Blinded by the Light Page 18

  I thought, Rendall had begun by asking me about myself, but in fact he’d been talking about himself. I was flattered he’d told me this much, and relieved I didn’t have to give up all the details of my life to him. But still, I felt let down.

  “If you prove to be the Perfect Fletcher believes you are – and Fletcher is a good man, a sound man – you will stay here with me. We cannot let you go back to Lower Fold.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that. I’d just assumed we’d go back home. I didn’t know how I felt about staying in Carbister. I shifted uneasily in my chair. Rendall didn’t seem to notice.

  “Because, you see, Joseph, I am no longer young. Like Moses, who was not allowed to lead the Children of Israel into the Promised Land, it will not be my lot to see the Kingdom of Light established here on earth. I have to find a successor. Who better than a Perfect? You will live here by my side and receive my teachings. In the fullness of time, when I am Elevated and rejoin the angels, you will rule in my stead. If, as I said, you are who we hope.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then you are not.” He sipped contemplatively at his whisky. “Let us pray.”

  Without leaving his seat he began his Evening Prayer. I joined in with him, my voice and Rendall’s voice together. I wish Bea could have heard me. Bea. It was the first time I had thought about her since entering Rendall’s room. It still cut through me to think what she had done. What Fletcher told me she had done. But it was only Bea with whom I could have shared my impressions of Rendall. I would have said, he’s amazing, brilliant, but he drinks whisky! And he’s like… he’s like… a real person.

  And that was what worried me about him. He was a person. Until I’d met him, I thought of him like Christ or something. And he certainly did have a presence, for sure. But basically he was just a man, getting on a bit. And seeing him sitting in front of me it was actually harder to believe everything he said. Because he was real, and because of the way he’d been talking to me – it was pompous, he was a bit of a poseur. He was glib, he used his gift of language to make everything suit him. I could see why people followed him, but I… I tried to stop my thoughts. The prayer came to an end.

  “Tomorrow night, Joseph, your trial will begin.”

  “My trial?”

  “You see, since you have no intimation of your own Perfecthood, we must ask the Light to reveal you to us. We cannot do this by a written or spoken examination, or by feats of physical endurance. We must find—”

  “What do you mean, a trial?”

  “Like Jesus Christ, like the Gods of old, you must show us your ability to drown and return, to walk through the fire, to survive the Darkness.”

  I was panicking now – my whole body was shaking.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do not be unduly perturbed. Fletcher informs me your ASD experiences have been positive, and at all times someone will be with you. Twenty-five hours of full sensory deprivation is considerably shorter than the three days between crucifixion and resurrection. Twenty-five hours is, in fact, the length of the Jewish Day of Atonement. And at the end of the day, when you re-emerge, we shall know you.”

  “What if I can’t do it?”

  Rendall must have heard the hysteria in my voice.

  “Someone will be with you at all times,” he said.

  Full SD. No way. Auriel told me what happened to Nick. He died. The SD killed him. Fucking hell. I wanted out. But I couldn’t run – I mean, there was nowhere to run to.

  “I don’t feel too good,” I said. The truth was, I was wetting myself.

  “Your modesty becomes you,” Rendall commented. He rang a brass bell by his side. Jacob knocked and entered.

  “Joseph and I have completed our business,” he said. “You may return him.” Rendall rose, kissed his fingertips, and pressed them to my forehead. And as he did that, I thought, he’s a sham, the religion is nuts, and I’ve got to run. But where? I had nothing, no money, no maps. Fletcher was my only hope. When he heard what they were planning to do, he’d stop them. Full SD. No way.

  20.

  Bea’s Story

  I tried to find Joe’s face in his parents’ faces. Maybe he had his dad’s chin and nose, and his mother’s eyes. Or maybe I just wanted them to look like him. But Gemma – she looked like Joe. She was very quiet, nothing like Joe had described her, all mouthy and aggressive. She seemed to tiptoe round me and kept asking me if I wanted a drink.

