Redemption Song (11 page)

‘I’m not a doctor yet.’

‘But you will be,’ Rain added.

Mair shuffled in her seat. ‘Why did you leave?’

Rain leant over and touched Mair’s arm. ‘You remember what I told you?’

Mair blinked, shook her head, as if disappointed with herself, and sighed.

Rain continued, ‘Stephen, my husband, wasn’t the only one …’

Mair stared at her, blank.

‘… in the car.’

‘Damn my bloody memory,’ Mair said, holding Saffron in her gaze. She shook her head. ‘Bugger old age.’

Saffron nodded. ‘It can be a bitch at times, no mistaking. Medicine can’t solve everything.’

‘Saffron!’ Rain squealed.

‘Now, now, Reverend. If it’s OK for me to swear then it’s OK for Saffron.’

The old lady was barely recognisable as the pearl-wearing flower arranger Saffron had seen at meetings in the manse and hall with other church members. She leaned over to Saffron and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Life’s a struggle and full of disappointments. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Sure do.’ Saffron smiled.

‘It must be hard for you. Not believing and all. Your mam and me, see, we have our Lord, and he’s a great comfort. I’ve not been too lonely, and I’m not afraid of death –’

‘You’re not there yet,’ Rain said, tutting as if Mair were a child.

‘For the Kingdom of Heaven awaits me and there I will find peace, I’ll find the greatest love of all.’ Mair tipped her face to the cracked ceiling and for a moment Saffron thought she might shout, ‘Hallelujah’. She wondered what it might be like, waiting a lifetime for a kind of happiness, a promise of bliss. Especially when there were no guarantees. After all, no one had come back and said it – Heaven – was definitely there and just as described. No one had proved it, and proof was everything, for her. She envied her mother’s faith at times.

‘Mind you, if you find love down here, grab it with both hands,’ Mair continued. ‘Go for it full throttle, no holding back. Not that there’s much talent round these parts.’

Rain choked on her milky tea.

Mair placed her hand over Saffron’s, veins roping between swollen knuckles. Her grip was surprisingly firm. ‘Nice-looking girl like you, you’ll find another. I had offers, but I wasn’t pretty like you.’

Saffron took in the older woman. The girl was still discernible beneath the mask of old age.

You might not have been pretty as a young woman, but you were handsome. Strong-featured, a direct, bold gaze. Oodles of sex appeal for those unafraid of it. A woman born into the wrong era. What a waste.

‘She will find love again, though it’s too soon right now,’ Rain said.

Mair tutted. ‘Nonsense.’ She looked at Saffron and clenched her fists as she said, ‘If it comes along, grab it.’ She turned to Rain, wagging a finger, the other fist still tight, ‘And you.’

It had rained while they were inside the hospital. They walked across the car park in silence, the only sound the slap of boots hitting puddles. The conversation raging inside Rain’s head was loud and furious. Saffron loped ahead, her body shapeless in her duffel coat, thin legs accentuated by her heavy boots.

She looks like Minnie Mouse. And to think I was envious of those legs. So long and lean. They look like a goat’s. Her kneecaps look swollen. I could snap her in two if I tried.

Rain wondered, momentarily, when was the last time she’d seen her daughter eat.

She ate like a pig the other night – when was it again? All girls eat like gerbils these days. So much pressure, all that Photoshopping and TV shows. Even actresses are thin as reeds. At least the pretty ones are.

Had it been like that when she was a girl? Rain couldn’t remember. “Heroin chic” had been all the rage, but she was a mother at twenty-two and had only just completed her theology degree. No time, or money, for messing around with women’s magazines and faddy diets, worrying if the latest fashions would fit. Stephen was still a student. It took years to qualify as an architect. It was a wonder they got by at all, let alone Stephen walking away with a first-class degree, as Rain had. Saffron had opened the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Rain reached for the door handle and noted her fleshy hands.

Most people lose weight when they’re stressed. It seems to have the opposite effect on me.

She flung open the door.

And what was all that, agreeing with Mair Shawcroft? Another man. Indeed.

She flopped onto the seat, the leather sighing beneath her weight.

I can’t imagine even looking at another man!

‘Belt up,’ Saffron ordered.

