Grace

  Grandpop cleared his throat again. I tried to rinse Mr Taylor’s feet quietly so I wouldn’t miss any of the letter welcoming Dad back.

  ‘Dear Mr Hillgrove,’ read Grandpop. ‘Stop trying to contact me and Mum and the twins. You chose Satan over us and the church. So now you don’t have a church or a family. Leave us alone. We don’t ever want to see you again. Your former daughter, Grace.’

  Only God kept me breathing because every single part of my body was in shock.

  I hardly noticed as Mr Taylor’s foot slipped out of my hands and fell into the bowl with a splash.

  How could he?

  How could my own grandfather commit such an evil act of forgery?

  Suddenly fury blazed through me and I was on my feet.

  ‘No,’ I screamed.

  ‘It’s not true,’ shouted another voice.

  Mum’s.

  A buzz went through the church. I lunged towards Grandpop to snatch the letter and tear it up. Then I remembered it was only a copy. Dad had already got it. I couldn’t bear to think about that, about what Dad must have felt when he read it.

  Uncle Vern was striding towards me.

  I turned and ran.

  I barged through a fire exit into the kitchen area.

  Uncle Vern was calling my name, but I only stopped for a second. Just long enough to grab a big pair of scissors from the draining board. Then I sprinted to the far end of the kitchen and into the toilet.

  I locked myself in.

  I’d read somewhere that hair is easier to cut when it’s wet. It was true. By the time Uncle Vern started rattling the door handle and telling me to come out, half my hair was on the floor.

  The scissors were very big and I had to use both hands, but every snip sent another tangled rope of damp hair plummeting.

  When I’d finished, I dropped the scissors and scooped up my hair. I unlocked the door and sprinted past startled Uncle Vern into the church.

  They were having the service as if nothing had happened. All except Mum and the twins, who were up the back being hustled out by Cain and Turk and some others.

  The elders still had their shoes and socks off. I dumped my hair on the floor in front of them.

  ‘Wash your own feet,’ I yelled.

  The elders looked stunned.

  So did the other church members. Some of them grabbed each other. Poor things. My angry yelling was bad enough, but when they saw my haircut they gasped. In our church it was a sin for women and girls to cut their hair, except to trim split ends.

  All I had left were split ends, all over my head in short spiky clumps.

  I didn’t care.

  There was something else I wanted to say to the elders of our church.

  ‘You mongrels had better expel me too,’ I yelled, ‘because I’m not going to heaven without my dad.’

  Chapter 17

  In our church they didn’t expel kids who did big sins. Instead they made you live in the family room behind a sheet.

  In exile.

  Grandpop strung a washing line across the room and hung a sheet over it to make a cloth wall. He and Uncle Vern carried my bed down and put it behind the sheet.

  I was in a polyester and cotton jail cell.

  My meals were slid under the sheet on a tray. The door to the downstairs bathroom was inside my cell, so I didn’t even get human contact on the way to the toilet. I wasn’t allowed any contact with anyone. They wouldn’t tell me how long I was in for, and I hoped it wasn’t until my hair grew back.

  ‘Why don’t you lock me in my bedroom again?’ I said to Grandpop as he checked the knots at each end of the washing line.

  He didn’t reply.

  He wouldn’t even tell me where Mum was.

  He only said one thing to me, very sternly.

  ‘While you’re here,’ he said, ‘have a think about why these terrible things have befallen us. See if you think God might be punishing this family because some of this family have lost faith in Him.’

  I glared at Grandpop.

  ‘Dad hasn’t lost faith in God,’ I said. ‘No way.’

  Grandpop gave me a long look.

  ‘I don’t just mean your father,’ he said.

  A little while later, Mum crept in to see me.

  ‘Oh love,’ she said sadly as we hugged. ‘Look at you.’

  She stroked the tufts on my head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Mum. ‘What they did to you in church was a disgrace. And if I’d had any idea that Grandpop was going to write a letter like that, I’d have tried to stop him.’

