Fairytale of Headley Cross (5 page)

“Will do. Night. Say hi to Cassie for me.” Carson hung up and reached for the bottle of painkillers. His mind went back to Maggie.

Which way had she voted? He knew she hadn’t been at the church meeting when he gave his testimony. His wasn’t the normal background a pastor had and if she didn’t know—

He swallowed the meds and flicked on the laptop. Time to check his email then spend an hour or so alone in prayer and meditation before starting his sermon for the weekend.

****

Maggie rang the doorbell and Pilot barked from somewhere in the house. She’d had a long day and all she wanted to do was put her feet up, watch some mindless TV and then go to bed. But instead, she’d gone home, made dinner for Carson and here she was. She cradled the hot dish in her hands.

Carson opened the door, the dog at his feet. He grabbed Pilot’s collar to stop him jumping up at her.

Guilt flooded her at the sight of Carson’s battered and bruised face. It was worse than yesterday. “Hi. I brought you some dinner. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up to cooking. And some arnica cream for your bruises.”

“Thank you.” His lopsided smile just served to make her feel worse. “Come in. How was your day?”

Maggie followed him across the threshold. “Busy. It’ll be nonstop between now and the end of term.” She held out the dish. “It’s shepherd’s pie. Something easy to eat.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s really kind of you. Shepherd’s pie happens to be one of my favorite meals. Will you join me?” He took the dish.

“I wasn’t after an invitation. I—”

“I know. But please?” The expression on his face was comical. It matched Pilot’s perfectly.

“OK. Thank you.” She took off her coat and hung it up. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” He headed to the kitchen. “How long does this need?”

“Four minutes should do it.” Maggie followed him. Christmas lights twinkled around the windows in here as well. He’d obviously finished the decorating at some point today. A poinsettia sat on the worktop and a gold and red candle decoration took pride of place on the kitchen table. Christmas carols played quietly on the stereo on the windowsill. “Very pretty. I still have to put my decorations up.”

The microwave beeped as Carson programmed it. “I had nothing else to do, other than start my sermons for the weekend.”

“Your face looks sore.”

“It is. I might have to be a panda or a cow rather than a donkey in your nativity.”

She laughed. “
My
nativity, now, is it? But seriously, how can you make light of this? Wesley beat you for no reason other than that you were with me.”

“I’m not making light of it, but I’ve done worse and been hurt far worse than this in the past.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m just grateful he hit me and not you.” He opened the cupboard and took out two plates. “There’s juice in the fridge and glasses in the cupboard by the window. If you could, please?”

“Sure.” Maggie got the glasses down. “Are you truly not pressing charges?”

“Like I told everyone yesterday, there’s no real harm done.”

She paused, the carton of juice hovering over the glass. “How can you say that? Have you actually looked in a mirror since last night?”

“I’ll heal.” He got out the cutlery and set the table. “Plus it’s ‘
do unto others as you would have them do unto you’,
isn’t it?”

“I was half expecting you to quote ‘
vengeance is mine
’.”

“Well, that too.” He turned and bumped into her, knocking her off balance. Red juice cascaded down the front of his white shirt. He reached out and caught her arm, steadying her. “I’m sorry. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. But your shirt isn’t.”

“It’ll come out in the wash. I’ll put it to soak.” He pulled off his shirt.

Maggie stilled, her gaze riveted to his exposed skin. His taut, bruised chest was scarred in several places. What was evidently a knife wound ran across his stomach. Another, far deeper scar left a ridge on his left shoulder. She bit her lip, trying not to show a visible reaction.

Carson turned to the sink, running cold water over his shirt. His back was also scarred.

She was no expert, but was that a bullet wound? Was this why he thought nothing of the beating that Wesley had given him? What kind of a man had the church employed as pastor? Was he an ex-soldier?

He turned and held her gaze. Her cheeks burned under his intense gaze.

“Like I said, a few bruises are nothing. I’ll go and find a clean shirt. I won’t be a minute.”

