by Alex Preston
In the discussion group afterwards, Lee sat and listened to her friends talking about how they prayed in secret, how they felt that they needed to believe in something, how the modern world disappointed them. She realised that she had given them little credit for their intelligence. Her friends would sit and listen as she played the piano, stare down at their plates while she and her parents indulged in long and spirited dinner-table conversations; she shone so brightly that they never got the chance. She felt ashamed as she looked into their kind, open faces and saw a huge amount of love for her. The priest sat and smiled as Lee spoke. She told them everything. Every sin and slip and all of the shame that stained her. All of the boys – too many to count – but never any love. The boys who she knew were in love with other girls, the boys whom other girls loved deeply. Her friends waited for her to finish and then they all hugged her. Finally, the priest put his hand down on the soft pile of her golden hair and blessed her.
She had walked from the church glowing. She felt new-made, humble. Her wickedness seemed a thing of adolescence, meaningless in the light of her new-found faith. But slowly it came back. And she got drunk and fucked more boys and she needed to be cleansed again. So she went back to see the priest and slowly she began to believe very deeply, grew to feel that she had a personal and precious relationship with God. The priest gave her the details of a Course session that took place in the chapel of one of the neighbouring colleges when she went up to university. For several years she followed the rules of the Course with great seriousness. But then the slumps set in, and she found her bad old ways returning. And this was why Philip, long and bony, was lying in her bed, snoring gently.
Lee dressed, fed Darwin and sat on the balcony drinking coffee until Philip stumbled out in his boxer shorts, his skin very pale in the first rays of the sun.
‘Hi,’ he said, looking past Lee and out over the city, hands clasped to his shoulders in the fresh morning air.
‘Hi.’ She left a pause. ‘Do you want coffee?’ Her voice was cold and there was only one chair out on the balcony, expressly to discourage any early-morning company.
‘No, I’d better . . . I should just go. I’ll see you at the Course next week. It was good to meet you.’
‘Yes. Can you show yourself out? Mind Darwin doesn’t follow you.’
*
She knew that it would be awkward during their next discussion session, and it was. The following Tuesday night, when a warm rain wrapped the church in a swirling veil, she saw him watching her as she walked down the aisle to take her place for David’s speech. She was wearing a black jumper over a white T-shirt, black jeans and trainers. She could feel Philip’s gaze across her back, in the nerves of her neck, in her hair. She thumbed through The Way of the Pilgrim. Mouse came to sit beside her and she hugged him gratefully, then turned to the pulpit, still vaguely aware of Philip’s gaze. David looked down at her and smiled, then out to the rest of the room, his grin widening as he took in the rows of eager, upward-looking faces.
‘Good evening, my children,’ he said, holding his arms out and stepping forward to the microphone. ‘You are now part of our family. And as you attend the Course over the next few weeks and, I hope, over the years to come, you will find yourself feeling increasingly that your family is here. Some of you may have come to the service on Sunday. Doesn’t matter if you didn’t, but those who were here will have got a measure of the intensity of the bond between us, the strength of this community. It feels sometimes like intensity isn’t approved of in the outside world, as if it somehow isn’t cool. Well here at St Botolph’s, intensity is very cool. We encourage it.’ He smiled and took a sip of water. The lights dimmed slightly. Lee rested her head on Mouse’s shoulder.
‘I hope that, over the past week, you might have noticed some changes in yourself. Maybe you haven’t. Often we’re too caught up in the business of our lives and we don’t have time to think about how we’re feeling. Sometimes it’s hard to make space for God. But if you have felt something different, if you have found yourself praying, and maybe you’ve read some pages of the Bible, well, that’s all great.’ His smile faded and Lee noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The light around the priest grew colder, wind whistled in the roof. She shivered. David clasped his hands together.
