Chapter 5
5
‘So, tell me about this sudden decision to go to church,’ my younger sister Em asks with a grin as we sit down for lunch. ‘Have you two become God-botherers now?’
‘Mind your language, Emerald,’ my father warns her. ‘We didn’t raise you to be disparaging about people who see the world differently from you.’ Mum and Dad’s decision to name us both after gemstones, because we’re apparently the jewels in their crown, has been a lot easier for me than Em, who was bullied a bit at school for having a ‘posho’s’ name. Unsurprisingly, the only people to use her full name are Mum and Dad; to everyone else she’s firmly Em.
Em rolls her eyes theatrically but otherwise ignores Dad. ‘Did Jesus come to you in a vision, like St Paul on the road to Damascus?’ she asks me. ‘Are you going to become a nun?’
‘You’d make a good nun,’ Mum observes. ‘You could read all day and it’s not as if it would have a detrimental effect on your love life because you don’t have one. They’d probably even let you keep Samson.’
I’m just about to tell her what I think of that idea when I notice that Dad is looking at me quizzically. ‘What?’ I ask him.
‘Nothing,’ he replies. ‘Just trying to picture you in a habit. I reckon it would suit you. Plus, it would give me something to brag about at the golf club. My daughter, the nun.’
‘I’m not becoming a nun, OK?’ I say crossly. ‘I went because Sam asked me.’
‘Are you becoming a nun then, Sam?’ Em asks her.
‘I might as well, at this rate,’ Sam replies gloomily. ‘Although, if the people at convents are anything like the crowd this morning, they’d probably burn me at the stake rather than let me in.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘It was like stepping back into the Victorian age, but with better music,’ Sam says despondently. ‘My plan was simple. Go to a church where there are lots of nice single men and meet Mr Right. Not exactly hard.’
‘Seems straightforward enough,’ Em agrees. ‘Were there lots of nice single men?’
‘Loads, but they’re kept strictly under lock and key. Get this: you’re not allowed to spend time alone with any of them unless you’re covenanted. Isn’t that the term, Ruby?’
‘Yup. You have to sign an agreement saying you’re not going to get up to any funny business and then attend a weekly group to make sure you’re not falling off the wagon.’
‘You can’t be serious.’ Em’s eyes are wide.
‘Deadly,’ Sam tells her. ‘Everyone I spoke to was totally on message, but then I talked to this one guy, in the education team, and it got a whole load worse.’
‘They all have branded polo shirts,’ I chip in. ‘We worked out in the car on the way here that the colour denotes your role. Black is welcome team, green is group coordinator or something like that, red is education and training, and blue is still a mystery. Sorry, go on, Sam.’
‘Yeah, so I was talking to Bryan, with a “y”, as he kept informing me. Before you even get to the covenanting stuff, or applying to get engaged, there are all these hoops you have to jump through. It’s even more complicated if, as he put it, you have a “sexual past”.’
‘A what?’
‘Exactly. I wanted to ask him how many twenty-eight-year-olds he knew that didn’t have a sexual past, but then I looked around the room and thought he probably knew quite a few. So, anyway, if you have this so-called “sexual past”, you have to attend and graduate from a course called The Mary Magdalene Institute .’
‘What the bloody hell is that? I hope that’s just for the girls, and the boys have their own course called The Serpent between my legs beguiled me, and I did enter her. ’
‘Don’t be crude, Emerald,’ Mum scolds.
‘Nice Biblical reference though,’ I tell her.
‘Certainly better than theirs,’ Dad agrees. ‘It’s lazy theology to assume Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, which is what I suspect they’re getting at. There’s no evidence in the Bible that she was.’
‘Wasn’t she the woman caught in adultery?’ Mum asks.
‘Nope. Again, people make the association, but there’s no evidence.’
‘When did you become such a Biblical scholar?’ Em is obviously as surprised by this sudden outpouring of theology from Dad as I am.
‘One of the people your father plays golf with is a vicar,’ Mum explains with a slight sigh. ‘We’ve been getting a lot of this lately.’
