Only Strange People Go to Church Read online

  Despite Bobby’s enormous repertoire each singer has three or four favourite songs they have made their own. Singalong etiquette is such that no singer is allowed to appropriate another’s song. Lifelong rifts have apparently been caused by just this kind of wrongheadedness. Bobby will not countenance it, refusing to provide accompaniment. Songs only become available when the singer reluctantly relinquished them through long term ill-health or death.

  Bobby’s crowd don’t drink much by Hexton standards, perhaps five or six shorts, but the combination of skipping lunch and the adrenaline buzz of performing gives the oldsters a heady Saturday night out on a Saturday afternoon. They roll home pished to sleep it off in front of Britain’s Got Talent. Old people drunk in daylight is the norm for Hexton.

  The generations use the pub in sittings, the pensioners giving way to the Saturday night karaoke for the younger ones. Rab, the karaoke singer, is a local celebrity. He’s handsome and trendy and powerful in that he chooses who gets to sing next, if at all. He always keeps the last twenty minutes, and all the best contemporary hits, for himself. Invariably he finishes the evening dressed as an American navy officer singing I’ve Had The Time of My Life before ripping his kit off to Tom Jones’ You Can Leave Your Hat On. The pristine white jacket is first to come off, slowly, teasingly, exposing a thin smoker’s chest on an orange sunbed tan. With a prodigious tug the trousers come off in one piece. For decency Rab retains his black leather thong as well as his hat.

  When the Stop The Motorway campaign first began they had a rally. Feral looking dreadlocked environmentalists came to tell the locals about the new motorway. Most of the protestors were arrested and were forced, as they were being dragged away by the police, to leave their amplifier and microphone with an obliging local family. When the campaigners were released and went to find their equipment they told Maria that they heard it before they saw it.

  From three streets away a rich baritone crooned Love Me Tender in a passable Elvis impersonation. Bewitched, they followed the haunting voice, like shepherds following a star, until it brought them to a humble tenement flat. The family who had offered to look after their sound system were now holding their own top volume karaoke party. The treehuggers, as the locals had begun to call them, not wishing to upset anyone, agreed to come back the next morning.

  Between songs the family told jokes through the microphone loud enough to be heard in back courts and lanes and middens throughout Hexton, the comedy amplified by the joker’s sudden celebrity. Later, as the drink took hold, there were scuffles for control of the mic. Later still, police arrived and politely requested that the music cease.

  When the treehuggers returned the next morning they were told that their equipment had been impounded by the police on a subsequent visit.

  But there are plenty of opportunities for showboating talent other than at the pub or impromptu shebeens. There’s the school choir, the Elderly Forum Glee Club, the treehuggers circus skills and the Victory Mission. Not to mention the various talents of their own centre clients. In Blue Group alone Maria has the drama workshop and Fiona might make a good actor if she could ever be persuaded to stop munching crisps.

  Chapter 11

  Maria has managed to escape Blue Group for half an hour to prepare audition flyers. Fiona wasn’t keen on her leaving the group. Although Fiona gives Maria such a hard time, she hates to be left with any other Key Worker. She threatened a crying fit but Maria settled her down with a packet of Cheese and Onion.

  Brian’s also in a bit of a mood but that’s nothing new. He’s a typical huffy teenager: he hates the centre, hates his parents, sometimes he even hates Maria. Brian shouldn’t be here. He was Dux at school, top grades in everything but despite this there isn’t a place for him at university this year. There isn’t the budget for him to have a carer accompany him to lectures so in the meantime he’s just been parked here at the centre. It’s the wrong place for him – there’s nothing wrong with his mental faculties, it’s his body that lets him down.

  Brian has cerebral palsy. He’s programmed a short cut into his Dynavox which pronounces it as terrible palsy and he laughs when the other clients innocently repeat it. His rebellious teenage mind is as bitter and twisted as his poor wee body. Terrible palsy, it is terrible. Brian reads all the time or plays computer chess with Bert when Bert has time, but otherwise he’s bored stiff and this makes him grumpy and difficult.

