Girl A(34)

Father had been right: in Jolly’s church, there was an energy which the Gatehouse didn’t possess. It wasn’t the technology, or the crowded pews, or the thick red carpet where the worshippers writhed. It was Jolly, who was seized with a fervent charisma; who seemed to be at the pulpit and in the aisle and holding your hand, all at once; who cradled pallid, pot-bellied children as if they were his own. He hissed, and sweated, and spat. Everyone was welcome, and everyone had come: Jolly’s comfortable benefactors, who had raided the wallets of reluctant parents; sunken-cheeked women, shivering in heels; bedraggled families, with innumerable children in tow. Here were the meek, ready to inherit the earth.

Between the services, Jolly had arranged breakout sessions. Mother and Father attended prayer groups and strategy meetings and Bible analyses, and Ethan, Delilah and I were sent to the children’s workshops, which were held in a damp conservatory tacked onto the church, and occupied with toddlers, gunge-nosed and clapping at nothing. After the first day, Ethan protested. ‘The other children are tiny,’ he said. ‘They can’t even speak.’

We were walking back to the Dorchester. Father took two quick steps and tripped Ethan from behind. I recognized the technique from the older boys at Jasper Street, whom I tried to avoid.

‘That’s the problem with you and Alexandra, isn’t it,’ Father said. ‘You always think that you’re better than everybody else.’

Ethan righted himself and said nothing. From the walk, we could see the skeletal tracks at the Pleasure Beach protruding into the underbelly of the sky. I had seen the schedule for Sunday and had started to question whether there was going to be time to go on the rollercoasters, or on the Ferris wheel which Father had talked so much about. When we were back in our room, I asked Ethan if there was any way. On Monday morning, perhaps – if we behaved well tomorrow? He looked at me with the scorn which he usually reserved for his classmates, or Delilah, and I knew that all hope was lost.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘They were never going to take us to any of that. We only came here for Jolly and his boring church.’

I felt that I was about to cry, and turned away from him.

‘And let me tell you something else,’ he said. ‘I don’t even believe in it. Jolly, Father, God. Any of it. Nothing they say ever makes sense, if you listen to it.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Well, it’s true.’

‘But not in front of Father, Ethan. Please.’

On Sunday evening, after the second service and once Jolly had embraced his followers, Father asked him to join us for dinner. ‘We can try for a table at Dustin’s,’ Father said.

‘What a way,’ Jolly said, ‘to spend the evening.’ He clapped Father on the back, and his hand left a wet print on Father’s shirt. He threaded his fingers into Delilah’s, and, like a gentleman, held out his arm for her to lead the way. She blushed and covered her face.

‘Off we go,’ Father said.

Dustin’s was Dustin’s Bar & Grill, past the Dorchester and attached to another, grander hotel. The dining room was vast and lit by two dim chandeliers. Pink napkins had been stuffed into the wine glasses, and there were bread rolls already laid out at each setting, although few of them were occupied. Only one other family was at dinner, and when they saw us, in our identical clothing, the two teenage children whispered to one another, and smirked. Evie sat on the carpet and traced incomprehensible patterns with her fingers, and the rest of us took a seat. Mother looked at the menu, perturbed, but Father ignored her. He was ordering two bottles of wine, and recommending the steak. He was a regular.

‘Can we get anything?’ I asked, and Father snorted.

‘Why not? This is a special night.’

We had only eaten in a restaurant once before, for Mother’s birthday, and I was still panicked by the range of options. I stared at the menu, hoping that it might reveal its secrets. Sausages and chips, or Dustin’s Burger? The laminated card reflected back my face, in distress.

‘Sometimes,’ said Jolly, ‘I look out at the congregation. You’ve got people nodding along, you’ve got people with tears in their eyes, you’ve got people possessed. But you know – you know in your heart – that most of them are cowards. They come for the music, maybe. For the community. But they’ll choose to be exactly what the world says they should be.’

Jolly bowed his head. Raised his glass.

‘Not you, Charlie,’ he said. ‘I know it. I see it. You choose to be separated from this world. With a family like this – you can build your own kingdom.’

The waitress, clearing the other table, looked across at us, and away.

Father and Jolly talked with their eyes locked and their hands moving. Their teeth were grubby with wine. Mother sat eager for conversation, her head tilted to catch the scraps. I collected Evie from beneath another table and hauled her into my lap, and we played Peekaboo with a napkin until the food arrived. I watched Delilah’s burger travel from the kitchen to her placemat, and stared, glumly, at the two wan sausages on my plate.

Father and Jolly drank into the evening, even when the food was gone and none of us were listening any more. When the waitress brought over the bill, Father took it from Jolly and counted out the cash. He was one note short, and Mother pulled out her purse. ‘You would have let us off,’ he said, to the waitress. ‘Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you.’