‘Anyway, we’re getting off the point,’ Em states firmly, having cleared that little mystery up. ‘Let me get this straight then. If you’re not a virgin, regardless of your gender, you have to go to this Mary Magdalene thing.’
‘Yup,’ Sam agrees.
‘Fucking typical.’
‘Emerald!’
‘Sorry, Mum, but it is. Blame the women, just like everyone has forever.’ This is a well-worn theme of Em’s, and I mentally prepare myself for the diatribe. It’s not that I don’t agree with her; I do, but her constant campaigning can get a little wearing. ‘Why didn’t they name their sex shame clinic after a man, hmm? Because it’s always the woman’s fault. She’s a fallen woman. Where are the fallen men?’
‘It gets worse,’ Sam tells her. ‘Even once you’ve graduated, it’s on your record that you attended, and anyone interested in covenanting with you will be informed of that fact as part of the process. Bryan with a “y” made it clear that basically means graduates will only covenant with each other, because the pure ones won’t want you. So, if I wanted to marry someone from there, not only would I have to basically shout my sexual history from the rooftops, but I’d probably be in my fifties before I’d be allowed to covenant the one man honest enough to reveal that he wasn’t as pure as the driven snow.’
‘Or you could lie,’ Em offers. ‘Tell them you’ve never even looked at a boy.’
‘Why should I? I’m not ashamed. I’m not some nymphomaniac who whips off her knickers at the drop of a hat – sorry, Mrs Johnson. I’ve had a number of committed, loving relationships and a few disasters. No, they can keep their holier-than-thou attitude, thank you very much.’
‘It’s all nonsense anyway,’ Em observes. ‘Even the so-called pure ones are probably wanking themselves into a coma to deal with the frustration.’
‘Emerald!’ my parents shout together.
‘What about you?’ I ask Em a little while later, once Mum and Dad have stopped scowling at her. I know sisters often fight like cat and dog but, despite the six-year age gap, Em and I have always got on well. ‘How are things with Charlie?’
She sighs. ‘Tricky, at the moment. It was easy when we were both at uni, but now I’m stuck down here and he’s up in Manchester. We’re both looking for jobs in London, and we see each other as often as we can, but the train fares are mental.’
‘You’re not going to split up though, are you?’ Em and Charlie have been together since their first year of uni, and I’ve never seen them anything other than totally loved up.
‘I hope not, but it’s hard to keep the spark alive.’ She lowers her voice so Mum and Dad can’t hear. ‘We did try sexy video calls, but they just made me feel really grubby.’
I smile. ‘Talking of grubby, you’ll never guess who Sam brought home the other night. Do you remember me talking about Peter Stockley, back in the day?’
‘Wasn’t he the frotteur?’ She turns and stares at Sam, who rolls her eyes.
‘I thought he’d changed. We all make mistakes.’
‘He was a nasty boy,’ Mum observes. She’s either given up on scolding Em for her language, or has no idea what frottage is. ‘I blame his father. Do you remember him, Derek?’
‘Nope,’ Dad replies.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t,’ Mum says with a sigh. ‘He wouldn’t have been interested in you, but I don’t think there was a woman at the school he didn’t try to feel up. He was so blatant about it too. No wonder Peter turned out the way he did. Disgusting, the pair of them. You’d probably get a better class of man on one of those boozy holidays to Spain that the younger generation seem so keen on. Maybe you should do one of those, Sam.’
‘No offence, but I think Sam and Ruby are probably ten years too old for the thumping nightlife of Shagaluf,’ Em says with a laugh.
‘I’m really not sure university has been good for you, Emerald,’ Mum tells her sternly. ‘Your language has taken a real nosedive.’
Em turns to me and winks. Her second favourite hobby, after campaigning for women’s rights, is winding up Mum and Dad. I really hope she finds a job and moves out soon, because I can’t see her living at home being a success at this rate.
* * *
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Sam says to me after we’ve given our order to the waiter. She’s been as good as her word, and we’re currently sitting in the plush dining room of The Mermaid, sipping Chablis and enjoying the view of the sea through the large windows.
‘Always worrying,’ I quip.
‘I need a break. You could probably use one too. When was the last time you went on holiday?’