  She sighed. I could see she wasn’t completely sure if she’d have succeeded.

  ‘Will I have to stay behind this sheet for long?’ I asked.

  ‘Not if I have any say in it,’ replied Mum.

  She sighed again.

  Her hair wasn’t in great shape either. Wisps out all over the place. I could tell from her face she was worrying about the same thing as me. The bulk woe that must have come upon Dad after he read the letter.

  ‘We have to contact Dad,’ I said. ‘We have to let him know the letter wasn’t from me, and that we still love him and want him.’

  Mum nodded.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to find out the address of his lawyer.’

  Suddenly she was looking more determined than I’d ever seen her. And I wanted to give her all the help I could.

  Keeping my voice low, I told her about Kyle and his dad. I explained that if she looked in my school bag, she’d find the piece of paper with their address and phone number.

  Mum was staring at me.

  Shock was upon her.

  ‘I wasn’t very nice to poor Kyle and Mr Denny yesterday,’ I said. ‘But they might still help us when they hear how serious things have got.’

  Mum recovered from her shock.

  She nodded and squeezed my arm, and I could tell from the look on her face that to get Dad back, she’d ring up every outsider in the world if she had to.

  By that evening I’d worked out why the elders hadn’t locked me in my bedroom.

  In your bedroom you’re alone and lonely.

  In the family room it’s worse.

  The rest of the family are just a few metres away.

  You can hear them and even see them if you peek round the sheet. But they have to pretend you’re not there.

  ‘Grace is hiding behind the washing,’ said Mark at the dinner table.

  I knew they were having dinner because I could hear their knives and forks.

  ‘Eat your fish fingers, boys,’ said Mum wearily.

  I tried to hear in her voice whether she was weary from having long phone conversations with Mr Denny, or just weary from worry.

  ‘Why is Grace?’ said Luke.

  Mum didn’t answer.

  ‘Grace is being punished,’ said Grandpop. ‘You have to pretend she’s not here.’

  ‘Is God punishing her?’ said Mark.

  ‘Yes,’ said Grandpop.

  ‘Why is He?’ said Luke. ‘Did she leave her room in a mess?’

  I smiled sadly and said a silent thank you that at least I could hear Mark and Luke, even though today we couldn’t save our peas and gravy till last and do Israelite races across the Red Sea together like we normally did.

  Dad must have been missing them so much.

  After dinner the sheet rippled and behold, Delilah and Liam ducked into my cell.

  ‘You poor thing,’ said Delilah, looking around.

  ‘You are so judged. They totally haven’t even given you a hair dryer.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, sitting up on my bed. ‘You’ll get into big trouble if you’re caught.’

  ‘We’re legal,’ said Liam.

  I looked at them, puzzled.

  ‘We’re like on a mission,’ said Delilah. ‘Your Grandpop asked us to save your immortal soul. Which I am so honoured to do.’

  ‘He didn’t say that,
’ muttered Liam. ‘He just asked us to set you a good example of being holy.’

  ‘Same,’ said Delilah. ‘Let’s sing some hymns.’

  She started singing one.

  It was kind of her. I waited till she’d finished.

  ‘Delilah,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to see you, but I don’t need saving, thanks anyway.’

  ‘See?’ said Liam to Delilah. ‘Too late. Satan city. I told you.’

  Delilah started singing another hymn.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Don’t.’

  Delilah stopped singing. She put her hands on my head.

  ‘We beseech you, O Lord’ she cried out. ‘Save this poor ungodly kid, cause she didn’t mean it, I’m serious.’

  I rolled my eyes.

  Delilah’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘This is so not working,’ she said.

  ‘Told you,’ said Liam.

  Delilah looked at me mournfully.

  ‘We tried,’ she said. ‘But the evil in you is too bulk. The Lord has lost it with you totally. You poor thing. Can I have your hair conditioner?’

  Later that night I heard Mum arguing with Grandpop. They must have thought I was asleep.

