Gaffar reached blindly under the bed, groped around for a while and then carefully withdrew a stainless-steel chamber pot (unused).
‘As Christians we use Jesus Christ as our template,’ the Reverend glowered at him, ‘our guide… Shove that back under there, will you?’ Gaffar happily obliged him.
‘We familiarise ourselves with his teachings. We struggle against our baser instincts. We do our best to emulate him…’ Gaffar finally located the lid –
‘Yah!’
– and held it up, victorious.
The Reverend snatched it from him. ‘And in that way we hope – very slowly, very gradually – to become better people…’
Kelly gazed at him as he spoke with a look of blank incomprehension. He sighed, resignedly. ‘I suppose this must all sound rather pedestrian…’ he waved the lid at her, dismissively, ‘to a girl like you.’
‘You told me you was a sensitive,’ Kelly maintained stolidly, ‘so maybe I am too.’
‘Charismatic,’ he corrected her, replacing the lid on to the cologne bottle, ‘I said I was Charismatic with sensitive leanings…’ he sniffed his fingers, fastidiously, then dabbed them on a blanket, ‘although I rather regret that now…’
Kelly looked shocked. ‘But you had all your visions, Rev.’
‘I was bored,’ he snapped, ‘and just tossing a few ideas around.’
While he spoke, Gaffar idly acquainted himself with some of the Reverend’s other grooming products. He inspected a jar of moisturiser. ‘Careful – that’s expensive,’ the Reverend snapped.
Gaffar placed it back down again and picked up an electric razor. He flipped a switch to turn it on, but ended up releasing a small hatch of beard shavings down the front of his jumper instead.
‘Urgh!’
The Reverend lay down flat against his pillows and crossed his hands over his chest. ‘Like the doctors said,’ he continued (barely repressing a smirk at Gaffar’s expense), ‘my “visions” were probably a side-product of something else…’
‘Shame on you,’ Kelly murmured. ‘After everything what’s happened.’
The Reverend shrugged. Gaffar dusted himself off, grimacing. Kelly sat quietly for a while, eyeing the Reverend, balefully. ‘So where’s your Calvins?’ she eventually asked.
‘Eh? My Calvins?’ The Reverend looked briefly disconcerted. ‘Uh…’
He glanced sideways, shiftily. ‘They got broken – last night – in all the chaos.’
‘Oh yeah? Where’s your screen, then?’ Kelly gesticulated, impatiently.
‘An’ why ain’t it closed?’
‘It’s there…’ the Reverend thumbed over his shoulder, ‘I just haven’t had a chance to draw it yet…’
‘Gaffar,’ Kelly pointed to the Reverend’s bedside table, ‘check out his top drawer for his sunnies, will ya?’
Gaffar promptly opened the drawer, poked around, and withdrew the Reverend’s glasses from inside.
‘Ay ay,’ Kelly slowly shook her head.
‘I said they were broken not lost,’ the Reverend huffed.
Gaffar tried them on. They seemed perfectly fine.
‘Those suit ya, mate…’ Kelly commended him, ‘you look like Ray Liotta in Goodfellas, but foreign, an shorter, an wiv’out the zits.’ She paused. ‘So I guess if they’re broke, Rev,’ she turned and delivered him a saucy wink, ‘then you won’t mind Gaff here takin’ ‘em off your hands?’
The Reverend scowled. Gaffar removed the glasses and shoved them into his top pocket, delighted. The Reverend harrumphed, rolled on to his side and lay with his back to them. Kelly smiled at him, indulgently. ‘Just admit it,’ she taunted him, ‘you don’t need those specs no more, do ya?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the Reverend barked. ‘Of course I do…’ ‘My arse!’ Kelly grinned. ‘An’ I’ll tell you why not, too. Because from the moment we began dietin’ together you began to feel better…’
‘Rubbish…’
‘Oh my days!’
Kelly slapped her hand, excitedly, on to the Reverend’s tensed thigh. ‘I just had a thought, Rev…’
‘What?’ The Reverend’s tensed thigh now tensed up still further. ‘In your second vision you said how the house collapsed but the man was left standin’, yeah?’
