Chosen Page 18

  ‘Well then,’ she said. ‘You know what I think?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You two were made for each other.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Seeing you together . . .’ She waved her hand and smiled.

  ‘He makes me feel safe,’ I said. ‘You know that Cat Stevens song that says, You know how I love you honey? Well I always, always wanted someone to call me honey, Cat Stevens ideally . . .’ We both giggled. ‘But Bog–, I mean Adam, he does call me that and he does make me feel loved and he makes me feel . . .’ I hesitated, ‘important.’ For some reason that word closed my throat up for a moment and I had to strain not to cry and ruin the make-up.

  ‘Are you coming down so we can get this farce over with and get back on the road?’ Derek called up the stairs.

  ‘You’re on then,’ Stella said.

  I felt so close to her. I think it was the best conversation we ever had. There was one more question that I had to ask her. ‘You don’t still want to die, do you?’

  She smiled and shrugged. ‘Can’t think of any reason for living.’

  ‘But you said you were happy.’

  ‘I am.’

  Adam opened the door. ‘Come on you two.’

  I grabbed hold of Stella’s twig-like arm. ‘We’re still talking,’ I said, but she pulled herself away.

  ‘Can I be bridesmaid?’ she said. She was wearing a red velvet dress under her coat, quite suitable for a winter wedding.

  The room was crammed. The ceremony was brief and to the point.

  ‘Do you take this woman, Melanie Anna Woods, hereafter to be known as Martha, to be your wife in the eyes of our Lord Jesus Christ?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I do.’ Adam’s hands were warm as they grasped mine. I looked up into his face and I did wish he hadn’t shaved his beard off; it showed that he had a weak chin. But still, it was his beautiful melting brown eyes that mattered, that flowed with love, and that held mine as Isaac asked the reverse question of me.

  ‘I do,’ I said. To my surprise, Adam put a ring on my finger, thin and silver with a turquoise stone. I found out afterwards that he’d borrowed it from Hannah.

  ‘You may kiss the bride,’ Isaac said, and we did kiss, though it made me blush with Derek and Aunt Regina watching.

  ‘Where’s the champagne?’ Aunt Regina said.

  ‘We’re teetotal,’ Kezia told her.

  ‘If that doesn’t cap it all!’ said Derek.

  ‘We have a ginger cup,’ Kezia said. ‘Come through into the kitchen.’

  The table was spread with a huge bowl of hummus, bits of carrot and chunky home-baked biscuits. Bethel ladled the hot gingery drink into mugs.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ Derek said.

  ‘You’re surely not driving straight back to Scotland?’ I said. ‘That’s mad!’

  ‘Mad?’ Derek spluttered. ‘Did you hear that, Regina! Do you hear what the pot is calling the kettle?’

  ‘Now, now,’ Aunt Regina said.

  I tried to sneak off with Stella again, but Aunt Regina got hold of my arm. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Take no notice,’ she added, meaning of Derek’s grumpiness. ‘And we’ll break the journey at Birmingham – Derek has family there. I hope you’ll be very happy.’ I don’t know what it cost her to say that, and sound as if she meant it too.

  ‘Thanks,’ is all I could think of to say.

  She sipped her drink. ‘And you can always come home if you change your mind. Mmm, this is rather good, very festive; you’ll have to get me the recipe.’ She pressed her lips together and looked at me with over-bright eyes. ‘I didn’t approve of your friendship with –’ She couldn’t decide what to call him. ‘But you’re older now and if you still think you love him –’

  ‘Not think, do.’

  ‘– after all this time, then good luck to you. Will you bring him home for Christmas?’

  ‘Maybe. Aunt Regina, I’m worried about Stella.’

  ‘I’ve got my eye on her,’ she said.

  Derek came over and glowered at me, and then suddenly grabbed me hard and pressed his lips against my hair. ‘Good luck, you silly, silly goose,’ he said. Startled, I glanced at Aunt Regina who was giving me a see, he loves you really look. I gave him a hard and meaningful squeeze around the waist.

