Only Strange People Go to Church (20 page)

‘We’ve not heard from you for ages.’

She keeps the tinkle in her voice but Maria can hear the recriminations. Fiona’s mum is always overnice to Maria, not because she likes her, if the truth be told Maria reckons she’s jealous of her relationship with Fiona. But she pretends to be nice and to like Maria, it’s her modus operandi.

‘Yes, I’ve been a bit busy. Is Fiona there? I’d like a word.’

Mrs Simpson delivers her delightful tinkle, ‘Of course she’s here, sitting in front of the telly, where else would she be?’

She’s going for guilt and recriminations. This is good; this must be all she’s got.

‘Fiona? It’s me.’

‘Are we going to the pictures?’

Maria feels a powerful ripple. Poor Fiona, waiting three weekends in a row for Maria to take her out.

‘If you want to, that’s why I’m calling.’

‘Can we get crisps?’

‘Well, okay, but just a small packet. And diet juice.’

‘Nice crisps?’

‘Yes, nice ones. Tell your mum I’ll be round tomorrow night at seven to get you, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘And Fiona, the thing about the strawberry, what is that? Why can’t you eat the strawberry? Tell me again.’

‘Don’t want to.’

‘Why not?

‘Coz he’s a bad man.’

‘Who is?’

‘He got his thing out.’

Maria’s senses are tingling, his
thing
out? The flasher? She’s on to something here.

‘The man who got his thing out, have you seen him again?’

‘His strawberry was black, you don’t get black strawberries. Martin says you don’t.’

Black strawberries, what does it mean? She was talking about black strawberries today.

‘Did you see the man today, the man who got his thing out today?’

‘He thinks he’s Madonna, he’s not Madonna.’

Ronald. Ronald, the drag queen. She knew there was something familiar about him. It was the way he moved she noticed, although she didn’t realise it at the time. But who could have known it was the same person?

‘I can sing better than him.’

‘Fiona, please, why do you think the man who sang the Madonna song is the man who got his thing out?’

Fiona shouts down the phone.

‘Because of his strawberry!’

‘Okay.’

Maria is scared to ask, but she has to.

‘What’s his strawberry like?’

‘I told you. It was black today but I ran after him and his scarf fell down and I saw it, it was a red strawberry. It’s not like Sienna’s, it’s not the same.’

Sienna? Fiona’s baby niece? Maria now remembers the upset caused in the family when Sienna was born with a red birthmark on her face. Come to think of it, the Madonna impersonator did have a black beauty spot above his lip. Maria had assumed that it
was part of his costume but perhaps it was a disguised birthmark.

‘Do you mean Sienna’s wee birthmark?’

Roles are reversed. Fiona, her patience with Maria apparently worn thin, lets out an exasperated sigh.

‘It’s a strawberry.’

Maria gets off the phone to Fiona as quickly and politely as possible. She has a lot to think about.

When she sent home the letters to the carers about the flasher Mrs Simpson didn’t respond. Maria was a bit surprised by this at the time but, up to her neck in preparations for her big meeting with Mike, she thought no more about it. It would seem from Mrs Simpson’s lack of response that Fiona didn’t tell her. And she almost certainly hasn’t told her about the strawberry birthmark.

Maria had no idea that Fiona kept secrets from her mother. Perhaps she’s more sensitive than Maria gives her credit for. Fiona must know the fuss her mother would make and perhaps she’s scared. She was, after all, the one who chased him, the only witness to the incriminating strawberry birthmark.

But it’s not much to go on. Maria can hardly denounce the guy on the strength of it. Not only does the perpetrator have golden pubes but also a black strawberry stuck to his face: the police would die laughing. Brian’s dad and his twin brother wouldn’t. They’d smash Ronald’s skull to a pulp, Fiona would be permanently traumatised and they’d lose the second best act in the show. That’s why she had to get off the phone quickly. She didn’t want Mrs Simpson to get wind of what they were talking about and interrogate Fiona.

A few discreet enquiries will have to be made before this goes any further. A quiet word with Pastor McKenzie might also be in order. His enigmatic talk of ‘sinners who sin no more’ might have been a hint. The first thing to be done is to establish whether or not the guy has the birthmark. She can find that out tomorrow at the rehearsal, if necessary by walking in to his dressing room accidentally. The shading of his pelvic triangle might be a little more difficult to ascertain but it could prove matters definitively. She’d recognise those golden pubes anywhere.

‘Right. How much was it?’

Alice is hardly in the door and he’s on at her. She knew this would happen. She’s trying to ignore him, to get on with setting up. Saturday and so many folk in here rehearsing today, the café is going to be mobbed, never mind that she’s got her main Golden Belles run through and they’re still not sure of the tap routine.

‘How much?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Alice, I know how much it is, I just want to hear you say it.

Alice stares at Ray defiantly, it’s her money; she won it fair and square.