The Reverend frowned.
‘I mean to say he weren’t hurt or nothin’…?’
The Reverend continued to frown.
‘Well that was you, yeah? Everythin’ collapsed but you was fine. It was meant to be a sign, see?’
‘I wasn’t fine!’ the Reverend rolled over to face her again, indignant.
‘I have a painful line of bruises all the way down my back. The doctor said I was lucky the pole didn’t fracture my spine…’
‘Nope.’ Kelly shook her head, ‘Not lucky…’
‘What?’
‘Not lucky. He didn’t say you was lucky, he said it was a miracle. Remember?!’
She was grinning again.
The Reverend closed his eyes. He didn’t speak. Kelly leaned forward, confidingly. ‘I ain’t a fool, Rev,’ she murmured, ‘I know you’re pissed off wiv’ me. It’s written all over ya. Far as you’re concerned I’m just a pest – a dork, a dill. I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. You just wanna get well rid an’ I don’t blame ya, neither…’ she paused, ‘but what I also know – in here…’ she pointed to her chest, ‘is that God’s brought us together for a reason, yeah…?’
‘I don’t care,’ the Reverend said, haughtily.
Silence
‘Did you hear me?’
More silence
He slowly opened one eye and appraised Kelly with it. She didn’t seem in the slightest bit upset or intimidated. She was actually in the middle of sending a text. He opened his other eye and glared at her.
‘So what will it take?’ he suddenly demanded.
‘Huh?’
She glanced up from her phone.
‘What do you want from me, Kelly?’ He threw out his hands, dramatically. ‘What do I need to do? What do I need to say? That I’m actually an abysmal priest? That I’m self-centred? Vain? Lazy? Complacent? An uninspiring orator? That I smoke Cuban cigars and drink too much Advocaat? That I don’t care quite as much as I should about the undeserving poor? That I download pornography? That I’m a fat-head and a hypocrite? That my life and my Ministry are a total disaster? Is that what you need to hear? Is that what it’s going to take to get you off my case?’
‘Advocaat?!’ Kelly exchanged horrified glances with Gaffar. ‘Are you serious? I thought only grannies ever necked that crap.’
‘Look…’ The Reverend clenched his hands into fists. ‘I know you’re a good girl – I mean at some level. Foul-mouthed, abrasive, even, but fundamentally sincere…’
‘An’ you’ve got a nice bum,’ she volunteered (in the spirit of fair exchange), ‘for an old codger.’
‘…but you don’t actually know me from Adam, do you?’ he persisted. ‘I mean I’m a complete stranger. I could be a psychopath, a fraud, an imposter…’
‘Sweet!’ Kelly chuckled. ‘That’s well sick! I fuckin’ love the way your mind works…’
‘Just listen to me,’ the Reverend ploughed on, determined to get his point across. ‘If you’re serious about being a Christian, a real Christian, then take my advice and just…just…’ he faltered ‘…just do what E.T. did…’
‘Huh?’
‘Go home! Join a local congregation. Grieve for your brother. Care for your mother. Reappraise your life. Acquaint yourself with the Bible. Accept Jesus as your personal saviour. Ponder. Consider. Digest…’
She gazed at him, quizzically.
‘I’m perfectly serious, Kelly,’ he maintained. ‘Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time in the Church, it’s that faith’s not ready-made. It’s not convenient. It’s not a quarter-pounder with pickled gherkins and extra cheese. Faith is a slow meal. A nourishing meal. It’s plain and healthy and sensible. A kind of emotional c
asserole…’
‘Fine,’ Kelly butted in, ‘I get ya.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I know it ain’t gonna be no stroll in the park…’ Kelly conceded ‘…but what I also know,’ she continued staunchly, ‘is that you had those three visions an’ two already came true. First my bro’ died…’ she held up one finger, ‘Then the ceilin’ fell down…’ she held up another, ‘so what about number three? Huh?’
The Reverend collapsed back on to his pillows, covering his face with his hands.
‘The visions were metaphorical,’ he groaned.
‘Balls!’ Kelly rubbished him. ‘You wanna know what I think?’
