Trust (5 page)

Gabriel sat with her, drinking the coffee she made, answering her questions with such openness. He talked of how he’d grown up in a strict Lutheran family in outback Queensland, of being called by the Lord to evangelise, and about his adventures (so different to hers!) with his guitar and his gift of song, spreading the Good News all the way from the Gold Coast up to the Torres Strait Islands. He’d been intending only to visit Faith Rise, he told her, at Pastor Tim’s invitation, on his way to Perth where a much bigger church had asked him to be their musical director. But, he mused, if God had another plan …

‘Might you – stay?’ Angie asked, and held her breath.

‘It’s in his hands,’ Gabriel smiled. Then he leaned confidingly toward her. ‘Angie …’ A lock of his long hair swung forward; she had a momentary urge to touch it, lift it from his face. ‘Tonight, I think I saw the path God wants me to follow.’

She felt a tremor, deep inside. ‘You did?’

‘When you sang with me before, I had a kind of – vision. A new band, playing and singing with me. Musicians burning to praise the Lord with song, and two girls, or maybe three, singing with us. Girls just like you, alive with the joy of Christ, blessed with lovely voices like yours —’

Angie listened, eyes wide, lips parted. ‘The Faith Rise Band,’ she cried excitedly. ‘Gabriel and the Faith Rise Band!’

‘Gabriel and the Faith Rise Band!’ he repeated softly, and gave a delighted laugh. ‘You’re amazing!’

‘It just sounds
right
,’ she said, blushing with pleasure. ‘Oh, if you were to stay – how
wonderful
! For Faith Rise,’ she added.

‘But Angie … the church in Perth has a place for me, to live and to work,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘I’m here with just my guitar, you see. Pastor Tim and his family have been putting me up, God bless their kindness, but if I were to stay, here in Melbourne – I’d have to find a place to live. Somewhere I’d have peace and quiet to write my songs, maybe with a space big enough for the band to practise …’

‘How big?’ she asked eagerly. ‘This room: would this be big enough?’

‘This room?’ He looked around thoughtfully, and she saw it through his eyes: the worn-out furniture, the dust and clutter, the cobwebs hanging in the corners.

‘I’m going to get rid of all this junk.’ She swept her hand dismissively as though it was all gone already. ‘I’ve been wanting to, for ages. And it’s big, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ he agreed. He got up and walked around the room; Angie noticed now how he limped, and felt pity for him again, and admiration. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A band could set up in here.’

She drew a deep breath, sparkling with hope. ‘Because, Gabriel, the thing is – I’ve got two spare bedrooms here! In this house! You could have one for yourself, and one to compose in.’ Her hands were clutching at each other again. ‘And it’s quiet here, I’m at work most days. I’ve got just the one little boy, and he’s at school, and he’s very quiet too.’

Gabriel cocked his head toward the ceiling, as though listening, and then gave her a slow, building, beautiful smile. ‘They say the Lord works in mysterious ways,’ he said. ‘But you know, Angie, sometimes he makes the path he wants us to follow very, very clear.’

Lying on the floor of his room, Finn walked Robo-Boy toward him, right up to his face. See how big he was? And strong? Robo-Boy had torn his own arm off and didn’t even
cry
. That was his way of showing Finn how he could be strong too. It didn’t matter what people said about you, or if they laughed at you, or sang mean songs about you. None of that mattered because on the inside you were
strong
.

Finn, I’m gonna help you
, said Robo-Boy in his strange metallic voice.
Lucas Beal and his gang won’t ever get you again
.

And I’m never going to suck my thumb again
, Finn thought,
because Robo-Boy’s helping me not to
. ‘Thanks, Robo-Boy,’ he said.

That’s okay, Finn
.

His mum came in, light and skippy like she was dancing. Finn looked up curiously. She wasn’t usually like this in the mornings. And she wasn’t in her dressing-gown, she was in her proper clothes already.

‘Finnie!’ she said. ‘Finnbar Finn, my special little guy! Isn’t this a
beautiful
morning?’ She swooped down and gave him a kiss. Finn held up Robo-Boy so he could say hello, not that Mum could hear him. ‘Oh, look at poor Robo-Boy!’ she said. ‘We need someone who can fix his poor arm.’

Finn shook his head. ‘He doesn’t need to be fixed.’

‘You know what, sweetie? I bet our
new sharer
will be able to fix him.’

Finn didn’t much like the way she was looking at him. ‘What new sharer?’ he asked.

