‘You need a lift?’ Chelsea asked at the end of the night.
‘No, thanks.’ I knew Mish was outside. I couldn’t wait to run out and scramble into the safety of her car; I was almost scared someone would jump in after me, that they wouldn’t let me go.
We hadn’t even pulled out of the carpark when my phone began to buzz. It was Jay. I switched it off without looking at the message.
For the next few days, while I was with the Kincaids, I did something I would have thought was impossible: I left my phone turned off. I checked it at the end of every day: there were always missed calls and texts from Jay, and from school people too, which meant most mornings I had to put up with Didn’t you get …
Jay had said he wouldn’t give up on me, and he meant it. He sent a deluge of calls and messages; no doubt there was also a stack of messages piling up at home. I thanked God I wasn’t there; sooner or later he’d probably turn up on the doorstep. It creeped me out a bit, but a tiny part of me felt flattered, too.
I felt safe with the Kincaids – staying with them was like taking a holiday from the rest of my life. I loved walking Tim with Stella again; I loved teasing Tark and doing the dishes with Scarlet; I loved meditating with Mish and joking around with Paul. I loved it, but it wasn’t home.
Mish must have worded Stella up not to talk to me about Northside or God or anything; she didn’t mention it once. I didn’t think Stella had it in her to be so restrained. But then, she had to be restrained at school, too; she was still on probation. ‘But I haven’t felt like stirring lately,’ she admitted. ‘Just want to keep my head down, you know?’
That was the closest she came to saying she’d missed me.
Mum didn’t ring. I knew she wouldn’t; I knew she’d wait for me to make the first move. I knew it, but it still hurt. One afternoon after school, I went home to pick up some clothes. As soon as I pushed open the door, I heard Mum’s voice from the living room.
‘Bridie?’
I froze. Mum was never home at this time of day. I glanced down the hallway and caught a glimpse of her rising out of an armchair. She looked dishevelled, and she had a cigarette in her hand. Mum didn’t even smoke! It was so unlike her that I was unnerved. I retreated, yanking my key from the lock, and fled down the street. Mum didn’t follow; she didn’t even call out after me.
That night Stella and Scarlet and I heard Paul and Mish muttering about it on the other side of the bedroom wall. Paul thought Mum was weird, acting so detached. Mish murmured, ‘That’s just Lisa. She’s always been hands-off.’
‘Hands off?’ rumbled Paul. ‘Well, I’m not hands-off.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Mish giggled, and Paul growled.
Scarlet hid her head under the blankets. ‘Eew! Make them stop!’
Stella thumped the wall. ‘You’re disgusting!’ she yelled. Mish and Paul fell abruptly silent, then we heard stifled laughter.
‘Gross,’ muttered Scarlet, rolling over.
I wriggled deeper into my sleeping-bag. A few minutes later Stella whispered, ‘Bridie?’
‘Mm?’ I was nearly asleep.
‘Not that I want you to go home or anything, but … are you ever going to talk to your mum again?’
My eyes flicked open in the dark. ‘Yeah, I guess. One day.’ The teenage half of me really wanted Mum, for once, to be the one who cracked first, but the kid half just wanted to run into her arms and bawl like a baby. So far the teenage half was winning, but the kid half was getting stronger.
‘I was thinking …’ Stella’s voice was uncharacteristically tentative, ‘that evolution forum’s this week, the one where Lisa’s speaking? I thought we could go, maybe. And you know, if you felt like it, you could say hi. And if you didn’t, well, we could just … It should be interesting, Randall Martinez is speaking too.’
I was silent for a minute, then I said, ‘Yeah, okay.’
‘Oh, good!’ Stella’s voice in the darkness was breathless with relief. There was another pause, then she said softly, ‘Bridie? It’s so cool to have you back. I mean, I really thought I’d lost you, you know? With all the Christian stuff … Bridie? Are you asleep?’
I didn’t say anything, and then I heard her roll over and snuggle down, and soon her breathing was as deep and regular as Scarlet’s. But I lay awake for ages, staring into the dark.