  Brian and Fiona are always the difficult ones but they’ll be fine, they’re in good hands. Dezzie, who doesn’t have his own allocated group yet, operates as relief Key Worker and Maria has left them with him. They don’t know Dezzie very well yet as he’s fairly new but they’ll get to know him.

  In the computer room she googles Rihanna and then the other divas, looking for photos or logos she can use on the posters. Maria never buys gossip mags. Despite the fact that Fiona can’t read very well, her mother buys her the cheap gossip magazines which she pores over endlessly. She knows all the celebrities. When Maria takes her to the movies Fiona talks all the way through telling her who the actors are, who they’re divorcing and what they’re in rehab for. Maria tells her that worshipping celebrities is not healthy but she can’t resist a quick scan through Fiona’s discarded magazines in the staffroom at lunch time.

  Maria sighs loudly when she hears the door to the computer room opening. She had hoped to get some time to herself to get this sorted out but, typically, someone needs her.

  ‘We’re not disturbing you, are we? D’you mind if we go on this other computer?’

  It’s Dezzie. Maria feels unworthy. He’s tall, three inches taller than her, optimum kissing height. His hair is blond, as soft as a baby’s. Although she has never actually touched it she can see how soft it is by the way it falls over his lightly freckled brow. His eyes are turquoise, clear and innocent. He does have a large nose, but it suits him, and perhaps it puts other girls off. She likes his nose all the more for this.

  But despite the wedding plans Arlene insists on making, Maria worries that Dezzie might be out of her league: too gorgeous for her. He smells gorgeous too. Every chance she gets she stands close to him to fill her head with the scent of him. She even had a surreptitious sniff of his discarded jumper in the staff room. She loves his personal smell. It isn’t strong, it’s a lovely fresh smell, like clean laundry.

  ‘Sure, come in.’

  Dezzie has brought Brian with him who is not quite so fragrant. Maria can smell the familiar sour smell from Brian’s breath.

  ‘Have you been sick, Brian?’

  Brian gives a laboured nod, his head apparently too heavy for his thin neck. His arms are coiled, awaiting the next impromptu spasm, his wrists bent at impossible angles.

  ‘Whoa,’ says Dezzie, laughing, ‘man, was he sick! Projectile vom, impressive, my man.’ Got a wash and a clean shirt. Sorted. Now officially Hexton’s snappiest dresser and all-round good egg.’

  ‘Sartorially. Superior.’ says Brian’s machine.

  Dezzie laughs. ‘Indeed you are, mate.’

  Brian nods again and smiles one of his irresistibly cute slow smiles. Maria knows why he’s smiling. He’s delighted with Dezzie’s flattering banter and the fact that he’s calling him ‘mate’. Dezzie manages to make the tiresome chore of cleaning up vomit sound like a fun adventure. The twang of jealousy Maria feels passes almost instantaneously. And then she has a moment’s distress.

  ‘Where are the rest of them?’

  ‘It’s okay, don’t worry, I haven’t deserted them. They wanted to go to Bert’s Health and Hygiene class.’

  ‘I’m nearly finished here if you want this computer.’

  ‘No, no, you carry on; you’re fine. I know you’re engaged in vitally important work. Bert was telling me you’re organising a concert?’

  Maria smiles, word travels fast.

  ‘Me and Brian are only in to fiddle about. We’ll go on this one.’

  Maria would have liked to hand over her keyboard to Dezzie. She’d l
ike to have him sit close to her and perhaps graze his lovely long fingers across hers but he’s already booting up the other computer. She turns back to her celebrity search but she can’t concentrate. He obviously doesn’t want to disturb her because Dezzie is whispering in Brian’s ear.

  Sometimes, in order not to be heard by clients, Dezzie whispers to Maria, up close, his lips touching the brim of her ear, as close as a kiss. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Even watching him lean in to whisper to Brian gives her a vicarious shiver.

  Brian is laughing. They’re up to something. She glances towards their monitor but she can’t see a thing. Dezzie has pulled it round making it easier for Brian to see and impossible for Maria.

