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Chapter 27:f

In which Helen observes some that should not be happening

Helen is too close to the water to avoid the warm chlorinated air that assails her. The sting reactivates the recent eye irritation and blurs her vision intermittently.

A renewed feeling of detachment floods through her as she observes the proceedings. For this she is grateful, in the same way that at the theatre she always prefers to see a presented drama (which allows her to maintain her distance from the subject matter) than a representational one (that threatens to involve her in suspension of disbelief).

This drama, unfolding before her, borders on the sensational tabloid style and lacks any of the decorum Helen associates with the idea of a sacrament. Glancing sideways to where Talie finally settled, Helen notices the look of disinterest on the girl’s face. Only when she speaks to her toddler or sons does her face lose that pre-set cast. But Helen is certain she has not missed anything. Her eyes are bright points in the assumed boredom. The boredom is clearly total for the oldest boy, which is a pity since his shaven stripe marks him out from the other kids, and he is setting a poor example.

But it is of little import, Helen thinks. All the other Followers are totally centred, body, face and voice on the event. And with every increase in their intensity she experiences a parallel withdrawal in herself. There seems to be a pervading madness in the atmosphere, into which she must not be drawn today.

But her vision suddenly focuses through the detachment. Without realising it, she has been staring absently at Addison. She perceives a subtle change in him. His face is dotted with sweat – though the heat and his long stint at the front may explain this. But there is something more.

Pure eyes, unwilling to behold evil, Addison had said.

She resolutely looks at Carla who is now fourth in the queue, probably out of Addison’s sight. She will not have seen. Helen wishes she had Dinah to hold. Something to occupy her thoughts at this moment. She wants to be relieved of having to verify what is happening.

Reluctantly she returns her eyes to the Preacher, and is appalled by what she now identifies clearly: he has lost control of his body – if anyone were to lower their gaze from the woman he is praying over they would notice. As he blesses the candidate, his problem is hidden in the habitual embrace, but not before Helen has taken it all in. Therafter she can notice nothing but the response occasioned in him by his touch on each candidate, and she is acutely disturbed. She urgently hopes that Carla is too caught up in events to observe his shame. He is not responsible for the weakness and undoubtedly has no overt desire for any of the Followers except Carla, but Helen is sickened deep inside.

A cold shiver starts at her hairline and runs to her feet. The residual image, as she averts her eyes from Carla’s own prayer of blessing, is not of Addison but of Uncle John.

Chapter 27:e

In which the baptisms begin

The opening music has subsided to a level where Addison can be heard above it and Carla listens intently to her husband from her seat on the front row as he explains about the service.

Holding a roving microphone, he stands in front of the display altar where everyone can see him, arms aloft, bathed in light from the ceiling panes. His white T-shirt and trousers make Carla screw up her eyes, but she approves of the festive waistcoat with its thin red and purple wavy stripes, brought out on special occasions. It was a gift from a Follower and exactly suits the atmosphere that is tangible all round her: waves of excitement and anticipation which affect her more than she’d thought possible. If only they’d get started – she’s like a runner obliged to hold back at the line until the starter’s pistol releases them.

Keeping one eye on Addison, and proud that he’s pulled himself together and is performing well, she glances from time to time beside her at the other participants. Those of African or Carribean origins are mostly also dressed in white dresses or trousers. The others, like herself, have chosen denim jeans and brightly patterned tops. Most Followers have donned special party-like outfits.

Throughout the following spate of songs and into the prayers and the sermon Carla maintains a sober expression and avoids any concern about Dinah. The baby is asleep in the pram at the end of the row – there have been many offers to look after her and in addition Helen has come as she promised. Carla is glad she has recovered enough. However, she prefers to manage Dinah herself until the moment of baptism, when anyone will be willing to keep an eye for her.

