‘I saw the article and, while I realise that it’s journalism, sensationalised, I can’t help but think that some of it must be true. Has David really made people leave because they were gay? It doesn’t seem like him.’
Marcus caught David’s eye and then looked back at the girl.
‘It should be obvious to you now you’ve done the Course that it’s total rubbish. I remember the boy they were talking about. He was trying to make some sort of political statement by coming here. David didn’t ask him to leave because he was gay. He told him that he was here for the wrong reasons and that he should either change those reasons or come back when he would get more from the Course.’
One of the twins raised a thin arm.
‘Alice and I were both very sad when our mummy died. I became quite horribly depressed. And I think we all knew that Lee was sad, suffered from her slumps. I suppose I’d have thought that the Course would insulate you against that kind of thing. Would give you the tools to stop you getting that bad. If Lee was a Course leader and still fell apart like this, what message does it give to us?’
David coughed and the group turned towards him. Marcus sank gratefully back on his chair. The priest stepped forward into the centre of the room, very grave, his hands pressed together.
‘We’re all human here, we all have doubts, many of us have been down — like Ele, like Lee. It’s hard not to look on the things going on in the world and get terribly downhearted. But we have to believe that what we’re doing here is right. I imagine over the next few weeks we’re going to learn a great deal more about the troubles that Lee was facing. And I think perhaps what we’ll end up realising is that it was a miracle that something like this didn’t happen sooner. That actually the Course helped sustain Lee until even her faith and our love couldn’t force away the darkness. I just wish that she had spoken to me more, that she had let me shoulder more of that terrible burden.’
Tears beaded at the corners of David’s eyes. He walked from the room. Sally hurried after him. The Course members sat in silence.
Finally, Neil, who had been leaning back watching them, spoke. A kind of holy glow radiated from his bald head.
‘When my daughter Phoebe died, I tried so hard to understand what was behind it. Unravelling the infinitely complex threads of her life became an obsession for me. It was as if I thought that if I could understand why she stopped eating, I might be able somehow to go back and make it better. Or at least that it might be proof that it wasn’t my fault, that nothing I could have done would have changed it. I spent hours staring at photographs of her when she was younger, trying to read the future in her sunny little smile. But, in the end, mental illness is unknowable to everyone except the sufferer.
‘There is something wrong with Lee, just as there was something wrong with Phoebe. We can go mad trying to find the reasons behind what happened to them, or we can move on. All we can do is love them; the rest is in God’s hands.’
He collected himself, lowered his head, and put his hands in his lap.
‘Thanks Neil,’ said Marcus. ‘I entirely agree. Now let’s get back to the Course material. It’s some of the most important stuff we’ll deal with — how to handle the conflicts that are thrown at Christians in the modern world. We need to arm ourselves against the demons that brought Lee and Phoebe down.’
*
When the discussion group had left, Marcus sat in the room, his head in his hands. Finally, he rose and made his way upstairs, through the darkened church and out into the night. David was waiting for him in the shadows of the porch. The priest coughed.
‘How did the rest of your discussion go?’ David asked.
‘I was on autopilot. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Lee. Did you speak to Abby? Do you know about Mouse? Have you called the police?’
‘Slow down, Marcus. I know about the earrings. But this is not the time to be jumping to any conclusions. I need to talk to Mouse. He’s coming here on Friday. Let me get his side of the story and then, if we need to, we can go to the police together. In the mean time, try to take care of yourself. You look very tired.’
Marcus went home and phoned Abby. She didn’t answer. The cold that had been threatening arrived that night. Marcus woke with his throat raw and swollen, his nose blocked and his chest tight. He swallowed down a handful of painkillers and lay in the dark, feeling profoundly sorry for himself. The next day he struggled into work, determined to put thoughts of Lee and Mouse out of his mind until the weekend. He left the office as early as possible that evening and flung himself into bed.
He had forgotten that it was fireworks night. The curtains were open and he saw the bright explosions of light over Holland Park. Darwin crawled into bed beside him and he hugged the little dog against his wheezing chest. The shards of excited light coloured his bedroom walls as he drifted off to sleep. The last he remembered seeing were blue and green, and in his dozing mind they became Lee’s earrings, her face written into the sky behind them in the pattern of a million stars.
*
On Saturday morning, early enough that Marcus was still asleep, although not so early that he could ignore the call, David Nightingale telephoned.
‘Hello,’ said Marcus, searching for the light switch.
‘Marcus, it’s David. How are you feeling? I thought you looked very ill on Tuesday.’
Marcus had struggled into work on Thursday and Friday, but the cold had established itself in his chest, giving his voice a husky growl.
‘I’m fine. I need to get some rest and then I’ll be fine.’
‘You should come over here. I think it would be a good idea for us to talk to Mouse together. He’s with me now.’
‘OK. I’ll be over as soon as I can.’
Marcus drank a Lemsip as he dressed. His movements were slow and stumbling as he searched through his cupboard for a clean shirt. He realised that he hadn’t put a wash on since Abby had left. Clothes spewed out of the hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He rummaged through them looking for a pair of boxer shorts that were not too filthy to wear. Finally, he made his way out into the bright morning, started the car, and set out for St Botolph’s.
He felt a kind of nostalgia as he turned off the King’s Road and into the high gates in front of the church. So many times he had come here with Abby, both of them full of hope and quiet excitement at the prospect of an inspiring discussion group, or a service, or dinner at the rectory. Whatever happened next, Marcus realised that everything had already changed. Things were not recoverable from here. He imagined himself twenty-three again, tried to steal back the excitement he had felt after his first Retreat, when everything he believed was reshaped by David Nightingale, when the love he felt for Abby and his family was knitted into his love for the church, rather than being twenty-eight and ground down by a boring job, by guilt, by betrayal. He stopped the car and eased himself out onto the familiar crunch of the gravel.
The church clock chimed ten. A robin was singing somewhere. Marcus saw the bird perched on the railings that ran along the edge of the churchyard. The bird tilted his head back, threw out his chest and unleashed a long, liquid stream of notes. Marcus skipped up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.
David answered the door. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and chinos. He fixed his pale eyes on Marcus. They were less bloodshot than they had been at the Course on Tuesday night. Marcus took the priest’s hand.
‘Thank you for coming. Gosh, you don’t look well. Do you want a coffee or something?’