The Redeemed (17 page)

Walking back across the lobby skirting the busy bookshop,
Jenny felt the last vestiges of cynicism dissolve. The people browsing the
shelves were young, keen and intelligent. They were looking for meaning beyond
themselves while most of their peers, her son included, would currently be
alone in front of a computer or a TV screen, part of a vast global generation
too over-stimulated and self-obsessed to muster any idealism or sense of
greater purpose.

She stopped to study the big plasma screen above the closed
door to the auditorium. Bobby DeMont and Lennox Strong were laying hands on
some teenagers who had come up onto the stage. Lennox was saying, 'In the name
of Jesus, we call upon you, Lord, to fill this young man with your spirit, to
guide him to do your will and to give him strength to resist temptation.' The
kneeling subject rose to his feet and turned to face the audience. It was
Freddy.

'Can I tell them something, Lennox?' Freddy said.

'Sure.'

Gripping his cuffs in his clenched fists and rocking up onto
his toes with excitement, Freddy addressed the crowd. 'When I first came to
this church I was sick. I was drinking, taking drugs, most of the time I didn't
know who or where I was. The doctors said I was depressed, but there was
nothing they could do to help
me ...
I tried to kill
myself twice. I mean,
really
tried. All I
wanted was for the pain to end. But then a friend told me about this place. No
way did I want to come to a church. I thought that's somewhere for old people
and weirdos -' Bobby DeMont threw back his head and laughed uproariously - 'but
something said to me just try it, just once.' Freddy's face cracked into a grin
so wide he could hardly force out the words. 'That day changed my life. When
Lennox called for people who were ill or suffering to come to the front, it
felt like a hand was guiding me. And when he prayed over me - you know the
feeling when you jump off a high diving board? It was like that, only angels
caught me in the air. From being in so much pain, I felt like I was flying, I
was so
light,
so happy—'

'Here.' Lennox handed Freddy a Kleenex to wipe his streaming
eyes. The young congregation cheered.

His voice cracking with emotion, Freddy continued, 'I'd never
heard of the Holy Spirit. I hadn't even read the Bible. But from that moment I
knew I was saved. That's the power of the spirit. It doesn't matter who you
are, it doesn't matter what you've done, just open your heart the tiniest crack
and I promise you, it'll come rushing in. And if I can be saved, anyone can.'

Bobby DeMont stepped up to his side and clapped a powerful
arm around his narrow shoulders. 'Thank you so much for that, Freddy. You see,
folks? God does not judge you on your past sins. Some of the greatest
Christians of them all have been evil men, persecutors, slave traders, even
murderers. That is the miracle of grace, my friends. When you ask to be born
again Jesus lifts that sin from you in the twinkling of an eye.'

'How many of you out there haven't been born again?' Lennox
chimed in. He scanned the hands going up in the audience. 'OK. Well, if you
people want to change your lives for ever, all you have to do is join me in
this prayer.' He pointed a finger to the big screens above the stage. 'Say
after me: Dear Lord, I recognize that I am a sinner, and I truly repent. .

Jenny turned to see Ed Prince approaching. He stopped
alongside her, following her gaze to the screen. The camera picked out
individual young men and women earnestly mouthing their prayers of commitment:
'I believe that He is risen from the dead, and I accept Him as my personal Lord
and Saviour . . .'

'Are you a believer, Mrs Cooper?' Prince said.

'After a fashion.'

'See all those young black kids, boys who'd have been out
with knives, girls who'd have been pregnant? Lennox Strong has led them here
like Moses through the wilderness. And the white kids looked up to Eva.'

'I've no intention of harming your good work.'

Focusing his deep-set eyes on her, Prince said, 'Do you know
who our greatest enemies are? People who call themselves Christians but don't
believe it should be happening like this. You know who I mean?'

Jenny shook her head.

'Oh, I think you do, Mrs Cooper. I think you know perfectly
well.' He glanced briefly at the screen - born-again faces overcome with
emotion - and headed for the exit.

'Ha-le-lujah!' Bobby DeMont's cry blasted out through the
auditorium doors and into the lobby. Freddy Reardon and two young women were
convulsing on the floor of the stage.