Addison is still in full swing, exhorting the candidates to be transformed in their minds. ‘Is not the Lord your rescuer? Did he not choose you before all time to be his own? His are pure eyes, unwilling to behold evil. So when you go down into the waters, take with you your sin and lay it on him. He dealt with it at the cross. You are to be new creatures, a bride for the Lord.’

There is an audible signal of approval at this point. Addison responds by moving towards them and lowers his voice. Carla nods at his ability to engage the congregation dramatically. She only hopes he’s aware of the edge of the pool.

‘The enemy will be confused. Didn’t the old prophets say as much? Zechariah twelve, verse four. Look it up at home: Every horse bewildered, his rider struck with madness. Yeah, that’s the ol’ enemy dealt with. But you are to be new creatures, conformed to the mind of the Lord, sane and clothed in a right mind. When you come up out of the water you will know that your old self is dead…’

Carla’s thoughts take on an existence of their own as she hears these words. The past is a funny thing. It springs to life whenever you think you’ve dealt it a mortal blow, and then you have to kill it off again. Maybe everyone should just take it with them and humour it; it might perhaps prove useful some day. She shakes her head in amusement, and blows air from her lips up her face: it’s growing hot in the arena.

With a start, she realises the line of people beside her is moving. The sixteen people, their garments making a pattern like a snakeskin, start off round the side of the pool to the far end where Addison now stands tall and solemn, a look of sheer rapture on his face, waiting.

He no longer seems to be her husband, but somehow remote and strange. As if he’s staring into the distance, waiting for someone to come home. A shepherd looking for the sheep that has roamed or a… and here she stops short in her thinking. Can it be that he is a lover waiting for his bride, as he spoke about just now? Has he taken on the very life he talked of?

Well, she’s coming to him and there will be nothing mystical about their evening together.

Men take their positions in the water two by two, ready to lower each person in. The practice on Tuesday was a dry run literally and the water looks deeper than Carla would have wished. People start singing and clapping again, the band extemporising with relish, the level of tension in the air inceasing in sympathy, as the first man reaches Addison. (He is one of those about to start living at Addison’s latest housing project.)

The Preacher lifts one hand high over the man’s head in blessing and rests the other on his shoulder. He prays words that Carla can see but not hear. Then he enfolds him in a bear-hug and calls in a powerful declaration, ‘The angels in heaven rejoice over this sinner who has repented.’

The hallelujahs and shouts of approval rise on the crest of a wave, falling back briefly in volume as the next lady approaches Addison. They all shuffle a step nearer.

Carla’s eyes follow the first man as he gingerly descends into the pool. The water laps his feet and he directs a huge grin at the waiting audience, along with a thumbs up. The message is clear and Carla wistfully realises how numb her feet have become on the tiles. She tries to turn her thoughts solely to God but can only think of Addison whose voice rises in the regular commitment of new Followers to their Saviour. Many people are in the water now and Carla draws closer to the Preacher.

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Chapter 27:d

In which Helen finds her enemy again

There are too many people milling around for Helen to feel either alone or noticeable. Band members are gathering an assortment of drums and stands and guitars on one side, their flexes trailing backwards under the chairs to the oversized speakers they use. She will search out Carla if possible, but realises she may be unavailable and that Addison, too, is probably occupied at this moment. It is not important. She still feels a detachment that alienates her from the need to be looked after. It is as if a numbness has seized her system.

Walking towards the melée, she suddenly notices what had escaped her immediate attention on entering, though its size has certainly contributed to her feeling that the place has changed. An enormous altar has appeared on the platform, which borders the fourth side of the pool. It is elaborately constructed from covered tables of varying sizes, and benches and screens, rising like a pyramid, high against the wall, crowded with offerings.

Helen is fascinated. The topmost level is decorated with a lace cloth on which stands a three-tier cake in royal icing (has Pete’s wife Sheila spent the week preparing this?) sporting a substantial pink and red decorated candle. Round the base of the cake hangs a double set of beads like a necklace. Almost Catholic in taste.