Maggie nodded and tried not to ogle him as he left the room. Despite the scars, he was a fine looking man. She shook her head.
He’s a pastor, not a man. Get that through your head, woman.
She grabbed a cloth and pushed Pilot away. “You don’t want this, boy. I’ll put fresh water down for you.”

She cleared up and put the glasses on the table. Carson came back in and she glanced over at him. “I’m sorry, Pastor.”

“Call me Carson.” He winked at her. “That’s what my friends call me, and I’d like to think we’re at least that now.”

She tilted her head at him. “Oh?”

“After all, we’ve had our first fight and you’ve seen me shirtless.”

Maggie laughed, the tension leaving her. “I’d hate to hear what the little old ladies at the back of the church would say if they ever found out.”

His deep, rich laugh joined hers. “Then we’d better not tell them. Have a seat.”

Maggie sat down as Carson pulled the shepherd’s pie from the microwave and dished up. She’d put vegetables in with the meat and she had to admit it did smell as good as it looked.

Carson put the plates on the table and sat opposite her. He reached across and took hold of her hands. Closing his eyes, he said grace.

Warmth flooded her. His hands were softer than she imagined. So he wasn’t a soldier. Nor someone who’d done manual work. Her heart pounded within the confines of her chest. A shaft of disappointment cut through her as he let go of her hand and picked up his fork.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and sipped her juice. “You were going to tell me your story before we got interrupted yesterday. I’m guessing it must be interesting.”

“You mean the scars?”

She stabbed the food with the fork. “I didn’t mean because of the scars, but it does make me wonder what happened.”

“Which scar in particular? This shepherd’s pie is good by the way.”

“Thank you. Umm, any or all of them. Whichever is easiest to talk about.”

Carson loaded his fork with the meat. “Well, as you don’t know my story at all, I’ll start at the beginning. I was born in London. I have a sister, Sue-Lyn, who lives in Malta with her husband, Paulo. I haven’t seen her in a while. And a brother, William—”

“Not William Armitage the formula one racing driver?”

“The very same. You follow?”

“I love watching it. I’ve been known to stay up all night to watch the Grand Prix before now.”

“You’re crazy. I have to watch, but you?”

Maggie shrugged. “My brother would stay up all night to watch football. It’s the same thing. Formula one is simply faster and much more interesting.”

Carson smiled, pausing while he chewed. “I fell into bad company when I got into my teens. I joined a gang when I was fourteen. After I did my exams, I left school and spent all day, every day out with the gang. I worked my way up through the ranks until I was second in command. We ruled that part of London; even the police thought twice about going unarmed into our territory. The scar on my shoulder was a knife wound from a street fight. I got shot in a fight with a rival gang. And the long scar on my stomach I got in prison."

5

Prison?
Stunned simply didn’t cover the numbness that filled Maggie. Her jaw dropped and she swallowed hard. The fork fell from her hand to the plate with a loud clunk.
Surely I misheard him, right? Or he was the prison chaplain or something…
But he said gangs and fights and…

She had to say something. Anything to get him to clarify what he’d just said, but what? Finally, her voice managed a squeak. “Prison? You’re an ex-con?”

Carson nodded. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. But two things I can assure you of, I haven’t killed anyone. Nor have I ever,
ever
, raised my hand against a woman or a child. Or hurt them in any way.”

“O—OK.”

“All of the gang members were armed by default. I carried a gun and a knife all the time. I had to, for my own protection—even slept with my knife under my pillow. You never knew when someone from a rival gang would find you. Or a cop would happen along. And, yes, before you ask, I did use it. Anyway, we needed money and a lot of it. So the decision was made to rob a bank in Stepney. Not one on our turf—we weren’t that stupid.”

“Why not?”

“Never mess in your own backyard.”

Maggie looked down at her plate. She wasn’t sure how to take all of this. But she’d asked and now he was talking, the last thing she would do was ask him to stop. “I see. Sorry. This is all new to me. Go on.”