  ‘What are you looking up?’ she tries, conversationally.

  Both Brian and Dezzie seem to find this question funny.

  ‘None. Of. Your. Beeswax.’ says Brian.

  For someone who doesn’t actually speak, Brian loves a bit of wordplay.

  ‘Check out the headlamps on that!’ says Dezzie, pointing at the screen.

  ‘A. Fine. Pair.’

  ‘C’mon guys, what’s going on?’ says Maria, feeling increasingly uncomfortable to be left out of the joke.

  ‘Definitely a classy chasis,’ says Dezzie.

  ‘For. A. Lassie.’

  Brian is laughing before the Dynavox has even finished speaking.

  ‘Are you looking up porn, Brian McEndrick?’

  Maria voice is so high it’s off the scale. Her screech startles Brian and his arms jerk like Kermit the Frog. This is all the answer she needs. She leans across and pulls the monitor round.

  On screen there’s a website with photos of the latest Suzuki motorbike. Maria is confused. Dezzie and Brian are helpless with laughter.

  ‘Ha! You did it Brian! Got her a beauty!’

  Dezzie unfolds Brian’s arm, holds it above his head and delivers a high five. They giggle for ages, each setting the other off again, until eventually they begin to sober up.

  ‘Sorry Maria, he’s only winding you up,’ says Dezzie.

  Maria presses her hand to her chest, relieved not to have looked upon other women’s vaginal lips in the presence of Dezzie. Marriage would be out of the question after that.

  ‘Nice one! She totally fell for it, didn’t she?’

  ‘Brian. One. Maria. Nil.’

  Maria feels herself blush. There are two ways of looking at this:

  1. Dezzie has, albeit unconventionally, empowered Brian, helping him express his mischievous personality in a prank, or

  2. He’s broken ranks by siding with a client against a member of staff (the most heinous centre crime possible) and purposely made her look foolish.

  But seeing as it’s Dezzie, this time she’ll make an exception and plump for the former. And so Maria belatedly joins them giggling, glad to be included, even if it’s in laughing at her.

  ‘Listen, we’ve interrupted you, we’d better let you get back to your work.’

  Dezzie stands behind Brian’s chair and makes to wheel him out of the room.

  ‘No, it’s okay, honestly. I wasn’t making much progress anyway.’

  ‘Oh? Anything I can help with?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m just doing a bit of research for my show.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that,’ Dezzie says.

  ‘It’s for the Inclusion Initiative.’

  Dezzie makes a sympathetic face.

  ‘Say no more.’

  ‘I’m trying to organise a community show. But the most important ingredient has to be community, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ says Brian.

  ‘Obviously,’ agrees Dezzie, nodding and smiling towards Brian.

  Their sincerity is suspect. Maria momentarily wonders if they are taking the piss again.

  ‘If I get the community together in a show then I’ve absolutely satisfied the criteria for the Inclusion Initiative.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ says Brian.

  Luckily Dezzie doesn’t say it too but he can’t help but smile when Brian says it. They are taking the piss. Is she being really boring? No, that’s paranoid. It’s harmless boyish fun. She should be pleased Dezzie and Brian have hit it off so well.

  ‘Well, anything I can do to help.’

  ‘Really, Dezzie?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Don’t put me down for singing or dancing or anything like that, I’m rubbish, but other than that I’ll help any way I can. I think it’s a brilliant idea, just what we need around here, a bit of showbiz.’

  As Dezzie swings Brian’s wheelchair round and out of the room he leans in close and whispers in Maria’s ear, his lips almost caressing her yielding earlobe.

  ‘We make a great team, don’t you think?’

  She nods shyly as the boys leave. A grubby hotness spreads up her chest and neck. The tips of her overheated ears are likely to burst into flames. In one of her lonely unvisited places, Maria feels a moistening.

  Chapter 12

  Outside, on what had been the church noticeboard, there’s a homemade notice. Written in blue felt-tip pen, on a piece of A4, inside a plastic file to keep the rain out, it says:

  Why not come in for a nice sit down, a cup of tea and a blether?