Lower levels are punctuated with vases of flowers, upwards of a dozen more iced cakes with ribbon embellishments, and plates of food. There are tartlets, tiny cakes with intricate decorations, savoury finger foods and fruit – virtually a Harvest Supper one month early. Moving closer, Helen fills her lungs with the enticing odour of freshly baked bread and cakes and for a moment regrets her need to cook dinner for Malcolm. Then she reads the messages piped on the icing amid flourishes and whirls: Baptised into Christ, Conformed to Him, Blessings to all, Robed in white, Hallelujah.

More candles line the front of the display -– and it is more of a display than a place of offering. The amassing of such disparate items is a celebration not a message.

‘Champagne, too,’ a voice beside her remarks. Helen does not recognise the girl but sees that there is indeed a pair of bottles.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Helen confides. ‘I didn’t expect anything so… well…’

‘Irreligious?’

Helen laughs. ‘It strikes me as more African than anything else.’

‘What do you expect? Addison’s folk hail from distant parts originally. Voodoo, I’d say, actually.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Not if it’s to honour the Lord. It stays for the day and then we distribute the stuff amongst ourselves tonight. Everyone always wants what someone else brought. It’s like a tombola.’

Helen smiles and moves away. No lunch session today, then.

The music has started, a clear drum beat and mounting percussion charging the atmosphere. Then the guitars and voices drown any chance of talking further. People move to their places, vying for ring-side seats. Helen is apprehensive: this will probably be unlike any church service she has ever seen – including the one here a week ago. She must watch more than listen: her mind cannot cope with another utterance from God.

‘I don’t know why you’re here,’ Talie says, appearing at her elbow. The music ensures no one else will have heard her.

Startled, Helen says in a low voice: ‘It wasn’t how it looked. I asked Addison for some advice and it was a bit – difficult.’ She deliberately chooses a line of chairs with only one spare seat and starts to move along it, away from the girl.

Talie leans after her and hisses, ‘It’s mostly females he has weepy sessions with. You’re not the first.’

Helen looks at her disparagingly as she reaches the seat. How infuriating to find one ignorant person among so many kind ones. Whatever Talie has against Addison must be bad: for all the world she sounds like a jilted wife. The thought sticks… Maybe she has stumbled on the truth. How long would she have known Addison before Carla came along? Two years? More? Addison speaks of her as a friend and loyal Follower but she no longer sounds like one – although Addison seems blissfully unaware of this. His marriage might be the cause. It would explain one or two things.

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Chapter 27:c

In which Malcolm remembers and dreams, and Helen contemplates a pool

Malcolm is just about conscious of Helen treading carefully round the bed. Going to that place for another fix, no doubt. A grimace originates slowly in his brain but probably does not affect his face. He is anxious to return to his slumber – the one luxury in life that he would not trade for any promotion at all. Sunday working is out.

He adjusts an arm cautiously, preferring Helen to remain in ignorance of his slight wakefulness, aware that if he moves more than a fraction he will begin to feel suffocatingly hot under the quilt as the bedroom absorbs the rising flush of this unstoppable heatwave.

Gradually his brain becomes awash with images of Helen: like an angel before the window, outlined in a golden shimmer, then rising to twice her stature and stalking out of the pub which is populated with interested observers, amusement rife in their reddened faces; Helen turns and challenges him to a game of pool, brandishing a knife at the coloured balls and daring him to intervene as she deftly slices them one at a time into half baby-bottles; and – suffusing the whole dreamscape – Helen reaching her arms out to him, pleading down the length of a motorway as she shrinks into ant-like proportions, begging him to slow down because the mud she is swimming through is holding her back. He laughs out loud and chases off into the distance after a husky sled that is threatening to outrace him.

***

Helen gasps as she enters the barn and catches sight of the changes that have been made.

The baptism pool is open in the centre of the floor space, with chairs in a three-sided spectator area round it, leaving a wide walkway adjacent to the water’s edge. Too exposed for her liking. Religion is a very personal thing, though clearly the Followers think otherwise.

