Soul Survivor

by I Beacham

  “It wouldn’t have something to do with an American, would it?”

  Sam smiled. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I’m a bishop. What do you expect?”

  “You’re smart. I always knew you were destined for high position.”

  He scoffed. “I’m no smarter than you. It’s my name, Covey-Smartingdon. It’s far more suited to title of Bishop, don’t you think?”

  “You have a point.”

  He was smiling, but Sam saw the sadness in his eyes.

  “You’re upset with me,” she said.

  “No, I’m not, but can I say something? If I told you that I’ll be allowed to choose a team to work with me in my new position at Lambeth? I would like to offer you a place on that team. It would take you away from the front line and give you a chance to breathe again.”

  It was an unexpected and wonderful job offer, but Sam couldn’t see it working.

  “Thank you, Neil. I’m honored that you’d consider me. And I know what you’ve been doing behind the scenes, trying to get me staff, but it isn’t what I want.”

  “This isn’t something you’re doing in haste? Joey?”

  “No. This need to leave has been building in me for some years, way before Joey arrived. She’s just brought everything to a head and made me see that I can no longer do this.”

  He steepled his fingers in contemplation. “Then I think you should leave the church, too.”

  His brazen agreement shocked her.

  “Listen, Sam. People have the wrong idea about the boss. They think he wants to hold on to us, but he knows when to let go, like a good parent. You’ve served him well. He won’t mind if you want a career change. You can be a field agent.”

  “A field agent?”

  “You’ve said yourself that your faith is as strong as ever. You know that God’s work isn’t solely reserved for the inside of a church. One hopes a church building acts as a magnet that pulls people to the faith, those who want to worship and those who are in need. But we shouldn’t forget our role in getting out into the community and doing his work there. He understands.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. And God always leaves a little space in our heart for other things.”

  Sam was reminded of how familiar those words were.

  “Why has it taken you so long to make this decision?” Neil asked.

  “Someone had to show me.”

  “So where is the lovely American?”

  Sam’s cell structure imploded. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Back to America…to Baltimore.” Elsa had told her.

  “That’s not good,” Neil said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Sam said.

  “Why did she leave?”

  “Because everything else came first.”

  “I see.” Neil continued to study her. “I’ll need a little time,” he finally announced.

  “Time?”

  “I’ll need to find a replacement. It will be temporary, but I’d like you to be around to give them a proper handover.”

  It dawned on her the enormity of the task she’d just landed him with.

  “Leave it with me, Sam. Let me sort a few things before you do anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “You’ve a flight to arrange, and time is of the essence.”

  His support was like a panacea. An invisible weight had been lifted from her. Sam started believing in achievable options for once.

  “Do you want my letter of resignation?” she asked.

  “Not yet, Sam. I’ll tell you when.”

  Sam hadn’t been sure how Neil would take her news. She was grateful he understood.

  “You know, Neil, I hope the archbishop realizes the catch he’s getting with you.”

  “He may not feel that way when he hears the changes I’d like to see in the Church of England.”

  Sam disagreed. “Why do you think he’s chosen you? It’s because of your viewpoints. I think the two of you will bump along quite well. He’s a man of change too. Lambeth is going to be wonderful.”

  “Tell that to Miriam.” Neil stood. “Which reminds me, do you mind if I ask her in? She knows you’ve been worried about all of this. I spoke to her about our last little chat. She’ll be out there in the laundry room pacing like a caged lion.” He went to the door and called her.

  “Miriam is a lucky lady.”

  Neil snorted. “I assure you the light doesn’t shine out of my orifice. And I’m the lucky one having Miriam. I couldn’t do this job without her.” He paused. “It’s why I think you’re imploding. You need someone in your life too. It’s your time.”

  “Was. I think my time just went past tense.”

  “Do you love Joey?”

  “With every breath in my body.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Yes, but I’ve messed up.”

  “Bollocks!” Miriam announced her arrival as she entered with a tea tray. “Listen, Sam, hasn’t being an emissary for God taught you anything about love?” She placed the tray on Neil’s desk before turning to her. “Love isn’t something that gets switched off like a lightbulb. Love lasts. If it’s real, time can’t tarnish it. Time can’t fade it, bend it, alter it, corrupt it, stain it, or break it. It’s impenetrable. It’s like gold…it’s better than gold.”

  Miriam stopped and was looking at Sam and Neil who both stared at her. “What?”

  “Nothing, dear. You can be quite eloquent at times.” Neil was smiling with such love at his wife.

  Miriam poured tea. “Well, what’s this all about?”

  “It’s as we thought, dear. Sam is resigning and going after her American.”

  “What will you do?” Miriam asked.

  “I have no idea. I only know I need to go find Joey and sort us out.”

  For a moment when Sam was leaving their house, she experienced a surge of fear. She was leaving the church after what seemed like a lifetime. There would be a pension, but nothing to get too excited about. She was about to become a woman with no prospects, no job, and probably no fixed abode. You couldn’t live in a vicarage if you weren’t a vicar. She did have her parents’ place in Cornwall. When they passed away, she had kept and rented it out. She didn’t think she’d ever live there, but it was something to sell when she wanted.

