‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘The turtles. It was really weird, yeah? ‘Cos I had this dream about blue turtles, and then Sting, you know, the singer, well, I don’t like him much, I used to like the Police when I was a kid but I think his solo stuff is bollocks pardon my French, anyway he brings out an album called The Dream of the Blue Turtles. So…’
He shrugs. The rest—the eyebrow-piercing and the brooches—is clearly meant to be self-explanatory, although I can’t help feeling that he’s missed out a couple of steps of the decision-making process.
‘And I’ve always had this thing about turtles anyway. I’ve always thought they could see stuff that we can’t, yeah?’
The children stare at their father, clearly baffled.
‘What can they see?’ asks Molly.
‘Good question, Molly.’ He points at her. ‘You’re good. You’re sharp. I’m going to have to watch you.’ Molly looks pleased, but there is no attempt to answer the question.
‘He doesn’t know,’ says Tom with a snort.
‘Oh, I know all right. But maybe now’s not the time.’
‘When’s the time, then?’
‘Do you want to show GoodNews his room?’ says David to the children, clearly with the intention of bringing the subject of turtles and their psychic powers to a close; and as GoodNews doesn’t want to expand on his theories anyway, he picks up his bags and goes upstairs.
David turns to me.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘What am I supposed to think?’
‘I know he talks nonsense some of the time. Try not to get bogged down in the superficial stuff.’
‘What else is there?’
‘You don’t pick up a vibe?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. Oh well.’ In other words: some people—the intuitive, soulful and spiritual among us—can pick up a vibe, and others—the flat, dull, literalists, like me—can’t. I resent this.
‘What vibe should I be picking up, then, according to you?’
‘It’s not according to me. It’s there. It’s interesting that Molly and I can feel it and you and Tom can’t.’
‘How do you know Tom can’t? How do you know Molly can?’
‘Did you notice that Tom was rude to him? If you pick up the vibe, you wouldn’t be rude. Molly isn’t rude. She got it the first time she saw him.’
‘And me? Was I rude?’
‘Not rude. But sceptical.’
‘And that’s wrong?’
‘You can almost see it, what he has. If you know how to look.’
‘And you don’t think I do?’ I don’t know why this bothers me so much, but it does. I want to know how to look; or at least, I want David to think of me as the sort of person who might know how to look.
‘Calm down. It doesn’t make you a bad person.’
‘That’s not true, though, is it? According to you. That’s precisely why I’m a bad person. Because all I saw was the eyebrows, not the… the… aura.’
‘We can’t all be everything.’ And he smiles that smile, and goes to join the others.
‘There are a few things GoodNews has a problem with,’ says David when they have all come down again.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say.
‘I don’t really agree with beds,’ says GoodNews.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Do you mind if we sleep in them?’ I want to sound dry and light, like a nice white wine, but I fear that what comes out is a lot more vinegary than that.
‘What other people do is their business,’ says GoodNews. ‘I just think they make you soft. Take you further away from how things really are.’
‘And how are things?’
David shoots me a look. Not the old-style, I-hate-you-and-I-wish-you-were-dead look I would have got, once upon a time; this is the new-style, I’m-sooooo-disappointed look, and for a moment I am nostalgic for the days when hatred was our common currency. It was a currency that worked, at the time, just as pigs and bales of wheat must have worked. And though you can see why pigs were abandoned, they at least had the virtue of simplicity.
‘That’s a big question, Katie,’ says GoodNews. ‘And I don’t know if you’re ready for the big answer.’
‘You are, aren’t you, Mum?’ says Tom, loyally.
‘Anyway,’ says David. ‘GoodNews would like the bed taken out of the spare room. Because there isn’t really room for him to sleep on the floor if it stays there.’
‘Right. And where shall we put it?’
‘I’ll put it in my office,’ says David.
‘Can I take my bed out?’ Molly asks. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘What’s wrong with your bed?’ I address this to David rather than Molly, just so that he can see what a mess of the world his friend is making.
‘I don’t agree with it,’ says Molly.
‘What, precisely, don’t you agree with?’
‘I just don’t. They’re wrong.’
‘When you have your own flat, you can sleep on nails for all I care. While you’re here, you’ll sleep in a bed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says GoodNews. ‘I’m causing trouble, aren’t I? Please, forget it. It’s cool.’
‘Are you sure?’ David says.
‘No, really. I can cope on a bed.’ There is a pause, and he looks at David, who has clearly become GoodNews’s representative on Earth.
‘The other thing that GoodNews was—well, we both were—worried about was where he’s going to heal people.’
‘He was intending to heal them here?’
‘Yes. Where else?’
‘I thought he was only here for a couple of nights.’
‘Probably he will be. But he needs to work. And he has commitments to people. So, you know. If it does turn out to be a bit longer than a couple of days…’
‘The spare bedroom’s no good?’
David looks at him, and he shrugs.
‘Not ideal,’ says GoodNews. ‘Because of the bed. But if there’s nothing else…’
‘Funnily enough, we’ve got an empty healing room that we never use.’
‘I’m afraid sarcasm is one of Katie’s indulgences,’ David says.
‘I’ve got loads of others, though. Millions of them.’ And I suddenly remember that one of my most recent indulgences recently visited our home, and David was incredibly nice about it, and I feel bad. ‘Sorry. Maybe your bedroom is the best place for now.’
‘Fine. I can do good work there. It has a nice atmosphere, you know?’
‘And the last thing is, GoodNews is a vegetarian.’
‘Fine.’
‘A vegan, actually.’
‘Good. Very sensible. Much better for you. Is that it?’
‘I think so. For the time being.’
‘Enjoy your stay,’ I tell GoodNews, who is sure that he will be very happy here. For my part, I am sure that he will never ever leave.
David cooks chicken pieces for us and vegetables for everyone while he and GoodNews talk in the kitchen, and then we have our first meal together. The main topic of conversation is GoodNews: GoodNews and the turtles (what they see, it transpires, is not really explicable in, like, words), GoodNews and how things really are (‘Bad, man. But there’s hope, you know? Once you know where to find it’) GoodNews and his healing hands: Molly wants him to warm them up there and then, on the spot, but David tells her that it’s not a party trick.
‘Have you always been able to do it? Could you do it when you were my age?’
‘No. I couldn’t do it till I was, like, twenty-five?’
‘How old are you now?’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘So how did you know you could do it, then?’ This from Tom, who has remained oblivious to the GoodNews charm.
‘My girlfriend at the time—she had a cricked neck and she asked me to give her a massage and… everything went all weird.’
‘What sort of weird?’
‘Weird weird. The lightbulbs got brighter, the room got hot. It was a real scene.’
‘And how do you think your gift came about?’ There is, I am pleased to note, less vinegar in my voice. I’m learning. I’m still not a very good white wine, but I’m drinkable—you could put me in a punch, anyway.
‘I know, but I can’t tell you in front of the kids. Bad form.’