The Art of Standing Still (23 page)

Josh shook his head. ‘I suppose not.'

‘What would you do? What's more important – that they get punished for what they did, or that they be allowed to get on with their lives. Do the people of Monksford have a right to know the truth?'

‘Difficult questions.'

‘I know this sounds silly, but it came to me, when we were rehearsing that scene – you know, the one where I'm the woman who's been caught between the sheets with someone else's husband. I'm standing there and you're kneeling at my feet and you're saying, “Woman, where are those reckless men, that were so keen to make their accusations? Who has condemned you?” '

‘And all her accusers disappear because they've all seen the sin in their own hearts?'

‘And I'm thinking, who am I to condemn Ruth and Alistair? I've done things I shouldn't have. Everyone has. But how would we feel if our mistakes, indiscretions, and blunders were splashed all over the front page? I can't throw stones. Jesus was absolutely right you know. He seems to have this way of making you look inside yourself.'

‘I know.' Josh smiled.

‘Josh, are you laughing at me?' She rolled Richard over, the way she had been shown, and started pummelling his back.

‘No, quite the opposite. I'm smiling, because . . . because I can see you changing.'

‘How am I changing?'

‘Well, a few months ago, when I first met you, you wouldn't have thought twice about running that story.'

Jemma shrugged.

‘You said it yourself, you're just biding your time here until you're snapped up by the dailies. You said you were waiting for one sniff of a great story and you'd be off like a shot. You were the restless one, always wanting to move up, move out. What happened?'

‘That was then.'

‘What changed?'

‘I . . . I don't know.'

‘Yes you do. I can see something different in you – a dignity, a stillness.'

‘Well, I met you for a start.'

‘I thought you made a point of listening to everything I said and then doing the complete opposite.'

‘Am I that bad?'

Josh took her hand and laughed. ‘Terrible!'

‘I mean it, Josh. Am I really a bad person?'

‘We're all bad people.'

‘You're not.'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘But you do good things. I've never known you to do bad things. The worst thing you've ever done to me is told me the truth.'

‘Is that why you threw your drink over me?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘ “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.” ' Josh went to the window and looked out. Richard appeared to be asleep.

‘Is that from the Bible?' Jemma joined him at the window. She could see the river in the distance.

‘Yes, Jesus said it.'

‘Well, if he isn't good, I don't know who is.'

‘Exactly, it's one of the things he said that make us sure he is God.'

‘Isn't that a bit weird. Going around saying you are God. Even if you are.'

‘That's one of the reasons the religious leaders at the time wanted him killed. It was uncomfortable for them. They found his words offensive.'

‘But he only said kind things, forgave people, and healed them, didn't he?'

‘Oh, he had some pretty harsh words for the hypocritical religious leaders who said one thing and did another. They were oppressive, sanctimonious, and corrupt. They forced people to follow impossible rules, then punished them when they failed. But they claimed to have the monopoly on God. The ordinary folk didn't have a look in. As you said, they weren't “good” enough.'

‘So how can anyone be good enough? The religious leaders couldn't do it and the ordinary people couldn't do it, so what chance do we stand?'

‘None at all. That's why Jesus had to die.'

‘What do you mean,
had
to die? I thought it was all a ghastly mistake.'

‘No. It was a bit like a hostage situation. As you said, we've all done and thought wrong things. In a way we can't help it; we're born like it. None of us deserve to be with God. It is as if Jesus said, “I can take it. I'll stand in for you.” He died so we don't have to.'

Jemma gave a little snort. ‘But we all still die.'

‘Our bodies do, but there's the essence of us that lives on. Call it what you like, soul, spirit, consciousness. And we choose where that essence will spend eternity. Forever with God, or forever separated from him.'

Richard groaned in his sleep. Jemma crossed the room and took his hand.

‘Does he still have his “essence”? Has it left him, or will we ever see the real Richard again?'

‘I believe it's still in there. He just can't communicate with us at the moment. I've been praying that he'll recover.'

