by Peter Laws
‘I’m not sure the fundamentalists got the diversity memo, are you?’
‘Sadly, no. They tend to see God as one singular personality, one monad. So they wind up with only the Father being truly God, Jesus is his second in command who isn’t really divine, and the Holy Spirit ends up as some wispy special effect or a ghost. Which is more down to Plato than the Bible … but hey, I’m seriously waffling now. And Sean, I do get paid to waffle.’
Matt smiled and noticed Sean’s pint glass was three-quarters empty already. Matt’s was three-quarters full, from all his yakking. For a while they just listened to the pleasant crackle of the fire, and the low sound of darts thrumming against the dartboard.
Then finally Sean suddenly spoke. ‘You saw me, didn’t you?’ He turned from the fire, slowly. ‘In the car park this morning. You saw my dad shouting at me.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Scratch.
The sound made Ever groan in his sleep − not enough to wake him, but enough to turn him onto his front. He plunged his cheek deep into the warm cushion until—
Rattle. Thud.
This time, he did stir. Enough to flutter his eyes half-open. Slowly his vision adjusted, and he turned his gaze to the glowing blue curtains above his bed, because the scraping and scratching was coming from out there. He thought about calling for Uncle Dust, but then remembered his mum had told him off for doing that in nights past. There was, however, enough curiosity to make him swing his feet out of bed. The floorboards felt like ice against his bare feet, but they didn’t creak. He stepped towards the window and pulled the curtain back just a touch.
The hill, the field, the stream … they all floated in the dull blue light from a moon, which was – a shiver ran through him – which was hidden by a bank of cloud. The distant hills looked like piles of dark powder, and between them, he saw the skin-tightening glow from the Hollow towns and cities.
He opened the curtains some more.
Thud.
Shaking, he leant forward and pressed his cheek against the cold glass, trying to get a decent look at the side of the house. He saw the dirt road, and the path leading up to the chapel. And the metal shed where they kept all their farming tools and sacks of …
His eyes bulged.
A rope.
The shed had a rope tied around it.
That wasn’t right. That wasn’t normal.
But there it was. A thick rope was wrapped around the entire shed, looped through the double-door handles up front, and tied in a hefty knot. What’s more − and this was the part that really had his skin prickling − he could see those shed doors were pulsing with a slow, unpredictable rhythm. Something in there was quietly scratching and knocking at the door, trying to get out.
His bottom jaw jerked open in a spasm when he heard ‘Psssst. Psssst’. He saw the figure on the grass outside. The lopsided shoulders, the wild hair.
‘Pssst’ − Milton turned his finger, telling him to open up − ‘come to the window, ya daftie.’
Ever swung the window open and leant out. The air was freezing.
‘What you doin’ still up?’ Milton whispered, looking this way and that. He was carrying a shotgun. ‘You should be all tucked up.’
Ever whispered back. ‘What’s in the shed?’
‘Tools and such.’
‘Very funny. Is there a Hollow in there?’
Milton bit his lip and looked around again. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get your go with it.’
‘Huh?’
‘Just get back to bed. You’ll wake Merit.’
‘Just her?’ Ever’s voice was a low hiss. ‘Aren’t the adults asleep too?’
‘Course they aren’t. They’re on their knees,’ he said. ‘Now sleep.’
He’d heard that phrase a million times – on their knees. It made him look up at the chapel where he saw the dim, black outline of the roof. He could just about make out one of the windows. The tiniest hint of a candle flickered inside.
‘They’re up there, taking back the world,’ Milton said, proudly. ‘And you’ll take it back too, okay? But for now, go to—’
‘There’s a Hollow in the shed, isn’t there?’
Milton winced.
The shed doors started pulsing again.
‘Why is there a Hollow in the shed?’
‘You’ll find out in the morning. But don’t you worry. We’ve got that monster tied up, nice and tight. And I’m going to guard your room for the whole night, okay?’
‘What about Merit’s room? Why aren’t you guarding her?’
‘Cos I’m keeping you safe. That’s my job. Now sleep.’
‘Milton …’ Ever put a hand on the window frame. ‘I’m scared.’