Her gaze remains for a moment on the pool and its mosaic tiles. Surprisingly, every side is similar, with three distinct levels, forming steps down into the water, the changes marked by deep blue lines of tiles that contrast startlingly with the chrome handrails positioned at the mid points. It all looks clean and clinical and deep. She shudders involuntarily. Ritual is dangerously impersonal. It swallows the unwary.

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Chapter 27:b

In which we see Helen on baptism morning

The nightmare has just begun, Helen realises, waking after yet another disturbed night, filled with images that throw her fearfully into a waking sweat.

If she thought on Thursday that the worst had happened, she is convinced now that this is only the beginning of a long walk towards something else. She imagined it was Malcolm who had trapped her all these years; now she sees, with the acuity of all her senses, that she has been more affected by what happened in her grandparents’ house. Some of the fibres that have combined to loop a noose round her neck are all too obvious; others will probably become apparent. There is, however, absolutely no doubt in her mind that the most efficient method of settling the whole matter is to think and talk it through and put it aside. What is done is done, and there is great relief in knowing facts.

But the relief only stays with her momentarily. Each day has brought with it a cycle of flat denial of the possibility of this being what happened, followed by rage that it did, tears that her uncle had cheated her, and exhausted acceptance of it all. When Malcolm goes south in less than twenty-four hours, Helen will almost be grateful for his unilateral decision. The house will be empty and she can wander at will, lost in thought or despair until her mind decides enough is enough and starts to let it go. While Malcolm is here, she is inhibited because when she thinks of the facts and Addison’s caring intervention she is reminded all too clearly that Malcolm and Addison have to be kept apart if life is to proceed smoothly. One of them looks at life on the outside, the other on the inside, with the result that they can never see alike.

Gazing out of the bedroom window as she straightens the short-sleeved linen jacket that she deems most appropriate to the baptism ceremony, Helen hears Malcolm’s gentle snoring (his usual Sunday lie-in) against the song of the thrush in the garden. Clear sunshine has bathed the garden with a luminous quality since before Helen’s own waking, and now falls in sufficient strength to lighten her thoughts and fill her with gratitude to God for the beauty laid out before her. She will miss this particular garden.The emerging splendour of the rose bushes and shrubs and borders as the last faint wispiness of mist vanishes parallels her burgeoning momentum towards life and is the thrust that will carry her through this valley, if only she can decide whether her path lies with Carla and Addison or with Malcolm. They are mutually exclusive, and the lure of the one is so strong as to eclipse at times even the possibilities offered by the other.

Helen sighs and turns. Malcolm has not stirred. When she comes home from the baptisms she will cook him his favourite meal as a kind of celebration in reverse. Until she has made her decision she must tread carefully.

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Chapter 27:a

In which we see Addison on baptism morning

Addison is acutely aware of his desire not to suspect Carla of infidelity just as he is about to baptise her into the glorious life of the Lord. But the hidden carrier bag in the wardrobe militates against him. The contents loom enticingly in front of his inner eyes as if daring him to think otherwise.

Perching on the wooden chair to fasten his sandal straps, despite fierce opposition from his tight trousers (his baptism ones: he has packed a better pair to change into afterwards), he feels precariously balanced on a fence. He can either sink easily down on one side, like the rest of humanity, to the wide plain of assuming the worst, or settle for dark forest on the other and seek to pursue, like Pilgrim, the difficult way out, of steadfast belief, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Tiredness and despair creep round his brain dragging down firstly one thought and then another, weakening his resolve. Before Carla, he was always certain about everything. Sure in his belief, his calling and the way forward. How else could he have made Holy Wind what it is? Now he is feeling stress and upheaval at every turn. It infiltrates his ministry, his confidence and now his marriage. Probably why Paul put forward that idea of staying unwed and celibate.

