Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Maybe. You make it sound like a disease though.”

  “Well isn’t it? I heard this guy on the radio saying it’s just like a virus. He wants everyone inoculated.”

  “That’s ridiculous. David’s church got kids off drugs and into jobs. They made them better, not worse.”

  She was surprised at the vehemence of her own response and a little embarrassed at how it had come out. She, as much as anyone, would have taken all the same views this time two years ago. Then she and Tony had separated. When they decided to divorce, Tony suggested they opt for unreasonable behaviour and he volunteered to make something up. They were both so sick of one another by that stage that anything that speeded things up seemed worth trying. But that had started her thinking. Here she was approaching middle age – single, no kids, reasonable career but nothing startling. What was it all about? Was there a point or was it just “live while you live and die when you die” and try to enjoy yourself in between? Even before meeting David she was feeling the need to delve a bit deeper.

  “No,” she continued, “there can be good reasons for believing or not. But just to say everyone who believes anything is ill really isn’t fair.”

  Ros finished the nectarine and lobbed the stone neatly into the rubbish bin in the corner.

  “Fair enough. Suit yourself. I just don’t want you getting brainwashed or anything. Anyway, tell me a bit more about ‘Señor David’. Sounds mysterious.”

  This change of tack irritated Gillian all the more. Ros had now hopped over to topic number two and was about to build a mental picture no doubt based on a similar degree of prejudice. Gillian was used to writing in block capitals in the margins of books that did the same and tearing a strip off students who tried to get away with it in essays. She did not approve of personal philosophies based on Sunday Supplement reviews of The God Delusion or the even shakier foundations of “what everybody knows”. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Ros anything, only to find it relayed to Dad mangled out of all recognition.

  “Well,” she said cautiously, “he’s in his early fifties, wife died two years ago, he’s part-Spanish – brought up in Edinburgh but had his career in Spain. Been back in Edinburgh a few months I think…”

  “No,” interrupted Ros. “What’s he like? Dishy, ordinary, funny, boring?”

  “He’s quite serious, thoughtful – funny, sometimes – well read. I don’t know whether you’d say good-looking. Needs a Marks and Spencer card though. He’s a nice man. Sincere.”

  “Oh,” Ros sounded disappointed. “Right, got to get going. Billy’s working Saturday mornings so he’ll be home soon and I’ve got to pick the kids up from swimming. I’ll maybe manage in again next week.”

  “The doctors think I’ll be home by the middle of the week.”

  “Ok then. Let me know if you need anything.”

  But whether Gillian needed anything or not, Ros had gathered up a handbag the size of a small suitcase and was off.

  Gillian finished her coffee and tried to put the plastic beaker on her side table without twisting too much. It ended up on the floor. She felt tired and tried to lie back and relax but couldn’t. That woman. They were about as unlike as sisters could be. Always had been. When they were children Ros had been bossy, always right, obsessed with Barbie, then her own wardrobe, then boyfriends, then having children. She couldn’t say these were things a girl shouldn’t be interested in; it just happened that none of them had interested her. Gillian had worked hard at school, ignored boys, dressed to her own style not the dictates of the fashion police, got her degree then her doctorate, met Tony, moved in with him, kept developing her career, married, looked after Dad, and arranged the nursing home place – everything a dutiful, diligent girl should do. Now look at her. Ros seemed content with her husband, kids, part-time job, caravan holidays in the West Country, helping at Brownies. Gillian was the one out on a limb, with drug dealers trying to saw it off. Maybe she should have been content not pushing all the time. Then she thought, no, that’s not right. That’s who I am. I’m not Ros and don’t want to be. I do want to find out what it’s all about and now I’m with people who think they know. Nice people. People I like. Why wouldn’t I take that seriously? Just then the nurse interrupted her thoughts with the dinner trolley. Gillian had opted for vegetable soup, macaroni cheese, trifle, and coffee. As the smell wafted along she was beginning to wonder if she could still change to the salad.

  Juan had insisted David borrow his car. Trying not to feel like a teenager using his dad’s Cortina to take his girlfriend out on a date, David reminded himself he was over fifty, Gillian was not his girlfriend, and this was not a date. As it happened Juan had a Seat Leon not a Cortina. So while David was clear in his mind what was and was not going on, he just couldn’t contain the cocktail of emotions bubbling around as he pulled into the hospital car park – nervousness, excitement, apprehension, uncertainty, exhaustion, even shyness. He didn’t have a name for it but recognized the overall effect. He felt exactly like a teenager borrowing his dad’s car to take his girlfriend out.