I remembered what Mum had said about having to choose sides. Well, I’d made my choice: I’d chosen Stella, and turned my back on Northside. Every time Jay’s number flashed up on my phone, he nudged me further away. The weeks I’d spent hanging out at youth group already felt like a bizarre aberration, as if I’d been possessed or something. That wasn’t me; this was me: the Bridie who joked with Stella and didn’t wince when she exclaimed Jesus! So it was over; life was back to normal.
Since I’d come to the Kincaids, I hadn’t tried to pray. For a second I contemplated crawling out of my sleeping-bag and kneeling on the floor of Stella and Scarlet’s bedroom. But what would I say: thanks for only killing twenty people in the war today? Thanks for sending Jay to harass me? Please God, make my mum ring me and say she’s really sorry? Of course, I was grateful to be friends with Stella again, but I could just imagine how she’d feel if I tried to make out that was God’s doing.
I didn’t want to lose God. I missed that warm, protective shield, that sense that someone was watching over me. How weird that the world seemed so much emptier now than before all this started. Suddenly a universe without God seemed a cold and brutal place. Please, God, let me believe in You again. Please come back to me.
Just then my phone buzzed. I must have forgotten to switch it off. Still in my sleeping-bag, I caterpillared over to the desk and grabbed it. A message had come through: Bridie? U awake? Elliot.
I stared at it for a long moment until the light on the screen died.
‘Bridie?’ A sleepy mumble from Stella’s bed. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ I whispered. ‘It’s okay.’ I wriggled myself back onto my mattress and curled up with the phone under my chin.
It took me a long time to fall asleep.
ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Stella and I arrived at the lecture theatre an hour before the forum was due to start. Protesters were already gathering outside, about fifty people shouldering placards and casually chatting. They were mostly young and swathed in scarves and overcoats. I didn’t see any monkey suits. A splinter group was singing Free to Be Yours, a song I recognised from Northside services. I recognised a couple of faces from Northside, too: Chelsea was there, and Adam. I was scared to look too hard, in case I saw Jay. I really, really didn’t want to see Jay.
Someone yelled, ‘Equal time for intelligent design in schools!’
‘Then get an equal argument, moron!’ Stella yelled back.
Restrained Stella had disappeared for the night, apparently. I lowered my head. The Northside gang hadn’t spotted me yet, but they would. ‘Let’s just go in,’ I begged.
Stella shrugged me off. ‘Can’t we stay out here and bait them for a while?’ Then her face changed. ‘There’s your boyfriend.’
My head whipped round before I could stop it. There was Jay, between Oliver and Ryan. He hadn’t noticed me – he wouldn’t, unless I went over. He couldn’t see very well in twilight.
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said. ‘You know that.’
Stella was watching me; I knew what she was waiting to hear. I took a deep breath. ‘I’m finished with Northside. I’m not going back.’ As soon as I’d said it, I felt awful, like Peter pretending he didn’t know who Jesus was.
Stella’s face split into a huge smile. ‘Yay!’ She squeezed my arm, then her smile vanished. ‘Look out, he’s coming.’
One of the others must have spotted me. Jay weaved over to us, squinting. His face didn’t light up until he was right in front of us. His eyesight must have been getting worse.
‘Bridie! I knew you’d change your mind!’
I swallowed. ‘Oh … no. No, I’ve come to
hear my mum speak.’
‘But you can come out afterwards. Everyone’s going to be here.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Stella butted in. ‘She doesn’t want anything to do with you. Get it?’
‘Hang on,’ I began.
Jay’s face was soft with hurt and sadness. ‘Is that why you haven’t answered any of my messages?’ he said quietly.
‘I – I was going to …’ I stammered.
Stella put her hands on her hips. ‘I’d say if she hasn’t replied to your messages, it’s because she doesn’t want to. It ain’t rocket science.’
‘Wait a minute.’ I put my hand on her arm. Stella was back in her familiar role of speaking on my behalf, and clearly loving it. The only problem was, I didn’t want her to do it any more.
Suddenly I realised: it wasn’t a choice between God and no God, between Northside and science, between Stella and Jay. It wasn’t about finding a person, or a set of rules, to follow; it was about working it out for myself.