  †

  After Aunt Regina, Derek and Stella had driven away, I went into the bathroom to let out a few tears. This is not how you should feel on your wedding day, I know, and it wasn’t from any doubt about Adam, but I couldn’t help thinking about the poor kid roasting in the Rayburn and how jolly it would have been at home, with pea-pod wine or Derek’s farty home-brew. But I’d made my choice and it was the right choice. I got over that wave of sadness as you always do. Learn to let it wash over you and let it go, that’s what I advise. Life is full of losses – and all rehearsals for the big one in the end.

  Adam continued to get his messages from Jesus, always heralded by herons, which meant he had to spend a lot of time on Romney marshes, the nearest reliable habitat, and the Soul-Life Community grew larger. Jesus told Adam he must accumulate money in order to spread the word, and gave him a new method that brought in so much more than selling pompoms, fudge or flowers. The work was not savoury and I was shocked at first and hardly believed that Jesus could have come up with it. But you see, you can do anything, however bad, if you believe the ultimate cause is good. When I objected, Adam said that Jesus sees into your heart and understands your intentions.

  It went like this, and we called it fishing. Bethel, Kezia, Hannah and I (and the other women whom we recruited) would go out with the leaflets, preaching and asking for donations. Usually, of course, people ignored us, skirted round us or crossed the road. Sometimes we’d hook a person and get them to take a leaflet and put some money in our collecting boxes. And the women’s particular job was to be bait for likely looking men, to behave in a flirtatious and deferential manner towards these potential catches. Surprisingly often, we persuaded one to come back for a cup of tea and a further chat, and many of those who did ended up in the boudoir, as we jokingly called the basement room of the second squat: a damp place bedecked in Indian bedspreads with joss sticks constantly burning to hide the smell of the three paraffin heaters it needed before it was bearably warm. The money from the sex was handsome, but handsomer still was the money from the blackmail. Because, of course, many of the fish were married, or had other reasons not to want their activity known.

  I did not personally take part in the sex, because I was Adam’s wife, but I was good at the hooking and the reeling in. It was a sort of sport.

  While the deed was occurring, one of us would take the wallet and remove – not steal – any interesting documents, have a look, jot the necessary information down and then replace them. And, from behind one of the draped bedspreads, a photograph would be taken. Abel set up a darkroom and developed the shots. And, a few days later, the fish would get a letter, enclosing the evidence, and the blackmail would begin. We didn’t ask for extortionate amounts, but we did require a monthly commitment to the Soul-Life Community. It would show up as such on his bank statement and if questioned he could pass it off as a charitable donation and make himself look good. So where was the harm in that?

  Not every fish would pay up, of course, and there were threats of the law, but because of the evidence of their fornication they’d drop them if we did. You can’t win them all, but we became adept at recognizing which types were most likely to succumb and to pay up. It amazed me how successful this ploy was. After a year the bank balance was burgeoning and a new member, an ex-accountant, Obadiah, began to work full-time on the books. Members of the community couldn’t own money or property independently – everything was donated to the cause – and Obadiah began to invest in the stock market, for which, it turned out, he had a talent.

  Once there was enough money to buy a property, we did so, and the skilled members did the renovations. By the beginning of the e
ighties, when house prices were starting to go wild, the Soul-Life Community had amassed a small fortune all in the name of the Lord. Adam was happy and so I was, too. He loved me. He really did. What I’m about to describe might make you doubt it, but I don’t. He was led by his visions, by Jesus manifested in the herons, and I can’t blame him, even though I did then.

  †

  It was September, nearly two years later. I can remember the day so clearly. Memory prints especially brightly on momentous days. The morning had been soft and grey. I’d woken with a niggling pain in my groin and found that my period had started. It was a few days late and Adam had been confident that this time the miracle had happened. The secret of my sterilization was like a bit of grit caught up in my heart, scratching at every beat.

  I was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea while Hannah and Bethel loaded the washing machine with towels. As Adam’s wife I wasn’t expected to do as much of the domestic work – at least that was his view, not shared by my Sisters, particularly not by Hannah. Usually I did pitch in anyway, but not that day. Bethel and Hannah were singing one of Adam’s songs and I had my eyes shut, trying to be soothed by their voices and the heat of my mug of tea.