‘Sorry?’ Even to her own ears Rain sounded sharp. Had she been thinking aloud again?

‘Fasten your seat belt?’ Saff said.

‘Why are you huffing?’

‘I’m not.’ Saffron rammed the key into the ignition and rattled it.

‘Be careful! You’ll break it!’

‘It’s always stiff, you know that.’ She jiggled it around again, as if to deliberately incense Rain.

‘Well, I’m just saying –’

Saffron yanked the key out of the ignition and turned to face Rain. ‘Mum, what’s wrong? And don’t say “nothing”.’

Permission granted – invited – Rain opened the sluice gate and out poured all those words and feelings that had been filling her head since Mair had casually told her she must grab any man that came her way.

‘How can you possibly believe another man could catch my eye such a short time after your father’s passing? I am grieving. Grieving.’ She sounded out the last word, emphasising the ‘ee’ sound, like a teacher giving a phonics lesson, the catch in her voice betraying her. She sucked in air, noisily. ‘I’m mourning the loss of the man I love with all my heart, love like I love Jesus, the best man, a man amongst boys, a man who worshipped me, who was good and kind and caring and provided for all of us without complaint, who put his own ambitions on hold so that I might pursue God’s calling. Who converted for me. Me! Did I ever tell you that, Saffron? Your father wasn’t a believer, not when we first met, but he loved me so much and I knew that he had it in him, that faith, that goodness, that hope, it was just that no one had tapped into it before. No one until me. And our Lord. Oh, he said he went into the church to follow me but he was following Jesus, it was Jesus who led him there, through me, because He sees what no one else can see, what’s really, really, inside people. What’s inside you, Saffron? You. That you can believe I would find another man attractive. Another man! Unbelievable! Can you so easily cast off Ben’s love? Is this what this is all about? I cannot cast off your father so easily.’

Exhausted, she slumped back in the seat, reached over to the belt and clicked it into the holder without another glance at Saffron, who at least had the good grace to remain silent.

Stunned, Saffron turned and stared at the misty windscreen, eyes burning. She saw nothing but droplets of rain trickling down the pane, gathering others on the way, growing larger, slowing, splintering off, tracing another path to the base of the glass.

Do not cry. Do not give her the satisfaction.

After a couple of seconds, she lifted the key and steered it carefully into place with trembling hands. The car started without fuss.

Saffron loved her father, more than she loved her mother, she’d often thought. He was generous in spirit in a way Rain clearly wanted to be but couldn’t quite manage.

I wish it had been her.

Stephen was no saint. She wouldn’t have recognised her father from Rain’s description had she not known to whom Rain was referring. His lack of saintliness was what she loved about him most. Saffron loved the way he challenged the church, balancing faith with scientific theory, the way he respected her lack of faith. He was greedy – for alcohol, food, life. He gorged on life in all its messiness. He clashed with Matthew no end.

And he loved women. Saffron often thought her father’s faith would have been so much stronger had Jesus been female. How Stephen loved women. All women. He teased and flirted outrageously with the old ladies of the Dulwich congregation. How they loved it, their waxy cheeks blooming with colour, returning them to the first flush of youth when their bodies were something to enjoy and be enjoyed rather than a source of discomfort, pain, and disappointment. He flirted with Saffron’s friends, plain and pretty alike. He made them feel good about themselves. Not in a creepy way. He was never inappropriate, always charming.

He was useless at most practical matters, despite his brilliance as an architect. DIY was left to Rain to do or organise, and he drove as little as possible despite having a licence, much to Rain’s annoyance. The ferrying to and from clubs and parties and events was left to her. He was self-absorbed and distracted much of the time. Late for dinner, forever forgetting parents’ evenings, graduation ceremonies. Never helping with the washing-up. Saffron remembered the petty arguments.

No, Stephen was no saint, but Saffron knew she was loved and this was what mattered. Her heart stalled at the thought of him, at his absence.

Why did you die? Why? Why? It should have been me. I wish it had been me.

The grey of the road zoomed into view. Saffron saw the kerb. Too late.

Rain screamed.

The car jolted as it made contact with the pavement, ricocheted off the kerb, and veered into the middle of the road. Saffron pulled on the handbrake. The car came to an abrupt halt.

