The Sister(171)

‘What’s his name?’ I asked.

‘It’s Bobby,’ she said. ‘He’s autistic.’ With that, the little boy takes his penny whistle to his lips and begins to play.’ Miller smiled at the recollection. ‘I'd prepared myself to cover my ears, but you know what? He played that thing like a little maestro. The sound, the tune – I'd heard it before somewhere – a couple more notes and I had it. He was playing Mother Nature’s Son, an old Beatles number. So I joined in quietly. Now, I can’t sing, but when it comes to singing along to that song...well, that’s what I did. Mumbling along with what words I could remember Born a poor young country boy, Mother Nature’s son, all day long I’m sitting singing songs for everyone. Singing along to the penny whistle. The delight shining in that little boy’s eyes was quite something. In those moments, there was a connection between him and me. I looked at his mum. She was weeping and smiling, all at the same time. I knew I wanted to be a part of his life, if I could. It touched me so deeply.’

‘I want to meet Bobby,’ she said wistfully. ‘He just sounds so sweet!’

Miller continued.

‘She started with me the following Monday. I ran through the job with her, and then handed her an “idiot sheet” covering everything. I noticed she’d got a tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It was inked in with a washed out green, hand-written script. I couldn’t read it properly, and she caught me looking.’ He drifted back to that day.

‘You’re looking at my tattoo,’ she said, and held her arm out.

‘It’s a nice tattoo, but what does it say?’

‘Aparta de mi lado esos seres malvados – In English: Keep me safe from evil things – or something like that.’ She appeared distant, her eyes out of focus. ‘I had a Spanish boyfriend who used to carry one of those little devotional prayer cards they sell in the cathedrals and churches over there.’ She paused to sip her drink before continuing. ‘Anyway, I had this awful dream one night. I can’t tell you what it was about, but I woke up scared and upset. When I told him about it, he gave me the card. The prayer was to Santa Barbara. He told me it would keep me safe from bad things. And I felt better, you know, like straight away. I’m not religious, or superstitious, but you know something? He died the next day. After that, I had the tattoo done and ever since then I’ve carried the card around with me as well.’

She undid her purse, took the card out and handed it to Miller to look at. The picture showed the saint bathed in golden light, her face serene, around her crowned head a golden glow. She held a cup and a sword. The prayer was lengthy, and Miller could see why she used only part of it for the tattoo, but, Oh Dios would hardly have taken any more room on her wrist.

‘Why did you omit “Oh Dios” from the tattoo?’

She took the card back. ‘Because I didn’t just want to limit the plea to God. It leaves me free to appeal to anyone out there to keep me safe!’

Miller turned away from his recollections, back to Stella. ‘It was a talisman of words, a verbal amulet etched in green, the colour of life. If she believes hard enough that it will keep her safe, then it will. Belief is a powerful ally.’

‘Okay, Miller, it all sounds very intriguing, except I’m not convinced.’

‘Have you ever experienced coincidence?’

‘Well, of course I have.’

‘Have you ever wondered why certain events are apparently linked by a series of coincidences?’

‘I can’t say I have ever had first-hand experience of anything like that.’

‘Well, I have.’

‘What – real first-hand experience or just another story you heard from someone else? What you just told me wasn’t your experience. It belonged to someone else!’

‘So if I tell you something direct from my experience, would you believe it then?’

‘I'd believe you believed it.’

‘There’s none so blind—’ he retorted.

‘You think I don’t want to see? Do you think I should just accept what you say as gospel without question?’ Her mood changed; he’d touched a nerve.

‘Stella, you read my file and accepted that as gospel.’

‘Hey—,’ she said angrily. ‘Why do you keep bringing that up?’

He scratched his head. He’d not mentioned it before, but he hadn’t intended to make her angry.

‘What more do you want from me?’ she said hotly. ‘Another apology?’

‘Okay, Stella, where’s your file, so I can have a good look at you?’

‘Now you’re trying to make me feel guilty about it? Well, I don’t have one.’ Miller reached out unexpectedly and grabbed her hand too quickly for her to resist. He held it tight. Heat flowed between them. It came from him.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked.

‘I’ve just read your file.’

Her mouth was half-open. ‘You’re kidding me, aren’t you?’ She wasn’t sure she should believe him; her eyes were round with incredulity. ‘Are you saying you can read people? I don’t believe you!’

Suddenly she felt immensely tired. It washed over her as if she’d worked too hard, for too long without a break. ‘I wish you'd told me you were going to do that.’