by Laura Marney
‘That’s enough,’ says Ray, placing himself between Fiona and Maria.
Maria, only now aware of what she has done, and who has witnessed it, runs from the café and locks herself in the vestry toilet. She half-expects Dezzie to come chapping the door, asking if she’s okay, but no one comes. As the soup turns cold and gluey on her clothes, she takes a few big deep breaths, breathing low into her stomach. She would sit down and perform a full meditation, but that would take 20 minutes and she can’t leave her group that long.
Dezzie will now be looking after Fiona and the rest of Blue Group in her absence.
She’s so ashamed.
Not only has she publicly abused and assaulted Fiona, she has deserted the rest of her team. Dezzie must think she’s a monster. He’ll never want to see her again as long as she lives. It’s so unfair. She’s never done anything like this before. Until this minute her reputation at the centre has been irreproachable. She’s always maintained a spotless record of being big-hearted, self-sacrificing, compassionate, kindly. So she threw a few bags of crisps, it’s not the end of the world. But even as she’s trying to convince herself of this, she knows it’s not true.
Something must have snapped. Obviously she was aware that Fiona was annoying her, but she had no idea she was harbouring such resentment towards a client. It scares her to be so out of touch with her own feelings. The really scary thing is that if Mike hears of this it’ll mean instant dismissal. Fiona’s mother is sure to complain.
Instant dismissal. To be dismissed, instantly, from the work you put your heart and soul into, from trust, respect, relationships. One minute you have a position, a career, people who look up to you, a community, a life, and the next: nothing. Dismissed; shooed away like a fly.
But she deserves it, she assaulted a client. And not any client but Fiona: big, daft, innocent, infuriating Fiona. She can hardly believe it’s actually happened. She loves Fiona and she’s hurt her and confused her and ran out on her. Maria’s crying now. She should have stayed and comforted Fiona, told her how sorry she is. She has to go back immediately, she has to explain that she was stressed out, that it wasn’t Fiona’s fault, that it was her fault. And that she’s very very sorry.
Chapter 42
When Maria emerges from the toilet the café has returned to normal. No one bats an eye as she passes. Her heart leaps to her throat when she realises the table they had occupied is now empty. There’s no sign of Dezzie or Blue Group. Fiona must have insisted that they go back to the centre immediately to report the assault. Assault. It’s an ugly word. Assault with a dangerous weapon: a three-ounce bag of air and grease.
‘They’re in his office,’ says Alice.
They’re still here, thank God. She turns and follows the path Alice is flicking her finger towards. She doesn’t speak to Alice or meet her eye but, surprisingly, Alice’s tone doesn’t sound recriminatory.
On her way to Ray’s office Maria has a moment’s hesitation. Fiona will probably still be hysterical. If she is she might try to attack Maria and have to be restrained. Maybe it’s better to give her a chance to cool down. Then when she’s calm and able to listen, Maria can tell her how sorry she is. For the moment she’s safe enough here and in good hands with Dezzie. While she’s still thinking about it Pastor McKenzie stops her.
‘Hello Maria, I was wondering if I could have a quick word?’
‘Eh, yes. I do have a few minutes, Pastor.’
In case Dezzie decides to take them back to the centre, Maria chooses a table where she can keep an eye on the door of Ray’s office while the Pastor buys her a coffee.
‘It’s about our new member, Ronald, I was hoping I could petition on his behalf.’
‘D’you mean the drag queen?’
‘I think he prefers the term ‘female impersonator’.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve already spoken to Miss Bowman.’
‘Yes, Marianne told me what you said and I do understand that there’s a limit to how many acts you can put on.’
At the audition he referred to her as Miss Bowman, now it’s Marianne. When did that change? Everyone’s getting helluva friendly all of a sudden: orchestra and Christians, treehuggers and mums, pensioners and drug pushers, Marianne and McKenzie. And of course Ray, he’s at the centre of everything.