Steve was waiting for her at a table in the little cobbled
yard at the back of the cafe, where you could smoke a cigarette with your cold
beer and tapas. Despite the warm evening they were the only ones sitting outside.
Jenny was glad they were alone. She felt fragile enough without having to worry
about who might be listening. If she hadn't been so on edge it would have made
for a pleasant date: gentle samba music playing on the stereo and Otavio the
handsome waiter treating her like a princess.

'You didn't tell me you were going to dig around in my past,'
Jenny said, reaching for Steve's tobacco tin and helping herself. One of these
days he would decide he could afford cigarettes that came in a packet.

'It was almost an accident.'

'Yeah, right,' Jenny said.

He unbuckled his briefcase and brought out a handful of
photocopied newspaper articles.

'They're from the
Weston Mercury,
October 1972..'
He looked at her hesitantly. 'Do you want to see or not?'

'Give them to me,' Jenny insisted.

The first headline read:
Girl Dies in
Fall.
In three short paragraphs the article stated that
five-year-old Katy Chilcott had been killed in an accidental fall down the
stairs of the family home at Pretoria Road. Her parents, named James and Penny
Chilcott, were said to be being comforted by relatives.

Feeling numb, Jenny quickly turned to the next article. A
photograph of her father in his early thirties sat beneath the words, 'Weston
Man Questioned Over Girl's Death'.

Following the
death last Thursday of five-year-old Katy Chilcott in what was initially
thought to be a tragic accident, detectives yesterday arrested the dead girl's
uncle, Brian Chilcott.

The owner of
Chilcott Motors was taken from his home on Sunday afternoon and is believed to
have spent the evening helping officers with their enquiries. He was later
released on police bail. Detectives are said to be awaiting the results of a
post-mortem examination.

Neighbours of
the dead girl's family saw Chilcott arrive at the address at approximately 5
p.m. on Thursday afternoon. Shouting was afterwards heard coming from inside
the premises. Chilcott was seen leaving with a young child believed to be his
daughter shortly before an ambulance arrived.

A hospital
spokesman said that Katy Chilcott died as a result of 'significant trauma' to
the head
.

'Does it bring anything back?'

'The arrest bit does. It's what I was remembering with Dr
Allen.'

'What about what happened inside the house?' Jenny shook her
head. It was a blank. She looked at the final article. It was dated Friday, 24
November. Under the headline,
Girl's Death
Ruled Accidental,
was a brief report of the coroner's finding that Katy had
died as a result of falling down the stairs at the family home, striking her head
on the tiled floor. The coroner, Mr C. R. Benedict, was quoted as saying,
'Katy's death was a tragic and sadly unavoidable accident to which no blame can
be attached.'

'What is it?' Steve asked.

Jenny shrugged, placing the articles back on the table.

'There's something. I can tell.'

'It's Dad, I suppose.' She tried to untangle the knot of
emotions that had been disguised by her initial shock.

'What about him?'

'He could have quite a temper. I can remember him smacking
me, the look on his face, more than angry, enraged.' She drew on her cigarette,
assailed by fragments of long-forgotten memory: her father erupting at a
spilled glass of milk and a sharp slap on the legs; his face, boiling red,
yelling at her mother, the sound of her shriek as he hit her, her sobbing as he
thundered down the stairs and crashed out through the front door.

'You look tired,' Steve said. 'Shall I drive you home?'

Jenny didn't answer. She was remembering the helpless,
terrified feeling her father's fury stirred in her. Even as a small child she
had intuited that it came from somewhere deep within him, a place neither she
nor her mother could reach.

'Jenny? Why don't we get the bill? We'll pick something up
and cook at your place.'

She shook her head.

'You've got to eat. You look like a ghost.'

'I'm going to see my dad.' She stood up from the table,
grabbing the photocopies and stuffing them into her handbag.

'Now? Isn't it a bit late?'

'He doesn't care what time it is. He doesn't even know.'

'Jenny, I really don't think —’

'You started it.'

She marched inside, making for the exit. Steve chased after
her, grabbing her arm. Otavio looked round from tapping an order into the till.

'Jenny, please.'

She turned, sharply. 'What do you expect me to do?'

'At least let me come with you.'