He tilted his head. ‘Truth be told, so am I. But just remember Jesus … he’s with us. Every day in every way.’
Just as he said that, the entire farm brightened as the huge moon emerged from behind a thick cloud. The light fell on the shed, and the pulsing door immediately stopped.
‘See,’ Milton said. ‘He’s with us. Now get some shut-eye, Big Man.’
Ever’s spine tingled and he crawled back into bed, quilt up to his nose. It took him a long time to fall asleep, not least because whenever the moon hid, he heard the scratching in the shed come back. It made him wonder if the Hollow still had its skin on, or if it’d already slipped out of it and was striding around in its proper form. Licking the air and clawing at the metal to get out.
Now and again he’d hear the adults up in the chapel too. On certain nights, when they got on their knees, he’d hear their moans all the way down the hill. He heard them doing that now. The groans, the gasps and the occasional shrill scream. Prosper said that sound should be comforting, but it wasn’t.
The only thing to help, Ever decided, was to pray. So he did. He asked Jesus why Milton was guarding his room, and nobody else’s. And why he’d said that Ever was going to rebuild the world and ‘get his go’. What did that even mean? And the biggest question of all: Why was there a Hollow in their shed?
Prayer, Uncle Dust always told him, was a beautiful way to fall asleep. It was like Jesus putting his hand into ours. And at one point, Ever felt that hand. He felt those cold, carpenter fingers stroking his hair. That touch was the gift it always had been, and he finally drifted off, even as the sounds of wailing and shed-scratching went on. Within moments he was flying to the top of Comfort Hill, only now it was called Comfort Mountain, blazing in daylight. And he was a knight with a glowing sword, skewering the great beast of heaven with ease, while the rest of his family cheered and prayed him on. Even Hope was back, slapping her hands together and whistling with pride. And Micah too, who cheered louder than any of the others, happy and grateful that somehow, Big Man Ever was going to make things right.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Matt waited for a moment, letting the fire crackle fill the air for a moment. Then he leant forward. ‘Yes, I saw you with your parents and I don’t mean to be nosey but … well your dad seemed pretty …’ Matt sniffed. ‘He was going ballistic, Sean.’
Silence. Swig.
Matt tugged his chair a little closer. ‘Look, I might waffle a lot, but I’m actually a pretty good listener.’
Sean took another, very deep gulp. His throat sounded like twisted leather. ‘We’re doing Lord of Steel next, right?’
Matt nodded, and Sean immediately sprang up, and headed to the bar.
They did have a Steel next, and then, when Sean announced a third, Matt had another Steel while Sean went back to the super strong Rinkydink. In fact, he had two of them in the space of Matt’s third. And for most of the conversation they talked of anything but Sean’s dad. Like teaching and lecturing, and which Doctor Who was the most solid series. But it was while Sean chugged through pint number five that Matt asked a seemingly innocent question. It turned the conversation down a new, intense alley.
‘So, Sean,’ he said, ‘I never asked where your head is with all this God stuff.’
&
nbsp; ‘Well, let me tell you …’ Sean plunged a hand straight into the pocket of his skinny jeans. ‘After one more.’
Matt winced. ‘Best not, eh? It’s a school night—’
‘I’m a born-again Christian, just like my parents.’ He raised his hand in a high, preaching style. ‘Hallelujah.’
‘Well …’ Matt shifted in his seat. ‘Good for you.’
‘Yep, I’ve been baptised, I’ve spoken in tongues, I’ve done the Alpha Course – twice − I’ve been to all the festivals, got six Bibles, two on my phone,’ he hiccupped. ‘Oh, and I thoroughly love the Father, Son and Holy Spirit … the whole set.’
Matt waited. ‘Listen, I do respect your—’
‘But …’ Sean slapped a hand down on the table and the pints nearly tipped off. Matt had to use both hands to steady them. ‘But it turns out that this ever-loving Trinity of yours doesn’t stretch it’s affection to me.’
Matt spotted some guys playing darts. Both were bald, and both had a heavy curve of gut under the strain of checked shirts. The sound of the table slap made them stop throwing. They looked over and watched for a while.
‘Why do you say that?’ Matt said quietly.
