Clovenhoof 05 Beelzebelle

by Heide Goody

  “Of course, no problem. This way.”

  “Well, one of the reasons I’ve come a bit early is to, er, check things over, and drop off some soap. It won’t take long.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Bathroom this way?”

  Nerys followed Jenny through an obstacle course of house cats and litter trays.

  “I’ll just be a few minutes. I need to do a risk assessment,” said Nerys.

  She closed the door on the mildly confused woman and turned to the pristine bathroom with glee. It had been three days since she’d managed to have a shower.

  A car transporter lorry stood in the parking area outside the Consecr8 church and, as Michael passed, two men were strapping Chip’s battered and savaged stretch transit to the back of it. By the door, a team of men and women were setting up a stall. Boxes, stamped with a smiling baby logo, were being unloaded from a van.

  Michael swiped himself into the church. The Consecr8 app on his phone chimed. A jaunty starburst filled the screen. Michael could not hold back a smile of self-congratulation as he took a plush seat in the celebration zone.

  “Mrs Bloom,” he said, nodding in greeting to the woman next to him.

  The look she gave him made Michael immediately reach for his phone to show his authorisation to sit in the superior seats but, before he could do so, Chip spoke from the lectern.

  “Welcome, my friends,” said Chip.

  Michael noted the plaster on Chip’s bruised forehead and the grim look in his eyes.

  “Our good friend, the very, very Reverend Mario Felipe Gonzalez will be with us shortly, but I have an important message for you all.”

  The lights lowered. Chip was picked out in a spotlight.

  “You’ve all been working hard in the service of this church. Don’t think I haven’t seen you scurrying about, doing the Lord’s work. And don’t think the Lord doesn’t see it too!”

  “Yeah!” whooped a voice from the congregation.

  “Outside, right now, the finest people in baby nutrition are getting ready to distribute free formula samples to local families. We’ve got bands. We’ve got face painting.”

  “And a cake stall!” shouted a woman joyously.

  “And a cake stall,” agreed Chip with a forced smile. “We’re going to have a celebration of our love for each other and our devotion to a wholesome life lived in accordance with God’s wishes. We are the embodiment of the perfect religious community, living as the Lord wants all people to live, and we will show the local community what that looks like.”

  “Amen!” called out a worshipper.

  “But, let’s not delude ourselves,” said Chip.

  A slideshow of pictures appeared on the big screen high above him, images of climate change and natural disasters interposed with tabloid newspaper images and TV screenshots of human immorality. Cornish floods, twerking popstars, ice storms in the US, semi-clad nightclubbers, desert sandstorms sweeping through Chinese cities, the latest series of Britain’s Got Talent.

  “These may seem unconnected,” said Chip, “but I wonder if you’ve analysed it like I have?”

  Michael instantly recognised the sermon that Chip had delivered to him in his garage and tuned out the gravy graphs and various inaccurate sex statistics, but saw that the churchgoers all around him were riveted to the onslaught of facts, figures, and lists. There was a hypnotic quality and a seemingly inbuilt authority to Chip’s assertions.

  “Look around you,” said Chip. “Sin and nudity on every street corner.”

  Several heads turned, checking hopefully for a lack of clothes in their midst. On the screen was the SCUM protest march, Toyah Wilson’s nakedness caught on black and white CCTV.

  “God is angry,” said Chip. “What must he think of mankind? He gave us everything, and we waste our lives with pornography and idleness. He has a plan. He has always had a plan. ‘The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. The Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth and his heart was deeply troubled.’”

  “Genesis,” said Mrs Bloom, nodding approvingly.

  “I always think it sounded better in the original language,” said Michael.

  “Hebrew?”

  “The original language.”

  “‘So the Lord said, ‘I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created’,’” quoted Chip.

  “A flood!” shouted a member of the flock.

