ASSOCIATION / CH. 15:HAPPY SUNDAY

THE PALACE BALLROOM, SATURDAY 13TH JANUARY, 6PM.

Dan's wrist unit buzzed him in the middle of the dance. He glanced at it in annoyance, and would have tripped over if Catherine hadn't steadied him.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Dad.” he said.

“You can't not answer, Dan. You know that.”

“I know. Come with me for moral support?”

“Of course, Dan.”

Dan acknowledged the call, picking one of the three messages he'd prepared earlier, just in case he got an important call. The one he chose said 'Hi, your call's caught me at the royal wedding, please hold while I get somewhere I can talk.' He sort of hoped his father wouldn't hold, but knew that was just fear.

He and Catherine made their way towards the edge of the dance floor, and stepped into the corridor.

“Hello, Dad.”

“Your mother told me to call. What do you mean, you're at the royal wedding?”

“Catherine and I got invited, to the reception too.”

“Who's Catherine?”

“Catherine Parr, my co-reporter at the Post, Dad. There's about the same age gap between us as there is between you and mum.”

“Are you saying you're an item?”

“Doesn't Mum talk to you at all?”

“Not about you, no. But your 'post' is a republican paper, I know that much. How did you get invited to the wedding?”

“We got invited to the palace for an evening meal a fortnight ago. His royal highness made excellent spaghetti bolognaise, we discovered we don't live in a monarchy after all, no matter what the other papers say, and we had a good chat about God with the royal family.”

“You did?” he heard his father sitting down in surprise.

“Yes Dad. You can read about some of it in the paper if you want to. We didn't write much about our discussion about God though. They've got a different view of the Church to you, by the way.”

“To me now, or to me when you left?”

“The one which drove me away from home and God.”

“I'm sorry, Dan. I was wrong, very wrong.”

Dan didn't trust himself to respond to that.

“Urm, I don't suppose Mum's told you about what I've been doing either, has she?” his father asked.

“Not much. She's said you were healthy.”

“There are some articles by me... my confessions if you like, on the church website. You might like to read them, decide if we can talk. How's the royal wedding?”

“It's pretty much winding down, their highnesses have gone to get changed. Catherine and I were just having a quick waltz after talking constitutional reform all afternoon.”

“Constitutional reform?” the idea obviously surprised Dan's father.

“Not here, Dad, don't worry. We were talking to the president and heir of a country which is currently a hereditary republican dictatorship. They're planning to get the constitution changed. Well, I say we were talking, actually Catherine was doing most of the talking to Deborah — she's the heir, while we men were talking about matters of substance like what colour the curtains were.”

“You're not making much sense.”

“It goes like this, Dad. It's a real patriarchy, and the president's the patriarch of patriarchs. I can't criticise their present constitution, because (a) I'm a nobody, and (b) it might insult the president. But Catherine could have a nice girls' natter to Deborah, and who cares what the ladies talk about? It worked out perfectly, since Catherine's far better than I am at all that constitutional law stuff.”

“It sounds complicated. But where are you with God, son?”

“Reading my Bible, and praying quite a lot. Mostly for wisdom and for Catherine.”

“Is she sick?”

“No, she's not sick, but she's not saved yet, either.”

“But I am seeking, Mr Wyatt, very seriously.” Catherine butted in.

“That was Catherine.” Dan said, needlessly.

“I'm sure it would make your mother very happy if you both came to visit, Dan.”

“What about you, Dad?”

“I'd be happy to see you with or without her. It's not good for families to be divided. I'm sorry for what I did to you.”

“I'll talk to Catherine about when we can visit, and let you know.”

“You've made a foolish old man very happy.”

“We can all be foolish, Dad. I guess it's the repentance and forgiveness that matters.”

----------------------------------------

THE PALACE BALLROOM, SATURDAY 13TH JANUARY, 6.10PM.

“Urm, Victoria.” Jason said.

“Yes?”

“Urm, have you, err, had a nice time?”

“Yes, I have. I didn't expect to dance this much, or talk this much, but it's been fun. Thank you.”

“Thank you. Urm, would you like to do it again?”

“What, be Eliza's bridesmaid? I don't think that's very likely.”

“I was thinking, urm...”

“Mmm?” she said, not really having any doubts about what he was going to ask. But she wasn't going to help him. Given that they'd talked about all sorts of things, she felt he shouldn't be shy. She sort of liked him. He was socially clumsy, painfully shy, but he had a gentle sense of humour that made her want to hear more.

“I was thinking it would be nice to meet again.”

“Well, it might be. The Christian community isn't that big, we might run into each other somewhere, I suppose. You could tell me some more jokes.”

“We could make it deliberate.”

“That's true.”

He noticed that she was trying not to laugh, and realised something. “You're deliberately making this hard, aren't you?”

“No, you're deliberately pussy-footing around and not getting to the point.”

“I've never asked a girl out before.”

“I'd guessed that. Come on.”

“Where to this time?”

“I was thinking you could ask someone how to do it.”

“Victoria!” he protested.

“Yes?”

“You could just answer.”

“You could just ask.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“I think I'd like to, Jason. But there's a 'but'.”

“Oh.”

“I don't think it's a big but, but I don't know.”

“Oh.” He didn't ask what it was. He was like that. He was probably curious, but if you didn't say, then he assumed it was something you didn't want to say. It could be a bit frustrating.

She thought for a bit.

“How brave are you?”

“Not very.”

“What about surprises? Do you cope, or run away?”

“I guess I cope. What are you thinking?”

“Maybe nothing. Could you come to Church tomorrow, maybe next week too?”

“Urm, I suppose so. But not every Sunday.”

“No.. The service starts at 10.30. You'll be there, maybe ten minutes early?”

“Absolutely. You'll sit with me?”

“Yes, of course. Jason, just so you know...”

“Yes?”

“You know how frustrating it was for you just now, where I wasn't helping you?”

“Yes.”

“There's this social convention, a rule, if you like, but it doesn't apply all the time, and it depends on lots of other things. I was breaking it so you'd be forced to be brave. You're supposed to make connections, when people tell you things. And if someone doesn't tell you all of something, but mentions it, you're allowed to ask for more information. You're expected to ask, if you want to know more. If they don't want to tell you, they can always say so. Or punch you if you're breaking other rules.”

“Oh. Yes. I've been told that sort of thing before.”

“Then make connections!” In her discussions with him, she'd told him this before. It seemed to work; he could certainly make connections, very quickly in fact. It just didn't happen automatically.

“I should have asked you something. About the 'but'.”

“Yes.”

“Am I allowed to know what the but is?”

“Very well done. I told you part of it — I was going out with a non-Christian.”

“You dumped him.”

“Yes, I had to. Six weeks ago.”

“And you think he'll be at Church?”

“No. I'm just not going behind my parent's back again.”

“Oh. That makes sense. You've been praying for him?”

The question caught her off her guard. “Yes.”

“What's he called?”

“Alfred.”

“I'll pray for him too.”

“You will?”

“He's your friend, we should pray for friends of friends.”

“Thank you. So, my parents.”

“I need to meet them?”

“But I expect you're not brave enough to talk to them here.”

“No.”

“So we'll sit together at Church, and see what happens, OK?”

“I expect your Dad will preach and we'll sing hymns together. That'll be nice.”

She didn't believe he'd said that, had he really no concept of what else might happen? She didn't think he was that bad. But she agreed. “Yes, Jason. That'll be nice.”

Then he grinned at her. “And your Mum or Dad might come and speak to me, probably after the service. If they come and talk to me, that's not nearly as scary as the other way round.” she felt a surge of relief.

“Jason, you were teasing me just now, weren't you? About the singing hymns?”

“Sort of. It's the sort of thing I'd have said a few years ago. I normally stop myself from saying things like that, until I've made more connections.”

“You're getting better at this sort of thing, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“So why didn't you stop yourself?”

“So you'd know. That's where I've come from, that's me, my immediate reaction. Anything else is calculation.”

“Thank you for telling me. Oh! I'm on duty! Must go!”

“Bye, Victoria.” Jason remembered to say.

----------------------------------------

Just before Eliza and Albert left, Eliza grabbed Victoria.

“Jason rather monopolised you, didn't he?” Eliza said.

“I didn't mind. He's funny.” Victoria said, then added “As in sense of humour.”

“Yes, and other less complimentary senses.” Eliza said. “It's more than just shyness, you've realised.”

“Somewhere on the autistic spectrum?”

“The ultra-smart end, yes.”

“Urm, do you know what he was doing when he was getting behind in his maths?”

“He didn't say?”

“I didn't ask. At the time I thought, you know, the whole underside of the university scene. But I realised that wasn't very likely.”

“Someone told him he shouldn't just focus on maths... He found the library. More than a lifetime of books to read, in a myriad of subjects.”

“Oh! That makes far more sense. He's asked me out.”

“Really! What have you said?”

“That I'm not going behind my parents' backs. So he's coming to Church tomorrow, and hoping that my parents come to talk to him, not the other way round.”

“What will you do if Alfred turns up, asking about getting to know God?”

“Urm. Probably cry. Jason's promised to pray for him.”

“He's got a big heart.”

“I don't want to hurt him.”

“Don't make him promises you can't keep. That'll hurt him more than anything. Otherwise, well, given his problems in that area, he's not going to assume he's guessed right about anything you haven't told him straight, is he?”

“Thanks, Eliza. Have a wonderful honeymoon.”

“Thanks, I plan to.”

“Are you going to throw the bouquet?”

Eliza shook her head. “No. It's a silly custom, really. Smacks of pagan fortune-telling, or something. Plus I don't think any of you three need that extra pressure, of people saying you're going to marry soon, do you?”

“Not really.” Victoria agreed.

----------------------------------------

SATURDAY, 13TH JANUARY. 8.15PM

“So, Francis, what do you think?”

“The food's excellent, the company too. About what?”

“Our 'potential future daughter in law'.”

“She really called herself that?”

“Well, I think she was suggesting that we might think of her in those terms. And actually I think she said 'a potential future daughter in law.' if that makes a difference. You're the expert on the nuances of language.”

“So, it could have just be a reflection of what she thinks Quentin's been telling us.”