He took a forkful of food and paused while he ate. “Against my better judgment, I left my knife behind with someone from the gang, and just took my gun. The orders came down from higher up the gang command chain than me. The bank was busy. We told all the customers to lie on the floor while someone went along the row of cashiers with the bag. I covered the customers and one of the younger members covered the security guard. Only, another guard came in. The kid got spooked and fired. The guard died, despite my best efforts to stem the bleeding. We were all sent down for armed robbery. I got eight years for my part. After five years I got an early release.”

“I see.”

Carson picked up his juice and took several long swallows. “But I found God in that prison cell. Eventually—my heart was stubborn and full of pride. The only way to survive with my reputation was to act tough and hit hard and fast and first. Until someone was faster than me, and I got stabbed. The doctor who patched up the knife wound to my stomach was a Christian. He was different from anyone I’d met before. I wanted to know why and he told me. I started going along to the services in the prison chapel and God slowly started working in me. I was converted about three months later. And I haven’t looked back since.”

He studied the glass in his hand. “Once I got out, I went home. Mum and Dad stood by me the whole time, not that I deserved it. So did William. I applied to Bible College, and here I am. This is my first pastorate.”

Maggie sat in amazement. The fact he hadn’t mentioned his sister in that last bit, spoke volumes, but she wasn’t going to pry. “That’s incredible. And your record didn’t stop you from getting in?” She shook her head and put her fork down. “Sorry, obviously it didn’t.”

“They tested my faith a lot, and wanted evidence of my conversion. I still get the impression someone is waiting for me to fail. But I am so grateful to God for all He’s done. I’m living proof of His love and mercy and that even the worst sinner can find forgiveness at the cross.” He paused. “You look uncomfortable. Have I said too much?”

“No.” She needed to rein in her feelings. None of them were perfect, she knew all too well she had her own faults and failings and would hate for them to become public knowledge. “I just wasn’t expecting a story like yours. What about your CRB?”

He smiled. “I was honest when I applied, so the criminal records check wasn’t a problem. I can’t change my past, but I’ve paid my debt to society. God’s wiped out my sins and here I am.” He picked up his glass and swirled the juice. “What about you?”

“Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. I was brought up in the church. It’s just something I’ve always done. A natural progression, if you like.” Despite his honesty, she just couldn’t tell him everything. Some things were best left in the past where they belonged. Her turning point had been dramatic enough for her to need hours of therapy and counseling and now she was moving forwards. Reliving the past couldn’t happen.

Carson finished his meal. “That was lovely, thank you.”

“Do you want a hand with the dishes?”

He shook his head. “I have a dishwasher. And I fully intend to use it.”

Maggie smiled. “In that case, I shall make a move and go home. I have a pile of marking to do. Don’t forget to use the arnica cream on those bruises.”

“I won’t.” He rose to his feet as she did. “Maggie, I’d like to see you again.”

“You’re helping with the nativity, and I’ll see you in church.”

He grabbed her hand. His skin was warm and gentle, yet it sent rivers of fire shooting up her arm and tight around her chest. “No, I mean
see
you. I know you’ve only just broken up with someone, and I don’t want to start anything on the rebound, just think about it.”

“I will.”

Her mind whirled as she left the house. He’d asked her out. Did she want to go out with him? Did she want to date a pastor or an ex-con or another man just yet? What was it that made her want to keep him at arm’s length? Was it the fact he was a pastor,
her
pastor, or an ex-con that bothered her? A bank robber and gangster, someone who routinely carried a gun and used it to threaten people with, and even shoot them, or was she afraid he’d turn out to be another Wesley? Or would her past prevent her from ever being able to trust him?

Half way down the path to the car, her phone rang. “Hello?”

“Just checking I have the right number.”

Maggie laughed and waved at the figure standing in the tinsel strewn window behind her. “You have. Night, Carson.”

“Night, Maggie.”

She got into the car and dumped her bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Her phone rang again. She grinned and fished it from her bag. “Did you forget something?”

“No, but you did.” The voice wasn’t the one she was expecting.