‘Then why hasn't he?' Jemma's breathing was getting faster; she could feel her cheeks burning. Tears began to sting her eyes. ‘If God is as powerful as you say, why doesn't Richard get better? Haven't you prayed hard enough? Don't you believe enough? Haven't you said the right words? What's gone wrong, Josh? Oh, it all sounds fine in theory, but it doesn't work, does it?' She was shouting now. ‘Make him better! Then I'll know that everything you've been saying is true.'

Josh looked very weary. ‘I can't. I don't know why he's still sick. But I know I must keep praying.'

‘Do what you like! Say your magic words, wave your Bible at him.' She stroked Richard's hair. ‘Look at him. What's the point, Josh? What is the point?'

‘We've got to have hope. We can't give up on that.'

‘Yeah, right.'

Jemma stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard a nurse came scurrying up the corridor. She ran downstairs and fled into the hospital car park. It was no good. She just couldn't stand it any more. She had spent over six months of her life at Richard's bedside. She had seen more of him recently than she had in the whole of the previous two years. She didn't even know why she was spending so much time with him. After all he had left her for another woman. Whoever this ‘other woman' was, she hadn't stayed on the scene once Richard had been injured. She hadn't shown up, not even once.

Jemma had been to Richard's last address, a B&B in Maidstone, but there was no clue to her identity. Whether it was helping to pull him out of the river or a bizarre sense of loyalty, Jemma just knew she had to be there for him. Things had cooled off with Josh. It was as if her emotions had shut down. She was just doing what had to be done. She went to work, she rehearsed the mystery plays, she wrote her column, and she visited Richard. She had no time or energy for anything more. She hadn't seen Lou for months; she hadn't even visited her grandfather in York during the holidays. Instead, she spent the best part of Christmas day with Josh at Richard's bedside.

That morning Mohan had told her she was looking tired and haggard and she should get some early nights because her sour face was putting him off his Danish. She couldn't be bothered to work out whether it was supposed to be some kind of joke, but it had cut deep. She had lost weight. She was having trouble sleeping, and her concentration span was . . .

What was she thinking? She found a bench, sat down, and put her head in her hands as the tears came. ‘Why?' she shouted. ‘Why did you let this happen, God? Why isn't he getting better? Don't you listen? Don't you care?' Jemma fished in her bag for a tissue and wiped her eyes. ‘I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't even believe in you, but I'm talking to you. If you can hear me, if you are real, show me. Show me tonight that you care.'

She felt a hand on her shoulder that made her jump.

‘Josh!'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I bought you this.' He handed her a coffee. ‘It's the real stuff, from the restaurant, not the machine.'

‘Thanks.' She took the cup. Josh sat on the bench next to her and took a swig of his own cup of coffee.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Josh, don't laugh, but I was praying.'

‘Why should I laugh? It's the best thing you could do. What were you praying about?'

‘I asked God to show me that he cared, right before you turned up with the coffee.'

‘So God knew that you really needed a coffee and sent me to you.'

Jemma shook her head and smiled. ‘Coincidence.'

They sat in silence watching the ambulances. A relay of smokers, some
staff, some patients, joined them, sucking their cigarettes as if their lives depended on them before flicking the ends into the row of nearby scrubby bushes.

A male nurse hurried towards them. ‘Are you Richard Sutton's friend Jemma?'

‘Yes. What's happened?' Jemma gripped Josh's hand.

‘You'd better come up.'

‘Is he all right?'

‘He's asking for you.'

Scene Three

‘OY! WILL YOU LOT JUST STAND STILL!' RONNIE BELLOWED. HIS NORMALLY
crispy, clipped syllables replaced by an inflection that wouldn't have been out of place on a vegetable stall in Maidstone market. ‘I said, stand still!' His exasperated voice rang through the hall, echoing Ruth's thoughts.