  ‘He’s my husband,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve got a right to speak to him.’

  ‘I’m an elder in this church,’ said Grandpop, ‘and I forbid you to put your soul at risk by consorting with outsiders.’

  ‘I’m not consorting,’ said Mum. ‘I just want to tell Gavin we still love him.’

  ‘Don’t you dare disobey me,’ said Grandpop.

  They must have lowered their voices because after that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But I could hear Grandpop getting angrier, and Mum too.

  Suddenly there was the sound of a slap.

  I sat up in bed, shocked. In our family we never hit each other. Except when Mark and Luke did it, but that was only smiting.

  For a crazy moment I wondered if Mum had slapped Grandpop. Dad reckoned Grandpop had been bossing Mum around since she was a little girl, and if you push people too far they can lose it. Look at Joan of Arc.

  I slid out of bed and peeked round the sheet.

  Mum and Grandpop were standing at the other end of the family room. I was wrong. Mum was holding her face. Grandpop was glaring at her, his arms folded in a very strict way.

  Poor Mum. Her shoulders were hunched and she was staring at the floor. She looked more like a little kid than a mum.

  I wanted to go and comfort her so much. But I stayed where I was. I still had a desperate hope that Dad would turn up and beg for forgiveness, and I wanted to be meek and obedient for his sake.

  ‘If you ever disobey me again,’ said Grandpop to Mum, ‘if I ever catch you trying to involve outsiders in church affairs again, you will be expelled. Just like that evil husband of yours. And you know what that will mean.’

  Mum didn’t say anything.

  ‘It will mean,’ continued Grandpop, ‘that the church will use its lawyers to make sure you never see your children again.’

  Mum put her face in her hands.

  I lay back down on my bed, shock and misery upon me.

  Grandpop was right. Terrible things were happening to our family. But it wasn’t God who was making them happen.

  It was Grandpop.

  Suddenly I knew what I had to do.

  It was the only thing left.

  I talked to God.

  ‘Please,’ I said, ‘I need Your help. We all do. I know I’m not meant to ask You to fix things, and I wouldn’t normally, but I’m desperate. Please bring my dad home. Please put love back into Grandpop’s heart. Please make us a family again.’

  At the other end of the dark house I could hear the faint sound of Mum crying.

  ‘Please,’ I said to God.

  Chapter 18

  Tribulation is like trouble, only worse.

  Your insides feel afflicted, and your mind feels anxious, and when you’re waiting for God to make it go away and He hasn’t yet, it feels really bad.

  I had a lot of tribulation upon me the next day.

  For the whole morning and afternoon the only person who visited my cell was Nannie, and that was just to slide my meals under the sheet.

  ‘I know you can’t speak to me, Nannie,’ I said. ‘But thank you.’

  Poor Nannie gave a sob and I heard her footsteps hurry out of the family room.

  I could hear everyone else too, further away. Mark and Luke outside, smiting. Mum and Grandpop upstairs, arguing.

  On the tray, as well as my breakfast, was a box. I picked it up. It was one of Nannie’s jigsaw puzzles. Her Paris one. All Nannie’s jigsaws were of sinful places. Dad reckoned it was because she enjoyed pulling them apart afterwards.

  After breakfast I did the jigsaw.

  As I clicked Paris together piece by piece, I beheld that it looked like an interesting place, not a sinful one. I didn’t pull it apart. I decided I’d like to visit it one day. With Mum and Mark and Luke.

  And Dad.

  I spent the rest of the day in bed, waiting for God to fix things and make us a family again.

  I pretended I was Jonah. The Bible reckons Jonah was inside a whale for three days and three nights, and not once did he lose his faith.

  It was hard for both of us. Jonah had to have faith he wouldn’t get dissolved by stomach juices or smothered by half-chewed squid. My job was a bit different. I had to have faith that God would bring Dad back to us.

  And I did.

  I kept it going the whole day.