I seized Jay’s hands. ‘I’m sorry, Jay. It’s not you; it’s nothing to do with you. But I just can’t be part of all this.’ I gestured helplessly at the eager-faced protesters, the singers – who were now belting out a chorus of He Made Us All – at Ryan and Shanelle and Oliver.
‘I’m not giving up on you, Bridie,’ said Jay. ‘I believe in you.’
‘Don’t!’ I held his hands tightly between mine. ‘Please, don’t believe in me! I don’t want you to.’
‘You can walk away from me. But you can’t walk away from Jesus. He won’t let you.’
Stella prised my hands from Jay’s. ‘She can, and she is. Sheesh. What part of the word NO do you people not understand? Come on, we’re going in.’
‘Bridie?’ Jay reached for my fingertips.
‘I never wanted to hurt you,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I don’t know if he even heard; Stella was dragging me away. I saw him crane his head helplessly as he lost sight of us in the crowd, then the doors swung shut and I couldn’t see him any more.
I shook Stella’s hand from my arm. ‘I hadn’t finished.’
‘Yeah, you had,’ said Stella briskly. ‘There’s no point trying to have a rational discussion with these people. You’re too nice, that’s the problem.’
Jay is too nice, that’s the problem, I thought. I was annoyed with Stella, but our newly repaired friendship was so fragile I didn’t dare to risk telling her, so we lapsed into a strained silence.
The lecture theatre was almost full, humming with staff and students and very hot after the wintry chill outside. Technicians buzzed round with cables and sound equipment to record the forum for national radio. We managed to squeeze into seats toward the back. I was nervous; it was weird to be nervous at the thought of seeing my own mum.
Stella wriggled out of her coat. ‘I can’t wait to hear Lisa. We’ll go and find her afterwards, yeah?’
‘Yeah. All right.’ I wondered what she’d say when she saw me; I wondered if she’d hug me. She never does hug me in public.
Stella said, ‘Randall Martinez is supposed to be brilliant. He gets protesters everywhere he goes, so he must be doing something right.’
‘We were protesting ourselves a couple of months ago,’ I reminded her.
‘Don’t wreck my argument.’ Stella’s cheeks were flushed with heat and excitement. She’d left her beret on, hoping to be mistaken for a uni student. ‘Are you narky with me?’
‘No.’
‘Sure? You seem a bit narky.’
‘I’m not.’ There was a pause. I wanted to say, Stop bossing me, you’re as bad as Mum, telling me what I feel, what I should think. But I didn’t. ‘Is narky a word?’
‘It should be.’ Stella swivelled round to survey the audience. Beneath the buzz of the audience, we could hear muffled chanting from outside the building as the protesters notched up a gear. But at seven o’clock precisely, that faint noise was completely drowned out by a roar of applause as the speakers entered. Stella stuck her fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistled.
‘That’s for Lisa,’ she yelled in my ear. ‘She looks cool.’
Mum walked in: Dr Lisa Vandenberg, young, cool and composed in her trim black suit. I felt a surge of pride and I clapped as hard as I could. I wondered if she could see me. Five seconds later, she’d tamed the storm of applause and cheers simply by standing silently at the podium. She carried an air of quiet authority, which became even more impressive when she began to speak.
Dr Vandenberg – it was hard to think of her as Mum – was calm and reasonable as she laid out the evidence for evolution and the elegant mechanism of natural selection. This was science, she argued, it could be tested and modified. But creation theory was simply an assertion: God made the world and everything in it, end of story. There was no way to prove or disprove it, so, scientifically speaking, it was a meaningless argument.
Everyone clapped fervently as Mum sat down. Stella whispered, ‘Isn’t she great? Let’s see Professor Martinez top that!’
Randall Martinez was a visiting English academic, a tubby balding little figure in a checked jacket, not impressive-looking at all. But once he stepped forward to speak, he was transformed. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. His voice was deep and compelling – a bit like Pastor Matt’s, come to think of it.