‘I went to Venice with Jono.’
‘That doesn’t count. He was buying books so it was a work trip.’
‘Then it would be when you and I went to Cornwall last year.’
‘Exactly. I’ve been getting it in the neck from my boss at work, because apparently travel agents are supposed to travel more than I have been, so I think we should go on holiday. Give me a break from trying to find Mr Right, and you a break from listening to me moan about the latest Mr Wrong.’
I study her for a moment, trying to work out if this is Sam floating a vague idea, or whether she’s already decided on the itinerary and is just going to sell it to me so she can book it.
‘What did you have in mind?’ I ask carefully.
Before she has a chance to answer, the waiter delivers our amuse bouches, two small teacups filled with a pale orange liquid.
‘From the chef,’ he tells us. ‘Essence of Tomato.’
I take a sip, and it’s heavenly. The flavour is like tomato on speed, but it’s also delicate.
‘Oh, wow,’ Sam breathes as she sets down her cup. ‘Maybe I’ll cancel the rest of my order and just have a couple of gallons of this.’
‘Perhaps you should invite Threesome Pete round more often,’ I suggest. ‘If I get dinner here every time he comes, I might just about be able to put up with him.’
‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘No more Threesome Pete and no more preachy church people. Actually, how do you think they’d react to him?’
‘I think they’d implode,’ I laugh. ‘Can you imagine if they had the ability to do a mental X-ray to check your sexual health? His would be a living porno movie.’
‘I must have been out of my mind. Anyway, holiday. How do you feel about a cruise?’
‘Umm, aren’t they really expensive and for old people?’ I ask.
‘Not any more. There are all sorts of cruises now, for every age group and price bracket. I mean, none of them are particularly cheap, but I reckon I can get us a deal through work.’
‘I don’t know,’ I tell her. ‘It sounds like a faff. Don’t you have to dress up in the evenings, and hobnob with the captain and stuff like that? Can’t we just go somewhere and lie on a beach?’
‘Oh yeah, that would work really well with my skin tone,’ she says sarcastically. ‘Cruises are a really good way of seeing a variety of places in a comparatively short time, without having to pack and unpack all the time. There’s a ten-day one on the Mediterranean I thought would suit us. I’ll show you some pictures of the ship if you like. It looks lovely.’
OK, this is a fully fledged idea then. She pulls her phone out of her bag and fiddles with it for a while, before handing it over.
‘According to Janet, our cruise expert, Scandia Cruises are one of the top companies, and the ship I’m showing you is their newest one. It only launched last year.’
I scroll through the pictures and I have to admit that I’m impressed. The Spirit of Malmo is basically a floating hotel, with a variety of places to eat and drink, a large sun deck with a pool, and spacious-looking cabins done out in a very Scandinavian style, with lots of light wood. When I get to the prices, however, my heart stops.
‘ How much?’ I ask incredulously.
‘It won’t be as much as that,’ Sam says quickly. ‘That’s the top-tier cabin, which we don’t need. And the price includes flights and all the food, so it’s not as expensive as it looks. We embark in Rome, then visit Naples, Sicily, Malta, Sardinia, Majorca, Barcelona, Cannes and Florence before returning to Rome. Where else would you be able to see all of that in ten days? What do you think?’
I look at the pictures again. It does look nice, and the idea of exploring all the places she mentioned is appealing.
‘Go on then,’ I tell her. ‘As long as the cost doesn’t break the bank and we can find someone to babysit for Samson, you’re on.’
‘Oh, I’ve sorted that,’ she says breezily. ‘I texted Em about it yesterday, and she jumped at the chance. She’s even offered to cover for you in the bookshop so Jono isn’t on his own. I think ten days away from your mum and dad was too tempting for her to resist.’
‘You are unbelievable!’ I exclaim. ‘What if I’d have said no?’
She grins. ‘Why on earth would you do that? I’m handing you a dream holiday on a plate. No faffing about with research or organisation because I’ve done it for you. All you have to do is cough up the money and have a great time.’
I smile. She’s right, so why do I still have the niggling feeling that I’ve been played?