Sean tapped a finger on his chest and held it there. ‘Because God doesn’t love anybody like me, apparently. Not unless I … erm … change one of my interests, if you know what I mean.’
Matt had a quick sense of where this was going, but he didn’t want to presume. ‘And what’s wrong with people like you?’
‘That I can’t change …’ Sean closed his eyes in that slow-blink that drink can bring. ‘No matter how much my church prays for me I still love the wrong people.’ He laughed. ‘Do you know why my dad was shouting at me this morning?’
‘No.’
‘Because he thought I was trying to pick you up. He said I was doing it right in front of him, just to rub sin in his face.’ He sniffed. ‘He’s an idiot, sometimes. An A-grade pillock. I’ve never picked anyone up in my whole life. I haven’t dared. Kissed a few girls but …’ He laughed. ‘I didn’t like it. Or their chapstick.’
‘Sean, I’m sorry about your dad.’
‘Yeah, me too. But the proper funny bit is when I told him why I really went to see you. I told him I’d been reading your book. I confessed. Matt, do you know that some people read your stuff hiding under a duvet with a tiny torch? Grown adults sneaking your book into their bedroom like a dirty old porn mag. Did you know that?’
He said it quietly. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yeah, well this morning I saw you and I thought screw it. I showed him the book and told him I was widening my perspective on God. Then we got back to the car and he took one look at the contents page and flipped out. Now he’s called the pastor to our house for an all-night intercession. That’s where I’m supposed to be now, by the way …’ For the first time, Sean’s eyes sparkled with tears. ‘Yep. There’s a bunch of them sitting in my front room as we speak, all set to “pray the gay away”. Which I’ve tried doing myself since I was twelve but the miracle ain’t coming …’ Sean pulled his wallet out. ‘So there you go … I can’t be a Christian any more … game over.’
‘Then be both. Be you and a Christian. It’s completely possible …’
‘And risk hell?’
And there it was: another throbbing reminder of why Matt Hunter left the church. This morose young man, staring into his pint glass with tears in his eyes, shuddering with self-hate because God was supposedly a single mathematical unit with no tolerance for difference.
‘Let’s move on, Matt. It’s gin o’clock I reckon …’ Sean pushed himself up, but his hand slipped off the chair. He dropped to his knee with a crunch and those two bald heads snapped round from the dartboard. They were sniggering now. Sean spoke to the table edge. ‘I don’t normally drink.’
‘No shit.’ Matt helped him back up.
‘Then I guess this is home time.’
‘I reckon so … but do you really want to go back to yours tonight? With all those church people waiting for you? You can crash on our couch if you like.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘Course I am.’ Matt grabbed Sean’s jacket, surprised at how woozy his own head felt once he stood up straight. Then he grabbed his own jacket and bag. He noticed the darts players were staring and whispering to each other now. ‘I have an amazing office you can crash in.’
‘I’m genuinely touched by the offer but it’s fine …’ Sean’s words slurred as they headed for the door. ‘I’ve arranged to stay at my gran’s tonight. She’s literally a few streets away.’
It was just as Sean put his hand on the door handle that the smallest bald guy said that classic word. Just seven letters, with enough power to set fires. He said ‘Faggots’, though he was hilarious enough to disguise it with a cough. The other one guffawed into his shoulder.
Matt span his head round. ‘What did you just say?’
‘You heard me. Couple of faggots, you two.’
‘Oh, find a time machine for crying out loud,’ Matt said. ‘Catch up.’
‘Why would we? We’re not big into pricks. But you on the other hand …’
Matt took his hand off the door and felt the alcohol move his feet and mouth well before his rational brain could catch up. He stepped into the man’s space. ‘There’s only one prick around here, and I’m looking right at him.’
‘Whoa.’ The barman bounded over just as the darts player slammed his pint on the table. ‘Let’s just move this along.’
Matt put his hand up. ‘Fine, we’re leaving.’
The barman between them, Matt turned to see that Sean had already gone outside. He found him out on the pavement, leaning by the wall. Hands buried in his jacket. He was breathing out plumes of cold, frosty air.
‘Crikey, I am finished with Rinkydink. It’s savage,’ Matt said, one nervous eye on the door.