  Gillian, sitting up waiting for him, lit up as David arrived. As instructed, he had gone over to Marchmont with Alicia earlier to get some clothes – neither prior sight nor input was allowed. Now he dutifully handed over a case he thought might have held enough for a long weekend. Gillian thanked him, then he was banished to the waiting room while preparations were made. It took a while. Two copies of Classic Car and one BBC Good Food magazine passed before his eyes without a word going in. Then she appeared. She looked fantastic, wearing a thin, floaty Indian print top with a warm shawl over ruby red velvet trousers. Her hair was up and she had somehow managed to get dressed over the plaster and perfectly made-up with nothing but a bedside mirror to hand. She was in a wheelchair on account of the stitches and the expression on the nurse’s face pushing her along the corridor made it pretty plain what she thought was going on. Strict instructions were given. Eleven o’clock – no later. No excess excitement. Very limited amounts of alcohol. Absolutely no shotgun attacks. Gillian and David looked serious and nodded at the right times. This was so like a girlfriend’s mum reading the riot act David found it hard to keep a straight face. A fit of the giggles hit them as soon as they were through the automatic double doors and into the cool night air. David opened the car door then helped Gillian to her feet. Her perfume filled his senses. He gently lowered her into the passenger seat then pulled the seatbelt out.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t twist round. Could you?”

  “Of course. Sure.”

  He reached across to clip it in. She laid her hand on his shoulder. As he was fiddling to fit the buckle Gillian found herself thinking, there isn’t another man right now I would be comfortable doing this for me. But this isn’t awkward at all. What does that mean? The clasp finally clicked and David stood up, straightened his jacket, closed the door, folded up the wheelchair, and popped it in the boot. It means, Gillian thought, David Hidalgo is a gentleman and I feel completely safe with him, shotguns notwithstanding.

  They drove up to Hacienda chatting easily. Gillian told him about the hospital food and David told her Juan was threatening to impound his frying pan. She talked about Ros and how the visit had made her feel. He told her about phoning Maggie to see how she was and offering to have the van repaired and repainted. Gillian shared how she had met the larger than life Soup Dragon and her pixie husband and some of their adventures. David talked about Eric and how his unexpected news had caused him such mixed feelings. She told him about her Alpha Course and how she’d given up after a few weeks. David didn’t try to find out why. Instead he recounted his feelings the day he left Spain, when half of Warehouse 66 had turned out to see him off – everyone in tears, including former dealers, prostitutes, and pimps. It made him feel the most loved man in the world and the most wretched coward at the same time. Neither felt
they had to hide or explain. Gillian thought she could have told him anything and he would have known what to say. David felt they were like Adam and Eve before the fall.

  Halfway up South Clerk Street they noticed a crowd outside the Queen’s Hall, not in itself surprising, probably just the end of an early evening recital. What was strange though was how they were all looking up and a few were pointing. They found a place to park, joined the crowd, and followed their line of sight. A huge full moon, like a massive blue-veined cheese, was slowly being devoured by the shadow of the earth blocking the reflection of the sun. They watched for ten minutes, listening to the banter around them. David’s hand moved onto Gillian’s shoulder and she put her hand over his. The night was holding its breath. Would darkness triumph or life return? They both felt they might just ignore the party and stay there all night. Or forever. Finally, the moon re-emerged pristine and perfect. The crowd broke into applause then began to disperse. Gillian felt the light might be coming back in more ways than one.

  Hacienda was crowded by the time they arrived. It was quite an entrance as David tried to negotiate the wheelchair through the doorway. Juan spotted them, leapt across, and ushered them in. Alicia, on the other side, saw them and waved. She was surrounded by well-wishers and had a pile of gifts next to her. Although this was her restaurant she wasn’t allowed to lift or carry anything. Irene MacInnes had her pinny on and was bustling around, bossing Tomas about and dispensing trays piled with goodies. Multicoloured salads fought for space with plates of tortilla, trays of massive prawns, piles of calamares, and dishes of olives, jamón ibérico, chorizo, and patatas bravas. The centrepiece was a paella pan three feet wide with the most exotic mixture of colours, shapes, textures, and tastes the older ladies of Southside had ever seen. The air was full of the smell of good food. To some, it was not entirely clear that such self-indulgence was totally proper, but then the minister and that attractive woman with him seemed to be tucking in without too much hesitation so perhaps it was all right. The best of Juan’s wine cellar was flowing and there were toasts, speeches, songs in Spanish and English, and any amount of good wishes. David rested his hands lightly on Alicia’s head and prayed, for once without difficulty or embarrassment. Gillian claimed vociferously that she did not sing in public but dutifully recited “A Rosebud by my Early Walk” to big cheers. A couple of late diners, unaware that it was a private party, looked in hoping for a quiet table. Juan dragged them through the door, insisting they join the festivities and drink a toast to his beautiful wife and the new life within. Eric flitted around telling his story to anyone who would listen. There were some raised eyebrows but the major response was hand-shaking, back-slapping, and a few quiet words of advice.

  Suddenly it was late and, like Cinderella, Gillian felt the approaching hour. Exhausted, she whispered it was time to go. Everyone seemed to be kissing everyone else in the Spanish way – even Mrs MacInnes taking a peck on the cheek from Mr Grant – and then it was over. Juan insisted that everything could be cleared up in the morning – looking meaningfully at Tomas – and hats, coats, and scarves were dished out. Soon David was pushing Gillian along the pavement past the Asian grocers, the video rental shop, the newsagents, and the pub. Then they were back in the car and on their way south. This time they were quiet. David knew all the reasons why he would never recommend young people to make serious relationships with those they couldn’t share worship and prayer with. Gillian considered how she had known this man for just over a week. He was a minister for goodness sake – the last profession on earth she would have thought she could share a common outlook with. In neither case did it matter. David was thinking about Alicia’s certainty that the Lord was in it. Gillian was thinking of the kindness David had shown all night.

