickety coffee table.

  “No, just black,” said David. “What we call café solo.”

  “Right. Sounds like when ye go fur a cuppa and everybody gets up to leave when they see ye coming,” Eric joked.

  “What?”

  “Solo,” Eric explained patiently “Café solo. In a café on yer ain… Geddit?”

  “Yeah – sorry. I didn’t know there were any biscuits left.”

  “There wirnae. Efter ah phoned ye ah nipped doon tae the shoaps. D’ye ken there’s some weird stuff doon there. Snails in a tin! See if ah tried to gie that t
ae Lorraine she’d get a fit o’ the sceamin’ abdabbs. Ken whit ah’m sayin’?”

  “You know, Eric, here you are living in my flat, both of us kind of on the run, but I know almost nothing about you. I know nothing about Muirhouse, or Lorraine – the girlfriend? – or where you live or anything. How about I phone Juan to join us, then you tell us a bit about yourself? Then we can talk about what’s happened.”

  “Fair enough.” Eric was agreeable. “Just wan thing though. As soon as Juan…” (he pronounced it “Wan”) “… as soon as Juan gets here I want a toilet service.” He was emphatic. “The minute he gets in, mind.”

  “What’s a toilet service?”

  “D’ye no ken? I thought you wid ken bettern me. It’s aw in the book. When ye become a Christian ye hufftae hae a toilet service. Ye aw cram in the lavvie like, then the junkie pits a’ his dope doon the pan, then somebody prays and ye sing ‘Shall we Gather by the River’ an’ the junkie pulls the handle and it a’ gets flushed awa an’ that’s the end o’ yir dope!”

  “Of course.” David tried to stifle a smile. “A toilet service. I must have forgotten. So you have some drugs with you right now?”

  “Course. No’ much though. Nae smack or ah widnae hae been in such a state. Just a coupla dozen pills an’ a wee bit coke. Oh an’ there’s a spliff in ma jaicket poaket.” David rolled his eyes at what the CID might have found had they fancied a closer look at Eric yesterday morning.

  “I see. I’ll phone Juan and put him in the picture, then we’ll have a chat about things when he gets over. Anything you’d like to do in the meantime? Have a shower, wash some clothes? I could give you a loan of some stuff while it’s drying.”

  “Ok – but no’ till we’ve hud the service. Then ah’ll hae a shower like and get rid of ma claiz. Ah’d like to dump the lot if that’s aw right, but ah didnae think ah’d be your size.” Eric was thin as a rake. A diet of illegal substances, pot noodle, and Pringles seemed good for the waistline if not the lifestyle. David left a message with Alicia, then they both headed round to the Bethany shop on Morningside Road to kit Eric out for his new persona.

  The phone was ringing as they got back with three black bags full of cast-offs from the middle classes. Eric went to sort it out while David answered the phone.

  “David Hidalgo.”

  “Hola Señor David. ¿Qué pasa?”

  “Hola Juan. How are you? Bueno. Now you’re not going to believe this, but Eric has been browsing through some of my books, found something about drug recovery through Christ with a prayer of commitment in it and now thinks he’s a Christian.”

  David was expecting something like his own cautious scepticism. Instead what he heard was a moment’s silence, then whooping down the phone. Juan was shouting to Alicia in Spanish then back to David to check it was true.

  “Well – that remains to be seen,” David continued. “Could you come over and talk to him with me? I don’t want him to think he’s got everything sorted then come down to earth with a thump. Great. Well, as soon as you can. Hasta pronto.”

  Eric was very pleased with his haul from the charity sector although it was something of a change of style. Out went shell suits and lycra and in came corduroy, brushed denim, and even a polo neck claiming to be cashmere. But not a stitch of it would he try on till they had done the deed and he felt his old life had been flushed away. David thought there might be some very spaced out haddock in the Forth that night.

  Juan’s face was beaming as David opened the door. He ran straight to Eric and threw his arms round him as if he truly were a brother.

  “¡Gracias a Dios! That’s wonderful. I am so pleased for you, Eric. Alicia and I have been praying for you. Tell me the story.” They went through to the living room and Eric began to sketch out a bit about life in Muirhouse, finally repeating what he had told David on the phone. Juan took it in and seemed to have none of David’s misgivings. Together they asked in a little more detail what he thought he had done. Although Eric was definitely theology-lite, from his point of view he had now handed everything over and was looking to “the man upstairs” to sort things out – drugs, relationships, and particularly Raúl. He was also keen to get home to tell off-and-on girlfriend Lorraine the big news. Lorraine, it seemed, had three kids – two of Eric’s and one to another user who had since died of AIDS. Now there were plans for the future – first to get a job, then to look after Lorraine properly, getting them a house out of the area, and to take responsibility for the weans and generally get his act together. Somehow Raúl didn’t seem to present as much of a threat any more – “An’ whose goat the biggest gun d’ye think then – Raúl or the Big Yin?” He particularly wanted to come to Southside the following Sunday.