‘Anyone who believes in creationism is an idiot,’ he declared, and a wave of warm supportive laughter rolled through the audience. Up on the platform, Mum was smiling; Stella laughed, sitting forward eagerly, her eyes bright.
‘I’m not saying there is no God.’ Professor Martinez strode up and down. ‘I can’t prove whether there is or isn’t a supernatural being out there – no one can. But I think it’s very unlikely. A supernatural being who cares what food I eat, or what I do in the privacy of my own bedroom? Please! Are you serious? So, God exists, and what’s more, you can read his mind? And this all-powerful, all-knowing entity actually frets about the petty details of our everyday lives? Really?’
Stella was laughing; everyone was laughing. Everyone except me.
‘Religious faith, belief in God, has brought humanity nothing but harm. Look at this current war – two ideas of God battling it out over the bodies of young people. It’s obscene!
There may have been a stage in the development of the human species when it was necessary to invent supernatural explanations for the baffling phenomena we observed, for the stars and the weather, for birth and death and sickness. I can accept that. But that time is past. We have science now; we can discover the truth. And that truth is more complicated and more wonderful than any story about the Gods!’
Mum was nodding vigorously.
‘We like to think we’ve outgrown superstition and belief in magic. Let me tell you, religion is just another brand of mumbo-jumbo. It’s exactly the same as believing in witchcraft! We don’t need religion. Some people argue that religion has inspired great art, acts of courage and selflessness, the abolition of slavery and so on. Some argue that without God, there is no morality, no idea of right and wrong. But you don’t need God to make great art or great music! You don’t need God to tell you slavery is wrong, or murder is wrong, or torture is wrong!’
Professor Martinez paused and gazed up into the audience, directly into my eyes. His voice rose. ‘But you do need God to justify hatred and fear – of women, of other tribes, of other ethnicities. You do need God to inspire war and terrorism and slavery and slaughter!’
His fist thumped on the podium and a roar of applause erupted. The audience stamped and cheered. Stella whistled.
My head was spinning. I tugged at Stella’s sleeve. ‘I need some fresh air,’ I yelled in her ear. ‘Back in a minute.’
Stella stared at me. You okay? she mouthed.
I nodded, and Stella twisted back to Professor Martinez, who was just getting revved up. I pushed past bags and knees and coats and stumbled up the steps to the back exit. A few other people were leaving too, so I wasn’t the only one who f
elt uncomfortable at the professor’s certainties.
Behind me, a muffled explosion of laughter rocked the theatre. I leaned against the white wall of the corridor and gulped the cool air.
‘Bridie?’
My head snapped round. And there was Elliot.
HE WAS WALKING down the corridor toward me. He’d shaved his beard off, which made him look much younger; he looked about the same age as me. He was grinning, and I realised a dumb smile was spreading over my face too.
‘It was really hot in there,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I had to get out. Want to take a walk outside?’
‘Um, sure.’ We fell into step, heading for the back of the building, away from the noise of the protesters. Elliot pushed open a heavy glass door and we emerged into a quiet courtyard. I didn’t know this part of the uni at all; Mum’s department was at the other end of the campus. But if I ended up studying here, I guessed a lot of my classes would be in this old building.
Elliot and I walked silently through the darkened cloisters and out onto a wide expanse of lawn outside the library. Elliot found a bench and I sat beside him.
‘So you were in there too, listening?’
‘Yeah,’ said Elliot. ‘Your mum spoke well.’
‘Yeah. She was good.’
Elliot nodded. ‘I wanted to hear Randall Martinez. He’s got quite a reputation.’
‘He’s an amazing speaker.’
‘He’s smart, all right. Funny, too.’
‘But …’ I said,
Elliot swung round to gaze intently at me. Even in the almost-dark, the searchlights of his eyes burned into me. ‘But?’
I screwed my face up; I wanted to get this right. ‘I couldn’t exactly disagree with anything he said, but it was as though he was ignoring a whole dimension of human existence. I just can’t see how, if there really is no God, if there’s nothing, so many people all through history, in every culture, have a sense of …’
Winter of Grace Page 10