‘Ronald’s a new member. Before joining the Victory Mission he had problems fitting in. He’s been very isolated since his mum died, and, I think, lonely.’
‘And that’s why it’s so great that you’ve taken him into the Victory Mission.’
‘We don’t pick and choose who comes. It is our task only to open the path towards Our Lord Jesus Christ. So long as sinners are prepared to give their heart to Jesus and sin no more, He offers them redemption. They can be saved. I know, I’ve seen it, I’ve seen men change through God’s grace.’
This is all getting a bit deep and Maria has other things to worry about. How did she get caught up in this? It was a mistake to accept the coffee. He must sense her unease because the Pastor instantly changes tack.
‘I hope I can speak off the record.’
‘Feel free.’
‘I’m not trying to be unkind but you might have felt that Ronald’s a strange bloke, he doesn’t find it easy to be accepted in social situations. I know that you of all people, Maria, can understand that.’
She looks at him. What the hell does that mean?
‘You work with people who face social exclusion every day. I’ve seen how hard you’re working to make a success of the show. I’ve seen the way you are with your clients and I have nothing but admiration. You’re working all hours, far beyond what you’re being paid for, I’m sure, doing this community show, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She can’t argue with that.
‘And you’re doing it, not for money, not for the glory, but for your clients, aren’t you?’
Maria nods.
‘So that your clients aren’t left on the outside; so that they can have their place in the community.’
‘Yes.’
He’s good, very good. He’s wasted here in Hexton, he should have his own show on American Evangelical telly and be raking it in. She’ll have to be careful here. He’s got her nodding her head, agreeing with everything.
‘Well, Ronald’s in the same situation. Like your clients, he has a valuable contribution to make to the community and the show. God has given him a talent that cries out to be expressed.’
‘Is that why he sang Express Yourself?’
‘Yes, I think he took our little chat quite literally in his choice of song.’
Pastor McKenzie is chuckling and Maria has to admit, it is amusing. The sort of thing her clients would do. He’s putting up a sound case for Ronald’s inclusion but Maria’s already said no. She doesn’t want to back down; she doesn’t want Marianne to imagine for one minute that she can be manipulated by a smooth-talking evangelist.
‘I’m sorry, Pastor. It’s nothing personal, it’s certainly not because he’s a bit different. I personally love Madonna and would love to have him, but we simply don’t have room in the programme.’
‘Is this the reason you can’t have him in the show?’
‘Yes. That’s it exactly, there’s only so much we can cram into a two-hour show.
‘In that case I have a suggestion. I’ve spoken to the Victory Singers and, although we were excited about praising Our Lord in front of a big audience, we’re prepared to stand down.’
Oh shit. This is serious. Maria has obviously underestimated McKenzie. If he pulls out of the show she’s lost her only religious group, a vital component in the Inclusion Initiative criteria. He wouldn’t know this himself, Marianne must have told him and they’ve cooked it up between them. It’s not fair; they’re trying to hold her to ransom.
‘Our set is seven and a half minutes long, Ronald’s is four. If we substitute Ronald for us, you’ll gain three minutes. And I think a pop song excellently sung will go down a
lot better with the audience than Sing Hosannah.’
‘You mean, you’re stepping down to give him your spot, you’re not pulling out?’
‘Oh no, we’re not pulling out, please don’t think that. We want to be involved in some way. It’s our mission to work within the community, in whatever role is required.’
Perhaps she has misjudged him. Really it’s quite sweet that his singing group would sacrifice their chance in the limelight. She can understand why, he’s so handsome and charming and humble and passionate; the type of inspirational leader that his flock would follow on to the battlefield and certain death. Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war. And it’s kind of him to give up his chance of more converts for the sake of including this new member.
Maria thinks about this.
‘Actually, I’ll need people on the door to take the ticket money. There have been no volunteers so far.’
‘We can do that, no problem.’