“Except that she's thinking along those lines too, because Quentin asked to get to know how her clan worked.” Cleo pointed out.

“But she made it plain that she's not taking that as a proposal.” Francis countered.

“But on the other hand with the course they're on at the moment, marriage is a distinct possibility. She was very clear to me about that, too, although...”

“Yes?” Francis prompted.

“She didn't seem over the moon about the idea, it was just... 'I'm going to be spending a lot of time teaching Quentin stuff, and I like him a bit already, but I don't want to concentrate on that.' She's very socially aware, I'd guess.”

“Probably comes from the clan environment. She's been around a lot of people as she grows up, had lots of practice reading people.” He pointed out.

“Yes.”

“So, what do you think, is she manipulating our little boy, and worming her way into his emotions?”

“I don't think she needs to!” Cleo laughed, “Didn't you see the looks of mindless adoration on is face?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“What did you see?”

“There's nothing wrong with his eyes, his hormones, or the way they're wired up together. No question that wants her, and since she's talking to him, he's really hoping that he'll get her too.”

“You make it sound like it's all about sex.”

“He's seventeen. Of course it's all about sex.”

“They're not going to date, you know that? Where does that leave your assertion?”

“He's playing the long game. Pounce now, and he maybe gets his thrill but probably not and he loses her, play it slow and she's his for life, maybe.”

“Francis, that's not a nice way to talk about your son.”

“Hey, I'm just saying it the way it is, party-babe. The urge to procreate.”

“Oh stop pretending, Francis.” Cleo said, “I know you know there's more to love than just sex.”

“OK, I admit it. Sorry.”

“Why, Francis?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you so often go out of your way to trivialise things I know are important to you? Why do you hide behind a mask so much?”

“Habit?”

“You hid behind a mask of being a Christian, and acted the way you thought Christians act, then you acknowledged you weren't. Fine, I wished you were wrong but I know you're not. But... these days, half the time you're you, and the other half you're putting on the act of being a brain-dead worldly atheist who spouts rubbish you've heard from people you call idiots. I think your children even think that's the real you. Who are you hiding from? Or have I got it wrong? Is the real you the devil-may-care party dude?”

“I expect I'm making life hard for you, aren't I, Cleo.”

“What do you think?”

“I don't deserve you.”

“So, you're trying to push me away?”

“Not just you. I'm pushing everyone away, aren't I?”

“You're succeeding with the kids, I think.”

“I know.”

“So, what does this mean? You're at that age in life where you want to be left alone?”

“I don't think so.”

“You've met someone else?”

“No!”

“Stress at work?”

“Maybe.” he didn't sound too sure.

“Stress at home?”

“Not really, apart from my wife and children constantly praying for me to turn to God.”

“Does that really stress you?” Francis thought she sounded surprised. Didn't she know?

“YES. And now I've been wrapped round Rhianna's little finger to go and sit in church for the first time since we got married.”

“She always was good at that. And that's scary?”

“Of course it's scary.” How could she not know how threatening that was? He was going to go into an environment where almost everyone there wanted him to change. That was pretty much his entire life though. He was sort of used to it by now. “But getting back to your original question.... I think she's got a pretty nice personality.”

“So you approve of her?”

“I think so. Do you?”

“From what I've seen so far, yes. Our little boy's grown up.”

“Yes. You know he got rid of that filth from his bedroom, don't you? Before he met her, even.”

“Yes. I'm glad he rejected that rubbish on his own.”

“I still don't understand why you didn't want me to say anything. I thought you were all into combating sin.”

“I can't fight all his fights for him. That one... well, you know.”

“If it comes from inside him, then it's better?”

“Much, don't you think.”

“So why are you putting so much pressure on me to repent and turn to God?”

“I'm not Francis. I'll admit pestering God to help you want to, but that's different, surely?”

“Maybe. Want to dance, Cleo?”

“Of course I do.”

----------------------------------------

“Thank you, Catherine.” Dan said, as he walked her home.

“What for?”

“Making me talk to Dad.”

“You would have, surely?”

“Pass.”

“Good job I was there, then.”

“And we make your neighbour happy tomorrow?”

“Yes. And then, Mr Wyatt, you're going to introduce me to your parents.”

“Just like that?” Dan asked, surprised.

“Yes. I don't want to work on the story, I do want to spend time with you, and you are going to go and see them, aren't you? So, ipso facto, previous plans are scratched.”

“I was sort of thinking it might be a good idea. Strike while the iron is hot or something like that, but....”

“You were planning to make our plans for tomorrow afternoon an excuse, weren't you?” she accused.

“You know me too well.”

“Good job I'm coming with you then, isn't it?” She looked at him appraisingly. “Now the question is, do I need to make sure you call your mother?”

“I'll do it now.” he offered.

“Excellent plan, Dan.” the woman he loved agreed with a grin.

----------------------------------------

10.20AM, SUNDAY MORNING, 14TH JAN.

“Hi Jason!”

“Hello Victoria. Urm, I thought of something last night.”

“What was that?”

“That maybe praying that Alfred come to church today wasn't the best thing to do.” he gave a little smile and shrug of apology. “Too late though.”

“You prayed that you'd meet my ex-boyfriend?”

“Urm, that wasn't quite how I meant it. Sorry.”

“How did you mean it?”

“I was praying that he'd come to church, that God would answer your prayers for him.”

“God knows best I suppose.”

“Yes, he does, doesn't he! Sorry.”

“So you should be.” she said, just as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“I finally kept my promise.”

“Hello Alfred. You're about twenty-four hours late in keeping that promise if you're hoping to get back into my good books. Meet, Jason, the dumbest genius of a boyfriend I've ever had, he's just told me how he prayed you'd turn up.”

“Hello, Alfred. I hope you don't mind me praying for you to come to church. I didn't think it all through... I'm not good with humans.” Jason held out his hand.

“Not good with humans?” Alfred stepped back. “What are you? An alien?”

“Not according to the doctor. It's just this problem I have. I can deal with maths; people are too complex.”

“Ah, right, hello, Jason.” Alfred finally shook Jason's hand, which was still sticking out. “So the genius bit..”

“I tested out with an I.Q. of 162.23 when I was fifteen, and a social I.Q. of about sixteen. I'm a bit more normal now, on both scales.”

Alfred, who considered himself a bit of a social genius, considered this. Victoria had claimed this... social numbskull... as a boyfriend. She'd also said something about getting back into her good books. So... she did still have feelings for him. Great, maybe his plan would work. It clearly wasn't going to be hard to make Jason look a fool, the trick to winning Victoria back was obviously do that without making her jump to his defence. Yeah, maybe it would work. “So you were praying for me?”

“Yes. You're Victoria's friend, it's only right to pray for friends of friends to come to faith.”

“That's what you said yesterday, and I agreed, Jason. I didn't say he should come here. Oh well, we'd better go in. I presume you want me to keep up my end of the promise?” She glanced at Alfred's nod, and noticed his clothes properly for the first time. She was sure they very suitable for something, but it wasn't her father's church. “Jason, I told Alfred that if he came I'd help him avoid too many mistakes. Let's go upstairs, that way we won't disturb too many people.”

“Interesting shirt.” Jason said, making conversation. “I don't think it's quite a normal Mandlebrot set, is it? Oh! It's the cubic extrapolation! Maybe somewhere along the sixty five degree radial? Maybe seventy? I don't suppose it says anywhere? I really hate guessing, and it must be five, six years since I played with them. Was everything else in the wash? That happens to me sometimes.”

Alfred was dumbstruck. His eye-catching silk shirt had just been analysed in ways he'd never envisaged happening, and he got the impression that he'd just been told that it wasn't at all suitable, in a pretty sympathetic way for someone he considered a rival. Looking around he realised it wasn't suitable. “Yeah.” he said to cover his growing embarrassment. The shirt was clearly a mis-calculation. “Sorry, I don't know about the trigonometry stuff.” he said, making a wild guess about what area of maths he'd heard of mandlebrot sets in. He immediately realised that wild guesses about maths was not going to do his street-cred any good at all in the present company.

Victoria tried not to snigger. “Even I know that fractals aren't trig, Alfred. Now, there'll be a prayer to start, then some hymns, words will be on that screen there, and some prayers, then Dad'll preach, then a final hymn or two, and probably a prayer. Stand up and sit down at the same time as everyone else, or you'll stick out as much as your shirt does. But don't worry, God looks on the inside, not the outside.”

“That's supposed to make me comfortable?”

“If you're here wanting to get closer to God, of course!”

Alfred thought about that. He hadn't come wanting to get closer to God. He'd seen Victoria resplendent in her bridesmaid's dress and thought it would be well worth trying to see if she'd had a change of heart. But her new genius boyfriend was a complication, and obviously he didn't

need any introduction to what went on in this strange building.

The songs, he guessed they were what Victoria had called hymns, were obviously well known to the crowd. At least, they were singing them loudly. They were full of weird things too. How did blood wash anyone clean? What a disgusting thought. It was a bit familiar too, though. Victoria had said something about it. He looked at his ex-girlfriend, clearly caught up in

the emotions of the song, as was Mr Genius beside her. She'd said God was important to her. He thought he knew what that meant, but he realised that he probably didn't. And this... event was really strange. It was like some concert or something, but people were singing love-songs to nobody. It was almost a foreign language. He didn't understand the sentiments or their motivation. If he could have bolted from the building he probably would have, but he was trapped. He couldn't imagine ever coming back willingly. Victoria was pretty, but she wasn't worth this.

The speech was at least more familiar ground. Her dad started with some funny stories, and Alfred found himself following the logic of what he was saying. At least partially. Her dad seemed to rely far too much on one source. Who was this Paul guy anyway? What right did he have to tell everyone what to do. OK, his analysis was fairly reasonable, but... nah, Alfred wasn't going to accept that he was any worse than anyone else. Church wasn't for Alfred.

