The Gospel According to Luke (18 page)

‘She's got a point,' Greg said. ‘We're great at fighting abortion –'

‘Or we used to be,' Belinda muttered.

Luke gave her a stern look and then nodded at Greg. ‘Go on.'

‘Well, we're not providing an alternative, are we?'

‘True enough,' Leticia said. ‘But pregnancy support isn't necessarily the answer. Abortion is the cure for pregnancy to these girls, right? So shouldn't we work on prevention?'

‘We can do both,' Luke said. ‘What about that talk Honey gave the senior girls' group a few weeks back? I don't think anything could have got the abstinence message through to them as much as her witnessing.'

‘Yeah.' Kenny was nodding. ‘Like talking to girls who are suffering the consequences of pre-marital sex will show the other kids that God has darn good reasons for forbidding it.'

‘Right,' Leticia said. ‘And at the same time, the pregnant girls will be learning from the rest of the kids how awesome it is to be a Christian. So it's like education all around, isn't it?'

‘Plus,' Luke said, ‘we don't want to stigmatise girls like Honey. Social disapproval is a powerful
disincentive; it will only drive young women back to the abortionists. Girls who publicly confess their sin and admit they need to change, that they need God, girls like Honey . . .' He reached across and patted her hand. ‘Heroines. That's what they are. We should treat them as such.'

Belinda made a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘I don't know, Luke. Is social disapproval such a bad thing? Like you said, stigma is a fantastic reinforcer, better than any law.'

‘Come on, Bel, a caring church should help girls who make mistakes and then take the heroic path of choosing life. I'm not suggesting we dole out money to teenage mothers with no strings attached. I'm talking about ministering to those most in need of it. A hospital for sinners, remember? Remember?'

‘Yes. Yes, of course I do, Luke,' Belinda said, reaching across the table and patting his arm. ‘Okay, yes, let's do it!'

There were cheers all around, and excited chatter about how they would go about getting elder approval and when they would start. Honey finished her breakfast and took her plate and cup to the sink. Today was Saturday, but she had to write an essay about
Pride and Prejudice
by Monday, and she hadn't even started the book yet.

‘I'll be in my room.' Honey headed outside.

At the door to her cabin, Luke stopped her. ‘One second.' He put an arm around her shoulder.
‘You were great in there. You really got everyone inspired.'

She shrugged. ‘I thought it was a good idea.'

‘It is. And I hope you'll play a key role in getting it established.'

‘Sure.' She nodded toward her room. ‘I have to go study.'

Luke withdrew his arm. ‘One other thing. I saw you hiding out here before breakfast this morning.'

Honey felt her face go hot.

‘Now don't get me wrong,' Luke said. ‘Greg is an awesome bloke, and I personally recommended him to this ministry, it's just that I don't think it's a good idea for you guys to be meeting in secret like that.'

‘No, Luke. I was smoking.'

‘What?'

‘I went out for a smoke and Greg saw me and told me off.'

‘Oh, thank goodness.' Luke laughed. ‘Not the smoking. That's very bad and if I catch you with a cigarette in your mouth I'll make you eat the darn thing. But – Greg was just giving you a telling off?'

Honey nodded.

‘Great. Wonderful.' Luke laughed again. ‘Okay, well, I'll be in my office. Let me know if you need a hand with your study.'

Honey watched him go. He was practically skipping. Sometimes she really did feel she was in topsy-turvy land here. Sticks into snakes, walking on
water, talking donkeys, living for three days in the belly of a whale or in a burning furnace, causing the sun to stand still, turning water into wine, creating humans from dirt, a great flood covering the whole planet and all the animals of the world gathered by twos into a big boat. Sometimes she felt like calling the authorities and telling them that there was a whole big bunch of crazy people who needed locking up. But sometimes, like when Belinda gave her another baby blanket she'd made, or when Greg spent three hours explaining trigonometry to her, or when Luke filled out her hospital papers and put himself as Next of Kin and Emergency Contact, she thought crazy was good, and she hoped they'd all stay this way forever and never be touched by the whole world of mean, hard reality that was just outside these walls.