  When the phone rang it made me jump. Hannah shot me a look, so I got up to answer.

  ‘Is that Melanie?’ Derek asked.

  ‘Yeah. Martha.’

  ‘Stella’s in hospital, she’s tried to . . .’

  ‘No!’ I said, loudly, to cut him off, as if that would stop it being true. I wanted to drop the phone and stick my fingers in my ears. I wanted not to hear any more, not to let it in.

  ‘She’s all right,’ he said. ‘We found her in time.’

  ‘How . . .?’

  ‘She tried to hang herself,’ he said, ‘in the barn. Kathy found her.’ His voice, which had been sounding quite stern and normal, cracked at that point and I could hear him swallowing. ‘She’s in hospital,’ he said, ‘just for overnight observation and then she’ll be transferred to the psychiatric unit.’

  ‘Psychiatric?’ I said.

  ‘Regina’s with her now. I’ve just got back.’

  ‘I’ll come, shall I?’ I said.

  ‘Ring me with your ETA at Edinburgh Waverley.’

  I put the phone down and turned round. Hannah was transferring raisins from a huge paper sack into jars. Bethel was kneeling with her head in the fridge. Kezia came into the kitchen laughing about something.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said, noticing my expression.

  ‘My sister’s in hospital,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Kezia said.

  I stared at the row of jam jars packed with wizened raisins. There was a butter bean on the table and a hair clip and a plate with a blackened toast crust.

  ‘She tried to kill herself,’ I said.

  ‘Wow,’ Hannah said. ‘That little Stella?’

  ‘Heavy,’ Bethel said.

  ‘C’mere.’ Kezia smothered me in a squashy hug. I submitted for a moment then pulled myself free.

  ‘What can we do to help?’ Bethel said.

  ‘They’re putting her in a loony bin,’ I said, ‘but she isn’t mad.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Hannah crinkled her blond brows.

  ‘It’ll be for her own good,’ Kezia said.

  ‘But, see, she’s always wanted to do it. She hasn’t gone mad. She just can’t see the point in living.’

  ‘Maybe that is mad?’ Bethel said.

  I frowned at her and stood in the middle of the kitchen, flexing and unflexing my hands. Was it mad? It hadn’t sounded mad at all when Stella had said it, but rather – dangerously – sane.

  ‘We’ll pray for her,’ Kezia said.

  There was no point trying to explain. I had to go. Adam was still out so I had to leave without seeing him. Obadiah gave me a lift to King’s Cross and paid for a ticket to Edinburgh and said he’d ring Derek to say when I’d be arriving.

  When I got off the train five hours later, Derek was waiting. He looked so much older – his skin almost the same grey as his bushy beard and hair. We hugged and he took me to the car and we set off without saying a word. Then he reached over and patted my leg.

  ‘Good to see you,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Just herself,’ he said, giving me a slidey, puzzled look.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Could you not have worn a different get-up?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have any other clothes,’ I said, looking down at my lilac skirt. ‘Anyway, what does it matter?’

  He said nothing but his expression hinted at a wealth of reasons why it might. We didn’t speak any more until we got to the hospital. I saw Aunt Regina first, hands fisted against her chest as she leaned over the bed, and then Kathy, who was doing something immense in macramé. And then I focused on my sister. Her face looked puffy and ill but when she saw me, she smiled her old smile.

  ‘Mel,’ she said, and I didn’t correct her, just grabbed her hands and kissed her. Aunt Regina scrabbled and fussed at me and Kathy gave me her broad grin. I’d never seen her look the slightest bit perturbed and she didn’t now.

  ‘Could I be alone with Mel for a bit?’ Stella asked. Her voice had a painful husky catch to it and I saw then the purple bruising like a choker of lovebites around her throat. She saw me look and her hand flew up to cover it.

  ‘Cup of tea, Regi,’ Kathy said. She draped her macramé over the end of the bed and led Aunt Regina away.

