Church Group

by Michael Brightside

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before James and Al came wandering back through the plants. James had his jumper tied around his neck like a tennis player; the pair of them had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

  “You two wanna come and see what we’ve found?” James said. “There’s more of these greenhouses.”

  “How many more?” Kyle asked.

  “Loads more,” Al said. “We don’t know how many, they look like they go on forever.”

  We made our way through the greenhouse we were in, and out into the open. The cold air hit you like a bucket of water. I immediately realised it was a good thing. We’d gotten far too hot sitting inside; I could feel drops of sweat running down my back and as I looked at Kyle could see the same on his face.

  The next greenhouse was identical to the one we’d come from, as was the one after that, and the one after that. We walked as far as any of us could be bothered, between row after row of identical plants, each with a black plastic watering pipe that hung down like an umbilical tube from a bigger pipe on the roof. We paused while we took it in turns to drink cold water from a hose hanging on the wall, then continued on. I felt like we were only going on because we were compelled to, like there was going to be some amazing thing waiting for us in the next greenhouse we looked inside of. There wasn’t, they were all the same. So I was relieved when Kyle finally stopped us all by suggesting that we, “Stop wandering around the fucking garden centre forever and roll another spliff.”

  As we sat there and passed it round, we talked about nothing and everything; the nothing that meant everything to us. It was a night we needed, it cleared the air between us all. Kyle upheld his part of the bargain and said nothing of our conversation to Al. Then when the light of the world outside finally caught up with the brightness of the greenhouses, we left for home.

  Excessive familiarity had built up between us but a night like tonight reminded us why we’d ever started this in the first place.

  Quoting Bible Verses at People Is One Thing

  March 2002.

  Back at home my family life was mirroring my social life. My parents’ marriage had all but disintegrated and my dad, having now become a recluse, was spending hours on end hidden away in what used to be Jack’s bedroom. None of us knew what he was doing in there, and he’d fitted a lock on the outside of the door to prevent us from finding out. It was only by pure chance one day when he forgot to lock the door before he left for work that I managed to get in there. I knew there was a computer desk, I’d seen it before when I’d passed on the landing as he was going in; and I also knew there was a single bed. Neither of those things had helped me become any wiser about what he was actually doing in there.

  To the right of the keyboard I found a copy of the Bible. Not the small one he always carried and quoted from, but a full sized copy, more suited to being read in situ. Then to the right of that were a pile of sketches. I knew I had time to look at them, my dad left for work first, followed by me; then my mum, Dean and Jack would get up. Not normally until after I’d left though, and today I had time to spare.

  They looked to be the very early stages of a design for a Christian website. A large black cross stood proudly in the top left corner of each of the mostly pencilled on sheets of A4 printer paper. To the right of the cross he’d hastily scribbled Website Title in black pen; that and the cross seemed to be the only two solid decisions he’d made. Below them were a series of bullet pointed sentences that appeared to outline the nature of the website. It dawned on me as I was reading them that what I was looking at were a stack of prototype homepages.

  I can’t remember exactly what they said, although I can vividly remember what they meant. The gist of it was:

  Jesus is here for all of us. Don’t ask for his help, he already knows you need it. Instead ask yourself to let him help you.

  I quite liked this first line. Flicking through the sheets underneath showed a series of different variations of the same message. This was by far the best worded version; I assumed it was the most recent evolution of the line, seeing as it was on top. The whole family knew my dad had turned to god to help him get through the divorce, my friends knew too and that was fine. I doubt many people turn to god for guidance when their life is going perfectly. I was just glad to know he had found a positive way to deal with what was going on.

  No matter what you’ve done, Jesus will still love you, he only asks that you love him too.

  This wasn’t something I necessarily agreed with. I believe that some things a man can do are unforgivable. The idea of the people who commit those sorts of crimes ever getting into heaven unsettled me. Having said that I didn’t believe in god or heaven or hell, so it made no odds to me. Maybe some of the people who did believe in god and heaven and hell believed that I wouldn’t get into heaven for the things I did in my spare time. Maybe they were right. It was never going to stop me though.

  I have been put here to spread the word from Jesus himself. Jesus was God’s son, and we are all God’s children, so as a son of God I am here only to guide you on your way.

  What the hell?! My dad wasn’t put here to spread the word of Jesus. He was put here to be my dad. Now he believed that Jesus was using him to communicate directly with the modern world.

