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“I’ll see if I can find out anything about the people involved.” He said it knowing it was a rash offer, and probably of no use, except to prove that he cared about what troubled her.
She smiled at him, and he saw that she knew exactly what he was doing, and why. However, she was still grateful that he understood and had not evaded helping her.
“I’m going to church on Sunday,” she replied, straightening up a little and replacing a saucepan on its rack. “It’s time Scuff learned something about religion. It’s part of our job as … as parents”-she chose the word deliberately, as if testing it-“to teach him. What he decides to believe is up to him. But I don’t think I’ll go to the Church of England. I’ll find a Nonconformist one.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Monk asked uncertainly.
That was one of the gaps from his amnesia he had never attempted to fill. He knew what he believed about many things, good and evil. Perhaps even more importantly, he understood that an entire lifetime was insufficient to answer all the questions that each new situation raised. It was clear to him that humility was not just a virtue, it was a necessity; but he had not bothered to consider a formal religion. He did not really want to now, but he would if she wished him to.
A glance at her face answered that.
“No, thank you!” she said vehemently, as if for him to come were the last thing she wished. Then she smiled. “But thank you all the same.”
Scuff amazed himself at how easily he had become used to living in Monk’s house in Paradise Place. Occasionally he dreamed he was still back on the docks, sleeping wherever he could find a sheltered place out of the wind or rain and avoid being trodden on or tripped over. He was even used to being warm enough almost all of the time, and clean!
He was still always hungry; but now he ate at regular times, as well as in between, when he could, and he didn’t have to find the food himself, either buy it or steal it. He had become used to the fact that no one would steal it from him.
It was not that he was an orphan, but after his father died his mother had been unable to support her children alone. The new man she had taken in was happy enough with the girls, but he was not willing to house another man’s son, so for the survival of the rest, who were not much more than babies, Scuff had left to look after himself.
He had met Monk when Monk was new to the dockside area and pitifully ignorant of its ways. For the price of an occasional sandwich and a hot cup of tea, Scuff had taken care of him and taught him a few things.
Then together they had taken part in some very unpleasant adventures. After one, when Scuff had come far too close to being killed, he had spent a few nights in Monk’s home. Those few nights had stretched into a few more, and then a few more. Gradually, a step at a time, he had even become used to Hester. He was far too grown up to need a mother, but now and then he didn’t mind pretending that wasn’t the case. Actually, he was not sure if being a mother was even what Hester wanted. She seemed rather more to be a really good friend-but one with considerable authority, of course. He would not have told her so, but he was more in awe of her than he was of Monk himself. She never backed off from anyone. Scuff knew, even if she didn’t, that she needed him to keep an eye out for her.
He should have been more suspicious when she suddenly decided to take him to buy a new suit, a proper one with jacket and trousers that matched, and two white shirts. It was quite true that the clothes he had were rather short. He had grown a lot lately. It must have been all that food, and having to go to bed early. But even so, they would have done a few more months.
Perhaps he should have had a clue when, the same day, she bought herself a new hat. It had flowers on it, and it made her look pretty. He told her so, and then felt awkward. Perhaps it had been too personal a thing to say. But she looked pleased. Maybe she was.
Understanding came like a flash of lightning on Saturday evening.
“Tomorrow morning I am going to church,” she told him, facing him squarely and not even blinking. “I would like you to come with me, if you don’t mind.”
He stood motionless, as if rooted to the kitchen floor. Then he turned to Monk, who was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Monk raised his eyes and smiled.
“You coming?” Scuff asked nervously. What did it mean? They had never taken him to church before. What would happen there? Some kind of ceremony?
“I can’t,” Monk replied. “I have to go to the station at Wapping. But I’ll be back for Sunday dinner. You’ll be all right. You might find it quite interesting. Do as Hester tells you, and if she doesn’t say anything, copy her.”
Scuff felt panic well up inside him.
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” Hester assured him. “Just come with me, so I don’t have to go by myself.”
He let go his breath-a sigh of relief. He could do that. “Yeah, all right,” he conceded.
They set out on Sunday morning, first across the river, then on an omnibus for what seemed like a considerable distance. Scuff wondered why they were going so far, when he could see they were passing churches much closer. They were rather obvious buildings; apart from having towers that you could see from a quarter of a mile away at least, a lot of them had bells ringing, just to make certain you couldn’t miss them. A couple of times he drew in his breath to point this out to Hester, who was sitting very upright beside him and staring forward. She did not seem like her usual self at all, so he changed his mind and did not ask.
But he did ask a number of the other questions that rose in his mind.
“Does God live only in churches?” he said very quietly to her. He did not want the other people in the omnibus to hear him. They probably all knew the answer and would think he sounded stupid.
She looked a little surprised and instantly he wished he had said nothing. If he paid attention, he would probably have learned the answer anyway.
“No,” she replied. “God is everywhere. I think it’s just that we give him more thought inside churches. Like learning at school. You can learn to read and write anywhere, but school makes it easier to concentrate.”
“Do we have a teacher at church too?” That seemed a reasonable question.
“Yes. He’s called a minister.”
“I see.” That was a bit worrying. “Is he going to make me answer questions at the end?”