In the month after being dumped, Aggie worked sixteen hours every day and drank herself to sleep every night. Sometimes she woke in the early hours of the morning, sweaty and confused. Lying awake, heart beating too fast, she would try and remember the dream that had woken her: flashes of Luke's lips and eyes and hands, snatches of conversation, declarations and promises. She started to sleep with the television on, so when she woke in the night, she would not feel so alone. It didn't work.

Four weeks after the stoush at the front of the clinic, the Justice for the Unborn protesters returned. The man she had punched appeared to be fully recovered
and was supported by four women and one other man. They set up at eight in the morning and continued until two or three in the afternoon. The police, ever cheerful and useless, warned the protesters to stay off the clinic's property and told Aggie and Mal that was all they could do.

After a few days of this, Mal decided he and Will needed to work out their problems far away from it all in Morocco. Aggie pointed out that it really wasn't the best time to be taking a holiday, what with the pickets and death threats and all, but he was a man in love and there was no reasoning with him.

A week later, someone painted the word BUTCHERS in six-foot-high, red letters across the front window. The side wall was branded with BABIES SLAUGHTERED HERE. It took Aggie almost two hours to clean the window and then another three hours to repaint the wall. She could have hired someone to do it, but the budget was tight and besides, hard labour was a good way to release stress.

Having lost a day to the clean-up, Aggie was still in her office catching up on paperwork at eleven that night, when the new message icon popped up in the corner of the screen.
1 new message from
:
[email protected]
Simon Keating, the doctor of love. The email had come through her private address, not the clinic's enquiry box.

The message read:
Aggie, call me ASAP. Am v. worried. S
.

Aggie dialled the number at the bottom of the email; he picked up on the first ring.

‘Simon, it's –'

‘Aggie! Damn it!'

She laughed. ‘That's a nice greeting after all this time.'

‘You're still at the office?'

‘Yeah. What's –'

‘I'll be there in twenty minutes. Stay where you are.'

By the time he arrived, twenty-seven minutes after his email, there were twenty-two messages in her private box. Each one had the subject line: STOP STATE SUBSIDISED MURDER!!!!!!!!!!

‘What's going on?' she asked him as she re-locked the door.

Simon took off his coat, threw it over her chair and sat down in front of her computer. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he began flicking through her messages, all the while swearing under his breath and shaking his head. After a few seconds he looked up. ‘You're the target of an email bombing campaign. The alert I received came from a group calling themselves Justice for the Unborn. It seems to have been sent to everyone with a government health email account. It accuses you of referring noncritical termination cases to the public health system, thereby directing health services that should be used saving lives into ending lives. It urges all health care
professionals to write to you demanding that you desist in forcing them to use their expertise, not to mention state resources, to terminate pregnancy in perfectly healthy women.'

‘I suppose it didn't mention that I also refer women wanting to continue their pregnancies to government hospital obstetricians and public health clinics? I'll have to change my email address, I suppose. Bugger.'

‘You're very calm about this.'

‘Simon, I spent the day removing hate graffiti from the building, I get at least five abusive calls a day, there are malicious posters of my clients all over town and last week I received a letter telling me that God demands an eye for an eye and I should watch my back. I can't afford to get stressed out by a bunch of emails.'

Simon shook his head and smiled. ‘Aggie Grey, you've got more balls than brains.'

‘Fuck off, Simon.'

He laughed, clasping his hands behind his head and swinging his feet up onto her desk. ‘You still seeing that feisty young lawyer?'

‘No. You still seeing that, oh, what was her name? That shrew with the big hair?'

‘We just celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary with a week in Tahiti.'

Aggie snorted. ‘It's cheating to count the time you were living with me. Just about every couple would get to twenty years if they were allowed to live apart for a couple of years in the middle.'

‘It's true that my time with you gave me a greater appreciation for my wife.'