  As she drove back to the vicarage, she thought of Louise.

  You must live life. Make sure you leave a little in your heart for love.

  Sam took a deep breath as she opened her car door and sat inside. “I hope you’re looking down on me, Louise. I hope you know I listened.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You’ve reported from all over the world, and I don’t think it would be wrong for me to say you’re one of the most iconic female American journalists of the last twenty years. But I’d like to know, and I’m sure NPR listeners would too, were there any early indications in your childhood that you were destined for a career in journalism?”

  Joey grinned as she leaned closer to the microphone. She was relaxed and enjoying the studio interview. She had agreed to a three-part radio series of light chats with her host, Clara, on the Clara Dale Show. This was the first.

  “I don’t remember waking and thinking I’m going to be a journalist when I grow up, but I think the signs were there. I always had a desire to wander, which gave my parents some worrying moments. They’d leave me playing in the yard and then I’d disappear. I used to go snooping. I always wanted to know what was happening over the fence or the other side of the road. I was basically a nosey kid. I wanted to make the unknown known. I look back at my behavior now and I guess it wasn’t healthy.” She started to laugh. “It certainly drove the neighbors wild. They would find this six- or seven-year-old cutting across their yard. They’d take me home and I’d get the lecture from Mom and Dad. On reflection, I guess I channeled my wanderlust and inquisitive nature fairly well.”

  “The seeds were there.” T
here was warmth in Clara’s voice, and Joey sensed she was being invited to continue as she wanted.

  “Yes. That behavior grew into my love for journalism. Foreign news shouldn’t be foreign because it happens someplace else. What happens in any part of the world affects us all. We need to know about it, and I’ve always wanted to be on top of news as it’s breaking wherever that might be.”

  Clara drew a deep breath.

  “We’ve already spoken of some of the countries you’ve reported from, but how idealistic were you when you went in to these places, for example Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria? What did you think you’d achieve?”

  It was a serious question inviting thoughtful response.

  Joey hesitated before answering.

  “I don’t believe in compromise. There’s a story to be had in all these places, and I’ve always been committed to capturing exactly what is happening and recording it with no embellishments. No matter where I’ve gone, the story isn’t just about the militia, the weapons and the offensive. Sure it’s about that, but it’s also about everyone else out there. It’s about how these conflicts, these wars, affect everyday people and their everyday lives, from the children up to the frail and elderly. I’ve always wanted to achieve the documenting of that, present the bigger, wider picture. It’s often painful and tragic, but these are the stories that I feel must be told and to represent the true cost of what is happening. I’m not sure I’d call myself idealistic…just a curious kid who grew up and who wanted to see with her own eyes what was going on and to show others.”

  “It’s also dangerous, and it’s been costly for you too.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Will we see you on the front line again?”

  “I can’t answer that, Clara. Not yet. And I’m not going to talk about what happened to me and my crew out there. Enough has been written and spoken of it. Everyone will know that the events left their mark on me. I wouldn’t be human if they hadn’t. But I’m also getting to that age where my body isn’t as forgiving and cooperative as it used to be, and I’m aware that there are many up-and-coming excellent journalists behind me ready to fill my place. Although I haven’t made any decisions, maybe the time has come for me to hang up my desert boots and settle into a less physically challenging role as a journalist.”

  Clara leaned back in her chair. “Maybe we can talk about that in the second part of our interview.” She smiled to indicate their time was at an end.

  Joey listened to her formally bring it all to a close.

  “Thank you for joining us. You’ve been listening to NPR and the Clara Dale Show. My guest today has been Josephine Barry, international journalist, and until recently, chief news correspondent for RSB. I hope you’ll join us again where I will be continuing to chat with Josephine about her long and distinguished career. Until then, good-bye, God bless, and be safe.”

  Several seconds stretched as Clara and her one-man production team took the show off the air. Clara removed her headphones.

  “How was that, Joey?” she asked.

  “Good. I enjoyed it.”

  “You’ll come back then?” Clara was smiling as she rose from behind the array of technical equipment in front of her.

  “Yes.”

  Sherry Dexter chose that moment to enter the studio. She walked up to Joey and placed a hand on her arm.

  “Hey, girlfriend, I’ve been listening and that was excellent. Clara, nice questions. You guys all set for the next session?”

  “Times are all arranged,” Clara said.

  “Good. Well if you’re finished here, Joey, back to my office for coffee?”

  Joey thanked Clara and left with Sherry.

  Sherry’s DC office was utilitarian and basic. It reminded Joey how compartmentalized her old friend could be. The office felt like a room someone had just moved into. Apart from the necessary furniture and computer basics, there were no pretty pictures on the wall, no family photos on the desk. No frills. Nothing. Paperwork sat in neat piles, and the gaps in between were spotless. Joey remembered Sherry had always been the same. While Joey’s space was always messy and busy, Sherry’s was well ordered and minimalist. She worked hard but kept her personal and professional lives very separate. When she finished work, she didn’t hang around. She went home to her real life. Joey had never understood how she could do it.

