The Girl in the Red Coat (28 page)

‘Nothing. I want to know she’s alright. Is she? You hurt her, didn’t you?’ I’m yelling now. ‘What happened?’

He looks like if he punched something now it would fall down dead. ‘Be quiet, fiend,’ he roars.

But I don’t stop, I can’t. ‘So I’m a fiend now? Suit yourself then,’ I yell and I shove my hands in my pockets and jump out of the ditch and start marching down the road. Then I stop and look back. ‘You know what? I reckon Mum was right all along not talking to you. It was your fault you fell
out, wasn’t it?
She
wouldn’t have wanted you to keep me.’ I turn and start walking off again.

‘Carmel,’ he calls after me. ‘Carmel, come back. No one else wanted you. There – that’s the truth.’

I feel my head drooping as I walk.

‘Carmel, please. Please.’

I hear his pitiful cries and I walk on a few steps further, then the energy seems to run out of me. I look back – he’s standing there, bent and huge, and I can only see him from the knees up because he’s standing in the ditch. But it doesn’t make him look funny. It makes him look creepy and powerful, like a wizard.

‘Carmel, help me. Help me to get out. You can’t leave me here.’

I don’t feel angry any more, just limp and useless.

‘Carmel, let me phone the pastor. At least at the gathering we’ll be fed and watered, they’ll take care of us.’

I don’t know what it is. Whether it’s the years of being with him and trying to remember I’m Carmel and not Mercy. Or all the missing Mum and Dad I’ve done. Or being dressed up and shown about like someone from a circus. But all of a sudden I feel perhaps one night he’d done this thing to me. He’d cut me open and taken Carmel out and she’d looked like the solid doll in the middle of Russian dolls. She had my face. And he’d put in its place a doll with
his
face painted on and set it with a timer, ready to go off at this exact moment at the side of this road.

I start feeling sorry for myself. How I long to be normal. To chat with my friends and try on scarves and shoes, and have proper birthdays with presents like mobile phones. To sleep in a proper bed with coloured fairy lights around
it and my school bag ready for the next day. I see these kids in every town we go. They’re inside the diners and giggling about secrets, the way me and Sara used to. As they talk and laugh they stir their tall ice-cream drinks with the long spoon in their hand. Their nails are pink, the colour of sweets, and their eyelids have sparkly stuff on them.

I feel the Gramps doll inside of me and I wonder how I’m ever going to get it out. He doesn’t look powerful now, he’s bent over, making little cries like a kitten.

‘It’s OK, Gramps. I won’t leave you here.’

I sigh and my energy inside seeps onto the road, ready to drip, drip into the ditch and round his feet. I close my eyes and feel the wind on my face. ‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘Everything will be alright.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he says, and holds out his arm to be helped out of the ditch. ‘Now then, we mustn’t fall out like this again. Now it’s only the two of us – we have to take care of each other.’

Gramps says Munroe’s been waiting for us all this time, waiting to welcome us back into his fold. He seems to have forgotten how we wanted to get away from him. When I think of him waiting, though, it’s more like he’s a spider. He’s got his web in Texas and that’s where we are now.

‘I always knew we’d end up back with him,’ I’m muttering as we walk up his drive with our few belongings in our arms.

‘What was that? What was that?’

Gramps may be half deaf in his right ear but he can hear alright when he wants to.

I say, ‘What a lovely house our friend Mr Munroe has. Was it bought with all the money he made from those poor folks he brought along to me to lay hands on – the babies with spina bifida and the man with the shrunken arm, the woman that couldn’t stop miscarrying and the fella who thought losing his hair was worthy of a healing …?’

Gramps stops in the middle of the drive and fixes his pale eyes on me.

‘Mr Munroe is a man of God. He should be respected by us. He’s taking us into his home at this time of need. You have to behave, Carmel. This could be the start of a new life for us. If Mr Munroe decides he wants us around, it could be the answer to our prayers. Don’t go ruining it by being snippy. Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you lately.’

I say I don’t know either and I mean it.

‘This is important for us, Carmel, real important.’ He’s standing right outside Mr Munroe’s front door though he hasn’t rung the bell yet. There’s a white pillar either side of the door – like at the hotel where we first met the pastor years ago.

I look at the sticking plaster Gramps had to mend his glasses with on the coach ride here because they broke when he took them off to clean. I see the way his hands tremble as he holds his things – his spare shirt, his Bible and his socks stuffed into an old sports bag. I see the way he’s putting off ringing the doorbell.