Aggie picked up a herpes pamphlet from the shelf beside her and threw it at his head. He caught it easily, threw it back at her, laughing when it hit her right in the face.

‘Well, this has been fun, Simon, but it's late and I'm tired.'

‘Seriously, Aggie. I think this mob is dangerous. That bloke who tried to blow up that Melbourne clinic a while back was associated with a group very much like this one. These people are not afraid to resort to violence to get their point across.' He smiled. ‘I know things got a bit ugly between us at the end, but I do have a soft spot for you and I'd hate to lose you to a bunch of religious loonies.'

Aggie rolled her eyes, dislodging the tears that were starting to form. ‘I appreciate the heads-up on the email thing, but you don't need to worry. I'm really fine.'

Simon stood up and pulled on his coat. ‘You're a fantastic girl, Aggie. I wish things had been different.'

‘Yeah, well.'

‘You know . . .' He tilted his head to the side. ‘If you're not seeing anyone . . .'

She turned her back on him and shuffled the papers on her desk. ‘Good night, Simon.'

‘Fiona is at a conference in Canberra for the week.'

Aggie stood and brushed past him without looking
up. She sat in front of the computer and began deleting the emails.

‘
Are
you seeing anyone? I just thought, if we're both alone and . . . well, seeing you again has rekindled all these feelings. You remember how we used to swim? Every morning we'd have those brilliant long swims in your pool and afterwards we'd shower together. I never swim anymore. How about you?'

Aggie deleted the last message. She shut down the computer. Grabbed her handbag, jacket, keys. Checked all the windows and doors, set the alarm to activate in ninety seconds. She undid all of the internal locks, opened the door wide and gestured Simon through without looking at him. Then she deadlocked the door and started walking to her car. Simon trotted along beside her.

When she got to the car she took one last look across the road. All the interior lights were out. She turned to Simon, who was leaning on the bonnet of his Pajero, watching her. ‘I'm in love,' she said.

‘That's nice.'

‘No, it's really not.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't want to talk to about it.'

Simon rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘You're the one who brought it up.'

‘Only because . . .' Aggie took a deep breath. ‘I thought you should know that if we do this, it will just be sex. You mean nothing to me, Simon.'

‘I don't mind.' He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. His hand closed on her arse and squeezed. She remembered how much Simon loved her arse, how he would grasp it in both hands, press his face to it and become Mellors, ‘Aye, it's the finest woman's arse there is,' he would say, and she would laugh and let him do as he pleased, because he was charming and clever and beautiful and she was none of those things.

One morning as he was drinking his tea, Luke gazed out the window and saw Aggie slumped against the bonnet of her car with her head in her hands. Fresh graffiti covered her window and walls. He spilt his tea in the rush to get up. As he ran on to the street, she stood, squared her shoulders, nodded at the wall and marched inside. Luke gritted his teeth and went back to work.

It was a mystery why God would not relieve Luke of his painful interest in her, even though he had done all he could to remove himself from temptation. Wasn't God supposed to help those who help themselves? Luke trusted the Lord as ever, but he wondered
if he was being dense. He had repented truly; he had removed himself from temptation; he had wholeheartedly recommitted himself to his ministry and his mission. Yet his feelings for Aggie grew. His passion festered.
What else
? Luke implored, pacing his office praying with his whole body and spirit.
What else do you want me to do, Lord? What is it you want me to learn? I am your loyal servant, but I am lost and do not know where you want me to go
.

There was a knock on the door and it swung open immediately.

‘May I disturb you a moment, Luke?' Pastor Riley stood in the doorway, leaning forward with one foot slightly off the ground.

‘Of course, come in.' The last time Luke had seen Pastor Riley was the night they'd counselled the Cranbournes together.

Pastor Riley closed the door behind him, ignored Luke's invitation to sit across from him in the visitor's chair, and instead crossed the room to sit on the low bookshelf by the window, forcing Luke to swivel in his chair.