Well, if you can’t trust a Christian, who can you trust? Plus there’s the added bonus of this really pissing Mike off.
‘So if I take, what’s his name? Ronald? If I take Ronald into the show the Victory Singers will man the door and remain involved with the show?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Okay then. When is the Victory Singers next rehearsal?’
‘Tomorrow. Marianne has asked us to rehearse after the Golden Belles.’
‘Okay, tell him to come in tomorrow.’
‘Praise the Lord!’
A win-win situation all round. Pastor McKenzie holds out his hand to shake on the deal.
‘The show’s going to be fantastic, you’re making Hexton history, Maria.’
If only she can hold on to her job long enough to enjoy it.
Chapter 43
Maria enters Ray’s office unnoticed and is immediately wary. Something is wrong; it’s too quiet, too calm. Fiona and Jane are facing her, seated side by side facing a large leather wingback chair. They have not seen her because they have their heads bowed low, the way they are when they’ve been naughty and Maria’s had to give them a telling off. Her protective hackles rise. Ray better not have given her clients any telling off.
She asks, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oh, there you are, Maria.’
The big chair swivels and Ray appears, like some Bond villain, from inside it. He smiles, not fazed by her aggressive enquiry. The girls lift their heads and smile, too.
‘I was telling the girls a story, just to help them relax. Feeling better now, Fiona?’
Fiona nods at Ray and smiles bashfully. She does not acknowledge Maria’s presence in the room. Maria doesn’t blame her. Hitting a disabled person, she’s despicable. She wants to rush across the room, throw her arms around Fiona and beg her forgiveness, but Ray’s chair is in her way and Fiona won’t even look at her.
‘I feel better, too,’ says Jane, also to Ray; she’s punishing Maria, too.
Despite having had weekly committee meetings since rehearsals began, this is the first time Maria has actually seen inside in Ray’s office. Apart from his 1970s Evil Genius-style chair, everything is old and gloomy. There is an antique mahogany desk with matching glass cabinets and book shelves; old-fashioned and depressing, probably the original furniture from when the church was built, and probably worth a fortune.
What is surprising is the selection of books that line the book shelf. These certainly didn’t belong to the minister, they’re mostly paperbacks, new, or relatively new, a few years old at most. Their spines are cracked and they look well-thumbed.
Many of them are old friends; the very same books Maria has at home. There are books on healing your life, on positive thinking, creative visualisation, herbs for health, self-love, self-hypnosis. She’s amazed. As her eyes travel around the room she sees that lying open on his desk is a copy of her favourite book of all time, The Road Less Travelled. Ray follows Maria’s eyes to the book and smiles.
‘Would you like to borrow it? It’s a good book, you know, really helpful.’
‘Oh yes, I know,’ Maria replies.
‘Funny title, isn’t it? It’s from a poem apparently, Robert Frost.’
‘Yes, I know.’
Little does Ray know how well Maria knows that book. She carries it around in her head and her heart.
‘There’s a load of other books there you might be interested in.’
‘No thanks, Ray.’
She’d love to get into this with him but right now she only wants to patch things up with the girls. She needs to be back in their good books. They can’t just ignore her; the three of them need to sort things out.
‘No, I know what you mean,’ says Ray. ‘They’re not my kind of thing, either. I can’t take any of that ‘smell to get well’ stuff seriously.’
Jane becomes engrossed in checking the Band-Aid on Fiona’s thumb. Fiona’s other hand is cramming a large piece of roly-poly cake into her mouth. She is, as usual, enjoying the attention and moaning softly.
‘Not only an excellent waitress, but a nurse into the bargain?’ says Ray. ‘Is there no end to your talents, Nurse Jane?’
Jane is beaming again, the most she’s ever smiled in one day. Unfortunately Maria is excluded from the warmth of Jane’s beam. Both Jane and Fiona are directing their intensive smiles at Ray. He bounces it to Maria. She had expected some kind of reproach from him. It was, after all, Ray who intervened and put himself in the firing line of Maria’s crisp projectiles. Now he seems, like Alice, to have forgotten the incident.