  “The flood, my friends! A deluge! He will purge the earth of all but the most devout and worthy individuals, and I’m helping Him to do that. I have devoted my time to the creation of the Ark. Yes, you heard me right, and you’re sitting in it. This church is to be the salvation of the best of us. When the time comes, will you be one of the chosen?”

  A hubbub had broken out among the congregation. Questions, disbelief, religious fervour. Chip looked at his people with a savage glee.

  “Let’s check the leader board, shall we?”

  Chip changed the display to a live feed of their piety points. Michael was pleased to see that he was inside the top ten. There were some familiar names up there. Chip Malarkey, Tessa Bloom ... Freddy DeVere? Michael wondered what his receptionist Freddy had done to find himself in such elevated company. Perhaps Chip hadn’t been alone in the stretch transit that night, that it hadn’t been Chip’s hands that had set the fire at Buford’s ...

  There was a ripple of anxiety around the church as people checked their position.

  “If you’re in the top one hundred, then you will get the alert when the time comes,” said Chip. “Let me demonstrate.” He pressed a button and a klaxon sounded in the church for a few seconds.

  Michael’s phone buzzed. He checked the message. Alert: It is time. Take your place in the Consecr8 church (test).

  Michael lifted his head and saw that there were people in the other pews getting the same message, but others who clearly weren’t. There was an instantaneous rise in the noise level. Michael felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned to the elderly man with a hearing aid across the aisle from him.

  “Can you tell me why I didn’t get the message?” the old boy asked.

  “Where’s your name on the leader board?” Michael asked him, pointing.

  “There, that’s me. Arthur Wilson,” said the man, pointing with a grin.

  “You’re at number two hundred and thirty,” said Michael. “You only get the message if you’re in the top hundred.”

  “Get away!” said the old man, incredulous. “So he’s going to leave the rest of us behind? Bloody cheek, if you ask me. I pay my taxes.”

  “I’m sure you do,” said Michael.

  “Mind you, I’d have given my place to my grandson.”

  “I’m giving mine to someone special too.”

  The old man grunted. “Oh, my Spartacus is special, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

  Michael turned fully towards the old man and regarded him curiously. “You’d give your place to Spartacus Wilson?” he asked.

  “Course I would.”

  “But he’s not ... not a particularly good person.”

  “Course he’s bloody not. I’m deaf, not blind. But he’s still mine, you numpty. Why would you save an old fart like me? In fact, if I was going to end up in a confined space with these people, I think I’d throw myself over the side anyway,” said Arthur, and, with that, he got up and left.

  Michael looked around and tuned in to some of the animated discussions that had broken out around the church.

  “I’m sure some of my points have gone missing.”

  “She’s at number nineteen now, but just wait until it gets out about her and that camel.”

  “All it needs is for five of those people to be in some way, er, incapacitated, and I’m in. Just my little joke, you understand. Ha ha ha.”

  Michael wondered why Chip wasn’t putting a stop to all
of this toxic chatter, but, when he looked over towards the lectern, he saw that Chip was in conversation with a man who brandished a microphone and angled the two of them carefully towards his colleague, who was filming them with a television camera.

  “Mr Malarkey, is it true that you’ve swindled vulnerable locals out of millions of pounds?” he asked.

  “Who let you in here?” Chip demanded.

  “Is it also true that you’ve funded this bizarre building from your illegal schemes?” asked the reporter.

  Freddy appeared and tried to insert himself between Chip and the TV crew.

  “If you good people would come with me ...” he suggested smoothly.

  “These accusations are utterly groundless,” snarled Chip. “That Thomas woman is a liar!”

  Urging his cameraman closer, the reporter tried to slide past Freddy. “Our source has uncovered a trail of deceit that criss-crosses the West Midlands.”

  Michael decided to leave at that point. He glanced up at the leader board on the way out, wondering how much uglier the competition was likely to get in the coming days.

  “Do you know where we can find Mr Malarkey?”