‘Alright Gramps.’ I need to calm him down now. ‘Everything’ll be A-OK.’ And I press on the doorbell myself.

Munroe drives us to the gathering in his great big SUV. Me and Gramps are like the king and queen riding in the back, we’ve even got a cosy check blanket covering our knees. We’re so high up I want to wave to the people walking on the road beside us, their faces look up at us as we pass and I smile down at them.

Munroe’s driving but he keeps looking back over his shoulder because he’s so excited and wants to talk.

‘Hey, just ye look at them, Dennis. Just ye look. Our little Texas gathering and see them come. It’s biblical. That’s what it is. It’s like the crowds that followed Jesus into Jerusalem.’

‘’Cept they didn’t do it in SUVs.’ Gramps gives me a look when I say this. A warning look. I wish he’d get his glasses mended. They’re embarrassing.

Gramps changes the subject to get away from what I’ve said though I don’t know what’s so bad about it, it’s just
factually correct. Actually, that’s a lie. I knew how it would annoy him.

‘I heard on the radio there’s weather coming. Blasting on down from the north.’ He sounds worried.

‘Oh that. It’s ’cos of the fact they’re so Godless there. It’ll stop dead in its tracks before it gets to us. Its icy breath’ll lick at their toes to show them how hell is and how one day it’ll be fire licking there.’

Gramps chuckles. He’s always been led on by Munroe, even though I think Gramps is sort of cleverer than him. Somehow all the hell talk makes Gramps feel big and safe. He thinks he’s one of the chosen ones who’s not going to the fiery lake. But I know there are times when he’s not so certain.

‘Sure. There’ll be a wall of ice around us and those on the outside will see us within. They’ll see our shapes moving round inside and wish they could be with us, but it will be too late. We’ll be in the inner circle and they’ll be on the outside …’

Munroe glances over his shoulder. Truth be told, Gramps often sounds a bit weird these days with the stuff he says. He can’t quite hit the mark. It’s like he’s trying to play a part that doesn’t quite suit him, even though he wants it real bad. I feel a bit sorry for him then, with Munroe looking over at him and probably thinking ‘What a freak’ – which is something, coming from Munroe. So I shout out, ‘Amen,’ and Gramps nearly jumps out of his skin I’ve been so quiet up till now.

Munroe’s chuckling. He’s forgotten about Gramps being weird. ‘Amen,’ he yells. ‘Hallelujah.’ And Gramps looks out of the window like it’s hurting his ears. I can see he’s going into one of his moods and he turns and looks at me.

‘Are you wearing cosmetic products?’ He’s right, it’s lipstick and some powder I found in Munroe’s bathroom that belonged to his wife and I tried such a teeny bit on that I didn’t think they’d be able to see or notice it had gone.

‘No, Gramps. Where would I get make-up from?’

He grunts and leans closer to me. ‘You look like a woman today.’

‘Well, she’s a growing girl.’ Munroe tries to interrupt but Gramps is deep in one of his moods now. He knows his trying to impress Munroe has fallen flat again.

‘The devil has a special place where he makes cosmetics for women to paint their faces. There’s a workshop where demons make lipstick colours and give them names like “Flaming Heart” when the only flaming heart belongs to Jesus.’

Oh Gramps, I think, with your devils like Santa’s elves making presents to tempt ladies with. Besides, that make-up belongs to Munroe’s wife and by saying it’s evil you’re calling her evil. So I say – and I know it’s going to annoy him – ‘Oh, is that right? I thought it was made by L’Oréal.’

And to my surprise Munroe gives a snort of laughter and I think – you like Gramps looking stupid because it makes you feel like you’re on top. Gramps is looking out of the window again and I feel sorry for him, with Munroe in his big house and us with nothing because Gramps is short on how to be in the world. So I sneak my hand under the blanket until I find his and I let it rest there on top of his, that feels all dry and gnarly.

The crowds get thicker walking beside us. In front of us there’s a bus and painted on the back doors of it is a great big cross with flames coming off it.

We park in a special VIP section that’s roped off. Lots of the cars have things painted on the side, like
I’ve given my heart to Jesus, have you?
– and a picture of a great big heart that’s like a ball of flame. When I see that I have to put my hand to my chest because there’s a burning there too.

I look up to the sky.

It was blue before and now it has gone white. Today is one of those days – like the day of the ditch – where feeling hangs heavy and the air is full of all sorts of stirrings.

Gramps is getting his battered blue sports bag out of the car.

‘I’ve got your dress in here.’

