Numbers

“Jem. Nice to meet you.”

Funny thing to say – suppose it was the way he was brought up, manners and everything. I didn’t know what you were meant to say back, so I didn’t say anything.

“Your hand’s very cold. Been sleeping on the streets?”

“Yeah.” We’d got to an area at the front of the church on the right-hand side, separated from the rest by a sort of wooden screen.

“If you sit in the chapel here, there are some warm air vents underneath the benches. Help you thaw out. I’ll carry on ’round, but I’ll be back in a minute, Jem.”

I sat where he’d shown me, on a cushioned ledge at the edge of the room. At one end was a table, with a gold cross on it. In the middle was a small black pillar with a candle on the top. There was writing ’round the edge. I got up to have a look: DONA NOBIS PACEM. No idea what that was all about. Why write something in a language like that, something only posh people understand? It’s like telling the rest of us to sod off, isn’t it? I read the words to myself, sounding out their strangeness.

I started as I realized someone was standing in the chapel entrance.

“It’s only me,” Simon said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Carry on praying.”

“Not praying,” I said. “I was just…reading it.”

He smiled. “Of course. They’re lovely words, powerful.” I didn’t have time to ask him what they meant as the sharp sound of a door opening echoed down the church. I flashed a worried look at Simon.

“Don’t worry, that’ll be the rector. Wait here.”

He disappeared back into the church. I stood up and went over to the wooden screen and looked through one of the gaps in the carving. A man had come in through a side door, a small man, but solid-looking, balding and with glasses – more like a bank manager than a priest. He was looking left and right, his eyes sweeping around like searchlights.

Simon trotted up to him, and I listened as the man boomed, “What in the name of the Lord is going on here, Simon? There are armed police outside the abbey. The whole place is surrounded.”

Simon held up his hands, like he was fending off the force of the man’s voice.

“She’s a child, Rector. She came to us for help, sanctuary.”

“I was frisked, Simon. Frisked! Before they’d let me into my own church.”

“Oh…I see.”

“Well, you can stop smirking. This is serious. We must stop this right now. We must hand over the girl. Where is she?”

I shrank back farther into the corner of the chapel.

“She’s in the chapel, but” – immediately, the sound of footsteps coming toward me – “but you can’t just throw her out. She’s a child.”

“She may also be a mass murderer, Simon. And I can do exactly what I like in my church. I am the rector, after all.” They were very close now.

“It’s God’s church.”

The footsteps stopped. Their echoes faded away into the vaulted roof, and there was silence.

“I beg your pardon?”

I knew that tone. That’s it, I thought. Simon was in real trouble now, and so was I.

“I mean, that is to say, this is the House of God. Of course, we look after it, but really it isn’t ours. I mean, we’re the guardians, but…” His stumbling words trailed off.

“And your point is?”

“Surely…surely, we must search our hearts and do what Jesus would do.”

How lame was that? I thought. I’m done for. But I wasn’t, because Simon had found the perfect line, had said the one thing that could save me.

“What would Jesus do?” the rector said slowly. “What would He do? Where is she?” His tone was gentler now.

“I’m here,” I said, stepping out from behind the screen.

He looked at me, and I saw his future: forty years or more, the comfort of growing old, respected, a somebody. I don’t know what he saw when he looked at me; his face gave nothing away, but after a bit he said, “Come, let us pray together, then.” He walked to the front of the chapel and knelt down.

“I’m sorry, I-” I started to say, but Simon held his finger up to his lips and shook his head, then he shepherded me beside him and we knelt down, too.

The rector launched into a prayer, a string of stuff I didn’t understand, like he was talking to someone – asking them stuff – but of course there was nobody else there, just us three. And then he was quiet. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with myself. I held my hands in front of me, palms together, feeling ridiculous. I didn’t know whether to have my eyes open or shut, and I shot a sneaky glance along the row to see what the other two were doing. They were kneeling like two angels on a Christmas card, eyes firmly closed, in a world of their own. My knees were getting sore, especially the one I’d twisted getting over the fence. I shifted about to try and get more comfortable, and then sat down properly, wondering how long it would be until I knew my fate.

Hours later – or was it minutes? – and without saying anything to each other, they both opened their eyes at the same time and stood up. I got to my feet, too. The rector stepped toward me and took both my hands in his.

“You’re welcome in God’s House, child. You have sought sanctuary with us, and you will find it here. For the time being.” Behind him, Simon was beaming. “This isn’t going to be easy, for any of us. Before we go on, I need you to answer me honestly. Do you have anything with you, any weapons?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“No guns or knives? Explosives?” he said, eyeing my backpack, which was lying on the floor.

“No.”

“Do you mind if I, or Simon here, have a look?”

I did mind, as it happened. It wasn’t really my stuff, it was Britney’s, and it was all I had in the world, but I wasn’t really in a position to argue. I undid my bag there and then and tipped it out, the contents spilling onto the tiled floor: food, bottles of water, my cigarettes, some spare undies from Britney.

“We don’t allow smoking in here. I’m sure you understand that.”

I shrugged.

“And your pockets? Would you mind turning out your pockets?”

I dug my hands into the pockets of my coat and my jeans and added old tissues, my lighter, the last bit of change to the pile on the floor. Fifteen years old, and that was everything I had in the world.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to search you.” I shot him a warning look. Now we’re getting to it, I thought. Any excuse for him to stick his fingers where I don’t want him to. Dirty old man. If they started anything, I was ready to defend myself. Neither of them looked like much of a threat to me.

“Simon,” the rector said, “will you do the honors?”

Simon looked more frightened than me. He stepped forward. “I’m sorry about this.” He gently patted my shoulders, and then his hands moved under my arms and down my body. He crouched and patted each leg in turn, his face turned away from my crotch but coloring up all the same. When he’d finished there were beads of sweat on his forehead – sheer stress, I should think. It was a pretty safe bet that he didn’t get that close to a woman too often.

“No, that’s fine,” he said, straightening up. “Nothing there.”

“Good. Now, gather up your things and, Simon, if you show our guest…”

“Jem,” Simon said quickly.

“If you show Jem into the vestry, I will speak with the police and explain that this isn’t a siege. We need to open up; there’ll be people queuing outside for Matins.” He bustled off toward the main door, keen to put his day back on track.

Simon showed me into a side room, where there was a table, and some chairs, and a rack with loads of cloaks and things hanging up.