At the end of the sermon there were more songs; Victoria's face lit up like she was on some weird emotional high which Alfred didn't get. How could you react like that to some song? Especially since this one didn't just mention blood, it seemed all about it. And then, great relief, it was over. Albert knew one thing: he wasn't really interested in Vic, if this was important for her. The blood stuff was just gross, and what gave her God the right to decide what was right and wrong? What about all the other gods? Weren't there some who just said live and let live? He was sure he'd heard about some once, and he'd imagined that's what he was coming to hear. Didn't those sorts of gods get a look in? He said something vague about it not what he expected, and left as fast as he could.

They watched him go, pushing past people to get out as quickly as he could.

“That wasn't what I expected to happen.” Jason said.

“Me neither. It doesn't look like he'll be staying for tea or coffee, does it? Dad didn't even say anything vaguely controversial for once, either.”

“Nothing but the stench of death to the perishing?” Jason suggested.

She looked at him, curiously. He was right; she'd really overestimated what Alfred had understood from what she'd said. “I thought you weren't good at people?”

“I have to notice things; recognise expressions. I saw his face when we were singing, he was looking at you. He looked really unhappy. No, more than that. It was disgust, I think. Like you smelled, or you'd stepped in something and liked it. I don't think you're disgusting, and you don't smell nasty either. I'm glad you love God. He's great.”

“I'm very glad you love God too. We might be too late for the chocolate biscuits, I'm afraid, but there's tea and coffee downstairs, shall we go?”

“That sounds nice.”

“You're not nervous?

“About tea and coffee?” He looked at her and saw he'd guessed wrong. “Oh, your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Should I be?”

“I don't think so. Urm, Jason, I hope you don't mind...”

“You talked to them about me? I'd be surprised if you didn't.”

----------------------------------------

10.50AM, SUNDAY MORNING, 14TH JAN. RESTORATION.

“Mr Quy,” May said, “Dad wants me to assure you that he wrote the sermon on Tuesday and in no way did he rewrite it or write it with you in mind.”

“Right. I'm off then.”

“Francis, be good.” Cleo warned him.

“What? When the pastor warns me that he didn't write it about me then that means he thinks I'm likely to think he did, doesn't it?”

“It might just be his idea of a joke.” May offered. “I've heard him say it before to a lovely old woman in the congregation and it was mostly about Samson being a complete nut-case.”

“Let me make it clear that I'm not interested in having a personal encounter with your God, I'm happy the way I am.” Then seeing the way that Cleo was looking at him, he added “Well, mostly, anyway.”

“Can I ask why you ever went to church, then, Dad?” Q.Q. asked.

He shrugged, “I grew up going, then there was peer pressure, fitting in, the social life. For a while I probably fooled myself into thinking I was part of it too.”

“But you never actually trusted God?” Q.Q. asked.

“No. He didn't seem very trustworthy to me: annihilating people left right and centre, even killing people for trying to help. I can see why you'd be scared of him, but not why anyone would like him.”

Just then, Sarah and John came up onto the balcony, and May decided she

didn't need to answer. “Hi Sarah, John. Let me introduce Mr and Mrs Quy. Mr Quy's here somewhat under protest, and has just been telling us how he grew up going to church and he thinks God's scary but not likable.”

“Well, God is described as a consuming fire, May, and the fear of the Lord as the beginning of wisdom.” John answered “So far be it from me to suggest anyone treat him with disrespect. Welcome!”

“Hello. I'm glad you came, despite your reservations.” Sarah said, offering her hand to shake.

Francis realised that both she and John were wearing gloves as he shook it.

“I see we're all wearing gloves.” He observed.

“They work.” she said, matter of factly, “And there's be more than the normal concentration of thought-hearers in this church normally, let alone today.”

“You're saying...” Francis caught himself and looked around, to see if

he'd be overheard. “You're saying that there's more than one here normally?”

“I'm not saying anything, Mr Quy.” Sarah said. “It being illegal to break people's privacy in that way. Speaking of privacy, May, you don't know who it is that John and I are having over for lunch, and it stays that way, OK? No trying to work it out. It's not illegal, but it will earn my displeasure.”

“Urm, OK.” May said, confused.

----------------------------------------

“Did you see Alfred, Dad? He turned up, finally.” Victoria said.

“With the shirt? Yes. What happened to him?”

“We think he didn't like the smell.” Jason said, helpfully adding “Second Corinthians two, fifteen and sixteen,” when Fred looked worried.

“Really?”

“I saw him look at Victoria. She was singing of Jesus' cleansing blood, and he looked like she smelt bad. She's got the perfume of life, and it looked

like he only smelt death. Then, he ran away. It's sad.”

“It was very, very, helpful, and removed any doubts I had about what Eliza told me.” Victoria said. “He can't have listened to anything I said.”

“Eliza is very good at spotting frauds.” Jason agreed.

“I didn't know she'd met him.” Fred said, a bit confused.

“She hasn't, as far as I know. She just listened to me talking about him and said a few all-too-true probablities.”

“Nice of him to confirm them, then, sort of.” her father said.

“Yes. It certainly means I'm out of love with him, the deceitful so and so.”

“Does it hurt?” Jason asked.

“Actually, it's a bit of a relief. Confirmation I didn't do him an injustice.”

“Just how did you break up with him, Vic?” her father asked. “All you said at the time was that you'd dumped him and it was over and you didn't want to talk about it.”

“Well, to start with, I did what Eliza had suggested, told him it was hard, because I wanted to obey God, and that the Bible said I shouldn't be going out with a non-Christian.”

“Second Corinthians six, fourteen.” Jason nodded, earning him a respectful look from the other two.

“And he said he wanted to learn, he'd been paying attention when I spoke about God, and that he'd come to church soon, and we didn't really need to break up, surely.”

“What did say then?” Jason asked.

“I set him a test. I said, 'OK, if you've been listening, tell me what I've said about sin.' and he said 'It's bad stuff.' That wasn't what I'd said about rejecting God, but it was true. Then I asked him 'And what does it do?' and he said 'gets you in trouble.' which wasn't exactly the 'separates us from God' answer I'd wanted. Then I asked him what Jesus had done for us, knowing that I'd told him Christ died once and for all for our sins, the righteous for the unrighteous.”

Jason chipped in “1 Peter 3:18, but my Bible says suffered, not died.”

Victoria wasn't sure if she should be impressed or annoyed with him for interrupting, “Anyway, he hummed and haa-ed and said 'It was something about Easter, wasn't it? No Christmas!' So I got annoyed and told him he should have listened better, sorry, it's over. And when he rang back about six times in the next hour with guesses about loaves and fishes, healing sick people, and turning the other cheek, I got really annoyed put his number on my temporary block list.”

“You seem to know your Bible well, Jason.” Fred said.

“Just some bits.” he replied with a shrug. “I haven't tried to memorise the genealogies, or the censuses, or the Levitical laws. I'm a bit patchy on the prophets too, and I get lots of the Psalms confused.”

Victoria stared at him, “So if I asked, say, about what Nicodemus said, you could tell me?”

“Which bit?” Jason asked confused. “The bit in John three, starting in verse one, where he talks to Jesus at night, or in John seven verse fifty, when he's talking to the rest of the Sanhedrin, or John nineteen? No hold on, he doesn't say anything there.”

“Well, I'm impressed.” Fred said. Victoria just stood there, seemingly in shock.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It's my party trick.” Jason admitted. Then added with a shrug, “Not that I get invited to many parties.”

“Well I'm not sure it counts as a party, but we'd like to invite you to lunch, anyway.” Fred said.

----------------------------------------

Dan stopped and looked at his parents' home. Some things about it hadn't changed, other things, had, and one of them looked worrying.

“That crack's got even worse.” he told Catherine. “It was only up to my waist when I last saw it.”

“It's just in the exterior plaster, surely?”

“That's what dad thought when I was young. He got the outside re-rendered a couple of times, but the crack comes back. It's got to be something nasty happening to the foundations.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“Expensive too, I expect.”

“Shall we go and knock on the door?”

“I suppose so.” Dan agreed.

They didn't need to, since Dan's mother opened it. “You're admiring your crack, I see.”

“It's grown.”

“Oh, I know. But apparently we should have another twenty years before there's any risk of the wall falling down. Coming in, dear?”

“Of course, Mum. Let me introduce you to my colleague, friend, and beloved, Catherine Parr.

Most recently Catherine's been busy in undercover international diplomacy, And yes, she is a distant relative of her famous namesake.”

“Welcome, Catherine. Was he being serious about the international diplomacy? I can never tell when he's exaggerating enormously and when he's serious.”

“He was serious, sort of. I spent most of yesterday's wedding reception talking about constitutional reform with someone who's due to inherit something between a dictatorship, a civil war, and a servant-monarchy. Dan and the current president talked about anything trivial they could think of,

while we slogged away at constitutional and judicial reforms, though I must admit that some of the president's comments on other issues seemed particularly relevant.”

“I'm not sure I understand.” Dan's mother admitted.

“The president apparently can't really discuss this sort of thing without casting his basis for power into disrepute, which could lead to civil war.”

Dan explained. “I couldn't say anything, because I'd insult their constitution, and thus the president. But their society's also incredibly patriarchal, so Catherine and Deborah could talk freely, since at least what women say between themselves at a wedding doesn't matter much, officially.”

Catherine added, “But the president could listen in, say while we were talking about whether she should try to amend the constitution, or write a new one, and then say something to Dan like he much preferred the simple curtains here to the ones he'd inherited from his father, and although he'd tried to patch some of the worst tears in them, he'd come to the conclusion that it was going to be easier for Deborah to live with them if he just tore them up and had nice new ones put in, without so many patches.”

“Oh what fun. But couldn't someone else have helped?”

“That's the other thing: anyone that the civil service could have asked to do it would have had an official position, and presumably an official line. That would be intervening in the internal matters of another state, which might cause all sorts of problems. Likewise, a university professor, say, couldn't, as their voice would carry weight, and therefore be outside interference. Whereas I'm just a reporter with an interest in constitutional law, and I'm even on record as not particularly loyal to our political system. Anyone calling me a representative of our government would be laughed at. Apparently the diplomatic service thought I was a godsend.”

“Urm... could you explain that?”

“They want to help the president draw up a strong constitution, but can't, even unofficially. Even our ambassador there, who's a long-standing friend of the president, can't go very deeply into that sort of thing. Whereas I've just been looking at our constitution from an outsider position and decided our reformers got it mostly right, but I can still see some places it could be improved.”