  Beverley was the one who explained the sequence of events, and I was grateful to her. I just nodded and said, yes, at various points. As she spoke, I could see Joe’s mum’s eyes dart about anxiously, I saw the looks she gave Joe’s dad, and the way Joe’s dad made fists of his hand until his knuckles were white. As Beverley repeated what I’d told her of the White Ones, Joe’s dad muttered, “I knew it, I knew it was a cult, we should have gone and taken him away by force.”

  I interrupted. “He wouldn’t have gone. Not then. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Joe’s mum looked at me gratefully. “He told me a lot about you, Bea. I’m glad you came here.” Her voice was kind. I was so relieved to discover she didn’t blame me either.

  “We were ready to come here last Wednesday night,” I said, and told her about our time in Manchester. Joe’s parents listened hard. I explained how he was mugged and we were taken back by Fletcher to the farm. I told them only very briefly how I got away because I knew it was Joe they were interested in.

  “So you don’t know how he is?” Joe’s mum asked.

  “I think he was being looked after. Fletcher would never let any harm come to him. He’s very fond of Joe.” And as I said that, partly to reassure Joe’s parents, it occurred to me that Fletcher really was very fond of Joe, and I began to ask myself, how fond? I’d certainly thought he was jealous of me sometimes.

  “This time,” Joe’s dad said, “we’re going to get him. I don’t care what he says or what this Fletcher says. I’m taking the police if necessary.”

  “No,” I interrupted. “You won’t have to. I know Joe will want to go with you. We were heading here on Wednesday night. He was missing you very badly.”

  “Was he missing me?” Gemma said.

  “A lot.”

  There was a pause in the conversation. I looked at Joe’s family and I’d never seen people look so scared and bereft, so shrivelled. I realised then the price we White Ones paid for our selfishness. With me, it was different, having no family. Still, I thought, no religion should ask you to do what we all did – leave the people who loved us. That was the moment that turned me. After that, I never looked back. I knew that Joe and I had a made a dreadful error. I would do everything I could to rescue him and help his parents. Joe’s dad looked at his watch.

  “Is it too late to go up there now?”

  “We—they go to bed early,” I explained.

  “So I’ll wake them up,” he said. Just then, when his face was fierce with determination, I saw a reflection of Joe. Joe, digging hard soil in the allotments, or unravelling a difficult passage in the Book.

  He left. Beverley and I decided to wait. Gemma then became quite chatty, and offered to show me Joe’s room. They’d left it as it was when he went. His clothes were hanging in the wardrobe, his music system in the corner, his posters – I felt as if I was only just getting to know him. Gemma and I sat on his bed.

  “Were you, like, actually his girlfriend?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said, and felt pleased.

  She gave me an appraising look. “I can see why he fancied you. Look, when all this is over you must let me do your hair. I could make it look really wicked. I’m good with hair.”

  “OK,” I said. Gemma lifted my hair and looked at it. It was a tender gesture, it was Joe’s sister doing it and it made me happy.

  It was two or three hours later when we heard Joe’s dad’s car return and come to a halt in the drive. We all ran to the hall and opened the door. He was alone.

  “There wa
s no bloody answer,” he said. “I knocked hard enough to wake the dead. I walked round, looked in all the windows, but it was pitch black. I knocked on every door I found. Either no one was there or they didn’t want to answer. There was nothing I could do, short of breaking in. But I’m going there tomorrow, with the police, and we’re going to get him.”

  “I’m sure if you explain to them you think your son’s in danger…” said Beverley.

  “Can I come?” I asked.

  Joe’s dad looked at me and thought.

  “Yes,” he said. “You could be very useful.”

  21.

  The light was still on in the Portakabin. Jacob left me at the steps and I pushed the door open. I was counting on Fletcher to get me out of this mess.