His mum’s laugh was like fizzy drink spilling over the top of a glass. ‘You’ll never guess, Finnie! You know the wonderful man who did the special music and singing at Faith Rise?’

‘No,’ he said, sitting up straight and shaking his head from side to side. ‘I
don’t
know him.’ He held Robo-Boy in front of him, and Robo-Boy raised his one big strong arm high in the air.

‘Of
course
you do, Finnie! It’s
Gabriel
. He’ll be the most wonderful sharer we ever had.’ She dipped in to kiss him again, on the top of his head. Just then the phone started ringing in the kitchen and she jumped up. ‘You get dressed now, honey, and we’ll have brekky and get you to school before the early bell. Your teacher’s going to be so happy with us!’

Finn tried to keep talking with Robo-Boy but it was hard to hear him now. ‘Oh, Helen, you are so cheeky!’ he heard his mum say, in a voice that was either teasing, or else she was being teased. Helen: that was Grace and Lily’s mum. Grace and Lily were the two meanest kids at church; all the other kids sucked up to them because Pastor Tim was their dad, but Finn didn’t, so they hated him, and he hated them back.

But then his mum’s voice went quieter, and when she came back into the room he could tell that something had happened to make her feel heavy again instead of fizzy.
It’s something bad about the music man
, Finn thought hopefully.

‘That man walks funny,’ he said.

‘No, he doesn’t, honey,’ Angie said, too quickly. ‘Hey, we want to get you to school
early
, remember?’ She began to pick through the jumble of clothes on top of his chest of drawers for clean ones, trying to get her head around what Helen had just said.

Whenever the phrase ‘give a blessing’ was used at Faith Rise, it signified a donation to the church. Helen, after teasing her about how all the other single girls were going to be
so
jealous about Gabriel moving in, had told her how thrilled Pastor Tim was that Angie was ‘giving this blessing’ to the church. In that moment Angie understood they assumed she was offering the rooms to Gabriel rent-free. Angie felt sick with embarrassment.
The mortgage … I need that money
. But of course she couldn’t say that. And it was
she
who was blessed, of course, to be able to offer this. What Faith Rise had given
her
was more than she could ever repay, and she was honoured to offer this wonderful man a home, and a haven for his music.

She nodded, twice, confirming something to herself, and turned to Finn, who was sitting hunched on the side of his bed. ‘Come on, honey,’ she said, holding out the clothes she’d chosen.

‘I don’t want him for a sharer.’ He was trying to remember the word he’d heard Grace and Lily say last Sunday when they were laughing and whispering with the other kids. In a loud voice, he said, ‘Gabriel’s a
cripple
.’

His mother dropped to her knees beside him, her face stricken. ‘Finnie, no! That’s a
terrible
thing to say! Jesus would be
so
unhappy to hear you say that.’ She folded his hands together, and hers around his, bowing her head over them. ‘Forgive us, dear Jesus, for the unkind things we say. We don’t mean to hurt people, it’s just the – the —’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Lord, keep the enemy away from us, and from those we love. Far, far away. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ said Finn mechanically.

‘Now then!’ Angie popped her bright smile back in place. ‘How about I help you get dressed?’ Finn gave his mother a doleful look and slowly raised his arms.

As she peeled off his pyjama top and pulled a clean T-shirt over his head, Angie had a sudden, vivid memory of Susanna doing exactly this for her. She could see herself, sitting on the edge of her own bed, just as Finn was now, but she’d been a year or two younger; six, maybe. Her older sister was crouching before her, pulling her singlet on. As her head popped free, Angie had seen their mother standing watching in the doorway, arms crossed, mouth thin. ‘Don’t do everything for her, Susie. You’re not her servant, you know.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ her sister had replied over her shoulder – but she had given Angie a secret smile. Angie saw again the way Susu’s eyes had crinkled up reassuringly. Just as Angie was smiling back, Mum said, ‘Little princess.’ Not the way Daddy called her that, with a cuddle in his voice: the way Mum said it was like she was putting rubbish in the bin. Ashamed, Angie had watched from the corner of her eye as her mother moved away, leaving the doorway empty.

And then Susanna had leaned in close, and planted a little kiss on Angie’s forehead. Now, all these decades later, Angie raised her fingertips to the spot. She could feel that little kiss there still.

She leaned in and gave her son a kiss there, in the middle of his forehead. ‘Stand up, Finnie,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s get these pants on, hey?’