  They got back to Little France sooner than either of them wanted. David parked as near the entrance as he could, got the wheelchair out and opened Gillian’s door. She was surprised how weak she felt. She had to put her arms round his neck to be lifted out. They stood facing each other, Gillian’s arms still around his neck, her head tilted up. Without any premeditation David turned his head slightly, leaned forward and kissed her, lightly and delicately. She smiled up at him, letting him gather her up in his arms and gently ease her into the chair. The nurse, waiting in the foyer, smiled with some satisfaction at having guessed correctly.

  Chapter 17

  Edinburgh

  “So ah suppose ye’d huv tae say it’s a miracle, like. As far as ah can tell onywae. Ken whit ah’m sayin’? So… eh… thanks fur listenin’. Cheers.” Eric nervously cleared his throat, scrunched up half a page of scribbled notes, jumped down from the platform, and sat back in the front row. Silence ensued for a few seconds before David collected himself enough to get up and round things off.

  “Well, I’d like to thank Eric for everything he’s shared this morning. Can I encourage you to remember him and his friends in prayer? It’s not going to be easy – I’m sure you’ll understand. Now, please stay for tea or coffee if you can and remember to get a news-sheet on the way out. Mayfield small group are leading next Sunday. You know who you are! Thanks.”

  Southside Fellowship was a city church and didn’t think of itself as leading a particularly sheltered life. They read the papers, watched the news, bought The Big Issue, occasionally had to navigate their way past drunks and beggars on the way to work, and thought they had a reasonable grasp of city life. What Eric had told them made many of them wonder. As David had gradually come to terms with Eric’s conversion, he realized that if he had tended to a cynical first impression then others might too. Between the time Eric first turned up at the soup van and now there was already a marked change. He thought of the confident, streetwise junkie out with his mates, the terrified look on his face when he realized the lights coming up the hill were Raúl’s men not Jen, the shivering, wasted figure on the sofa wondering where his next fix was coming from, and then the ecstatic sound of his voice on the phone. Which of these best represented the new Eric was still an open question. Even allowing for an absolutely genuine experience of something outside himself, he still had a long way to go. Key to that would be the support and encouragement of fellow believers. For that to happen, they would have to know where he had come from and what he was going to face.

  So, just before the service that morning David had taken Eric aside and asked if he would mind sharing a bit about life in the North Edinburgh schemes and what had happened to him. Eric agreed but had gone much further. He told about his upbringing and family, his dad’s alcoholism and violence, his mum’s gambling and the predictable results of no money, no food, spells in care, neglect, sometimes actual abuse, falling behind in school, truanting, and a string of petty convictions. He also had them laughing about the times his mum would send him and his sister out with a shoplifting list then batter them if they didn’t get everything on it, including the special offers – “Nick one, get one free” he called it.

  Then he told a darker tale of drug use, dealing, and the confusion about who was the user or who was being used. He talked about the arrival of Raúl Álvarez and his bloody takeover. After the botched attempt to get Jen to safety there was the sickening feeling that the gun attack on the van was aimed at him and was just the beginning. Finally he told about his surprising Saturday morning and how he now wanted to live a new life.

  After the Hacienda party he was so elated he had to go back and look up some old mates. The big news was that Raúl and his gang had disappeared. The rumour was that he had got wind that CID were about to move in and decided to move out first. The girl had disappeared with him. Nobody seemed to know where, but there were plenty of ideas – Spain, Portugal, Brazil, Colombia, Romania, Algeria or maybe even the US. Someone thought London and there was even one nomination for Prestonpans. Everybody was relieved – unless he turned up again, of course, in which case no one wanted to be too obviously overjoyed, apart from Eric who danced a jig and sang three
choruses of “YMCA”. Nobody knew what he was on but there was some interest in what it might be, how much it was, and where you could get some. Now he had a queue of Southside members wanting to shake his hand and wish him well.

  That queue did not include Alison MacInnes. When the rest went forward to get their cuppa she sat with a blank expression, staring ahead. She had been so hopeful after the previous week and now it had all come to nothing. In fact things were now a great deal worse. Señor David had been so supportive as he explained what had happened that she felt duty bound to show up and tell him about Jen coming to the house in person. Now there was nothing left to tell. Eric had confirmed what she had guessed – the bird had flown and taken her little fledgling with him. She could guess for what purpose but tried not to think of it. Now, with everybody milling around at the front she was an isolated figure slumped in the back row. David approached her.

  “Alison. Hi. How are you?” A pointless question, despair written all over her face.

  “He’s got her with him,” she said with flatness and finality. They both knew what she was talking about.

  “How do you know?”

  “She came by the house to pick up her things and asked for her passport.”

  “How was she?”

  “Horrible. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days. He’s forcing her to stay, you know. She doesn’t want to. She’d rather come home but he won’t let her.”

  “I thought that might be the case. I guess it just has to go back to the police then. I’m not sure there’s much more we can do.”