  This was all getting a bit too messed up. It’s one thing believing that god is up there looking out for you when times are hard; actually believing your sole purpose on this planet is to, as god’s son, spread his message is something altogether different. Now I was beginning to worry.

  I’d not heard anyone else in the family mention this; I had to be the only one who knew. As much as I knew about it though, I didn’t know what to actually do about it. We’d thought things were bad when he first started carrying round the Dictaphone. When that was swapped for the Bible we all thought things were getting better. Carrying a bible with you wherever you went and quoting verses of it to people who upset you still didn’t seem like the most sane behaviour in the world, it was his coping mechanism though and it seemed to be working.

  This was a step too far. Quoting bible verses at people is one thing; being convinced you are god’s personal messenger is something entirely different. Just as in my own life, something in his was going to have to change. I left his room, locking it on the way out. He didn’t need to know that I knew, and for the same reason I couldn’t tell anyone about it. I just hoped that something in his life that needed changing would change soon.

  The whole day while I was at work I wrestled with what to do, how to deal with what I’d found out. When I got home he was already locked away in his bedroom. I had a restless night followed by another day at work being unable to concentrate. By the time I got home again on that second day, I’d made the decision I was going to get him on his own to talk about it.

  When I opened the front door I was greeted by my mum in floods of tears.

  “It’s your dad,” she sobbed. “He’s moved out.”

  Fresh-faced At Fifteen and Excited about Biking and Life

  March 2002.

  My dad rang me the day after he moved out and invited me to see where he lived. We agreed I’d come round on Friday after work, I asked Al if he’d come with me.

  He’d moved into a flat only a few miles away in Wanton. We had planned to get the bus but having missed the first one, Al had the brilliant idea of taking my old motorbike and going via the fields. I didn’t hold out much hope of it starting, but either way we had an hour to waste before the next bus was due.

  I cleaned three years worth of dust from the pair of black crash helmets I now had in the garage, and turned on the ignition of the poor little bike that had sat there for so long, waiting for us to come back. Al took the handlebars from me and shook the bike back and forth to slosh the stale petrol up, and it purred into life on the first kick. Fortunately machines don’t hold grudges.

  As we set off down the road memories came flooding back to me; of how my dad had told me about s
etting the oil mixture up in the tank, and how Al and I had been so fresh-faced at fifteen and excited about biking and life. I lifted the visor and the wind seemed to blow straight through my mind, taking with it the stresses that had built up over the last few years of getting wasted. With my eyes focused on what was coming towards me and my brain focused solely on my eyes, I felt that if I wanted to think about something clearly then now would be the perfect time. But I didn’t want to think about something. I didn’t want to think about anything. It was too much thinking that was half of the problem. I seemed to spend the majority of my life worrying about things I could do nothing about.

  First we passed through the field that set the boundary of the top of the village, then just like that first time we took the bike out we turned left until we reached the main road. Once we’d crossed the road it was straight down Island Lane until we reached the backwaters then turn right at the end and follow the coastal path to Wanton. I wondered why I’d never done my bike test and used the thing properly. I guess the commitments of a full-time job and a compulsion to get out of my box at every available opportunity had gotten in the way.

  We were soon there; the controls of the bike having never left me, and the route being impossible to get wrong. Flat 15 E, Winnock Road. In its former life it had been one big house, number 15. The E denoted that my dad’s was the fifth of five flats. If I’d had to choose one of those flats I’d have had the one with an E on too; though I didn’t tell him that when he answered the door.

  “Alright Lu,” he said, reaching out to hug me. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your girlfriend.”

  “Long time Mark,” Al said. They shook hands and both smiled.

  “Come in. I’m at the top of the stairs.”

  We followed him up. Like most flats I’d been in it had a shared stairwell. I didn’t pay a lot of attention, I was more interested to see where he actually lived.

  He opened the door to the flat. As I walked into the front room-cum-kitchen, the first thing I noticed were stacks of unopened boxes in the corners. Sitting on top of them were black bags full of clothes, most of them opened, probably when my dad was searching for something to wear.

  “Why’ve you got crash helmets with you?” he asked. “Did you ride here?”

  “Just over the fields Dad, we pushed the bike the last bit down the road when we got into Wanton.”