The Reverend shook his head. He didn’t want to know.
‘I think God’s tryin’a tell you somethin’,’ she insisted, ‘but you’re too shit-scared to listen. So he sent me, because I ain’t. Fact is, he’s here, Rev. In the air. In this room. All around you. Free will or no free will. He’s a livin’ God an’ he can do anythin’ he damn well chooses. He can push a person off a wall, tap ‘em on the shoulder, ring ‘em on a phone…’ Kelly grabbed the phone from her lap and held it high, for effect.
The phone rang. They all stared at the phone.
‘Hello?’ Kelly pressed the phone to her ear.
‘Forgive me?’ Harvey Broad bellowed jovially. ‘What the fuck for, ya crazy Sort? I’m takin’ ya ta bloomin’ Florida, remember?!’
‘What’re ya doin’?’ Kelly demanded.
‘Doin? I’m phonin’ you, ya plum! Little Kelly Broad! My favourite nice!’
He paused ‘…niece,’ he corrected himself.
Kelly’s eyes narrowed into slits.
‘Sorry to hear about Paul,’ he added (almost as an afterthought), ‘I just had your old ma on the blower burnin’ my bloody ear about it, but like I says to her, I says, “Dina, the kid made his own choices, yeah? ‘Nuff said.’”
Kelly grimaced. ‘Where are ya, Harve?’
‘Where? Uh…I’m on Mill Bank Road, as it happens, on my way to see a client.’
‘What for?’
‘To wring his scrawny neck, darl, for tryin’ ta cancel on a job.’
‘Then stop right there, Harve,’ Kelly instructed him. ‘This is important, yeah? Pull over. Stay exactly where you are, d’ya hear me? I’m signin’ myself out, mate…’ she indicated, impatiently, to Gaffar‘…and then I’m comin’ to save ya.’
‘I’m rushed off my feet, Win,’ he grouched, yanking on the handbrake and cutting out the engine. ‘Can’t I call you back later?’
‘My head’s completely fucked, Kane,’ Winifred whined. ‘I barely even slept. I really need to get stoned…’
Kane inspected his watch. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘London.’
‘London?’ Kane frowned. ‘So why the hell ring me, then?’
‘Because I’ve got some bad news for Kelly and I needed some advice on how to break it to her. I’m still at the bloody library…’
‘What?’
Kane grabbed his cigarettes from his pocket, tapped one out and flipped it into his mouth. He peered anxiously through the window. He was parked at the end of an exclusive cul-de-sac facing a luxury, detached town house in well-tended grounds.
‘Andrew Board. The infamous doctor. There’s a strong possibility that he isn’t related to her…’
‘What?’
‘I know. I know. I mean she was so excited about the whole thing.’ ‘Back up a minute…’
Kane was searching for some matches, but instead he found a lighter. He removed it from his pocket and stared down at it, blankly.
Then he blinked –
How the hell’d that get there?
It was the red lighter – the Ronson – which he’d handed over in the restaurant, several days before. But it was different. It felt different, lying there, in his hand.
‘So she forgave you too, huh?’ Winnie mused.
‘Who did?’
Kane was totally confused.
‘Kelly. Kelly Broad. Your girlfriend, remember?’
‘Ex-girlfriend.’ Kane lit his cigarette. ‘In fact I’m currently up to my ears in the funeral arrangements for her brother…’
‘Right now?’
‘No. Not right now. Right now I’m going to see a client…’
‘Well let them wait. This is important. Because what I really need to know,’ Winifred continued, ‘is whether it’s better to tell her or not.
I mean the probability of her finding out any other way is minute, and I only came across it in a secondary text…’
‘Stop…’
Kane closed his eyes. ‘Just go back to the beginning. I’m all at sea here. Kelly isn’t whose relative?’
Winifred drew a deep breath. ‘Dr Andrew Board. The physician. Henry’s physician. The bloke who wrote the book about the Jester…’
Winifred paused. ‘Although he wasn’t actually the king’s physician and he probably didn’t write the book either, if it comes to that…’
‘So you mean…’ Kane scowled ‘…you mean the guy who wrote the book which you photocopied for Beede?’