  Right up until the evening, when Grandpop and Uncle Vern and Mr Gosper came to see me.

  I was surprised to see Mr Gosper. He hardly ever visited our house.

  Mr Gosper and Grandpop and Uncle Vern squeezed into my polyester and cotton cubicle and surrounded me and made me stay in bed and stood there giving me lectures on meekness and obedience.

  Grandpop and Uncle Vern kicked it off, and that was bad enough, but when Mr Gosper started to boss me around too, unease and indignation were upon me.

  ‘This rebellious behaviour has got to stop, young lady,’ said Mr Gosper. He smoothed his long wisps of grey hair over his head. ‘You’re bringing shame on this family and discrediting us in the eyes of the Lord.’

  I was confused.

  Was he talking about my family or the church family?

  ‘I won’t stand for it,’ said Mr Gosper.

  It couldn’t be my family because he wasn’t even in my family.

  ‘Your mother has tried her best,’ said Mr Gosper. ‘But no woman can be a good mother without the right man beside her. Little wonder you’ve turned out the way you have.’

  Uncle Vern was nodding with a sad frown.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s right,’ he said.

  Grandpop was nodding too, sterness upon him.

  ‘What this young lady needs, Neville,’ he said to Mr Gosper, ‘is to learn respect for the Lord.’

  ‘What you need, young lady,’ said Mr Gosper to me, ‘is to learn respect for the Lord.’

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. First Mr Gosper had insulted Mum and Dad, now he was badmouthing my friendship with God.

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ I muttered to Mr Gosper. ‘You’re not my father.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Grandpop.

  There was another long silence while I tried to work out what Grandpop meant.

  I couldn’t.

  ‘What do you mean, not yet?’ I said.

  Mr Gosper opened his mouth to say something, but Grandpop put a hand on his arm and Mr Gosper closed his mouth.

  ‘Your parents’ marriage is over,’ Grandpop said to me. ‘Your mother and the man who used to be your father are getting a divorce, and Mr Gosper has kindly offered to marry your mother.’

  I sat up and just stared at them.

  Then I flung myself at Mr Gosper and tried to claw his hair out.

  They held me down on the bed. I struggled and k
icked for a long time. Grandpop prayed for me in his church voice.

  Finally, when I was exhausted, I stopped.

  They let go of me.

  I put my head under the pillow and waited for them to leave.

  In the middle of the night Mum crept into my cell and squeezed into bed next to me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Mum,’ I begged. ‘Don’t divorce Dad. God will keep us together. You won’t lose us kids.’

  ‘Oh, love,’ said Mum.

  She started crying. I did too.

  ‘Grace,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t want to divorce Dad. He wants to divorce me.’

  I stared at her in the darkness, disbelief upon me. And panic.

  ‘It was the letter, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘Dad wants a divorce because he thinks we hate him.’

  Mum held my face in her hands.

  ‘No, Grace,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s that. I think he’s doing it out of love for us. I think he accepts we can’t leave the church, and he knows the elders would hate me staying married to him, so he’s trying to make things as easy for us here as he can.’

  Mum started crying again.

  I lay there, holding her, trying to imagine what Dad must be feeling after deciding something like that.

  Miserable.

  Lonely.

  Full of tribulation.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine because I was feeling those things too.

  ‘He didn’t even tell me himself,’ sobbed Mum. ‘Because he knew I wouldn’t agree. His lawyer rang and spoke to Grandpop.’

  I wished desperately that Dad was here with us. So we could talk about all this. So we could go back to how we used to be.

  But he wasn’t.

  And God wasn’t with us either. Since I’d asked for His help, things had got worse.

  God was ignoring us.

  Suddenly I knew why. There was only one possible explanation.

  Grandpop was right. All this terrible misery in our family was happening because God thought me and Dad had lost faith in Him.

  God was punishing us.

  Which meant there was only one thing I could do to change things. Find a way to prove to God that my love for Him and faith in Him and devotion to Him were as strong as ever.