  He was there, but he wasn’t alone. Laban was with him. They were facing each other on the two beds, and each was holding a bottle of spirits and drinking from it. The sight made no sense. It completely disorientated me. Fletcher lifted his bottle in greeting with a drunken attempt at a smile.

  “Joe,” he said, his speech slurred.

  I was as shocked as if someone had slapped me round the face. Fletcher and alcohol did not go together. The way he sprawled on the bed, the stupid look on his face had no relation to the Fletcher I knew.

  “’sOK,” he said. “They give you a dispensation here. Laban said ’sOK.”

  Laban seemed less under the influence than Fletch. He screwed the top back on his bottle. I could hear the thin rasp of the metal on glass through the sound of Fletcher’s heavy breathing. Laban’s movements were sharp, purposeful. In fact he hardly seemed drunk at all. I noticed that his bottle was still almost full.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the whisky round, but it’s something of a Carbister tradition. We do things differently here. I’d forgotten Fletcher’s history, Joe. But now you’re here you can look after him. I daresay he’ll be a bit rough in the morning.”

  “Joe,” Fletcher repeated brokenly.

  “I’m going now,” Laban said. “But if you need to speak to me, Joe, and I think you do, you’ll find me in the morning. I’ll be in the Croft. May it be your lot to achieve…” He paused. “Total inebriation?” Laban chuckled to himself and left.

  “Joe,” Fletcher continued. “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.” He pronounced his words with concentrated deliberation.

  “Shall I take the bottle?” I asked.

  “Soon,” he said.

  Fletcher tried to sit up on my bed. The features of his face looked blurred and I could see his struggle to regain control. It sickened me to look at him, despite everything he’d done for me. I recognised the tables were turned now. Fletcher was my responsibility. The fact was, the one person I thought would help me was in no state to help himself.

  “I’ll get you some water,” I said, and went to the bathroom, where there were two glasses. I filled one from the tap and returned to find Fletch still drinking from the bottle. He attempted to put it down on the floor but it toppled over and the honey-coloured liquid trickled on to the green carpet tiles. I let it spill.

  “Here,” I said, offering Fletch the water.

  He started crying with big, gulping sobs.

  “I’ve let you down, Joe. I never meant to do this. Please forgive me, forgive me for my sins. I’m not worthy May the Light and the Perfection and the Light… the Light…”

  I’d seen blokes in his state before. I knew he was going to throw up. I screamed at him to get to the bathroom, and he staggered towards it and just got there in time. I put my fingers in my ears so I didn’t have to listen to the noise. Eventually he emerged, looking pale and gaunt.

  “Joe, listen, I’m sorry. I thought it would be all right now, but…”

  He saw the whisky bottle lying on its side. He gave it a ferocious kick and it spun to the door, shattering on collision. Great, I thought. I’ll have to clear that up.

  “I owe you an explanation,” Fletcher said.

  “It’s OK,” I cut in. “I can see what happened. It was Laban’s idea. Look, I don’t like it here, Fletch. They want me to do full SD to prove I’m a Perfect. I want to go back. Let’s make a run for it – tomorrow, when you’ve sobered up.”

  “I owe you an explanation, Joe. I want to explain.”

  Fletch was like a stuck record. He hadn’t heard anything I’d said. Even though he was slightly more coherent after he’d thrown up, he still wasn’t with it. I thought it best to let him have his way for now, to let him give me his explanation. Then I’d return to my idea of leaving.

  “Come here, Joe.” He wanted me to sit with him on the bed. I shook my head. The thought of being close to him repelled me.

  “Let me explain,” he said again. “I don’t want to keep anything back. Only you can save me.”

  I wish he wouldn’t talk like that but I was scared to cross him while he was in this state. I decided it was best to let him have his way. I thought all he was going to do was tell me why he decided to drink whisky, so I was quite unprepared for what happened next. He started by trying to pray.

  “May the Light… The Light is strong, stronger than antimatter. It can overcome everything. I must trust the Light. I…”

  And then it was like someone had catapulted him back in time.