But this does Carla a gross injustice. From her, he has received strength and support when he should have been the one distributing them. He is the one who has the resource to cope, she the one in need. How can it be that he always comes away from an encounter with her more enriched than when he started? Is this yet more of God’s paradoxes, his neat way of upturning things? Is this his hour of need and Carla his answer? It will certainly be the strangest baptism of his ministry – he, who should be strong, bringing God’s greatest blessing to the one who has become his saviour.

Addison is less deeply sad today but it is hard-won stability: if he thinks much more in this vein, he will get too confused to go through with the ceremony.

He shakes his head clear and calls, ‘Coming,’ in answer to the shouted query from the front garden. He’s been slow this morning and Carla is waiting impatiently with the pram, not wanting to arrive at the last minute for the service. She has almost convinced him that she is really involved and means it. Man, that feels good after the doubts he’s had about her motives; it would make him nervous to commit anyone to this sacrament if their heart were deceitful.

There is a pause, during which he hears Dinah fretting. Then, on impulse, he turns and goes to the wardrobe.

He takes the still crumpled carrier from its hiding place, goes quickly downstairs, and pushes it deep inside the rubbish bag as he passes the kitchen. As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us, he murmurs.

All is becoming clear. It isn’t the baptism that will cleanse Carla. That is purely symbolic. Finding and disposing of the garment, whatever the real reason for its presence in their wardrobe, is the solution. The nightmares she is prone to will now stop and he will be free to take her as his wife.

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Chapter 26:d

In which we witness a significant phone call

‘What about Malcolm?’ Carla asks into the mouthpiece, glancing at the clock. Nearly eight. She must be quick because Dinah is expecting her nightcap. She acknowledges the hold the baby has on her. A baby is very different from an adult when it comes to what is allowed without resentment. ‘Have you told him?’

The voice at the other end sharpens. ‘Of course not. He’d just say, “So what? It happened years ago. Put it out of your mind and be glad it wasn’t worse.” Or something to that effect.’

‘He wouldn’t. No husband is that insensitive and you can’t just bury it again. You owe it to him to talk, Helen. To him, and to someone qualified, if need be.’

‘He’s going on Monday.’ The reply ignores the last suggestion.

This is news to Carla. She impulsively suggests Helen come round if she gets lonely. Even as the words travel down the line, Great Aunt Rebecca’s condemnation of the idea is audible.

Helen says, ‘Thanks. But I was wondering, would you like to come over here for a couple of days – that’s if Addison would let you? It would be a change of scene for you, and company for me.’

‘Stay over with you?’

‘Yes. Why not? I shan’t pack up till the following weekend and we could sunbathe and watch television and talk or whatever.’

Carla feels a warning prod from Rebecca.

She runs the scenario through her mind’s eye: they have no television so that is a straight suggestion; Helen needs to talk and this would provide just the right opportunity; the garden will probably be a big one and it’s a wonderful idea to have the use of it. But there is something else that Helen is not saying. Something not about company, or convenience or change. Something more about lifestyle, Carla decides. Something that needs thinking about.

Without waiting for an answer, Helen says, ‘I’ll arrange which days later.’

Putting the phone down, and quelling her doubts, Carla stares for a long moment at Addison’s weary face, as he lies half asleep on the settee, and thinks how much she respects him. She will do anything possible to make sure these valleys he walks through don’t get the better of him. It was grossly unfair of Talie to accuse him of infidelity when he’d been helping. This job of his is like a submerged minefield they have to negotiate without provoking disaster.

And that image brings Steve and his deadline rushing in with the force of a tidal wave. They will drown in the onslaught if one of them doesn’t start swimming soon.

‘Addison, we have to talk––’

She stops. A singly tear emerges from under his closed lid and trickles down the contours of his cheek, unchecked. He is not well. Some mental agony is consuming him. Thank goodness she has more sense than Talie showed. She could have been led by the girl’s unreasonable spite to accuse him of some tawdry relationship with Helen, and it would have destroyed him. What if her disclosure about Steve pushes him over the edge?