  In all the tumbling rush of words David had forgotten the toilet service but Eric hadn’t. As soon as there was a lull in the conversation he jumped up and said, “Cun we dae it noo then?”, ushered them into the hall, and went to collect all his gear. Together they emptied it all down the pan, David said a prayer and really tried to mean it. Juan put his hand on Eric’s head and prayed in Spanish. They did indeed sing “Shall We Gather by the River” although David had to tell Eric and Juan the words.

  “That looks like hundreds of pounds’ worth,” Juan whispered to David as Eric pulled the flush. Juan shouted “Hallelujah!”, Eric chanted “Here we go, here we go, here we go”, and David managed a weak smile. Having never had a toilet service in Bruntsfield before neither David nor Juan were quite sure what came next but Eric wasn’t in any doubt.

  “Right boyz. Am awaw fur a shower. See yiz in a bit.”

  Juan and David went back into the living room. Juan was watching David closely.

  “Is there something wrong Señor David?” he asked. “You do not seem very happy.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Your attitude is exactly what it should be. All I can see is the problems. I can’t seem to feel any enthusiasm. I just keep wondering whether it’s real, how long it’ll last, and what happens when things go wrong.”

  “Don’t give yourself too hard a time, Señor David,” Juan replied. “Two nights ago you were almost killed. So much has happened in the last week. You’re bound to be feeling a little – como se dice – like a fish out of the water. You have a lot on your mind. You get to know a lovely lady then almost lose her – it’s a lot to take in.”

  “But why am I not more excited for Eric? This is supposed to be the job, isn’t it? If he had come in off the street, popped in and out for six months, come to an Alpha course, disappeared on a bender, got cleaned up again, gone for six months’ rehab, then announced he’d come to faith, that would have been ok. That would have fitted the pattern. How come I don’t think it counts, what actually happened?”

  Juan pondered the question. He was a man of simple emotions and gut feelings and his response had been instinctive. He knew David was made up of more complex materials.

  “Señor David. You think too much. You are thinking, ‘What if this?’, ‘What if that?’ God knows Eric. You believe this?” David nodded. “So, God knows what is coming next – the good, the bad things. The thief on the cross knew only how to trust. The Lord said, ‘This day you will be with me in paradise.’ So what that Eric knows nothing? What does he need to know, except that he has put his trust in God? God accepts him. You must too. He is like the children Jesus blessed. Maybe you are too grown up, Señor David. You have had so many worries. Things have been hard. You have seen things that didn’t work out. Maybe this is something that is working. Let it happen. Bless it. I think God is at work, blessing Eric. Maybe Gillian too. Let him bless you.” David leaned forward and let out a sigh.

  “You’re right. Do you know, I can barely remember what it was like when kids got saved at Warehouse 66. It’s seems so long ago. We seemed to have miracles every week. Maybe I’ve forgotten what a miracle looks like.”

  �
�Well, I have another miracle for you. You want to know?”

  “Of course. What?”

  “Alicia is pregnant!”

  “That’s wonderful. You’ve been trying for so long. ¡Estupendo! This needs a party.”

  “I know. We’ve closed Hacienda for tomorrow tonight and invited everyone from church. I phoned the hospital. They say Gillian can come out for the evening then back overnight. You’re to go and get her.”

  If David had been having difficulty connecting the right emotion to the right event with respect to Eric, he had no problem now. They hugged, prayed together and must have presented a strange sight to Eric who had in the meantime showered and got changed.

  “Well, boys,” he announced. “Whit d’yez think?”

  He had on brown corduroy trousers, a blue Fair Isle jumper, a cream jacket, and Chelsea boots.

  “Well, they certainly won’t recognize you in Muirhouse now,” David managed at last.

  Chapter 16

  South Clerk Street

  “So you’re turning into a God botherer too then?” Gillian’s sister Ros was sitting at the foot of her bed munching on a nectarine, catching the juice in a tissue and reading a copy of Chat. Gillian had texted her to say she was in hospital after an accident but was ok. And she’d told her about David too.

  Gillian didn’t answer right away. She had never experienced a week like this last one. New people and new points of view had been challenging prejudices – then to find herself in the middle of drug gang violence and a possible kidnapping. Her head was spinning and she didn’t know what she thought. She knew she was in a process but wasn’t quite sure where it was taking her. And it all came against a background of faith. David, Juan, the church – they didn’t seem to do what they did simply out of social conscience or habit. There was something they believed in – or Someone – and that made the difference. It was what made David take on another kid in trouble when he’d apparently lost his wife through too much of the same in another setting. But after a reluctant start he seemed willing to do it all again, even though she’d picked up that Raúl had been in Madrid himself before Edinburgh. It would be too horrible if he had had something to do with what happened to Rocío. Anyway, this faith thing was something she hadn’t encountered in quite that form before. She wasn’t willing to throw it out as irrelevant till she’d thought it all through.