  A man and a woman had entered the church. They were dressed like police detectives. If they were meant to be undercover, they were rubbish at it, unless they were going undercover as police detectives.

  “Sorry, officers,” said Michael. “I think he’s rather busy at the moment.”

  The male detective had seen Chip at the lectern and was pushing through the congregation towards him.

  The cameraman swung round to capture the new arrivals.

  Michael could not hear the conversation that took place, but he managed to lip read the phrases “just after a quiet word” and “pop down to the station, if you like.”

  Freshly bathed and fragrant, Nerys stepped outside to find Ben setting up a table in Jenny’s garden. Across the way, the big formula milk giveaway was under construction. The Consecr8 church was not limiting itself to a simple stall. Around the entrance to the church, various booths and a soundstage were being erected.

  “I think our protest event is going to seem a bit pathetic,” said Ben.

  “What are you talking about?” said Nerys. “We’ve got badges and brochures and boob-shaped biscuits.”

  “They’re just Hob-Nobs, Nerys.”

  “And both boobs and Hob-Nobs are …” Nerys drew a big circle. “… round!”

  “Frightening,” muttered Ben. “Not got your dog with you?”

  “I thought I’d leave Twinklestein at home. He’s had a busy couple of days, so he’s curled up in his old basket with a couple of chewy dog sticks.”

  “You know he’s not Twinkle, Nerys,” said Ben, concerned.

  “Not exactly, no.”

  “And I can’t see how that dog is the Beast of Boldmere.”

  “It’s complicated. Isn’t that Michael?”

  Nerys waved at the man walking away from the church but, apparently lost in thought, Michael didn’t notice her.

  “Hey, my bookshop’s in here!” said Ben, looking at a leaflet showing places in the area that were sympathetic to breast feeding mothers. “Apparently I’ll offer a nice cup of tea and a cosy chat.”

  “There’s no mention of terrifying displays of flea-ridden animal carcasses then?” asked Nerys. “You never know, you might get some takers.”

  “Maybe I should get, you know, a little curtained-off area or something,” said Ben.

  “Don’t even suggest that a woman should hide away when she breastfeeds!” said Nerys. “These SCUM women will tear you apart!”

  “I didn’t mean for them. I meant for me,” said Ben.

  A large van reversed up the driveway towards them, beeping as it came. A man got out and approached them.

  “Bouncy castle?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, Jeremy said he’d ordered one,” said Nerys. “On the lawn here, please.”

  The man set to work wheeling a large package of bundled-up vinyl down a ramp. Moments later, he had connected up a compressor, and there was a loud buzzing as it started to inflate.

  “Kids will love this. It’s a nice touch,” said Nerys, watching the pink plastic heave into shape. “Now, seriously, Ben, you don’t need to get so bashful about women who breastfeed. Just carry on as normal and try to ignore it.”

  “That’s just the problem. It’s like that small part of your brain that wants to press a button if it sees a label saying ‘do not press this button’. I know that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself thinking about the fact that someone had naked bosoms in my shop.”

  “You worry too much. It’s not as if you’re going to …” Nerys gave a little scream and pointed. “Sweet Jesus, it’s a giant pair of massive boobs!”

  Ben nodded. “Exactly. I’m really afraid I would shout something like that, yes.”

  “No, look. I mean LOOK!” Nerys grabbed Ben’s arm and made him turn to the bouncy castle. She strode over to talk to the man who was closing the back of his van. “Hey, what on earth is this? How could anyone think this is suitable for family fun?”

  “This?” he said. “It’s exactly what Mr Clovenhoof wanted. We don’t get to use it much in this country. Popular at certain types of festivals on the continent, this one. Enjoy it, anyways. I’ve put the rain cover on it. I’ll be back to collect it this evening.”

  “No, wait!” yelled Nerys, her voice petering to nothing as he climbed into his van and drove away. “Wait! Surely you can swap it for something less ... rude.”