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she tells him. ‘You rest. Dinah is waiting.’

She cannot name her own terror for fear of his.

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Chapter 26:c

In which Addison loses it in public

Addison, hungry and agitated on his way home from visiting the church accountant, wants to justify himself, but can find no grounds for doing so.

‘It jus’ don’t add up,’ he whispers. ‘A man follows his faith and acts like his Lord and the rumours just grow an’ grow. How is a man to survive this jungle?’

‘It’s a jungle,’ he shouts to two toddlers playing in the gutter. He kicks a stone flying. The dust it raises makes him sneeze and he explodes. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he shouts. ‘I didn’t touch her wrongly, I didn’t take advantage of her. I didn’t betray Carla.’ His voice rises. He stares wildly around. The toddlers have run indoors. Sweat breaks on his forehead. ‘You don’t betray angels whatever the cost – they’re divine, see?’

He is standing, arms raised, as if exhorting the world to take up his cause.

Suddenly he realises where he is. They’ll think he’s falling apart if he carries on like this in public. He must hang in there, hold himself together one day at a time. Wait for his vindication from the Lord, for it will surely come. He strips his waistcoat off and wipes it along his brow. The thing is, he needs the intimacy the job brings. He needs the satisfaction of having changed lives. It was meant to be safe – both for his flock and himself: he would have the closeness and importance he craved, without the danger it brings. So why is the danger courting him like he has no wife?

‘The baptism!’ Each step closer to home brings the echo: bap-tism, bap-tism, bap-tism. Yes, the ceremony on Saturday and the sex afterwards will see off the opposition once and for all. He’ll be securely married, beyond reproach. Less likely to drown in the recriminations flooding his way.

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Chapter 26:b

In which we see a new order rising

Working again on intuition, for she has nothing else to go on, Carla deposits Dinah none too gently in Helen’s arms when Addison goes off to meet the church accountant. Then she seats herself at the piano and quietly begins to pick out the notes of a tune that has been running round her head during baby clinic.

Hearing Helen murmur softly with Dinah, she runs into it properly and adds the words gradually: promises that there will no longer be thorns in the wilderness, but a flourishing of firs where briars had grown – one of the songs Addison uses in ministry at the Love Feasts. She is barely aware that she is offering Helen exactly what Addison would: some hope of healing from outside herself, the need to trust and depend on God, a reason to go on when things seem darkest. She has no idea what Helen is thinking but her spirit yearns towards hers with a need to stroke her and caress her back to the capable, practical woman she’s come to know. As the melody draws to a close, the room is too dim for comfort and she goes to light a few candles.

‘Are you sure you should?’ Helen asks, sounding subdued but more herself.

‘While the windows are open it’s probably okay.’

Helen returns Dinah to her mother. ‘I’d better go. I need to reclothe myself as an efficient wife before Malcolm arrives.’ She smiles wryly. ‘It’s second nature, no problem really.’

Carla offers to talk things through if and when she wants to. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ she says.

‘That and buying flowery undies, apparently.’

‘See? I owe you one!’

‘I’ll manage,’ Helen says firmly. ‘Life goes on.’

But Carla suspects life will never be the same for Helen. She is no longer who she thought she was. If she has been branching out recently spending time away from Malcolm, there is no knowing what she might do now. She should get help. That’s what people do when they experience trauma these days. Addison may be able enough, but Helen will be going soon and Addison can’t go with her. If only Great Aunt Rebecca were still here, she’d probably know what to advise. And it would be very satisfying to be able to show the old lady why Helen is as she is. Carla wants to justify her friend.

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Chapter 26:a

In which Carla takes a wider look at things

Addison contributes nothing to the next few minutes. He seems out of his depth.

Helen’s telling is bare and without rationalisation. Carla observes that Helen can hardly look at her while she struggles to find the fewest words that will convey her discovery and pain. There is no attempt to apply the facts of the past to the behaviour of the present.