‘I've got parrots chatting among themselves, apes scratching, sloths yawning, and I'm not even saying what the rabbits seem to be getting up to. Think, people! Each time you step onto this stage you're acting – even when you're not speaking to the audience. Think about what's happening. React; provide background; if all else fails, just stand still. Whatever you do, don't just switch off, or worse still, have a chat about last night's episode of
Coronation Street
!' Ronnie paused to wipe his forehead with a yellow silk handkerchief. Little beads of spittle had collected at the corners of his mouth and his face was beetroot red.

‘God, Noah, his wife and sons have lines. The rest of you animals still have to act. I know the stage is small and you're all a little cramped, but there's nothing that can be done about it at the moment. You will have more space on the day and you'll be in costume, but you must start to think about your character now. Eagles, look majestic, and tigers, you are fierce predators, not pussycats waiting for your next tin of Whiskers. Oh, for goodness sake! You silly cows over there, come forward – you won't be seen there behind the gorillas.'

Ruth hid a smile as two rather affronted middle-aged women emerged from behind former Kent middleweight wrestling champion, Ken (Grappler) Morell and his good lady ‘Battleaxe.' During a production, Ronnie was very fond of calling actors by their character names. Although Hamlet, Lear, or Lady Macbeth may be acceptable, and in some cases flattering, referring to the actors as dogs, pigs, or even cows was more than likely to earn Ronnie a slap on the face. He had, rather mischievously, sat down and likened each actor's looks or character to an animal. He and Ruth had giggled over people's facial characteristics, mannerisms, and personality traits to match them up with various creatures.

The whole cast was involved in the Noah scenes. Ronnie and Ruth had made that decision early on, if only to prevent the actors who were appearing later, in the New Testament section, from spending the early part of the evening in the pub. The thought of having to trek down the High Street and through the doors of the saloon bar of the Queen's Head to separate half a dozen disciples from their pints of Old Jack's Bone Cracker filled Ruth with trepidation.

Alistair sat down next to Ruth. ‘Look at this – shambolic.'

Ronnie pretended not to hear and went to give the actors a piece of his mind.

‘I told you, casting pearls before swine!' Alistair continued.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, letting sacred things fall into the hands of the hoi polloi. Some of the Monksford residents are hardly what you'd call respectable.'

‘And we are?'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Don't give me that, Alistair. The difference is I don't pretend to be something I'm not.'

He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away.

‘It's a community play, not just something performed by a nice little groups of Christians, but an opportunity for everyone in Monksford to be drawn into God's love story with humankind. Christians don't have a monopoly on God. Besides, some of the grants specify community involvement.'

A scuffle broke out between some goats and a sheep they claimed was upstaging them. Ronnie beckoned to Ruth, and she clambered on to the stage to help him sort it out and ended up moving the sheep to the other side of the stage, near the lioness. When she returned to her seat, Alistair had gone.

Ruth noticed quite a few faces missing from the tableau among them, the male lion – played by Josh, and the dove – Jemma. It was unlike them to be late, and they usually rang if they couldn't make a rehearsal. She hoped nothing had happened to Jemma's ex in hospital.

She was relieved that Alistair Fry had disappeared so she would not have to watch him on stage. When it came to choosing a suitable animal for Alistair, she admitted she wasn't feeling altogether impartial. A snake would have been a suitable choice, or a toad, maybe a pig or a leech. Ronnie had eventually taken over, choosing an ox, owing, she suspected, to Alistair's robust physique and craggy features.

Ronnie looked stressed and weary.

Back in the autumn, she had dreaded having to tell him about the music. ‘I'm sorry Ronnie, I just don't think it's appropriate.'

He looked downcast. ‘So it's going to all be that hideous cacophony performed by those nauseatingly smiley pubescent bobby-soxers, I suppose.'

‘No Ronnie. I've found some better music, the kind they use in York. Some instrumental, some choral. I'm talking to Harlan too.'

‘So there's not even a chance of a little something from Jesus Christ Superstar?'