‘Yes!’ Winifred all but exploded.
‘I saw Kelly had it when I visited her the other day…’ Kane muttered, ‘which I thought at the time was rather strange…’
‘She delivered it for me, as a favour,’ Winnie butted in, impatiently.
‘But beyond that…’
‘And she thought she was related?’
‘Duh!’
‘But on what evidence, exactly?’
‘Because her father or her uncle or someone was always going on about how they had this famous relative who was once a physician to royalty. They claimed he wrote a book about building practices in the sixteenth century but she’d thought it was all just bullshit…’
‘She never mentioned this before,’ Kane said, glancing over towards the house.
‘Why would she?’
‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘I’ve been up all night, Kane…’ Winifred groaned, ‘and I’m feeling really weird. My head’s buzzing. My heart’s racing. It’s almost like I’m…’
‘Too many espressos,’ Kane interrupted, breezily.
‘You can’t take drinks into the Rare Books section,’ she snapped. ‘It’s against the rules.’
‘The rules?!’ Kane scoffed. ‘Since when did Winifred Shilling submit to the rules?!’
‘Grow up,’ Winifred snarled.
‘Hang on a minute…’ Kane’s spine suddenly straightened, ‘I forgive you,’ he grinned. ‘Of course she did. I got a text – late last night…’
‘She forgave everybody, you moron. She found God. Where’ve you been? Her dead brother sat up and said “bollocks” and she thought it was a sign…’
‘Her dead brother? Paul? Paul came back to life again?’ Kane was astonished.
‘No, stupid. Before he died. He sat up. He swore. And some lunatic old Reverend – I mean I’m filling in the gaps here – had some kind of a vision which predicted that he would…’
‘Fuck off, Win.’
Kane’s grin was starting to slip a little.
‘I’m serious. Ring her. Ask her.’
‘Fuck off, Win,’ he repeated.
‘I’m serious.’
She sounded serious.
‘Let’s just cut to the quick here, shall we?’ (Kane suddenly felt rather irritated by the whole thing.) ‘What is it that you really want?’
‘I already said what I really want. I want your advice, you idiot.’
‘My advice?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well my advice – for what it’s worth – is to leave well alone.’
‘That’s always your advice,’ Win said tightly. ‘And that advice – for your information – is a piece of crap.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Pleasure.’
Pause
‘This is where you hang
up,’ Kane informed her, inspecting his watch again, ‘and I run off to meet my client.’
‘You’re right…’
‘Although…’ he frowned, ‘one quick question…’
‘Fire away.’
‘First my dad, then my ex-girlfriend…Might there be some strange kind of pattern developing here?’
Winnie chuckled, dryly. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Am I?’
‘Oh yeah. Completely.’
‘Well if I am, then would you kindly tell me how the hell you happen to fit into all of this?’
‘I fit, you fit, we all fit,’ Winnie snapped. ‘That’s the whole f-ing point.’
‘Nope. I’m still not…’
‘She forgave me, too,’ Winifred interrupted. ‘I got this text late last night…’
‘How’d she get your number?’ (Kane wasn’t buying it.)
‘From the bloody photocopy. Same as you.’
‘Oh.’
‘And it pissed me off, quite frankly. She’d been holding me responsible for her brother’s stupid glue habit. You know how I loathe glue…’
Kane slowly scratched his chin.
‘So you’re serious?’ he said.
‘Deadly.’
‘This isn’t some ornate wind-up?’
‘Bloody hell!’ Winifred expostulated. ‘You actually think I’m capable of inventing this stuff?’
‘In your sleep, Win. On your head.’
‘Fine. Whatever. Think what you will. I don’t care.’
As she spoke, a large, green Rover pulled up behind The Blonde and parked. Kane glanced at it, fleetingly, in his rearview mirror.
‘So Kelly found God,’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. It just is.’
‘She said everything suddenly fitted together, like a puzzle. She claimed we were all somehow a part of it. She was completely hyped up.’
‘She was probably just stoned. They gave her something to calm her down at the hospital. She was climbing the fucking walls when I spoke to her earlier…’
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