  Sherry thrust a coffee into Joey’s hands and seated herself at the desk opposite.

  “Do you want to listen to the interview before it airs?”

  Sherry had contacted her when she returned to the U.S. and somehow talked her into doing a series of three interviews. They would be prerecorded, with an agreement that if Joey wasn’t happy with anything, it would be cut. But Clara had made it clear from the start that she wasn’t going to put Joey on the spot and draw out all the unpleasantness of her final months with RSB, and worse, what had happened in Balshir. Joey didn’t know whether it was because Sherry had drawn a line in the sand or if Clara was just a decent person.

  Joey shook her head. “No, I’m happy with it.”

  “Good. As before, Clara will give you an idea of where the next session is heading. I promise, no nasty invasive questions.”

  The tight agreement had been the only way Joey would let Sherry lure her into the studio. Joey hadn’t thought she’d agree, but she’d relented.

  “These kinds of fireside chats are popular with the listeners, and they are very eager to know more about you. They want to know where you’ve been and what you’re up to. You were full-on in the media and then gone. I know I said it before, but I’m reminding you, when these air, it’s going to reenergize the media’s interest in you. Beware.”

  Joey didn’t need reminding. Journalists were already sniffing around her parents’ home and places she once used to frequent. It wouldn’t take them long to find out where she was staying.

  “I still think you should come and work for us,” Sherry said.

  “My, but you’re persistent.”

  “I sure am. It’s how I get places. I know you’ve got other opportunities lined up, but remember, the offer is always open.”

  “I know and don’t think I’m not grateful.”

  Sherry finished her coffee. “This isn’t about me being nice to an old buddy; this is business. If I could get you to work for us, it’d be a coup. We’d be getting one hell of a professional on our team.” She stood. “Okay, hon, I’ve gotta run. I’ll catch up with you later. You staying in town?”

  “Only for the night and then back to Baltimore.”

  “See you at the weekend? Give me a call. Maybe you could come over for lunch or dinner, whatever. John is itching to meet you. I think he had the hots for you. Of course, that was before he married me. Anyway, call.”

  When Joey walked out onto North Capitol Street and headed for where she’d left the car, she contemplated how nervous she’d been as she entered the modern building that was NPR’s HQ. It had been her first return attempt at fronting the news, even if it was only about her. It was a big step after everything that had happened. But everything had gone well, and she knew she’d be more relaxed when she returned for the other sessions.

  She also thought about Sherry’s persistence of a job offer. She knew it was genuine. If she said yes, the contract would be there in a flash. But while everything else around her was a mess, Joey had no second doubts regarding her future employment. She had accepted the permanent job in the UK with Stallion Productions. She’d negotiated a break before taking up a permanent contract so she could come home and sort out her affairs. When she went back to England, she would be starting a new chapter in her life, and one that would do much to remove the invasive U.S. media. Distance was queen.

  She also wondered if it wasn’t too late to learn a few tricks off Sherry, in particular, her ability to compartmentalize. If she could pigeonhole her life, she could separate the good from the bad. Her personal life was in tatters, and while walking away from Sam had been painful, she felt i
t was for the best. She had tried to cope with a relationship while balancing the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder, and it had proved too much for her. Now she believed that being alone suited her best and was perhaps what she deserved. It was her professional life that could reign supreme. She could and would rebuild it. That was her aim. The opportunity to work for Stallion offered her a different direction with stability, challenge, security, and a degree of anonymity. The UK press was not intrusive where she was concerned, and as if she needed any reassurance that she was making the right career move, Sherry’s prophetic warning of the probable resurgence of U.S. interest, post her talk show, convinced her.

  She’d taken a first step in putting her life back in order and it felt good.

  She headed back to the parking lot.

  *

  Sam walked into the office building on N. Charles Street in downtown Baltimore.

  It had taken her ages to get there from the motel. As if driving on the wrong side of the road wasn’t bad enough in a hire car that felt alien and too big, she’d also been hampered by roadwork. What had looked like a straightforward drive had turned into a nightmare. There was now a system of temporary one-way routes. The Satnav in its confusion had all but announced “fuck it,” and the hard copy road map she’d eventually turned to had been equally useless. But finally, she’d arrived.

  Sam had nearly given herself vertigo as she stared up at the high-rise building. It housed every sort of legal business imaginable, but apparently, there were some apartments inside, one of which Joey was using.

  Feeling tired, Sam walked across the vast expanse of marble flooring and up to the reception desk where a smartly dressed woman was busy answering a phone while another rang out. Sam waited patiently. The woman acknowledged her presence with a tip of her head and a smile that was as plastic as a credit card. Sam sensed the woman was not having a good day either.