Carla is used to making connections backwards and seeing choices forwards and can’t avoid doing so now, in fragments of intuition, because her own behaviour has always been transparent, thanks to the diary-writing. She must take it up again.

Today’s journey into the past with Addison places the final pieces into Helen’s jigsaw, and Carla suddenly remembers how her father used to hide a piece from them in his hand so that he himself could finish the picture with a flourish of triumph. Carla sees that for Helen there is yet no sense of thankfulness for the finished picture. So many pieces will need re-examining before being finally laid to rest. Like at home when they undid the different corner areas in turn and placed them a second time, with improved speed because their position was known and there were only limited pieces to choose from. In time Helen will know the pieces by heart and grow disinterested, placing them back in the box to take out at will should a future need arise. In between they will not impinge on her existence.

As Helen finishes her account, Carla experiences an overwhelming sense of relief that no one and nothing can deliver her such an unexpected blow. She has no secrets these days.

That’s a lie.

She bites her lip, pensively. Okay, Steve is a secret. And Addison has a right to know. Should she tell him tonight or go on hoping she can manage by herself? The danger Steve represents is, after all, her legacy, not Addison’s.

The thought of bringing Addison into it is doomed even as it germinates: she is dwelling on her own concerns again, not even thinking about Helen, or Addison.

She realises, too, that Addison has already expressed to Helen a sympathy so deep that he is floundering in the same mud that drags Helen to tears of despair. She must ensure her own feet stay on firm ground while she stretches herself as far as possible towards the desperate girl – for this is how Helen now appears to Carla: a little girl, abused and alone with her terror, unable to tell anyone for dread of losing Uncle John’s special comfort.

In the silence which follows, Carla reaches out and squeezes her hand.

In all her aloneness, Carla is not sure she felt that particular desolation which must have assailed Helen. She was older when she made a choice to run from the horror of drunkenness. Helen was small and had to endure without understanding or respite – for who knows how many years? There is more similarity to be seen with her experience of Steve. And even there, her understanding was her constant ally: there must be an awful void when there is nothing but experience to go on, and that experience a mixture of love and hate, desire for affection and loathing of what comes with it. No doubt that irresolvable tension in Helen caused her to shut herself in and the whole experience out.

But Carla doesn’t think Helen herself is aware of that yet. Or any other present day outcomes. She is only just in the room with them, her face white and her body trembling from time to time. But gradually the intermittent sobbing abates.

‘I think I could use a bilberry tea.’ Helen’s watery gaze moves slowly from one to the other of them as she makes a visible effort to pull herself together.

She wrings her hands constantly and Carla says, ‘Good idea. It’s getting a bit chilly in here. It was so hot this afternoon.’ She is rambling; her thoughts are ahead of her ability to say anything constructive to her friend. Addison has at least responded.

While she boils the kettle, Addison talks in low tones to Helen, and Carla, listening in, is grateful that his God has a solution. All of them have been misunderstanding and failing each other in turn. Better that Addison believes there is someone who can mend broken lives and heal past hurts. He told Carla the same once, and despite her serious doubts, there is undeniably the circumstantial evidence of her baby, her husband, her home, the Followers and enough to live on. Whatever the source of this goodness, she is fair enough to wish that Helen can now begin to receive in equal measure. Its name is not nearly as important as its reality.

Carla hands out the three mugs of dark blue-brown liquid. Addison sniffs the air like a fox terrier and grimaces accusingly in Carla’s direction. She allows herself a slight raise of the eyebrows in acknowledgement, but no comment.

‘I’m real sorry how things looked…’ he begins. ‘ I’ll set things right as soon as possible.’

‘Perhaps this should stay between the three of us,’ Carla says.

‘Thanks,’ is Helen’s economic acceptance of the proposition and the mug.

As they sip, Carla realises the possible consequences of not telling Talie the truth, but some things are best kept private. They will have to weather this one.

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