  Nerys and Ben stood and stared at the castle. The back wall was a woman’s face. Framed by blonde hair, she wore a surprised pout as she stared out past the voluminous peaks of her breasts which quivered with the vibration of the pressurised air. The side walls were shaped to resemble the woman’s hands, swooping in protectively.

  “Well,” said Nerys, looking at Ben. “Someone needs to look after it, now it’s here.”

  “What? Not me. I’m the one who’s embarrassed to even look at it.”

  “Call it aversion therapy,” said Nerys. “And your first customers have arrived.”

  Spartacus Wilson appeared around the corner on his bike with a group of boys. They took a moment to stare open-mouthed before dropping their bikes on the grass and launching themselves onto the castle with a series of whoops and hollers.

  “No, stop! Take off your shoes first!” shouted Ben, running towards them, waving his arms.

  Michael was thoughtful as he arrived back at the flat. Andy greeted him in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of bourbons.

  “There’s something I want to give to you,” said Michael.

  “Steady on. We’ve got time for a cuppa first, surely?” said Andy with a wink.

  “This is important.”

  “If it’s his and his matching gimp suits, I might have to tactfully decline.”

  “Be serious for a second. And that wasn’t a gimp suit, not that I know what such things are. Listen, I’ve got a … ticket.”

  “Holiday tickets?” said Andy hopefully.

  “Sort of. Sort of,” said Michael. “The Consecr8 church have organised a rescue package.”

  “Right.”

  “An ark, would you believe, for when the floods come.”

  Andy gave him a look.

  “I think I’m going to need a biscuit. This is simply too exciting.”

  “I know it sounds crazy. I’m sure it’s not going to happen,” said Michael, “but what if they’re right? Well, if they are right, then I have a ticket, and I want you to have it.”

  Andy stood there, bourbon in hand, and held Michael’s gaze.

  “Let me get this straight. We’re talking about a biblical flood, as in Noah and his ark and all the animals going in two by two.”

  “Actually, that’s a popular misconception. It was seven pairs of every clean animal – sheep, goats, and the like – and two of every unclean animal.”

  “Unclean,” said Andy hollowl
y. “So, God, your God, who is a loving and merciful God, I’m sure you’ve said so, is going to kill nearly every person on earth because …?”

  “Well, the theory is because we have allowed evil to pervade society. Idleness, sin, and evil.”

  “Right,” said Andy, pursing his lips. “Someone has decided that I am more evil than you?”

  “Well, I suppose that, given the parameters of this particular enterprise, yes, they have.”

  “Maybe they’re right,” said Andy with a shrug. “And the babies?”

  “Babies?”

  “In what you call the parameters of this enterprise, all of the babies in the whole world are more evil than you as well.”

  “Nobody’s saying that babies are evil,” said Michael, feeling that the conversation hadn’t gone quite the way he wanted. “You can’t go questioning the will of God.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “No, he’s ineffable.”

  “He’s effing something, I reckon.”

  “If God wants people to survive the deluge then, in his wisdom, he’d arrange for them to survive. No matter how flawed our systems are, God would have the righteous survive.”

  “Like people who own boats.”

  “What?”

  “Lots of people live on boats, work on boats, have access to boats. Those people won’t die in this flood, so I hope none of them are evil. I wouldn’t mind betting that some of those fat cats sitting on giant yachts are polluting the oceans and spoiling the world in the worst ways. Wow, he’s a piece of work, your God, isn’t he? Did God remember that there are people who’ve got boats already? Why aren’t we trying to save the world from real threats, instead of saying that it’s the fault of people who haven’t got their gold stars by running around giving away a load of bibles to tramps? Yes, I saw you.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t take this so literally,” said Michael. “Why couldn’t you just accept my gift as a symbol of my love and leave it at that?”

  “Good grief, Michael, you could have just bought me a watch or something! Or a ring. Are you trying to propose?”

  “I’m not sure that the church agrees with things like that …” began Michael.