“So you've helped this Deborah work out how to turn her country into a constitutional monarchy?”

“No.” Catherine said, with a grin. “We decided that name's misleading. Assuming the names doesn't change, they're going to claim to be the world's first servant-ocracy. Family's a BIG thing there, and so we're suggesting the ruler be called the spouse of the state, and replace the coronation with something based on their wedding customs. And the good thing about that is that while you'd expect the bride or groom to get dressed up and pretty for the wedding, no one lives in their wedding clothes. Hence no royal regalia, no need for a lavish palace, even, except for the business side of things. We get rid of all sorts of extravagance by changing the name. And with them, we hope to replace 'what can I get out of this' attitude to the sort of attitude that speaks of loyalty, serving, protecting.”

“That sounds good. What do the diplomatic service think of this?”

“No idea.” Catherine said, with a grin. “The president seems to likes the idea. He was saying something about having cherished his country for a long time, and everyone likes a good wedding.”

“Did you think about other family metaphors?” Dan's father, who'd come through from where he'd been minding the pots in the kitchen, asked, “Sorry for butting in without saying welcome, which you most certainly are. I'm just thinking... the bride-bridegroom image has good points, but there's the risk of someone with limited understanding thinking it's all about ah... taking advantage of the country.”

“Hi, Dad.” Dan said and embraced his father.

“Yes. Not every marriage is as protective as it should be. Another idea we had was that of adopting the state as a daughter. That's got good connotations for the protecting and defending side of things, but it also implies that at some point you're going to give her away to a husband with a suitable dowry. That's part of the traditional adoption formula, and even if it's not said, it's be what people will be thinking of, so it isn't quite appropriate either.”

“But the state is necessarily taking the feminine role?” Dan's mother asked. “I mean, if you're really trying to promote the idea of serving the state, in a very patriarchal society...”

“I knew we were missing something! Excuse me, I'll just give Deborah a call.”

“You've got the personal number of the acknowledged heir to the throne, albeit of another country?” Dan's father asked, surprised.

“I know... and it all comes back to your son's article and his public declaration of his feelings towards me less than a fortnight ago.”

----------------------------------------

RESTORATION, JOHN AND SARAH'S FLAT.

“Hi, Zach! And I presume you're the closely guarded secret named Zara? Welcome!” Sarah welcomed them into the flat.

“Thank you for the invitation, Maam.” Zara said, following Zach in.

“Oh, call me Sarah, please.”

“Yes, Maam.” Zara said, then blushed.

“Zara, just so we know who knows what, I presume your parents know you're here, is that right?”

“Urm, I told them that I had an invitation to your house for lunch, to find out about the C.A.T. I really am interested, so that's no lie. But I didn't tell them where you live.”

“But your wrist unit is presumably turned on, so they can find out if they need to know.”

“Urm, I guess so. Should I have turned it off?”

“No! That's just going to worry them.” Sarah responded.

“Next question: what do they know about Zach?” John asked.

“That he arranged this meeting. Mum knows that we've got feelings for each other, and that he's number two out of six and a half, and that his dad might not approve of me because I've got white skin. She might have told Dad, I don't know.”

“Zach?”

“Mum met Zara six, seven months ago, I'd forgotten. She came to help on one of the school trips we talked at. After New Year's, I told her that the reason I'd been grounded was that I'd chatting to a girl. She demanded to know her name, I said Zara, and she asked if it was the girl with the deep blue eyes from the school trip. I said yes, she said 'Lucky boy, she's gorgeous.'”

“Don't say that, Zach.” Zara blushed.

“Why not? I'm allowed to agree with my mum, when she's right, aren't I?”

“But neither set of parents actually know you're both here together?”

“Ooops, I forgot to say: Mum does.” Zach said.

“So, Zara, would you be willing to tell your mum that I invited Zach too? I'm sure she's going to find out eventually.”

“Or would you prefer it if Sarah did?” John offered.

“I think she's probably guessed, she said something about me spending longer than normal getting ready for Church.” Zara said, blushing a little.

“Well, can we make sure that she knows? The fact that she knows about Zach already means this can mostly be about problem solving, and so my thought is that we don't really need to keep his presence secret.”

“I thought...” Zach protested, then changed his mind “I agree. Needless secrets are silly.”

“Well, if you're sure.” Zara said.

“Shall I?” Sarah asked.

“No, that's OK.” She rang her mother's wrist unit. “Mum, just letting you know I'm here with Mr and Mrs Williams, and um, so's Zach. I should have said, sorry. He and Mrs Williams thought I ought to tell you.”

“That was a good thought, dear, but I'd assumed he would be, after all, he could hardly arrange the meeting and not conduct you there, could he? Have a good talk dear.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“And if he feels brave enough to offer to accompany you home, that'd be a nice gesture too.”

“I'll tell him.”

“Oh, Zara! You can't tell him! That's not done. He needs to offer.”

“Oh, yes. Thanks, mum.” Zara repeated, and disconnected.

Sarah's eyes were sparkling. “Your wrist unit was set a bit loud. Your mother and my late aunt would have got along famously, I think. Etiquette must be observed.”

“Oh, it must.” Zara agreed, with a smile.

“And etiquette can be learned, Zach.” Sarah said. “If you learn how to behave in accordance with the rules of good manners...”

“Then ignorance of social conventions will no longer present a limit to the upwardly mobile individual's participation in polite society.” he continued, quoting the famous book on the subject.

“You've seen the blurb then?” Zara asked, surprised.

“I've read the whole book. Mama Ng made me last year, and tested me on it ruthlessly.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Sarah clapped her hands in joy, switching into the upper-class accent of her late aunt. “My husband, I fear that we have not laid the table as is befitting our socially accomplished guests, allow me to rectify the situation immediately,” then she added in an aside, “Zara dear, you could not know, but my beloved husband completed his doctorate some years ago.”

“I apologise for the unintended slight, Dr Williams.” Zara immediately responded.

“It was an honest mistake, and erm, I doubt you could have discovered it. After all, erm, even if were I more prominent in my field, my work precludes an entry in any society reference work.” he replied, choosing his phrasing without the effortless ease Sarah or Zara had, “But I'm sure your mother would not thank you for leaving her ill-informed for long.” Then he asked, “Do we need to play this game, Sarah?”

“Yes, beloved, and if by game you mean an entertainment, you err. It's most serious, especially for young Zach here.”

“Your perception, then, beloved matriarch, is that I must erm, become more fluent in this manner of speech?” Zach asked.

“And in all the matters of etiquette, else your fears of ostracism will be well founded.”

“Dearest Zach, Mrs Williams speaks truth, but I rejoice that you are at least acquainted with the norms of polite society. It gives me hope for our liason.”

“It pains me to correct you, dear Zara, but beware, young Zach. My aunt was most clear to me: the part of society with practices this form of one-upmanship is anything but polite about those who cannot or will not compete in this field, except the royal family, I hope. And Zara dear, I've told you to call me Sarah!”

“Oh, I need no correction, Sarah dear, I'm aware of the character of my mother's intimates. I was merely using the phrase in it's normal, perjurous sense, though of course Zach might not have been aware of that.”

“Touché.” Sarah acknowledged. “You are more accomplished in this blood-sport than I, Zara dear. Does your father also participate?”

“Not with such glee. He moves between worlds so often that it is a trial to him.”

“Whereas your mother is one of those who never move in those crude circles where such an attitude would earn her a smack in the teeth?”

“Not often, no.”

“Now, Zach dearest, what message did Zara's manner of speech send to her mother.”

“She used the common tongue, which indicates either her desire to not stand out among those who are not members of high society, her intimacy with her mother, or her rebellious attitude towards her gentle upbringing.” Zach quoted. “Before today, I've never heard her use anything but the common tongue. and I suspect that her mother's corrections indicate that although Zara can easily swim in the waters of high society she is not fully at home there, so I discount the first motivation. I have some doubts concerning the second two, for I cannot believe my dearest Zara to be a rebel.”

“No?” Zara asked, dangerously.

“At least not against that which she knows is right.” Zach added.

“Dearest Zach, we're practicing today, so I can judge if I dare let you meet my mother. But is her attitude right?”

“Far be it from me to pass judgement.”

“Then I will.” Sarah said. “There's a lot to be said for good etiquette. It helps people attend the same event even when they can't stand each other, for example, and done properly good manners are as the workings of your wrist unit. But the affected speech and the power-play that is involved in what calls itself high society are not good things. Zara dear, would I be right to think that you anticipate most opposition to Zach and his family background to come from your mother?”

“A combination, actually. I didn't expect Zach to know anything of mother's social niceties, so I fully expected her to be against him. And Zach's said money was pretty tight at home, so I'm guessing that Zach's not going to qualify for Dad's support: he's often said that if I fall in love with someone with a good job, his own house and enough in the bank to clothe and feed us for a year then he doesn't care how nicely he holds his knife and fork, and he didn't care how nicely he holds his knife and fork if I fall for someone penniless.”

“In other words, he doesn't want his daughter to ever go hungry?” John asked.

“I guess not.”

“How much has Zach told you about me?” Sarah asked.

“Not much. That you'd hired one of his cousins as truthsayer, and wanted to get the C.A.T set up to protect the reputation of truthsayers. And that you paid for him and his cousins to stay in the cabin.”

“All true. Did you notice him calling me his beloved matriarch?”

“I was going to ask about that, you accepted it but it's so inappropriate....”

“It's true, though. John and I got drafted into his clan by his great grandmother, Mama Ng, just before she died, and I've been appointed to be the clan's matriarch.”

“Oh.”

“Which means I've got a responsibility for the likes of young Zach here. And if he's serious about you, then he's got a responsibility to let you know all about his clan and try to convince me you're a good match. It should also mean that if I decide to approve of you, then I'll tell his Dad and the rest of the clan that. His dad can then grump and moan a bit if he likes, but I'm pretty sure the clan's going to persuade him to get over it pretty quickly.”

“And if Sarah doesn't approve of you, then we might as well kill ourselves, Romeo and Juliet fashion.” Zach added.