Resigned, Finn stood.

FOUR

Susanna had been standing in front of the mirror in the en-suite bathroom for a good few minutes (rather than her usual thirty seconds), leaning in close, peering hard at her hair as she lifted one section after another.
I had no idea I’d gone so grey
. She twisted around to try and see if it was the same in the back.
I wonder if I should get it coloured?

‘Susie,’ a familiar voice called. ‘Are you home?’

‘Mum!’ Susanna turned away from the mirror with relief and trotted down the hallway. ‘How lovely to see you.’ Her mother had put her bag on the kitchen bench; they hugged, holding each other’s forearms for a moment, smiling. ‘Have you been at the museum?’

‘Yes. Miriam from the book group dropped in, which reminded me that I’ve been carrying this month’s book around in the car to give to you.’ Jean tapped the cover of the paperback lying beside her bag. ‘It’s an easy read, it won’t take you long.’

‘Thanks, Mum, that’s great. If it wasn’t for book group, I don’t think I’d get around to reading a thing these days. How is Miriam?’

‘Bored, she says,’ said Jean. She’d begun automatically tidying the bench, putting things away. She and Susanna were as familiar with each other’s kitchens as their own. ‘Wishing she’d kept up a couple of days a week at the medical clinic instead of retiring completely. I told her she should do some volunteering. I get so much out of my two afternoons at the museum.’

‘I know. And the museum’s lucky to have you.’ Looking at her mother, Susanna thought, was eerily like looking at herself: an older, slimmer, more neatly dressed version of herself. ‘Mum, when did you stop colouring your hair?’

‘Oh, the minute I retired. I don’t care if it makes me look older, I only ever dyed it because I had to. Grey-haired secretaries were definitely not in vogue.’

‘I like your hair grey. You look better every year.’ Susanna plucked at the flesh around her middle. ‘I wish
I
had a waist like yours. I just can’t seem to lose this spare tyre, lately.’

‘It’s the menopause, I’m afraid, creeping up on you,’ said Jean briskly. ‘I had the same problem from my mid-forties, for about ten years. Keep up the exercise, that’s the critical thing. I do wish you hadn’t given up the tennis, Susie. If my knees were still up to it …’

‘Next year, maybe,’ Susanna murmured.

‘And you must have regular check-ups. Heart, especially.’

‘Because of Dad? But I thought Dad’s heart problems were caused by rheumatic fever when he was a child. Weren’t they?’

‘Check-ups can’t hurt. Well, look at all these drawings!’ Jean was standing by the table, where Susanna had gathered every sketch she’d made over the past few months, however rough or incomplete. ‘You
have
been busy.’

‘It’s just bits and pieces,’ said Susanna. ‘I’ve got a meeting with my boss tomorrow, but still no real ideas for the exhibition. Or this piece I’ve got to write.’

‘Never mind; you’ll come up with something.’

Susanna sighed. ‘I don’t know, Mum, I think I’ve really —’ she shook her head.

Distracted by movement in the backyard, both turned to the large window and saw Seb lugging the big container of grey water to be bucketed on to thirsty plants, and Stella-Jean heading for the rotary clothes line with a laundry basket.

‘I do like the way your children help without having to be asked,’ said Jean approvingly. ‘Just as you did.’

Privately, Susanna suspected their father’s urging was behind this burst of helpful activity, and sure enough, a moment later Gerry appeared, secateurs in hand, and started cutting back a purple-flowering vine that had launched itself from the side fence and was trying to take over the lemon tree. Jean tapped on the glass, waving; Gerry looked around and grinned as he waved back at her. It was one of the many nourishing pleasures of Susanna’s life that, from the start, Gerry and her mother had got on so well.

Stella-Jean, arms above her head at the washing line, looked sideways toward the house. ‘Hiya, Jeejee,’ she called, flapping an unpegged tea towel as a flag of greeting.

‘Darling girl,’ said Jean fondly. ‘She’s going to have a bit of a struggle with those sheets; I’ll just go and give her a hand.’

Susanna watched them – two peas from the Greenfield pod of short, curvy females – first stretching to unpeg a sheet, then holding it wide between them and coming to and fro in the folding. An image from one of Helen Garner’s early novels came into Susanna’s mind: two women, here in the inner suburbs of Melbourne, performing a kind of courtly dance as they too folded a sheet together beside a backyard clothes line. Such a graceful, telling little scene.