Page 84 of The Running Grave

‘Wow,’ he said, shaking his head and laughing, ‘Can’t believe you haven’t read The Answer. Like, it gives you the tools and it explains – I can’t do it as well as Papa J, you need to read his actual words. But I can tell you first-hand, there’s life after death, and a spiritual war raging here on earth, and if we can win—’

‘Yeah,’ said the wavy blond young man, who now looked serious. ‘If we win.’

‘We have to,’ said the other intensely. ‘We have to.’

Through a gap between the two diners opposite her, Robin spotted the shaven-headed Louise, who was eating very slowly, and kept glancing up at the top table, ignoring the chatter of those on either side of her. There were many other middle-aged women dotted around the hall, Robin saw, and most of them looked like Louise, as though they’d long since abandoned any interest in their appearance, their faces deeply lined and their hair cropped short, though none of them were entirely shaven-headed like Louise. Watching her, Robin remembered what Kevin had said about his mother being in love with Jonathan Wace. Had the feeling survived all these years of servitude? Had it been worth the loss of her son?

One of the people who came to clear away the plates was the teenaged girl Robin had noticed earlier, with the long, mousey, sun-bleached hair and large, anxious eyes. When the plates had been cleared away, more kitchen workers appeared with stacks of metal bowls on their trolleys. These proved to be full of stewed apple, which Robin found very bitter, doubtless because refined sugar was forbidden by the church. Nevertheless, she ate it all, while her neighbours talked across her of holy war.

Robin had no idea what time it was. The sky outside the window was black, and it had taken a long time to dish out food for a hundred people. Finally the bowls, too, were cleared away, and somebody dimmed the overhead lights, though leaving the top table spot lit.

At once, those at the trestle tables began clapping and cheering again, some of them even banging their tin water mugs on the table. Jonathan Wace stood up, walked around the table, his microphone switched back on, and once again calmed the crowd by making a dampening motion with his hands.

‘Thank you, my friends. Thank you… I stand before you tonight with both hope and fear in my heart. Hope and fear,’ he added, looking solemnly around.

‘I want to tell you, firstly, that this church, this community of souls, which now stretches across two continents—’

There were a few more whoops and cheers.

‘—represents the single biggest spiritual challenge to the Adversary that the world has ever seen.’

The room applauded.

‘I feel its power,’ said Jonathan, holding his clenched fist to his heart. ‘I feel it when I speak to our American brothers and sisters, I feel it in when I spoke earlier this week at our Munich temple, I felt it today when I re-entered this place, and when I went to temple to purify. And I want to single out some individuals this evening, who give me hope. With individuals like these on our side, the Adversary should rightly tremble…’

Wace, who was carrying no notes, now called out several names, and as each person was identified, they either screamed or shouted, bounding to their feet while those sitting around them cheered and clapped.

‘… and last, but never least,’ said Wace, ‘Danny Brockles.’

The young man with the buzz cut beside Robin jumped to his feet so fast he hit her hard on the elbow.

‘Oh my God,’ he was saying, over and over again, and Robin saw that he was crying. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Come up here, all of you,’ said Jonathan Wace. ‘Come on… everyone, show your appreciation for these people…’

The dining hall rang with further cheers and shouts. All those called had burst into tears and seemed overcome to have been recognised by Wace.

Wace began talking about each member’s achievements. One of the girls had collected more money on the street than anyone else, over a four-week period. Another girl had recruited a dozen new members to the Week of Service. When finally Jonathan Wace reached Danny Brockles, the younger man was sobbing so hard that Wace walked to him and embraced him, while Brockles cried into the church leader’s shoulder. The watchers, by now cheering wildly, got to their feet to give Danny and Wace a standing ovation.

‘Tell us what you did this week, Danny,’ said Wace. ‘Tell everyone why I’m so proud of you.’

‘I c-c-can’t,’ sobbed Danny, completely overcome.

‘Then I’ll tell them,’ said Wace, turning to face the crowd. ‘Our addiction services centre in Northampton was threatened with closure by agents of the Adversary.’

A storm of booing broke out. The news about the addiction centre seemed to have been unknown to everyone but the top table.

‘Wait – wait – wait,’ said Jonathan, making his usual calming gestures with his left hand, while holding Danny’s arm with his right. ‘Becca took Danny along, to explain how much it had helped him. Danny stood up in front of those materialists and spoke so eloquently, so powerfully, that he ensured the service’s continuation. He did that. Danny did that.’

Wace raised Danny’s arm into the air. A storm of cheers ensued.

‘With people like Danny with us, should the Adversary be afraid?’ shouted Jonathan, and the screams and applause grew even louder. Jonathan was crying now, tears flooding down his face. This show of emotion caused a level of hysteria in the hall that Robin started to find almost unnerving, and it continued even after the six selected people had resumed their seats, until at last, mopping his eyes and making his calming gesture, Jonathan managed to make himself heard again, his voice now slightly hoarse.

‘And now… with regret… I must bring you bulletins from the materialist world…’

A hush fell over the hall as Jonathan began to speak.

He told of the continuing war in Syria, and described the atrocities there, then spoke of massive corruption among the world’s political and financial elites. He spoke of the outbreak of Zika in Brazil, which was causing so many babies to be miscarried or born severely disabled. He described individual instances of appalling poverty and despair he’d witnessed while attending church-run projects in both the UK and America, and as he told of these injustices and disasters, he might have been describing things that had befallen his own family, so deeply did they seem to touch him. Robin remembered Sheila Kennett’s words: he had a way of making you want to make everything all right, for him… you wanted to look after him… he seemed to feel it worse than all the rest of us.