  Come as you please,

  Come one, come all,

  Come away in!

  Alice sticks her head round the door. She knows this church. Used to come here when they first moved to Hexton, all the wives did, it was expected. Many moons ago.

  The new guy has decimated the place. He’s shoved all the pews to either side and has made his workshop right in the middle of the floor. Like the way the butcher’s shop used to be, there’s sawdust everywhere, on the floor, settled on the rail to the altarpiece, flying in the air; she can see it floating in the beams of orange and yellow and purple light that stream through the stained glass. Thin parings and planings of wood, pale yellow curls, lie on the floor like a baby’s first haircut.

  ‘Hello!’

  He’s small for a man, the same height as her. He has a manly broad-shouldered walk, but light-footed, careful, like an animal. He must be strong; he’s carrying planks of wood as lightly as if he were carrying a snooker cue. A young fella, maybe forty, not handsome but good teeth, clean brown hair, nice arse. But married, big wedding ring on his finger. You don’t see that so much nowadays.

  Nice that, old-fashioned.

  ‘Nice to see you.’

  Forward, cheeky, fancies himself as a charmer. She’s never seen him before in her life.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  That stops him in his tracks but he’s still smiling.

  ‘Don’t think so, but you’re welcome to come in.’

  ‘You’ve decimated this place.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I used to come here.’

  ‘They told me it was unused for the last six years.’

  ‘Did you get it from the council?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you a joiner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My kitchen cupboard door is hanging off.’

  ‘Sorry love, not that kind of joiner, I don’t do homers.’

  He turns back to his planks of wood. He’s making a dresser, big old-fashioned thing, lovely piece of wood.

  ‘So, where’s the tea?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nice cup of tea it says outside.’

  ‘Oh right, I’ll just put the kettle on. Sorry, but I’ve no biscuits, I only stuck the sign up ten minutes ago. I wasn’t expecting anyone as quick as this but that’s great, come away in. What’s your name?’

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Ray. Pleased to meet you.’

  He goes off through the vestry into the kitchen and leaves Alice alone in the dismantled church.

  Underneath the sawdust, it still feels like a church. Except for the pews being moved everything is still here, all present and correct. The oak pulpit is still intact, all its carving preserved, the win
dows still in one piece. It’s amazing, in the hell hole that Hexton has become, that the church hasn’t been stripped or set on fire.

  He comes back with the tea.

  ‘I don’t know what you take.’

  ‘Milk and two.’

  ‘Same as me.’

  He smiles again. Does he fancy her? There’s more than twenty years between them. Maybe he has a thing for older women. He offers a cigarette. How does he know she smokes?

  ‘Is it okay to smoke in here?’

  ‘It’s not a church anymore. They de-blessed it, or whatever it is that they do, six years ago. Don’t worry, we’re not desecrating it.’

  She lets him light her ciggie.

  She said decimated. Alice is embarrassed at getting the word wrong but he doesn’t show any signs that he remembers.

  ‘So if it’s not a church you could have a snooker table in here,’ she says, blowing a stream of smoke past him.

  ‘Could do.’

  With the cigarette in his mouth he pulls out a pack of cards and shuffles them. He spreads them out and offers her one.

  ‘Pick a card, any card.’

  Alice is reluctant but he thrusts them at her until she takes one.

  ‘Don’t look at it. Just hold it.’

  He touches her hand, restrains her from looking at it.

  ‘Now, think of a card, just picture it in your mind.’

  The Jack of Clubs is the first card she thinks of. That’s what he’s expecting her to say.

  ‘Now, what’s the card you’re thinking of?

  She has to try to think of another one quickly.

  ‘The Queen of Hearts.’

  He takes her hand and turns the card over. It’s the Queen of Hearts.

  ‘Good trick.’

  Alice doesn’t know what else to say. She says nothing and he shuffles his cards. Time passes. They both finish their tea.

  ‘So, what’re you selling?

  ‘Nothing. This is my workshop.’