Irony In The Soul

Chapter 1

ONE

‘The Kingdom of God is at hand,

God has a plan to rescue the earth from evil;

God is here with us, now,

The dwelling of God is within us,

Eden is here and now.’

And so the former rugby fly half, Joe Moss, proclaimed to his only aware audience, Jack Austin, lately a regular at this spot in the Southsea shopping presinker (precinct); Jack got words wrong; “It is but a norm, open to change”, he would say. “Open to a***e” Mandy would say, but many went along, even adopting the alternative vocabulary of Portsmouth’s, Mr Malacopperism.

Morning shoppers sneaked peeks at the bearded, down-at-heel preacher. Looks of disdain, or nonchalant avoidance. What happened to Care in the Community, the Big Society; who had volunteered for this one? Basking in the midday sunshine on this Saturday, late in June, bare legs outstretched, upon a most uncomfortable bench, Jack knew where the mental health programme had gone, could stand-up with his old rugby pal and spout equally uncomfortable truths, ‘Couldn’t care less in the feckin’ community’. Feckin’ was a favourite expression. Jack quoted many things from books, films, adverts, mostly wrong, but off the telly he loved Father Ted; got most of that wrong as well, but people thought him more endearing for all of that. Joe had stopped preaching, and Jack, squinting a look at people staring, ‘Did I just say that out loud, Joe?’

Joe shrugged, and recommenced his proclamations that would save us all. Ironic, they were outside a super-saver shop where Day-Glo posters, emblazoned upon the windows, offered convenience, readymade meals; ‘Better to save a few souls, the arteries have no chance?’

‘You alright, Jack, only you keep shouting.’

Jack pulled a fake grimace, ‘Been doing that lately, Joe.’

Joe returned to his pitch, energetically launching the radical word of the Lord. Not the word professed by Jack's friend and catholic priest, Father Mike, but more salvation, here and now, and not after you’d popped your clogs. Wish someone would pop Blogg’s clogs, Jack thought, a roundabout reference to the Deputy Prime Minister, who had conned a lot of people into voting for him on a social agenda, and then jumped in with the devil's spawn, Mackeroon; arch Tory Boy. Not quite the resolution (he meant revolution) Jack believed in.

Without thinking, he lifted his arm and a small child nestled. He did momentarily think, I hope this is Meesh, or he could be arrested, but it was, knew it was, he had peeked; Jack Austin was a famed cheat. In just a couple of months, Jack and Amanda had formed a close bond with this tiny girl. He knew about unconditional love with his own children, was beginning to feel it with Amanda, as he had felt it with his late wife, Kate. It was now three years since his wife had died, and it had been a long haul out of the depth of grief, unbearable pain, a pain he used to avoid the reality of existence. Amanda had rekindled within him a desire for life, and remarkably, a s*x life he had formerly given up on, until a knob-head, kiddie fiddler, shot him. But life was returning; convalescence well spent, as Detective Superintendent Amanda Bruce, became his Mandy.

He must have signalled his warm feelings, because Meesh, short for Michelle and called Spesh by Jack, snuggled tighter. He liked it, missed it with his own kids, Alana, twenty five and living with Josh, despite Jack’s insistence she go into a Nunnery, and Michael, clearly not Jack’s son as he was so mature at eighteen, soon to go off to medical school with his girlfriend, Colleen. Jack could not stand the sight of blood, and fainted when approached by a needle; where did Michael get that tolerance? And maturity, Jack would say “Tried that, not much fun”, and much to Mandy’s frequently expressed exasperation, people accepted it.

‘Who’s Kate?’ Meesh asked.

Startled, he opened his eye and peered into devastatingly innocent, green eyes, of this delightful urchin. ‘Did I just speak my thoughts, Spesh?’ She giggled and cuddled closer, Jack’s shirt was already disporting a patch of sweat, and he knew Spesh and Amanda would laugh at him. He would complain, but it was another source of soulful comfort. Since being clinically dead, seeing the proverbial white light, just a splash of intense crimson from Mandy’s dress, moments like this had become precious, and he was eternally grateful.

‘Kate was my wife, Alana and Michael’s Mum.'

Meesh’s freckled, heart shaped, face, enquired, ‘Where is she?’ And a few months ago such a question would have Jack spiralling into a deep melancholia from which he would struggle to escape.

‘She died, Spesh. I like to think she’s with the Angels and your Mum.’ This satisfied Meesh, who had witnessed the murder of her Mum. Jack had rescued the child from a house of paedophiles, the beginning of May, which kicked off a particularly gruesome investigation, that Jack knew opened more lines of inquiry than it closed, knew also convalescence would be short, but for now, he stretched, absorbing the midday sun.

Meesh was fascinated by Joe Moss, strutting, his Bible extended in an outstretched hand; more likely preoccupied with Joe’s overcoat, Jack thought.

‘Why’s he wearing an overcoat?’

Jack felt obliged to open his eye fully to the mousey haired waif, ‘Spesh, darlin’, Joe is a truly good man. He has no malice, but because he wears an overcoat in summer and speaks out loud, people assume he’s mad, but he is just hurting so bad he can’t think to take his coat off,’ which was an Army Great coat.

‘What’s malice?’

Blimey, children and their questions, heaven forefend if he had sometimes shown exasperation with his own. ‘It means bad thoughts, but that man would not hurt a fly.’

‘But flies are not good. Gail killed one the other day, is she malice?’

Gawd, ‘No sweet’art, Gail is the most loving person around, and looks after you well, doesn’t she?’

‘Is she going to be my new Mum?’

‘We hope so, and that makes you a very lucky girl.’

Jack returned to his recumbent position, and Meesh resumed hers, observing, the Preacher, proclaiming God was here and now and not waiting for you in heaven. Radical stuff, better look busy, Jack thought, chuckling.

‘What you laughing at?’

‘Just thinking how lovely you are,’ and Meesh settled, content, but the child psychiatrist had said to expect a crisis, and it will come probably when least expected.