  “Oh yeah, I believe you,” he said. “Have a seat, do you want a coffee?”

  I nodded then sat down next to Al on a dated green flowery sofa facing into the kitchen.

  “Two sugars Mark,” Al said.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” my dad laughed. “Right where are the mugs?” he muttered to himself as he started opening random boxes. “I mean apart from you Al.”

  “Have you not had a drink all week Dad?”

  “Me? Yeah I bought the spare kettle home from work and my mug. You’re the first guests I’ve had round here though. I’ve just thought, I might not have any milk.”

  I got up and checked in the fridge, it was handy having the front room and kitchen combined into a single space. “Nah you’ve only got a little bit left in there,” I said, shaking the carton in front of him to prove it. “I’ll go and get some from the shop.”

  “It’s alright, I’ll get some,” Al said. My dad handed him a pound and some keys.

  “Two pints of green milk. The gold key is for downstairs Al, I’ll leave my front door open.”

  Al left.

  “So how are things at home Lu?”

  “Quiet Dad. And a bit strange since you’ve not been there.”

  “Are your brothers OK?”

  “Yeah I think so. Jack’s probably too young to properly understand what’s happened yet. Dean’s alright, he wanted to come this evening but I told him you’d only invited me.”

  “I was going to try ringing your mum after you go and see if she will let me have the two of them tomorrow; maybe we could find something for us to all do together.”

  “That would be nice.”

  My dad stood up. “Come on I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”

  I followed him back into the hallway where we’d come in.

  Turning off into the bedroom there was a single divan bed, neatly made but with a double duvet draped over it that was far too big. In the corner was an empty pine wardrobe with both doors wide open.

  “The bathroom’s through there Lu,” he said.

  I put my head round the door and marvelled at the aubergine bathroom suite and green carpeted floor. A tired white shower curtain with a few rings missing hung from a rail.

  “So how long are you here for Dad?”

  “I had to pay for the first three months upfront Lu. The landlord wanted references which I didn’t have so I had to give him two extra months’ rent.”

  “So you’ll stay here for three months?”

  “I don’t know yet Lu. I’ve only been here a week haven’t I?”

  “But you’re not going to come back home?”

  “I doubt it. Why? Do you want me to?”

  “I want you to be happy. It doesn’t matter where you’re living, there’s no point in you coming back to live at home if you’re not happy.”

  He smiled a relieved smile, “I just hope your brothers see it that way.”

  “It’s not like it came as a surprise really Dad,” I said. “You’d been living in Jack’s bedroom for months.”

  He laughed out loud, “Yeah I suppose not. I bet even the neighbours knew I was going to end up going, after some of the rows me and your mum have had.”

  I laughed too. I couldn’t remember ever laughing while I listened to them arguing, but having lived in the garage for so long now, I actually had to think back to recall the days of almost constant shouting.

  Al arrived back from the shop with a two pinter of full fat milk and my dad made us all a drink. He’d only managed to find one mug and one cup while searching through the piles of still packed boxes, plus the mug he’d bought home from work. I assumed Al would get the cup so was surprised when my dad washed the whole lot up and had the little cup himself.

  “So where are you two going after this?” my dad asked.

  “I think we’re going to drop the bike back off at home and go down the pub, come with us if you like,” I replied.

  “Yeah you should come with us Mark,” Al said.

  “I would do boys, but I need to ring your mum after you’ve gone and try to persuade her to let me have Dean and Jack tomorrow. I don’t think it would strengthen my case calling her from the pub.”

  “Probably not,” I laughed. It wasn’t going to take much for my dad to get my mum’s back up this week. If there was any chance of my mum letting him see my brothers tomorrow it would be because she saw it as being for their benefit and not his.

  We finished our drinks and left, after Al had been shown round both of the other rooms in the flat too.

  “Have fun down the pub then you two,” my dad said, giving me a hug before being emotionally blackmailed into also giving Al one by Al’s waiting outstretched arms.

  “See you soon Dad,” I called back to him as we walked off down the road, while he stood in the door frame watching us walk away.

  I felt strange inside. I could see that he was calmer now and that it had been a good thing for him to go; but at the same time it didn’t feel right walking away from my dad’s house, it always used to be just our house.

  “Back to Kirk-Leigh then Lu.”

  “Change of plan Al,” I said. “Let’s go to the Solitude Bar first, I need a pint.”