‘So,’ Ray begins, mock-patiently, ‘You started at a fiver, double or quits, you did your wee gumsy pensioner act, played five games – of which you generously let him win three – and then closed him down for what? Eighty notes?’

‘Eighty large ones,’ Alice confirms, toasting Ray with her coffee cup, swigging back a big gulp.

‘That’s a lot of money to a boy like him.’

Now he’s trying to make her feel guilty. Well, it won’t work. She wonders if he’d be doing this if it wasn’t Aldo she’d stiffed. He and Aldo are damned cosy these days. Alice remembers when he used to stick up for her.

‘It’s a lot of money to a girl like me.’

Ray has picked up a dish towel and is drying off a cup.

‘Well, you’ve had your fun; you’ve proved your point. They know now that you’re not a sweet wee old wifie,’ he says, wiping the inside of the cup with slow thoughtful sweeps.

‘Aye, too right they do.’

‘They know now that you’re a fucking shark.’

This is a bit strong but Alice can see the smile Ray’s trying to hide.

‘Oh Aldo,’ he says in a high desperate voice, a terrible impersonation of her, ‘please Aldo, give me another game, double or quits again, I need that money for my electricity bill.’

Now it’s Alice who’s hiding her smile. This is more like it; they’re having a laugh now. She can tell he’s impressed; he just doesn’t want to say so. She’s finished her coffee and opens the fridge, pulling out all the veg to be prepared for today’s soup.

‘So now it’s time to give it back.’

‘Give it back, my arse,’ she says into the crisper box. ‘I won that bliddy money, I’m keeping it.’

‘Look, this isn’t a beauty contest between you and Aldo. I like you both, equally. I’d be asking him the same if he took the money off you.’

‘Huh! There’s no danger of that. Your daft pal Aldo hardly knows one end of a snooker cue from the other.’

‘I’m asking you Alice, as a friend, as the decent human being that I know you are,’ he says. Ray’s speaking a bit quieter now, the tone of his voice slightly deeper, there’s a rhythm to it like waves washing a rock to smoothness. He continues,

‘I’m asking you as someone who’s earned the respect of these young people.’

But Alice isn’t smoothed. Too much to do, too much to lose, too scared of being exploited makes her jagged and watchful.

‘Are you trying to zap me?’ she says, using a carrot as a pointer; wagging it from side to side like a censorious finger. ‘Don’t you try to work your mumbo jumbo with me!’

‘I’m not trying to zap you for God’s sake; I’m trying to reason with you!’

Ray’s annoyed. He’s not being fair but still and all, she’s uncomfortable. There must be a way to appease him.

‘I could donate the money to Autumn House.’

‘Or you could give it back. Alice, you’re one of the few people who know the problems Aldo’s got just now. He can’t afford to
lose eighty quid; he’ll end up in big trouble. I would have hoped you’d understand that.’

‘Or I could put it towards the show.’

Alice has her head down chopping onions. She’s trying to find a way back to where they were without completely caving in but even as she’s saying it she knows it won’t work. Ray has thrown down his tea towel and now he’s shouting.

‘Or you could strap your snooker table to your back and get it the hell out of my church!’

Alice stops chopping and stares at her knife. Ray stands still too, probably as shocked as she is, probably as sad and as sorry that it’s come to this.

‘It was never about the money, Ray.’

‘I know that.’

‘Aldo was quick enough to take the bet.’

‘I know.’

‘Quick enough to exploit what he mistook for a foolish old woman.’

‘Yes. But two wrongs don’t make a right, Alice.’

‘So it’s my fault?’

Now Alice is the one who’s shouting.

‘It’s not my bliddy job to teach him trust and respect and decency!’

‘Isn’t it?’

Alice could cry. But he might think she was abusing her position as a poor old pensioner who’d worked her arse off for this place and these kids. And he has blindsided her with this question. She doesn’t want to have to strap her snooker table to her back.

‘Oh, to hell with it. I’ll give him the money back if it’ll straighten your bliddy face.’

‘Thank you. I knew you would. You’re setting a wonderful example, Alice. You’re not really short for your electricity bill, are you? Because I could maybe help you out…’

Without thinking Alice touches Ray arm and speaks softly.

‘No, you’re all right, son.’

And with that, the crisis is over. As if it never happened.

Ray takes up his dish towel and lifts a new cup to dry. He takes
even more care drying this one, wiping gently then finicky, polishing it ceremoniously. This reminds Alice of when her brother married a catholic, the way the priest cleaned and wiped the communion chalice. That was the first time she’d been in a chapel but she’s been to plenty of Catholic funerals since. Priests do a lot of malarkey with that chalice. They always take at least three or four minutes cleaning it. Ray sets down the cup and begins to fold the dish towel. Alice watches him, fascinated. She half expects him to fold it, kiss it and then drape it over the cup.