“Zach, melodrama is uncalled for, and suicide is not an option.” Sarah rebuked him. “Now, there's something missing from this table. What is it?”

He surveyed the array of plates, silverware, condiments, napkins and empty serving dishes.

“I give up. Zara?”

“I see a table laid for soup, main course, dessert and cheese, with all appropriate utensils and everything. Wow, that was fast!”

“I've had practice, and John did help too.” Sarah said “Don't you see anything missing?”

“Salt, pepper, paprika, oil, vinegar, cutlery... Oh!” she laughed, “enjoy your meal Zach.”

“Duh. You mean I should have said there's no food? Sarah, that's so sneeky it's nasty.”

“This is a lesson.” Sarah said. “It doesn't matter how many sets of cutlery there are if there's no food. Cutlery and crockery makes the meal civilised, but on it's own they're just so much useless metal and china.”

“And likewise manners?” Zach asked.

“Exactly.” Sarah replied.

“But without what?” Zara responded “What's the equivalent to food?”

“I'll let you think on that for a while.” Sarah said. “In the mean time, I hope you're hungry.”

----------------------------------------

“So, that's where we see the C.A.T. going in the future.” Sarah finished. “Any questions?”

“Plenty, I expect, but as I understand what you've said, at the moment, everyone's being given a check by I.H.M. so they know who's a member, plus

you've also got access to the entire membership list. Is that right?”

“Sarah's trustworthy, Zara.”

“Meaning no offence to your matriarch, Zach, but you've got to say that, haven't you?” Zara pointed out.

“You're right, Zara. I've got complete access. But someone has to.”

“Well, yes, and I know you've footed the bill so far, but why can't someone from within the I.H.M. or the association run the I.D. device?”

“Or even both?” Sarah suggested, managing to avoid laughing.

“Well, yes, if that's possible.”

“It is.” Sarah smiled, and held out her bare hand.

Zara pulled off her glove and made contact, her mind a mass of confusion. [You have the power?]

[Yes. And I work for the Institute.]

[Then... why do you need Zach's cousin?]

[Because while it's one thing to be an eccentric Christian multi-millionairess who employed the first truthsayer, it's another thing entirely to be one who is a truthsayer, don't you think? She's going to help me decide how much I should trust people, but if I did it myself, then I'd have to trust people with a big secret before I even know they're trustworthy.]

[Oh.... yes. OK.]

“Does that make more sense now?” Sarah asked.

“Urm, I guess so.”

“So Zara, tell me about your faith. It doesn't sound like your parents would naturally encourage you to go to church events.”

“Ah, no. A few years ago Mother thought it would be an excellent idea to send me to some kind of two weekends a month residential course for young ladies. I hated the idea, and my father was on my side due to the cost, but

he said I ought to do something at weekends instead, so mum couldn't bring it up again. I had a friend who was in the choir at her church, and it struck me as an excellent trade: I'd sing a bit every Sunday, which I enjoyed doing, and in exchange I'd not loose two whole weekends a month. So I signed up for the choir, which of course was a very acceptable thing for a young lady to do, so mother was mollified, and I started going to Church.

“One day there was a visiting speaker who came early and spoke just to the choir. He seemed like a dear old man and we expected some of the normal platitudes, but instead he said that God wanted to tell us that if we came to church every Sunday, sang his praises with our lips and not with our hearts and paid no attention to the sermons or what we sang then we'd find ourselves in big trouble with no excuse come judgement day. My friend and I paid attention to the sermons and the hymns after that. A couple of weeks later there was a joint service where we were asked to sing, and the sermon was a straight gospel presentation, complete with an opportunity to pray for forgiveness. We both took it, and the next week the choir-master noticed: Suddenly we were singing with our whole hearts. He called us to the front and made us tell the others what had happened to our singing.”

“Wow.” Zach said. “So he forced you to give your testimonies?”

“Well, not really forced, but he certainly gave us an opportunity to do it. My friend was a bit shy, but I felt I needed to tell it straight. So I told them about growing up where God's name was only used in vain, and how I'd been listening since we were all warned to, and I'd listened last week, and obeyed God. I knew I was a sinner, and a daughter of sinners, and I'd turned from that and wanted to serve God with my whole life.” Then she added

“Mother wasn't very pleased hear I'd called her a sinner in public.”

“She heard?” Sarah asked.

“A boy there's mother was one of her associates. I won't say friends, you understand.”

“And said associate had no qualms about dropping it into a conversation one day?”

“Exactly. Actually, she was pre-warned, since I'd told her what had happened. So, for probably the only time in her life, Mum quoted scripture.”

“All have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God?” Zach asked.

“No, I didn't know that then. I told her the one from 1John, which had been in the sermon: 'If we say we have not sinned, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.' I suspect she enjoyed quoting that. I just wish she'd remember the next part also.”

“Zach, changing the subject slightly. How's your prayer life doing these days?” Sarah asked.

“I hope God doesn't get bored.” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “Much better, thank you.”

“What's this?” Zara asked.

“When I was going up the ski-lift and Sarah grilled me about getting grounded, and I told her about you, John asked how my prayer life was and I said I'd been doing a lot more thinking about you than praying. Then Sarah, (no, was it you, John?) suggested I could thank God for our friendship when I thought of you.”

“Hold on, you were talking to John and Sarah going up the ski-lift? How did that work, you can only fit two people on a T-bar.”

“Oops.” Zach said, and clammed up.

“You didn't talk about me by wrist-unit in front of your cousins, did you?”

“No, Zara, he didn't, he was very discrete then, just not very discrete just now.” Sarah said with a sigh. “Zara, I have a question for you, it's a bit early, really, but I can't see another way out. Think carefully please, before you answer.”

“This sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is. In fact, Zach, can you please go and help John with the washing up? You won't hear much anyway.” Sarah took off her glove again.

Zara accepted her hand.

[What's the big secret?]

[How serious are you about Zach? Do you think it's probably going to end messily in a few weeks or months, or are you thinking that you're building towards making a life-long commitment to him, barring anything unpleasant coming up?]

[Oh, yeah. It wouldn't be good for Zach to hear some of those answers, would it? I'm serious, I think. We get on well, we've had good talks, we're planning to go to university together.]

[OK, then the bigger one that it's probably a bit early to ask. Do you think you're certain enough about Zach that you'd like to get to know the clan, with Zach telling you all of it's peculiarities, history, weird customs and so on, as well as introducing you to everyone? Technically, this is an invitation for you to learn enough to decide if you want to join the clan, well, more precisely the tribe, I guess, but people have got sloppy with the terminology. It's rather expected that future husbands and wives will join somewhere along the line, but joining it doesn't mean you're making any kind of commitment to marry him, or anyone else, but there's a strong implication that barring a falling out it'll happen one day. Along the way you'd be learning personal stuff, clan secrets if you like, and you would be making a commitment to keep those secret. If you join, then you'll be, roughly speaking, adopted as one of the cousins (though there won't be any paperwork), and I or my successor will be available to give you advice or rap you over the knuckles as appropriate. Also, if you join, and then fall our with Zach, there are a couple of other boys roughly his age that'd probably see it as their prerogative to try and woo you — that's just the way it goes.]

[wow]

[Like I said, it's a fairly big decision, and it's a bit soon.]

[And this has something to do with me asking about the ski-lift?]

[More to do with Zach almost blurting out clan secrets.]

[Zach's mentioned the clan before, but...]

[You had no idea what he meant.]

[Yeah.]

[It's the remainder of an African tribe that got mostly wiped out in some war a few centuries ago. Not everyone has stayed in the clan, of course.]

[If I decide I'm in...]

[Yes?]

[What can I tell my parents?]

[In general terms, everything. Not clan secrets, of course.]

[So I can tell them that Zach knows you because your his matriarch, and explain that side of things?]

[Yes.]

[Urm, Dad will probably ask...]

[If clan membership means I give handouts?]

[Urm, yes.]

[So far, no-one has asked.]

[OK.]

[But the clan is an unexpected, informal extended family. So... if Zach needs help to get to university, then he goes to university, but I won't pay for him taking you out to expensive restaurants. He'll have to earn luxuries himself, just like I did. And luxuries might mean eating anything other than pasta, lentils, seasonal vegetables and the cheapest tinned protein in the shop.]

[Does he know this?]

[No, but you can tell him if you like. By the way, if you join the clan and then your parents disown you for some reason, you get the same marvelous offer.]

[Urm, thanks. I hope that won't happen.]

[Me too.]

[I'm dying with curiousity about that ski lift.]

[I noticed.] Sarah replied.

[And it seems a really silly reason to ask to learn about the clan.]

[It is.]

[But I want to.]

[Just because of the ski lift?]

[No. Mostly because of Zach.]

[Can I check on that?]

[What do you mean?]

[Your motivation.]

[Urm, OK. How?]

With the OK, Sarah felt justified in checking just below Zara's skin. She was curious, but Sarah was pretty sure it wasn't her main motivation.

[Having a nose around your thought processes.]

[I don't understand.]

[Don't tell outside the clan, but I don't need us to be holding hands, Zara. Hence the ski-lift discussion.]

[You have the gift, not just the power!]

[I do. And now you know the big secret. Are you still interested in learning more about the clan?]

[Yes.] Zara thought, decisively.

[And will you give me full informed consent to me checking why you want to?]

[Yes. Zach was right, you're trustworthy.]

[I try.]

Sarah took a quick look, and there was quite a lot to see. Zara was thinking of Zach. She'd come here thinking that it might just be possible for things to work out between them, but now it seemed impossible that they wouldn't.

His clan was strange, unusual, but seemed much healthier than her mother's group of acquaintances. Sarah having the gift had been no great surprise, since Zara had heard the speculation that IHM had almost certainly employed someone with the gift. To have Sarah as a moral/spiritual advisor would be good, and maybe Sarah's business sense could help her turn her grand plan into reality, her being able to tell her father that Zach was under Sarah's protective wing, if only so he could learn to stand on his own feet, would surely help her father accept Zach. Sometime, Zara would need to talk to Sarah about her father's troubled plans, like he'd asked, but not today, it wasn't fitting to bring it up, not now. Sarah skipped to the next thought: cousins! Zara had no siblings or cousins that she'd ever met, and the clan meant cousins galore. How could she refuse to join a clan full of cousins? Sarah looked at Zara and asked “Would you like to tell Zach that he's got to tell you all about the clan, or shall I?”