  “I used to live in Stoke,” he said. “I was a plasterer but I couldn’t… I didn’t… I used to drink a lot; there’d be days I couldn’t get to work on time, so the firm finished with me. I couldn’t blame them. It seems a long time ago, like a different world. I didn’t live for the Light then. I was messed up, a drunk. I lived on the dole and just went from one binge to another. I had no life, nothing. My friends – they weren’t my friends – they were just men I drank with. Bastards, all of them.

  “Until Keiran came along. He was a street artist, he had a gang – a graffiti gang. His signature was everywhere those days. I watched him work. He needed somewhere to stay and I had my bedsit. His mother had thrown him out as he was trouble. But he was good for me, Joe. I could stand being sober when I was around him. He painted the walls of my bedsit, he painted the bathroom. It all looked different, everything. He had talent but it wasn’t being recognised. I wanted him to go to Art School or something, I said I’d pay for him, support him. I said I’d give up the booze. I was the only person who looked out for him. I put him first, put him before me. You’ve got to understand that. Keiran McDermott. Keiran.”

  It spooked me, the way he pronounced his name, like it was a prayer.

  “He went out at night, to do his work. Sometimes I went with him. Other times he’d go alone. I didn’t know everything that he got up to, but he knew everything about me. When it happened, I hadn’t seen him for a bit. He said he’d been visiting his family, making it up to them. But Joe, he was lying to me. Black lies. That night, he said he had some money, he’d take me to the Potter’s Arms. They were all there, John, Mike, the others, getting drinks in, lining them up. I was tense, I knew something was going to happen. I have a sixth sense. I drank to blot it out, this sense of doom. When he first said it, I thought I was hearing things.

  “Keiran says, I’m moving in with my girlfriend, Terry, I might even get married. You’re fucking what? Thinking of getting wed, he says. Tying the knot. I tell him, Keiran, you can’t support a wife, not even a tart. You’ve got no money, I say to him, you’re throwing your life away. I’ve seen it happen time and time and again. He says to me, it’s no good, I love her. I tell him, you’re too young, you don’t know what love is. I know what love is, I told him. It’s what I feel for you. It’s why I don’t want you to waste yourself. She’ll eat you alive, Keiran. She won’t let you paint – she’ll make you go out and get a job. You’ll be finished, I said to him. Stay with me. He says, lay off me, Terry, and then he accused me, he accused me, of being one of them, one of those perverts. You think I’m a fairy, I say? So can a fairy do this? I punch him hard, a right hook, flatten him. He’s out cold. John and Mike pick him up and we get thrown
out. Keiran’s in the middle, in between John and Mike, they’re supporting him.

  “Keiran comes round in the cold air. He says, I don’t want to see you again, Terry. You’re a poof. I’m sick to my stomach, how can he think that? That’s filthy, disgusting antimatter. I’m blind with anger that anyone should say it, but most of all that Keiran says it, Keiran who I love. I want to hurt him. I want to make him feel how much I’m hurting.

  “I always carried a knife with me, you had to, living in Stoke. I didn’t mean to do any more than shock him, make him feel my pain. I meant to cut his arm, only his arm.

  “But John loses his balance, Keiran slips, my knife goes in, through his shirt. I can see the blood seeping out steadily, it doesn’t spurt out or anything – it’s like it’s overflowing – it’s a relief, to see that blood flowing. Then John and Mike, they start shouting. I know I haven’t really hurt him but I decide to run anyway, just to get away, to work out what happened.

  “I hid out for a fortnight. I hitched lifts, moved around the country. I was in a lorry cab when I heard the radio and learned that he’d died. I didn’t mean that to happen, it wasn’t my fault, it was an accident. Antimatter. It was antimatter. Rendall said so. Keiran was the lucky one. I was living in hell. Then one day I walked into a police station and gave myself up.