‘Now I mentioned that this is a family. And families work best with rules. So today I’m going to talk about some of these rules and about why we have them. I used to leave this part until the end of the Course. No one likes hearing about rules. We are always being told what to do: mind the gap, don’t walk on the grass, get to work on time. So I’m only going to talk about the really major ones. There are signs all along Beachy Head which say stay away from the cliff edge. Well, the rules I’m going to talk about tonight are like that – life-savers.’
Lee found herself zoning out as David spoke about the need to attend church on a regular basis, the necessity of nightly prayer, the fact that they were now missionaries for the Course and had to think about how others would view them. She was due to go up to her parents’ house the weekend after the Retreat. She would sit and play the piano all day Saturday in her dad’s music room at the top of the house. You could see the sea through the window if you leaned out a little as you played. A grand piano sat in the centre of the room, sheet music was piled in corners, there was a desk at the back beside which stood a wire basket full of crumpled paper. She would often kneel by the basket with her dad looking for melodies that he had abandoned during his fits of frustrated rage. A mobile made of piano keys hung in the window, black and yellow-white keys that clunked together like bones when they were stirred by a breeze.
She was worried that her dad might commit suicide. It had started as a passing fancy and then grew in her mind until she couldn’t drive from her head the picture of him slumped at his desk, an empty bottle of pills clutched in his delicate hand, his long white hair flowing out across the wood. He was terribly fragile, Lee knew this. Disappointed in the gradual diminuendo of his career. He had never been close to Lee’s mother, a quiet and efficient woman who worked in an administrative role at a teacher training college in Ipswich. Her parents hadn’t shared beds since Lee was a child. Now Lee wasn’t there to look after him, and her trips home were less frequent than before she’d moved to London. She recognised that her own demons were handed down from him and she hated the thought of him battling them alone.
She and her dad would take a long walk by the sea on the Saturday evening while her mum watched telly. He always asked her to tell him about her university work. He loved to hear her stories about mystics and visionaries, martyred virgins and ancient anchoresses. Lee enjoyed reciting the Old English poems most of all. On stormy days, her dad would rise from his chair and pull on his coat, helping her into her Barbour as she slipped a scarf around her throat. They’d march along the tideline, eyelashes pearled by the salty spray from breakers, the sky so low that the highest waves seemed to grab handfuls of the dark grey clouds. Lee would quote poetry at her dad in a lilting voice, occasionally tripping as she forced the words into her mind, but always full of drama and tragedy: The Seafarer, The Wanderer, Deor. Her dad would repeat verses that struck him as particularly moving, his voice still heavily accented as he stumbled to shape his mouth around the unfamiliar sound of the ancient language. They’d hold hands as all brightness leached from the day and return, cheeks red, to the warmly glowing house.
The night before, her dad had emailed her a piece of music that they had worked on together during her last visit home. Drawing on her translation of the Old English love poem Wulf and Eadwacer, it was a desolate, minimalist piece, built around a series of distant notes that developed tentatively into the refrain, sung by a soprano: A difference exists between us. Her dad had tried to convey the loneliness of the original poem, the sexual longing, the betrayal. She had sat at her computer and played the piece time after time. With Darwin curled at her feet, she listened to the haunting, austere music and cried: for herse
lf, for the nameless author of the poem, for her dad.
Lee realised that David was looking at her. Mouse had his hand upon her knee and was tapping out a jittery rhythm with his fingers. David blinked as she met his eyes. The church was utterly silent.
‘Now for the reason I decided to talk about our rules tonight. One of the things I hope that you guys have discovered about the Course is that we aren’t exclusive. All who come here are welcome. All those who join our family, who respect that family by acknowledging and abiding by the rules that keep us together, are welcome. You may have heard things about the Course – there have been newspaper articles, disaffected former members, rival priests who envy our crowded pews.’ He smiled sadly.