“Shouldn't you?”

“Probably. Let's make it official. Then tell me about your father's request.”

Zarah looked pained. “It's not right to ask.”

“I saw that thought too. So, tell me.”

“Dad has a big building project, an office complex. He'd got customers lined up, he's invested quite a lot in it. It's not finished yet, but it's beyond the foundations, and there was a schedule, and loans, of course. Then the impact got announced and the customers decided they'd pull out. Some said why wait for a new build when there are going to be empty buildings after the impact doesn't happen. Others said there's going to be so much rebuilding work they don't believe it'd happen on schedule, and they'll find somewhere else. Some said they didn't think the staff would be there, and so on. It's going to hurt if the impact happens, and hurt if it doesn't.”

“I presume work is stopped, deliveries postponed, and the like?”

“Yes. And the bank is understanding, but still...”

“He'd banked on it all being finished and money in the bank before a certain date?”

“Yes. And he says the worst thing is the customers are right. There's going to be no call for the office block if there's no impact, and rebuilding homes and previously standing office buildings wiil probably take priority.”

“Does it have any ceilings?”

“No, it's not that high yet. They were just starting to work on the walls when the impact was announced..”

“So it might survive undamaged.”

“That'd be nice, but....”

“A building can be re-purposed. If he can start building immediately, without any bulldozing, then he'd have an advantage over projects that need the sites cleared. Where is it? City centre, or edge? No sorry, let's back up. What's he hoping for? An investor?”

“Yes. He was hoping you'd be interested, specifically, since the only customer who's not pulled out is GemSmith.”

“Oh! I didn't think — the new local office! Of course. Right, first of all, free advice from physics: he should get his workers to fill it with earth. Don't pack it down or anything, but he should put nice soft earth up to, above, even the current wall height. Earth, mind, at least mostly, not sand. I guess he'll want to put sheeting over it to stop it getting really mucky, that's fine. The earth will cushion the structure from the blast wave. Next, what I was saying about it being re-purposed. I don't know the plans, exactly, but would it be suitable as, say, a school building or government offices, a police station or hospital? Or maybe even several of them — a civic centre, perhaps? All those things are going to be urgent, and I expect the authorities would be interested. As for investment, mostly I don't handle it myself, but leave it to the experts. There are two options: For a venture capital type investment, he'll need to talk to Colin Hilton, with a negotiating position, relevant documents, forecasts, etc.”

Sarah went to her desk and got one of Colin's cards, and one of Ambrose's. “The other one is probably going to be more complex, but it depends what your father wants to do. Ambrose Jackson is GemSmith's investment guy. If your Dad is interested in turning his pet project into a spin-off company in which he ends up with a minority holding, with everything done in accordance with GemSmith's ethos, then Ambrose is the guy he needs to talk to.”

“I don't think I'm going to remember all this.” Zara admitted.

“Don't worry.” Sarah said, circling Colin's name. “Get your Dad to call Colin tomorrow, in the afternoon would be better, he tries to deal with other clients in the mornings. I'll pre-warn Colin and he'll explain the options when your Dad calls.”

“Thanks, Sarah.”

“No problem. But warn your dad: he's not going to get an easy ride just because you're thinking of joining the clan.”

There was a clatter from the kitchen as the pan Zach had been drying up dropped to the floor, “Sorry.” Zach said, adding “Did I just hear right, Sarah?”

“Eves-dropping is very impolite, young man.” Sarah warned. “And admitting it is not the most cunning thing you've ever done. So as punishment you've got a difficult task.”

“Uh oh.”

“You're going to walk Zara home, impress her parents, tell her Dad what I've just told Zara to tell him, and if they ask how you know me then you need to give them a brief introduction to the clan. Except I think you're going to call it a tribe. The clan's the core, really.”

“Not according to Mama.” Zach said, not sure if he should.

“Oh? I'm listening.” Sarah said.

“I asked her about it, a year or two ago. She said that tribe was a bad name, for a bad time, where people did stupid things from loyalty to an idea which wasn't important. 'We had a tribe. The tribe had land and laws and a king. It went to war over those laws and that land and got wiped out. What's left is the clan, and it should remain a clan. Clans can move, clans might have land but it doesn't define who they are. People can join, people can leave, but we're still a clan, a big family, equal whether we're born or adopted.'”

Sarah took that in; it made sense. “I stand corrected. Thanks, Zach, I almost made a bad mistake.”

He grinned, “You're human! Wow!”

“And don't you forget it. Now the other part of your difficult job. Zara wants to know the clan. Don't let anyone make the mistake of thinking that she's coming in unattached.”

“I won't, Maam.” he said with an enormous grin.

Sarah typed a number on the house phone. “Hi, Kayla, Sarah here.”

“Hello, is everything all right?”

“I think so. Zach's got something to tell you.”

Zach had gone pale just as soon as Sarah had said his mother's name, but he didn't bolt.

“Err. Hi, mum. Sarah's got you on speaker. Is Dad there?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell him about Zara? She's asked to get to know the clan.”

“Oh, no, I'm not doing your dirty work for you.” Kayla responded with a grin. “Tell him yourself! Samuel, our son's got something to tell you.”

“Whose window have you broken today?” Samuel asked.

“Urm, no one's, I hope. But Dad..” he paused, drew his breath “There's this girl I know, Zara. I hope you'll like her, she's a lovely Christian and she wants to get to know the clan.”

“I see. Your mother said you had some motivation for losing track of time recently.”

“Urm, yes.”

“So, tell me more.”

“Dark hair, blue eyes deep enough to drown in, a wonderful sense of humour, and she's blushing a beautiful pink colour at the moment.”

Samuel took a while to reply. “And I presume that Sarah's approved her request, or you wouldn't be calling?” Samuel asked.

“Sarah called, not me, Dad.”

“Ha! You're scared of your own shadow, sometimes, Zach. I don't suppose you can turn on the video so we can have a sight of this young lady?”

“Zara?” Zach asked.

“Fine by me.” she replied, reaching to turn on the video. “Hello, Mr Winner. Zach didn't say, but I guess you've guessed, Zach and I have been doing quite a lot of holding hands in the past few weeks, so we're fairly sure what we think about each other. The other thing he hasn't said is that my mother is a bit of a snob, and sometimes it seems like my Dad thinks I shouldn't marry anyone poorer than Sarah, so we'd really value your prayers that they don't object to Zach too strongly.” It was a calculated move, to make it clear that while she thought her parents were unreasonable they might not think Zack was good enough for her, by which she hoped to divert any objection from Zach's parents. Samuel saw through it.

“Zara, did Zach think we might have objections to you?”

Zara turned to Zach, who admitted “Yes, Dad.”

“Hence the skulduggery.” Samuel summarised, and sighed. “For the record, I've always thought it better to marry within a sub-culture, so that the two families aren't pulling the couple in different directions. But I know I'm in the minority there, and logic doesn't have much to do with love, does it? How much did you exaggerate, Zara?”

“Urm, I don't know how rich Sarah is, but he's said things like he hopes I fall in love with someone who owns his own house outright and has enough in the bank for both of us to live on for a year.”

“And what about your Mum?”

“My mother's advice on dating: 'Zara, darling, you understand you just mustn't even consider falling in love with some uncouth pleb who can't join in polite society, you'll make us all a laughing stock.'”

“I think I now know why Mama made me learn that etiquette book inside out, Dad.”

“OK, kids. We'll pray.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Zach said, and dropped the connection.

“For the record, Zara.” Sarah said, “John had been saving about twenty percent of his income for five years when I met him, and he owned this flat outright.”

“In other words, Dad's requirement isn't really so unreasonable?”

“Not if you're interested in finding a thirty something year old, whose parents died suddenly and left him their home.” John said.

Zara pulled a face. “No offence, but... not really.”

“So, changing back to a previous subject.” Sarah said, “What do you think about the C.A.T?”

“I can see it being useful for the courts...”

“But you can't see yourself ever working as a truthsayer in a courtroom?” Sarah suggested.

“Not really.”

“Personally, I'd recommend you think about it.” Sarah said “Not necessarily courtroom stuff, or even any planned use of it, but if you become a registered truthsayer, then there's training and it's a professional qualification. It'd help you know what to do if you overhear someone planning something illegal, for example, and if you need to report a crime then you'd not be considered just some teenager telling stories but an expert witness. In my experience, that might have been useful.”

“And it'd maybe be a way to convince your Dad that you'd be able to cope on a building site.” Zach suggested.

“I don't get it.” Zara replied.

“Well, if you suggest that you'd maybe do the court thing, checking up on criminals' truthfulness, with all their evil thoughts...” Zach suggested.

“The he'd not be worried about me fainting at the builders' language?” Zara asked.

“Exactly.”

“Except that's more mother's concern. I don't think she realises how much bad language some people use in their own thoughts. Not wearing gloves at one of her parties... yuck!”

“I expect you've never told your parents.” Sarah guessed.

“Of course not.”

“Can I ask, Zara, why you want to work on a building site?” John asked. “I did a bit of work on one before I started out as a student and it's not exactly fun, you know? It convinced me I wanted to keep on studying.”

Zara shrugged. “I expect you're probably going to decide it's something like proving myself as good as a son to my Dad, or rejecting my mother's idea of me as a 'proper lady', by which she seems to mean someone who can't do anything useful. But... I love building-sites. Dad used to take me when I was little, they look chaotic, but properly organised they're creation in progress. I can see the order in the chaos, or at least I used to be able to. When I was twelve or so I could look at a a pile of bricks, and a heap of sand for the mortar and say, 'that sand's going to run out before you're half way through the wall'. And I'd look at how rough a wall was and tell the plasterer that he'd got an hour of plastering and he'd made up too little plaster. And he'd grin and tell me it was his lunchtime in half an hour. And I'd agree with him that he'd got it just right, almost, but if he was going to finish his plaster then he'd need to work about ten minutes into his lunch or do sloppy that work my Dad would make him do over. And I was right far more often than I was wrong, at least that's what my dad tells me. It was just so... intuitively obvious. I don't know if I've still got the knack for that. I hope so, and if it's gone then I want it back. I want to be able to build, and more than just build, I want to know how the things I design can be made, to see it happening in my mind's eye, and be able to tell any lazy workers who think they can run circles round me or get away with shoddy work that I've got it in my blood and if it wasn't the fact that I'm the boss I'd be doing a better job than they are doing.”