It’s the one I got for my not-real ninth birthday. It was good and big then, like things always were when Dorothy bought them new, but I have to squash myself inside it now. One good thing about Dorothy going – I get to wear jeans again.

‘That old thing.’ I can’t believe he’s dragged that trash here. ‘What d’you bring all that stuff for anyway?’

I’ve seen it, spilling out over the top of the bag, when we were staying with Munroe. My old frilly white dress that looks like an olden-day petticoat. Scarves. The hollowed-out Bible. Stuff from our Dorothy days.

‘You can change before if you like.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ I grumble to myself. Not that they’d hear anyway. They’re both striding ahead pretending to themselves they’re young and full of – what d’you call it? – vigour. They both have on long black coats and Munroe his hat and they take up so much room as they walk through the car park towards the tents people step out of their way. Gramps’s limp is a lot better today, like it
always is when he’s excited.

I look to the sky again.

‘What you waitin’ for?’ Munroe is turning back and calling out to me. His smile has gone so I can’t see his big teeth any more. Without them his face is a smooth pink melon with blinking mean eyes.

But I couldn’t even move if I wanted to. The sky is so strangely white and my feet are stuck to the ground. I see a curl of icy breath unfurling and it brushes my face. The white sky thickens and the shadows flicker and in a flash Gramps and Munroe are by my side. In no time. I haven’t had no time for ages. I told Gramps about it in the end and he said it must be after-effects from the drugs I had when I was ill and first came here – but I thought it’d gone away.

‘She does this sometimes.’ Gramps is grunting and kneeling painfully on the floor trying to shift my feet by the ankles. ‘S’OK. It doesn’t last that long these days.’

Munroe is shoving his big hands in his pockets; the curl of cold spirals round him like it’s sniffing for something. He can’t see it like I can but he feels it and shivers.

‘I sure hope not, Dennis. I had my doubts but I put my reputation on the line. If she’s gonna flake out …’

‘She won’t. She won’t. C’mon, Carmel, help me out a little.’

Whoomf. I’m back inside myself and my feet get unstuck.

‘Don’t worry, Gramps.’ I reach out and touch his white hair; it feels surprisingly silky, like he’s been filching Munroe’s Pantene conditioner. Maybe we’re not so different. ‘Look.’ I lift a foot off the ground.

Gramps’s bad side means Munroe has to give him an arm to help him up.

We cross the road to where the tents are. There’s a dusty
path between them. The icy shafts haven’t been here yet; or maybe they have, high up where my head doesn’t reach. In the tents I can hear singing and preaching. The sounds go mmm mmm mmm – shout. Mmm mmm mmm – shout, and I know it will be some preacher mmming about the Lord and the crowd will be shouting back Hallelujahs.

‘Look, Gramps, look.’ I stop and Gramps looks worried that no time is happening again but I’m pointing to the other side of the field where a huge black cross juts out of the ground and cuts into the white sky.

Munroe grins. ‘Quite a feature, don’t you think?’ I nod, but then I see Gramps and he’s standing like he’s been frozen to the bone seeing that great black cross.

‘It’s the path to judgement.’

‘What is?’ Munroe’s a bit annoyed by us both now, I can see. All this stopping and starting when he wants to hurry us along and get going.

‘Today. I will be judged today.’ Gramps is shaking all over and truth be told it makes me feel a bit frightened. I know he’s old and feeble but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a mum or a dad. Lord knows what would happen to me without him.

‘What in heaven’s name for?’ asks Munroe.

‘For Mercy. For leaving her there like that …’

‘But she’s standing right here.’

Gramps focuses on my face. ‘Oh … yes.’

But I know he’s not talking about me and the prickles start up.

‘C’mon, old boy.’ Munroe sounds like he’s coaxing cattle. ‘Come on, old boy. There’s no judgement today. It’s just a feature is all.’

We’re in a tent right at the corner of the field. I sit on the stage swinging my legs against the bright blue carpet tacked over it.

A noise booms out of the speakers. ‘Can you hear me?’

Munroe and Gramps are out back fiddling around with the microphones. I hear them giggling then. They sound like two naughty schoolboys until Gramps’s giggling turns into a cough and a wheeze.

I look at the empty chairs. Soon they will be filled. Gramps will sermonise but they will be restless, impatient. Waiting for the main attraction. Me. They’ll be coming now. Dragging along their limps and tumours. Their sick babies. Their unhealed bones and the burns left unattended due to no insurance. I can feel them clamouring already, gathering up, and the weight of them all makes me want to lie down right here on the stage and fall asleep.