‘The Course isn’t for everyone, and I’m afraid some of you will leave. Some of you will feel that we ask too much of you, that you can’t cope with the pressure of living up to Christ’s ideal. What I say to you is this: embrace that pressure, strive for the perfection that Christ achieved and when you slip, the Course will be there to help you up. And you will find that all the other pressures in your life, the things we were discussing last week, fall away when you start abiding by the rules of the Course. We have been described as being outmoded and old-fashioned. I disagree firmly with the idea that our teachings don’t have any relevance to the modern world. Quite the opposite. But when I hear that people think us old-fashioned, I say yes, that’s probably true.
‘We believe that the best family, the most stable and enduring family, is one where a man and a woman come together in love. And when that love is recognised in the eyes of God. Sally and I weren’t blessed with children – in many ways our children are you lot – but, back when we were planning for a family, we felt very strongly that a mother and a father, living together as man and wife, was by far the best way to raise kids. And I know this isn’t a cool or a politically correct viewpoint, I know it is very old-fashioned. But look at the statistics, think about it logically. It’s what nature intended, it’s what God intended.’ The light softened now and David smiled out at the congregation.
‘Weddings are wonderful. It’s still the happiest day of my life, the day when I turned to watch Sally walk down the aisle. And weddings have become as important a part of the Course as our Tuesday-night sessions. They’re a place we can all get together and celebrate the wonder of love, the joyous pact between a man and a woman. And all I’m saying here is that this is our ideal. If you don’t want to get married, fine. If you’re gay, that’s OK too. You’re still welcome here, although you might find that you don’t always feel entirely comfortable. Because we believe that it is when sex is twinned with married love that it’s at its most intense and holy, it’s only then that it’s truly a gift from God. I have many unmarried friends who say that their partnership is every bit as strong as a proper marriage; I have many gay friends who believe that their love is blessed by God. I can only say what I truly believe, what I’d tell my own son. Marry a woman who will love and cherish you. Save sex until after you’re married. It’s the path to happiness, to fulfilment. Some of the most depressed, disappointed people I know are those who chose to be gay in their younger years and realised, too late, that it is a dead-end lifestyle. Now they are old and full of regret. Sex is a gift of God serving two purposes: it represents the joy of love between a man and a woman, and it brings forth new life. Don’t lose sight of these things. Struggle against temptation. Often the most difficult battles end in the most magnificent victories.’ He shuffled some papers on the lectern and stepped down from the pulpit. The applause built slowly from the back of the room. Lee clapped very gently, and her palms were damp with sweat.
She emptied her mind during the music, trying not to think of David or Philip. It was why she loved the piano. The mathematical precision of the notes, the complex feats of dexterity needed to execute the pieces perfectly; all of this helped her to step away from herself. But then they were sitting in the discussion group, and Mouse was beginning to talk about chastity and purity and guilt. David was standing in the shadows of the doorway, and she could again feel his eyes upon her.
‘We all get urges.’ Mouse’s voice was clipped and firm and droplets of spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. ‘But we control them. Or we hold them in as best we can until our love is blessed. I’ve lost girlfriends because of this. Of course I have. But I know I’m right. Saving something so precious for the right girl seems only sensible. And when I do find her, when we’re married and one in the eyes of God, well, then it will all be worthwhile. It will be something incredibly special and powerful.’ The twins sat forward, their heads bobbing; every so often one of them would giggle. Lee could see that Mouse hadn’t shaved for a few days. A light dusting of blond hairs, not thick enough to be called stubble, fuzzed beneath his round cheeks.
‘Don’t you think that some of the people who need the Course most might be put off by all this?’ Philip asked, chewing the end of his pencil. ‘I mean, the Course is targeted at young people, and young people struggle with their sexuality, they struggle to keep their emotions in check. It just feels like it’s a very negative way of putting it. Very unforgiving when you compare it to the rest of the Course.’ Lee realised that Philip was looking at her.
‘The Course will welcome anyone,’ she said, quietly. ‘And particularly if they’re struggling with these kinds of issues. But David’s right: promiscuity leads to a very lonely existence.’
A silence descended. Philip continued to look at Lee. She stared at the ground and then desperately towards David in the doorway. The priest moved forward into the light and was about to address the room when Mouse, his cheeks very red, began to speak.