‘Thanks for that. For sticking up for me,’ Sean said.
‘I was sticking up for both of us. Anyway, which way are you walking?’
‘I’m five minutes along here.’
‘Cool, I’m heading that way too.’
He wasn’t really. It was actually in the opposite direction to Matt’s house, but he didn’t mention that. Might as well make sure Sean got through his front door. After all, new RE teachers found in the street, strewn in vomit, weren’t such a hit with head teachers. So he walked with one arm holding his bag, and the other tucked under Sean’s arm, helping him with his occasional stagger. He’d done this sort of thing many times before. He knew the ropes with drunk people. When he was first ordained Matt volunteered for a project called the Street Angels. The name was a little corny, true, but the aims of it were actually pretty great. He and a bunch of other church folk would wear high-viz jackets and walk the city streets in the early hours of the weekends. They’d help get drunk people home or offer a listening ear. He’d held a lot of hair during puke sessions back then, but at least Sean didn’t look that bad.
It didn’t take too long to reach granny’s house, which was a skinny terrace with an empty hanging basket above the door. She clearly wasn’t deaf because as soon as their footsteps reached the door, the bay window curtain flicked open. A bunched-up, wrinkled eye peeped out.
‘I’ll be in in a second, Gran,’ Sean shouted.
The eye leapt to Matt, gave him the once over, then vanished.
‘Do you mind if we keep tonight between me and you?’ Sean said. ‘For now, at least.’
‘Of course. Not a problem. But if you ever want to talk − about any of it − you call me, okay? I’ll get my Bible out and show you it’s perfectly possible for you to be both.’
He smiled. ‘That I’d love to see.’
‘Oh, and I almost forgot … one free copy.’ Matt reached into his bag and fished out a new hardback of In Our Image. ‘I noticed yours got a bit of water damage this morning.’
Sean stared at it for a long moment, wiped a tear, then took it. ‘You know
, for an atheist, you’re a pretty decent human being.’
‘And for a gay fella, you’re a pretty decent Christian.’
He laughed out loud. They both did. Then Sean opened the door into a purple hallway where a side table was filled with Victorian baby ornaments. Truly hideous. Sean put out a swaying hand. ‘Well thanks. Because after tonight I feel a little more hopeful about my faith. Probably not the reaction you’d hope for—’
‘Sean! You’re letting a gale in here,’ Granny screeched. Her voice was muffled but clear enough from behind the curtains. ‘Get yourself up to bed, you’ve got school in the morning.’
They both looked at each other and laughed again.
‘Goodnight, Matt.’
Matt did a relaxed salute. ‘Night.’
He walked back the same way he came, down the long straight street that seemed to stretch on for ages. Above him, the moonlit sky was clear so that the stars sparkled through the dark blue. He pictured a lounge somewhere in town, with parents and pastors wringing their hands in despair, praying for a man’s personality to vanish and die so he could be someone he wasn’t. Someone more generic and singular. The thought turned Matt’s walk to a trudge, and he grew angry and glum. Mostly glum, though. Especially when his mind insisted on melding Sean’s face with the face of Micah East. Both of them turning to their dads and saying,
Avi, Avi … Lama kataltani.
‘My father, my father,’ he whispered, ‘why have you killed me?’
Such an odd way to put it, Matt thought, looking up at the blazing moon. He thought of that train line up near Chervil, which must be glowing from this very same light right now. He crossed the road as he passed the pub, just in case those two tweedle-dummies were out there, looking for him. They weren’t.
Finally, he reached the end of the long street and went to turn the corner. He took a quick glance back, all the way up. Two bald heads were shining under the street lamps, but thankfully they were clambering into a taxi, heading the other way. An Asian man was rolling his wheelie bin to the front of his house and in the distance, a woman was walking along the path staring at her phone. It was all quite genteel really. No hordes of drunks crawling along the pavement. Not much call for a Street Angels project in Chesham, he thought. People seemed to like taking care of themselves. He slowed his step. Not far from the woman he could see the front door of granny’s house. It was still open. And there he was in the distance, Sean’s silhouette hovering in the door frame, light spilling from the gaps and into the street, watching Matt walk home.