John grinned. “I think I understand. It's your passion. So your mum banned you from going?”

“No, it was more subtle than that. First there was pony riding and then it was winter, and then there was me growing out of the right clothes and friend's parties to go to. She kept me busy, in other words. Then she persuaded Dad it wasn't right to take me because I was turning into an independently minded young woman and I wasn't going to cling to him like I had when I was six. But I've still got the bug, he knows it too.”

“But he refuses to take you now?”

“He explained it to me very reasonably the summer before last. A pretty girl who isn't one of the workers and so part of the scenery, walking onto a building site, is bound to attract attention, even if she's beside her Dad all the time. Distracted workers is bad news. Fourteen or fifteen year olds aren't old enough to be one of the workers. So, the best I could hope for while I'm at school is a job pushing paper and making tea in the site office. I did some of that last summer, and I did some sneaking around the site after the workers had gone.” she grinned “But I'm sixteen now.”

“So, what's your plan of campaign?” Sarah asked. “Weekend job in the site-office, getting my face known. Plant ideas with the workers about me working with them when Dad lets me. Use every opportunity I can to run messages. See if I can snatch glances at buckets of plaster and know how much wall it'll cover. Apply pester-power.”

Zach shook his head in wonder “I thought you just wanted to get to know the materials for doing architecture.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Sorry, Zach, that's the socially acceptable explanation. Really I just want to be part of it all. Laying bricks, bending metal, applying plaster. Though, I must admit I'm probably not going to do much brickwork. Bricks get heavy after an hour or three, and I'm not planning on doing much concrete pouring, for instance.”

“So you don't really have much time for being a truthsayer, do you?”

“Not really, but... I don't like having a rusting talent. If I can do something, I don't want to only be able to do it half-well.”

“What does your mother think about you getting back on a building site?” Sarah asked.

“Not much.”

“So, she might see becoming a truthsayer as a role more befitting her daughter?” Sarah suggested.

“Anything is more befitting than building work. So, yeah, it's probably going to get support from Mum.”

“Would there be any role for a truthsayer on a building site?” Zach asked.

“Giving job interviews, maybe. Disputes, possibly.” Zara answered, then asked, “That reminds me. When a truthsayer's involved in an interview...”

“Yes?”

“Is the truthsayer allowed to ask questions too?”

“Yes and no,” John answered. “Not the sort of question that gives away what you've heard mind-to-mind just by you asking it, but depending on the context — not in a court, say, but in something like a job interview — you can ask questions that a truthful answer to would incriminate the subject.”

“So, in an interview if someone was asked if they'd ever stolen anything and they answered 'sweets' but thought of jewelery, you could ask 'What about anything more valuable?', but 'What sort of jewelery?' would be giving things away?” Zach asked.

“Exactly.” Sarah said.

“And is it a yes-no answer, or would I be able to answer 'partial truth'?”

“It depends on the situation.” Sarah answered. “If what they're telling is the truth and what they're hiding is relevant, then I'd say yes. If what they're hiding is some kind of alibi they don't want to use because it gets someone else in trouble, say, then it might be misleading to say 'partial truth'. Again, in a court you'd need to be more careful, since they've sworn to tell the whole truth. But the truthsayer's role is not normally to dig out the truth, it's to corroborate truth and unmask lies.”

“You say, not normally?”

“Well... as long as full and informed consent is given, then you could be asked to dig around and ask your own questions. But that puts a lot of responsibility in the truthsayer's hands, and that's not always a nice thing. It protects you if neither the subject nor the interviewer can blame you for the outcome. It's much safer when you're just confirming or denying, and then it's the interviewer's job to dig, and it's not your fault if the relevant questions don't get asked.”

“But if I'd just be saying yes or no, a machine could do just as good a job, surely.”

“Absolutely not. First of all, machines can't do it at all yet. Secondly, even the best AI will never be as good at separating someone's private thoughts from what's relevant. The court's don't really want to hear the random rubbish about the judge's dress sense, say, that an intelligent truthsayer would filter out naturally. While, of course, resisting the temptation to snigger at them.”

“I heard — I guess Zach's unnamed cousin? — speaking about being tested out by IHM. What does that involve?”

“Procedure so far is: phase one you get hooked up to a lie detector and answer questions about your motivation for wanting to sign up, your history, your attitude towards truth and lies, ethical issues, how you've used the power in the past, and so on.” Sarah explained, “Then if you get through that lot, then phase two is when someone with the power, probably me in your case, listens to your thoughts as you read some case studies. Phase three is that someone with the gift, again probably me, checks what you're really thinking as you take an oath to protect people's mental privacy, never let what you know to be a lie pass unchallenged or a truth unconfirmed, and protect the identity and privacy of your fellow truthsayers.”

“And let's say I have some reservations, what then?”

“About what, precisely?” John asked.

“About Sarah looking at my thoughts. I'm just thinking that if she finds something unpleasant lurking in here,” she tapped her head “then it might sour all sorts of things in the future.”

“Oh, well, it doesn't need to be me. Not for any of it.” Sarah said. “But what do you think I'll find, that you're after Zach for his money?”

Zach laughed, “Maybe she's afraid that you'll see that she's only going out with me because of your money. Sarah.”

“That's not very funny, Zach.” Zara said, hiding her thoughts.

“What? It's not as if I knew anything about Sarah being rich before May told us Sarah'd hired her to be her truthsayer. We were already been going out by then. Urm. Oops, I didn't just say that, didn't I?”

“Yes, Zach, you did.” Sarah confirmed. “Zara, that's another clan secret, and Zach, you've just committed a criminal offence, it's a good job May probably won't press charges. You really need to control your tongue a lot better.”

Zara immediately promised not to pass it on, and Zach was eventually reassured by May herself over the phone, that she didn't mind Zara knowing (and of course she wouldn't press charges). After that, the conversation moved on, and Sarah's question remained unanswered.

----------------------------------------

RESTORATION, NGBILA HOUSE.

“Thank you for the lunch, it was delicious.” Cleo said.

“Oh, it's a bit of a family favourite.” Arwood said.

“And it's very simple to make.” Hannah added.

“I understand that it's tradition for the children to occupy the lounge while the adults have all the thrills of the kitchen.” Francis said.

“Well, yes, for clan gatherings. But that's mostly because I rope some of the others into preparing the food.” Hannah said. “I'm more than happy to delegate the washing up.”

“Especially on Sundays.” May said, with a grin. “Come on Q.Q. that's our cue to get our fingers wet. Do you want to play in the water while I dry and put away?”

“What do I do?” Rhianna asked.

“Have a tea-towel.” Q.Q. said 'accidentally' throwing one in her face.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Sorry, squirt.” he said, insincerely, “I didn't mean to.”

“You liar! I heard you think 'Let's see if she can catch it in her teeth'.”

“Quentin!” reprimanded his father. “I thought you were supposed to be impeccably truthful?”

“Sorry.” he said, humbly. Meaning it this time.

“Lying to sisters is still lying.” Rhianna observed, primly.

“I said sorry.”

“That should to be the end to it, children.” Cleo warned.

“Really? I thought he'd just violated his vows.” Rhianna pushed.

“Rhi, I never...!” Quentin protested.

“Shut up, Quentin.” May interrupted, diplomatically. “You quite possibly did. And so did you, Rhianna by revealing what you heard Q.Q. think. So if you want to have the ethics committee look into it, then, urm, I guess we'll need to ask Dad to set up a hearing. Otherwise, let's get on with the washing up and forgive each other, OK?”

“But the vow says that I won't tell a lie as a truthsayer!” Q.Q. protested, ignoring good advice “I wasn't in that role just now.”

“Oh, so you're only a part time member?” Rhianna challenged, not knowing when to stop either. May chose the simple expedient of clapping her hands over both of their mouths.

“Ah, peace at last! Well done, May!” Cleo said.

“It's at moments like these,” Arwood observed, to the world in general, “that I'm very glad God is far more forgiving than a wronged teenager.”

“We could try knocking their heads together.” Francis said, “It worked on me and my cousin Myra when we were about their age.”

“They'd probably declare that as a grand injustice, though.” Hannah pointed out.

“After all, all they're doing is standing up for their rights.” Cleo agreed, “Even though they're both wrong.”

“I think May can handle it. This way, Cleo, Francis. Let us know when the kettle's boiled, please, May.” Hannah asked, leading the way to the lounge.

“So what am I supposed to do with these two?” May asked, as Quentin kissed her hand.

“Urm, keep them away from sharp objects?” Arwood suggested.

“And blunt instruments.” Francis added over his shoulder.

“You two are just so embarrassing.” May declared.

Quentin grabbed her hand and kissed it again. “Stop that! No kissing until you've made peace with each other! Even then you're not supposed to be doing it.”

----------------------------------------

“Well, I think your May's got them more or less under control.” Cleo said.

“She's matured a lot in the last month or so.” Hannah said. “Sarah took a risk, but I think it's really paying off.”

“She's got real responsibilities, real authority to spend Sarah's money for her, and a career path.” Arwood said. “I heard a long time ago that most teenagers were too immature for real responsibilities, but maybe May's a rarity or maybe every teen would flourish if there were enough trusting millionaires around.”

“Somehow, I doubt it.” Cleo said. “But on the other hand, in some cultures she'd be old enough to be running her own household, wouldn't she?”

“Yes. Not ours, fortunately.” Hannah agreed. “I'm not really sure I was really old enough for marriage, and I managed to fend Arwood off until we were twenty.”

“Fend me off?” Arwood queried, “I seem to remember being pinned to the wall and asked whether I was ever planning to propose.”

“There you go again, ruining a good story.” Hannah smiled, “And we won't admit where, will we?”

“Ah, no.”