‘It’s like so much of modern life,’ he said. ‘Always looking for the next fix, constantly jumping from one cheap thrill to the next. A stable marriage between a man and a woman may seem unglamorous, but it’s the key to a happy life. It’s why the Course insists upon this above all else. It’s for our own good.’ Mouse was standing now, pacing within the circle of chairs, one tightly balled fist smacking into the other palm. Lee thought he looked unhinged, but then she saw the twins leaning forward and blinking their long-lashed eyes and she realised that Mouse was just copying David. Even his voice was growing to sound like David’s. A voice that had been so different when Lee first discovered him, tubby and awkward, hiding in his tiny room high above the college quadrangle.
Lee talked very little during the discussion; her eyes were blank and distant. Philip smiled at her, nodded when she did speak, tried to make his own comments enthusiastic and endearing. When the session was finished, he stood at the door, looking over at Lee as she gathered up her Bible and her papers. Mouse had already left for the pub with the twins and Maki. Lee pretended to read a passage in The Way of the Pilgrim, hoping that Philip would go on without her. David coughed quietly in the shadows behind Philip.
‘Hi, Philip, would you mind if I had a quick word with Lee? Just some administrative stuff we need to go through.’
Lee looked up, smiling coolly.
‘Oh, Philip, were you waiting for me? I’m so sorry. I’ll catch you up.’
Philip nodded and waved, backing out of the room. David stepped in and sat on the chair beside Lee. Lee was still tracing her finger across the lines of the green book, not seeing the words, a feeling of dread building in her stomach.
‘I wanted to speak to you after the discussion tonight. I saw the way Philip was looking at you.’ David’s voice was very gentle. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m prying, or judging you. But you’re a Course leader now, and that carries with it certain responsibilities. I don’t want to lose you, or him.’
Lee closed the book and folded her hands on top of it, staring down at her nails. She felt blood rising to her cheeks.
‘When Sally and I were first together,’ David continued, ‘it wasn’t the done thing to be exclusive in relationships. It was our first year at Durham, and it was that part of the seventies that still wanted very
much to be the sixties. So whilst it was very clear to me from the start that Sally was the one I wanted to be with, we slept around. Or rather I did. I used to get drunk and when I woke up next to the girls, I’d barely recognise them. I always hoped that when the bare back I was squashed up against turned over, it’d be Sally. But Sally was the only one who wouldn’t sleep with me. I can’t tell you how empty it all made me feel. Walking home in the early mornings after those one-night stands, I really hated myself.
‘It was a bit like religion. That same era, it was trendy to get involved in all sorts of different religions. Buddhism, Jainism, Sufism – anything Eastern and enlightened worked. And even though we were all brought up Christian, and we went to sing carols at Christmas, it felt like Christianity was the one religion you really weren’t allowed to go in for. I remember these ridiculous meditation parties – some people would be smoking marijuana, and others would be chanting nonsense. I always felt very awkward, but wasn’t sure enough of myself to follow my own path.’
David reached over and placed his hand on Lee’s. She looked up at him, shyly, strands of blonde hair falling in front of her eyes.
‘I proposed to Sally after finals. I took her for a picnic by Prebend’s Bridge, on the Wear. I produced the ring with a bottle of champagne. It was perfect. We were married the following spring. And perhaps a year later, with Sally’s help, I became a Christian. I still feel that the two were very much linked. Both were like coming home for me. The joy of sharing my bed with the one woman I loved above all others was so much like finally accepting the one true God. I hope this makes sense to you.’
She looked at him, frowning.
‘Yes. Yes, it does make sense.’
‘Take Marcus and Abby. You should use them as a model. I know that they have had their troubles, but there is something indestructible at the heart of that marriage. They’ll be able to face anything together, because that union is so extraordinarily strong. I see Marcus looking at Abby sometimes and the love in his eyes is frightening.’