But the two girls freezing her out like this, this can’t continue, she needs to sort this out now.
‘Fiona, I’m so sorry,’ Maria says, but Fiona will not entertain her.
‘Please Fiona; at least tell me you’re all right.’
Maria is close to tears again but still Fiona will not speak.
Ray steps in. ‘She’s got a burn on her finger but she’s a brave wee soldier, she’s not said a word, not a peep, have you, Fiona?’
He’s trying to make Maria feel better but it won’t work. Fiona goes to speak, bits of strawberry jam roly-poly visible behind her teeth, then remembers the legend of her stoicism and keeps her mouth shut.
It’s at this point Maria notices the absence of the others and panics.
‘Where are Brian and Martin?’
‘Don’t worry. Dezzie took the lads back to the centre. Too many cooks, and all that. The kitchen’s no place for men; we leave that to you ladies. You’re so much better at all that stuff.’
Maria can’t work Ray out. He often makes these outrageously chauvinistic statements, especially when accompanied with a naughty smile. Is he doing the contemporary thing: telling women what men think they want to hear, rolling on his belly apologising for his inferior status as a man? Or is he doing just the opposite as a way of sabotaging political correctness? Is this new-man postmodern irony, or is he simply taking the piss?
‘Too many cooks spoil the broth,’ says Jane.
‘Absolutely,’ says Ray and then lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Typical women. Everybody thinks they’re in charge of the soup. Three of those daft old bats in there salting it, no wonder it was ruined.’
In on the joke, Jane and Fiona giggle. Maria briskly hands them their anoraks.
‘Well, anyway, thanks for looking after Jane and Fiona for me. We’d better be getting back to the centre.’
‘Aye, anytime.’
‘And sorry about the…’
Maria looks at Ray and by way of explanation nods in the direction of the cafe.
‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he says.
‘And I’m sorry the work experience didn’t work out.’
‘Eh? Oh no. That’s not the way it works around here. If you sign up for a shift, you do your shift. We don’t tolerate malingering. These two are made of sterner stuff; I’ve seen them in action. Fiona’s not going to let a wee burned finger put her off, are you, Fiona?’
‘No way,’ she says emphatically.
‘Right, well; same time next week?’
This he addresses to Fiona and Jane, who giggle and nod and beam.
Ray accompanies them through the hall to the front porch of the church. Like a Minister after Sunday service, he stands on the doorstep and shakes each of them by the hand, covering their hand with both of his.
‘Now make sure you’re here on time,’ he jokes, wagging a finger at both girls.
‘No, we will be, Ray, don’t worry,’ says Jane seriously, ‘Maria’ll get us here in plenty of time.’
The girls, filled with a new-found work ethic, have started to move off. Unusually pally, the comrades link arms. Maria has already moved past Ray when she feels his hand on her shoulder. She hears his voice in her ear, quiet, conspiring.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, they love you to bits.’
Before he’s finished speaking she has pulled away. She doesn’t look back. His kindness and understanding gets in under her protective glaze and three long strides later Maria is surreptitiously wiping her eyes.
She could never hurt any of her clients and she would kill anyone, yes, kill is not too strong a word, she’d kill anyone who tried to hurt them. Tears are running down her cheeks.
When they are well clear of the church she dries off her tears by vigorously rubbing her jacket sleeve across her face. This is painful, the rough material scratching at the sensitive skin around her eyes but she welcomes the stimulation. She swallows a mouthful of phlegm and takes a few deep breaths.
‘I’m sorry I threw the crisps at you, Fiona,’ she blurts, ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you. I have a lot on my mind and I was angry but I shouldn’t have done it. It was very wrong of me to throw the crisps. I’m very sorry. I hope you can forgive me.’