‘Did you ever study for the priesthood, Ray?’

Ray stops and looks at her, then smiles. She has to smile. Having surrendered, it doesn’t feel so bad. Waves over smooth rock. He puts down the dish towel.

‘I was just thinking. We could have a tournament with a cash prize. We could charge I don’t know, a pound say, and winner takes all.’

‘Make it a fiver. Those young ones spend more than that every day on fags.’

‘Well, we could sort out the details later. And to make it fair this time we could have you seeded as our number one player. What d’you think?’

‘Eh,’ says Alice, she won’t be able to work her scam any longer and she was only getting started with that. On the other hand, Ray has kind of shut her down anyway, and seeded as number one… She’s never been number one at anything in her life.

‘Aye well, it’s got potential.’

‘Right,’ says Ray, ‘I’ll get a poster organised and you collect the names and entry money.’

‘D’you trust me with the entry money; you don’t think I’m going to run away with it?’

‘I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you, Alice.’ Ray says, but he’s laughing. ‘And while we’re on the subject, you’d better give me Aldo’s money before you run away with that.’

She still has the money in her purse. Might as well get it over and done with. Having finished chopping the veg she digs the purse out of her overall pocket and gives him a sideways look.

‘Just make sure and tell your big pal that nobody gets a rise out of me.’

She is momentarily distracted by the creak of the main door opening. Who the hell’s this at this hour of the morning?

Alice is fumbling for the cash from her purse when she hears footsteps coming towards the kitchen door. She balls the notes quickly and furtively in her hand. But it is not quick enough.

That nosey witch Maria walks in to Alice’s kitchen without so much as an excuse me and catches her passing the money to Ray. None of her business. Alice hopes Ray’s not going to try to explain. What the hell is Maria doing here anyway?

‘Hello there, Maria! Thank God you’re here, she was trying to attack me again,’ Ray says, pointing an accusing finger at Alice.

Alice flicks her tea towel menacingly and Ray jumps back as though painfully stung. They are a double act of frighteningly powerful woman and subjugated man. Alice is annoyed by Maria’s intrusion but also pleased that someone bears witness to the intimacy of her relationship with Ray.

‘Morning, Alice,’ says Maria.

Despite his cheery morning banter Maria only seems able to manage a cold nod for Ray. What is her problem?

‘Cup of coffee, love?’ Alice asks Maria.

If it was up to her she wouldn’t bother her arse with Maria. She doesn’t have to be this nice to her; she’s only doing it for Ray. Setting a good example. He’s right. It’s nice to be nice. Alice is becoming a nicer person.

‘Oh go on then,
love,’
says Ray, still horsing.

Maria gives another stiff nod. She’s that tight-arsed, that lassie. Here’s Ray giving her his church, the run of the place, filled all day from dawn to dusk with kids running about and people playing bliddy trumpets and all sorts. He gives her that out the kindness of his heart, for the sake of her show, for her mentally handicapped ones, God love them, they’re nice wee souls, and she’s not got the decency to be halfway grateful.

Alice stops with the spoonful of coffee hovering over the cup as realisation dawns on her. The reason she was so fascinated with him
drying the cup, the reason she imagined Ray as a priest, that was it: He’s not wearing his wedding ring. She flicks her eyes towards him now to check and catches sight of the white newly exposed circle of skin around his finger. Right enough, the ring’s gone. Alice smiles; good, it’s time. She’s proud of him.

She doesn’t want him to see that she’s noticed, he’ll bring it up in his own good time, and she certainly doesn’t want to draw Maria’s attention to it, it might encourage her to fancy Ray, and he’s far too good for the likes of Maria. But a girl like Maria should have a boyfriend, it might straighten her greeting face. Maria doesn’t seem to have noticed anyway, she’s too busy rummaging about in her bag, turning on and off her mobile phone, that’s the third time since she got here.

The outside door creaks again and someone else comes in. Aye, as she suspected. Big stupid Aldo. There’s no show without Punch. He’s sheepish and so he should be, trying to fleece a Senior for her electric bill money. He seems nervous as well, he’s often nervy, but more so this morning.

‘Hiya Alice, Maria.’

He’s so tight with Ray that they don’t even have to speak. The briefest dip of the head, man to man, an intimacy that Alice doesn’t, and probably never will, have with Ray.

Maria gives Aldo the cold shoulder. That lassie likes nobody but herself. Aldo is just the same as he always is with Alice though. He doesn’t seem to hold it against her that she played him for a fool and took all his money. These kids seem to expect to get ripped off, God love them.

Ray waits until Aldo has got himself a coffee and then without a word walks out of the kitchen and into his office. Surprise surprise, his lieutenant is not far behind him and when he gets in there the door closes behind him. Aye, it’s a man’s world, right enough. Alice is left peeling totties, waiting for the Belles, with only the torn-faced Maria for company.