“Good.” Hannah said “How old were you when you married?”

“Twenty one.” Cleo said, “It was straight after we finished university.”

“You met there?” Hannah asked.

“No, at church, actually.” Francis admitted. “I was a serious traditionalist without any faith, Cleo had heard there was a party.” He shrugged. “Cleo turned to God, and — it's no secret — after my best friend's death I admitted that I was happier without pretending.”

“So, Cleo, you thought you were marrying a Christian?” Hannah asked.

“I got engaged to a man I thought was a Christian, and I refused to back out when I learned he wasn't. God's given me a lot of time to repent of that, but he's also given me a loving husband and two lovely Christian kids.”

Francis pulled a face “Who fight tooth and nail, making a mockery of their claimed faith.”

“I'm sure God would prefer it if they didn't fight, but I think it'd only make a mockery of it if they claimed it was normal behaviour.” Cleo said.

“It looks normal to me.” Francis replied.

At that moment, May frog-marched Quentin and Rhianna into the room.

“Urm, the kettle's boiled.” Quentin said “And I'm really sorry for starting the fight, and for lying about it.”

“I think he even means that.” May affirmed.

“I know I'm sorry for my part.” Rhianna said.

“I'd like to say it won't happen again...” Quentin said “but it's another weakness I'm struggling with.”

“He meant that.” May said.

“So, tell us all, what are the other ones?” Francis asked, flippantly.

Quentin blushed, “Even more embarrassing.”

“But I see signs that he's winning on those fronts.” May said.

“You're helping him?” Cleo asked.

“No!” May exclsimed, turning red. “That wouldn't be right.” Seeing her father's raised eyebrow she added, “Stray thoughts, I'm not getting as many ah, relevant stray thoughts from Q.Q. as I was. If what comes out of our mouths is a reflection of our hearts, accidentally heard stray thoughts are even more so.”

Francis was intrigued. “You're saying everyone with your power ...err... accidentally picks up stray these thoughts?”

“Yes. Say, when I frog marched Q.Q. into the room, he noticed. Urm, Q.Q, OK if I say?” Q.Q. nodded. “He noticed that Alice's army of ornaments are all facing the wall for some reason today. I've got my gloves, but my wrist touched his neck. But, sometimes the thoughts aren't so innocuous. So, yeah, we all know the truth in 'There's no one righteous, not even one.'”

“You're not telling me babies are like that too, are you?”

May laughed “Of course they are. I was holding Michael — he's two now — about a year and a half ago. It was a bit vague, since he was so young, but he was getting grouchy, and I heard him thinking something like 'When I'm hungry and cry, Mummy comes. Don't like this one. I want Mummy, so I'll cry like I'm hungry.'”

“You actually heard him decide to lie?” Cleo asked.

“Yes. My gran told me there are two sorts of people in the world: there are born sinners whose reaction to life is to sin, and born-again sinners whose reaction to sin is choosing repentance and life.”

“That's a bit cynical, isn't it?” Francis asked.

“Who was it that said the definition of death is to suddenly stop sinning?” Quentin asked. “That's cynical.”

“But true.” Arwood said. “I've heard it before, I can't remember what he was called, but he was a famous observer of the follies of humanity... I think he defined an accident as the inevitable consequence of the immutable laws of nature.”

“Then it was Ambrose Bierce.” Francis said. “I've heard that one of his. I'm a bit surprised to hear a pastor quoting it though.”

“Why? It seems pretty accurate.” Arwood asked.

“But where's the room for your God?”

“In the timing, and either maintaining the so-called laws of nature which help us plan and thrive or deciding that that general good is outweighed by all the consequences of a so-called miracle.”

“Interesting... so you'd lay the responsibility for the impact purely at the door of God?”

“Purely? No, it was set in motion purely by human pride, by human laziness, human error and human impatience. But it seems to be helping people to concentrate their thoughts on what's important.”

“I presume you're not just talking about what to pack up in and what to leave behind, or working out what combination of box sizes we need to pack things into for maximum efficiency.”

“No. I'm thinking about people reevaluating their lives and realising that stuff isn't really as important as they thought it was.”

“And you'll contend that if it breaks up then that's evidence for God intervening, and if it wipes out this city then it's still evidence for God, because some anonymous people had dreams about it.”

“Two anonymous but trustworthy people.” Arwood corrected, “Who have no interest in publicity, and his Majesty.”

“You sound like you know who they are.” Francis said, almost an accusation.

Arwood shrugged, not wanting to play who knows who. “His majesty said that he'd spoken to them, didn't he? I don't think you get an invitation to the palace without security checks, I know we got checked when May went up to the palace. But you're right, I think there's lots of evidence around at the moment that God is active in the world. I find that a little disturbing, but I'm sure God knows best.”

“Why do you say disturbing?” Francis asked, confused. “Surely you'd be happy to see your church full to overflowing.”

“I would be, except that might mean there are people left out in the rain. But what I find disturbing is that when God speaks clearly, people have even less excuse for continuing to ignore him. And I'm sure there will be people who want to do that. That's sad. The other thing that disturbs me is the thought of how many people after the impact will be so preoccupied with rebuilding their homes that they don't have time for God any more.”

“You sound like you think it will happen.”

“His majesty called on the whole country to pray. I haven't noticed wholesale obedience to that, even here in Restoration, and we're on the receiving end. I think most people are so comfortable in this materialistic paradise that God just can't get though to them, not even with the clearly announced destruction of a city. God, though Jonah, told the king of Nineveh that his city would be destroyed, the king repented and the whole city joined him in putting on mourning clothes. We, on the other hand, just moan about how hard it is to get size three packing boxes, and employ lawyers to see if we can get around the ban on selling houses, as though the only really important thing in our lives is making a profit. So... I think Nineveh would have been destroyed with the attitude I've seen outside of the Christian community. And roughly speaking, we have none of the excuses they would have had.”

“When you put it like that, it doesn't sound too hopeful, does it?” Cleo said.

“Not really.”

“Maybe people will start to think a bit more clearly when they're huddled in their emergency tents.” Hannah suggested. “Better late than never.”

Francis didn't say anything. He knew exactly how comfortable his home was, and how much work he'd put into getting it the way they wanted it.

The thought that it might be reduced to rubble just because people wouldn't pray had made him angry, until he realised that he was one of them. May's dismissal of innocence in one year olds had also given him something to ponder, and Arwood's analysis of 'no excuse' surely applied to him. But he just didn't want to hand over control to God. “Why should I?” he spoke aloud without wanting to.

Quentin looked at him strangely, “Why should you what, Dad?”

“Stop peering into my thoughts, Quentin. It's rude.”

“I didn't! You said it.”

“I'm with Quentin this time, Dad.” Rhianna said.

“It was out loud, dear.” Cleo confirmed.

He looked at her, glanced at the kids, and said, “It wasn't meant to be.”

“Come on, Rhi, Q.Q.” May said, getting the hint. “We've got washing up to do. What do you want me to do to the kettle, Mum?”

“Why don't you take a count of teas and coffees?”

----------------------------------------

9PM. SUNDAY 14TH JAN.

“Mum, what didn't Dad want us to hear this afternoon?”

“You think I'm going to tell you, if Dad wants it kept private?”

“Does he?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he's got that right and he wants to exercise it! Just pray for him, OK?”

“Of course. What area?” Rhi tried once more.

Cleo looked meaningfully at her daughter. “You ought to know better than that, young truthsayer.”

“Sorry.”

“Good. You mustn't go digging for secrets and you don't go gossipping about what you've heard by accident, do you?”

“No, Mummy.”

“Not even to Quentin or May or anyone, OK?”

“Yes Mummy.”

“Right. Now, sleep well.”

And Cleo gave her daughter a kiss while thinking about how she wished her husband would accept that God was loving. At the door she turned gave her a wink, and put her finger to her lips.

Cleo resolutely refused to break secrets. But it was hardly a secret that she wanted Francis to turn to God, was it?

----------------------------------------

10.30PM. SUNDAY 14TH JAN.

Zarah lay on her bed, curled up, and murmured to herself sadly “Let no lie pass...” Then was silent for a while then admitted to herself “I did, though.” She saw it clearly in her mind, over and over. If she hadn't been so scared, she could have turned to face Sarah and said “Zach told me about his Grandmother's death, full of years and surrounded by her family, plus some people he'd never met, called Sarah Smith and John Williams, who had been made instant clan members. And your aunt did know my mother, Sarah, and mother passed on the gossip about the rich little heiress orphan Sarah Smith who couldn't stand crowds.” But she hadn't said that. She'd been too scared or embarrassed or something.

Tears flowed down her cheeks onto her pillow, and imagined herself telling Zach, “I was enough my father's daughter to speculate that it might be the same Sarah Smith, wasn't I? And I found that the rich Sarah Smith had married someone called John Williams. Your Sarah and rich Sarah had to be the same woman. And I had all out and stored it away for future reference, before you asked me out, Zach.” Her guilty conscience accused her. She'd had the chance, and she'd been too scared to admit it. And now... where was the joy she ought to have?

Zach delivering the message from Sarah had struck just the right note with her father and explaining a bit about the clan. Her dad was always someone to see the potential for links, and it was clear that Zach had good links with Sarah. And Zach had done wonderfully talking with her mother about the way that Sarah had tricked him with the table setting, adopting just the right tone of self-deprecation at falling for the trick, while making it clear that he had been a very long way from lost seeing the three sets of cutlery. In short, her parents weren't opposed to them seeing each other, each seeing the potential for their version of Zara's future.

It should have made her happy. But there was that little accusing thought nagging away at her. She'd let the lie pass, she'd been too embarrassed, too unsure of the truth. Was that why she'd accepted his unexpected offer? She'd never thought of him in romantic terms before he'd asked. He'd just been a good friend, or a possible route to a rich benefactress. She liked him, she really did, now. But what had been the biggest motivation to say yes? It surely wasn't to escape from the teasing that she was too picky, although it had really irked her. Was it just that he had the power, or his winning smile, they way she liked his jokes, or had his link to Sarah played a part? Zara didn't know, and it was cutting her up inside. She tossed and turned and failed to get to sleep.