They sat there, for a second, stunned and breathless. Then they burst into tears, there, in the middle of the road, as oncoming traffic slowed, honked, and tooted at them.

Chapter Eleven

Joe was on the chapel roof when he heard the distinctive chug of the Standard. The damage to the roof was greater than he had thought. Most of it looked like the original, the one built around the mid-nineteenth century. Slates must have been replaced after storms and the small areas of the underlying structure that had received some maintenance were obvious, but the rest looked like the original. Joe was impressed by the craftsmanship. Nothing was built to last like this any more. Despite its simple, functional appearance, without fuss or frills, little in the way of decoration, the chapel had been built with care and love; he wondered how long it had taken. Monuments like St Paul’s had taken hundreds of years; the chapel in his school, decades, with its intricate stonework, carvings, and icons. The gargoyles lurking under the eaves, watching the boys trooping in each Sunday morning and waiting to pounce, had terrified him when he’d first arrived. They gave him nightmares. It wasn’t long before he realised the creatures to be frightened of were not those made of stone.

Think you’re something, don’t you? Idiot.

A kick in the shins, in the scrum during rugby. A jab with a sharp pencil at the back of the neck, a shove in the corridor, bathroom, dormitory. Small things in themselves. Together, less so.

He heard a door slam and glanced down, momentarily forgetting that he’d never quite got used to working at heights. He hadn’t been lying entirely when he’d told Derek he wasn’t keen on it. Dizzy and faintly nauseous, he gripped a scaffolding pole before composing himself. He needed to speak with Rain about the extent of the damage. It would be easier to replace the entire roof than to attempt patching up what remained.

Joe’s stomach hadn’t entirely recovered when he reached the ground. He took off his hat and wiped his brow, which was slick with perspiration. He noticed the Standard was parked on the road outside the chapel. Strange, usually Rain left it in the car park or outside the manse. He glanced at it again as he closed the chapel gate, turning left towards the manse.

Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, though the engine was silent. He bent forward, intrigued.

It was Saffron, hands on the wheel, arms locked, staring straight ahead, tears streaking her cheeks. Conscious of her trance-like state and not wanting to frighten her, he straightened up, ready to creep away, but she turned her head and looked directly at him – though he wasn’t convinced, at first, that she actually saw him. He half-smiled, apologetic, as if he’d been caught, fingers in the biscuit jar, and mouthed, ‘Hello.’

Without replying, she continued to stare at him and her tears gained momentum. Her shoulders began to shake and, unable to hold her breath any longer, she gasped, sudden and sharp, clutching at the air, her hands reaching to her face, covering her distress. He opened the door and reached for her shoulder. It trembled beneath his touch.

‘I could use a drink. How about you?’ he said. He was crouched down, legs apart for balance, and his muscles were beginning to ache. He’d rested there, in the car doorway, one hand on the door handle while she’d cried. He’d asked no questions – until now – and she’d offered no explanation.

She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, smudging her make-up, and lifted her head to address him. ‘I need several. Jump in.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

And she laughed, loud, chin tipped backwards, her mouth so wide he could see all of her teeth. They were perfect, no fillings, no crooked edges, just perfect. Laughing suited her and a surge of pleasure coursed through him. He pushed himself upright, his toes tingling with the beginnings of pins and needles. She clambered out, shrugged her hood up and locked the car. Without speaking they walked away from the chapel, down towards the lower town.

Outside Y Castell Joe paused. They’d been silent the entire way. Joe had lifted an arm occasionally to indicate direction and Saffron had nodded her approval, but they hadn’t uttered one word. He noted that it felt comfortable; she wasn’t someone who felt the need to fill space with mundane chatter, unlike Allegra. Joe had never been one for small talk.

‘It’ll be dead in there,’ she said. ‘Could we sit on the beach instead?’

‘Sure. It’s a bit early for a drink anyway.’

‘Bollocks. We’ll go to the offy. Bargain Booze is nearest the sea. It’s always rammed with teenagers buying cheap cider and extra strong lager but the selection is sick.’ She pulled a face as she said ‘sick’ and Joe realised she was not only aping the teens she spoke of but making a sly reference to the last time they’d stood outside of Y Castell.