  ‘God, Stella,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a hammock!’ She chuckled hoarsely and nodded towards the macramé.

  ‘Stella.’ I took her hand and squeezed.

  ‘I think it would have worked,’ she whispered, ‘only it wasn’t quick like I thought. I think I started to die.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I sat on the bed holding her hand and though I tried to keep them in, some tears did run down my face.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said.

  ‘Why now?’ I said.

  ‘You don’t need me any more,’ she said.

  ‘I do, I always will.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’ She looked at me fiercely. ‘You don’t. When I die, yeah, you’ll be sad.’ Her own eyes watered with the strain of speaking and of swallowing. ‘But you’ll get over it. You’ve got Bogart.’

  ‘Adam.’

  ‘You’ve got Jesus or whatever.’

  ‘But I still need you to be alive,’ I said. ‘And Aunt Regina and Derek would be devastated. Can’t you see how . . .’ I struggled for a moment, ‘how selfish this is? You might not want your life but other people want you to have it.’

  She shook her head and I caught an almost compassionate look in her eyes. ‘They didn’t want you to marry Bogart,’ she reminded me, ‘but you still did it. Was that selfish? Now I want to die. It feels like the right time.’

  I was trying to think what Adam would say. ‘Only God can decide if it’s the right time.’

  ‘I don’t believe in God, but’ – she reached for her glass of water and sucked a little through her straw, wincing as it went down – ‘if I did believe, maybe I would say that God said it was the right time.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ I said. ‘Did you know they’re putting you in the loony bin?’

  She shook her head and her cheeks stained with an angry flush. ‘They are not. Listen’ – her fingers twisted round mine until I thought they’d break – ‘will you promise me something?’

  ‘Anything,’ I said.

  ‘Do you promise that you’ll promise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cross your heart?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Swear on your life? On Bogart’s life?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, though she was beginning to make me nervous. ‘What?’

  ‘That you’ll help me. When the time comes. That you’ll help me do it.’

  ‘No!’ I snatched my hand away. I stood up. ‘No, Stella.’

  ‘
You just promised,’ she pointed out. ‘You swore on your life. You can’t take it back.’ I couldn’t look at her. Mother Clanger was sitting on her locker. I picked her up.

  ‘Aunt Regina brought her in for me.’ Stella gave a painful scrap of laugh. ‘She said, “I’ve brought you your precious rag-rat!”’

  I made myself smile.

  Stella half closed her eyes. ‘I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘Mind if I . . .’

  ‘I’ll just sit here,’ I said.

  As she slept, I sat and watched the minute movements of her nostrils as the precious breath flowed in and out and the promise hung darkly round my heart.

  †

  I stayed with Aunt Regina, Derek and Kathy for three more days and I witnessed the awful battle to persuade Stella that she needed psychiatric treatment, and the eventual decision to section her. I saw her sedated, a floppy doll-version of herself who looked out with flat eyes, like bad paintings of her own with all the spark missed out. I talked to Adam on the phone and he said that he’d come and see her in a few days’ time and take me home. The sound of his voice made me hollow out with longing and I knew I couldn’t wait a few days. I’d go back early and surprise him and then we could travel back together to visit Stella.

  I just couldn’t feel at home at Wood End any more. I’d gone back to wearing my old clothes and even to eating meat and having a glass of Derek’s beer, but it seemed different. It wasn’t just me that had changed. The balance of power had shifted. Now it was Aunt Regina and Kathy on top, with poor Derek underneath them, being either ignored or used. They let him drive them around and walk the pugs and cook for them, but they didn’t include him in conversations. Kathy had only ever grudgingly acknowledged him but now Aunt Regina was nearly as bad. I went out of my way to address remarks particularly to Derek, and helped him wash up and fold the washing, while Kathy and Aunt Regina were upstairs practising massage.

  On my last night at Wood End, Aunt Regina climbed the ladder to my room. They’d begun to use it as a glory hole, so I’d had to clear a path to uncover my bed.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she said, putting her foot through a lampshade as she scrambled towards me. ‘We’d have tidied up,’ she apologized, ‘but, well with, you know . . .’