ASSOCIATION / CH. 3:QUY

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27TH 8PM

Sarah checked where Quentin and Rhianna were. He was there and she was there in the house. They were in separate bedrooms, but alone. That was better than last time she'd checked. She knew from her last time they both had the power, and no one else in the house did, and that they lived half way between the capital and Restoration. She thought about checking if they had the pain, but really, what was the point? She called to the living room. “John, beloved, are you free?”

“I can be. Just reading. What is it?”

“Quentin and Rhianna are alone at last.”

“Together?” John thought that was a bit surprising.

“No, separate bedrooms.”

“Oh. OK. And you're sure you don't want to talk to them?”

“I don't trust myself. It would come out that I had the pain, or that I'd talked to Myra. If that got back to her...”

“Yes, OK. Better that it comes from another person. I'll call them.”

Lightly touching their minds, just at skin level, John called.

[Quentin, Rhianna? I'm someone with the mind-reading gift. Are you free to talk? I'm not listening to your thoughts, just your emotions. If you don't mind me tuning into your thoughts, then just think accepting thoughts, if you object, think rejecting ones.]

He sensed incredulity from Rhianna, and suspicion. Not rejection, but caution. Quentin's initial shock was followed by guilty embarrassment.

[I'll keep talking while you decide. Your dad's reporter cousin, Myra Wilcox was talking to someone I know today, and she said that one of you, she doesn't know which, was suffering headaches in crowded places. I'd like to talk to you about that. It's related to the power.]

Immediate acceptance from Rhianna, continued embarrassment from Quentin.

[OK, Rhianna's accepting me listening in. Quentin I guess you don't want me to listen to what you're thinking. So Quentin, I'll talk to Rhianna, and leave you out of it if that's OK? She can tell you what I say later on.] He heard relief from Quentin.

[Hi, Rhianna.]

[You're listening now?]

[Yes. Just to you. Quentin's embarrassed about something.]

[Well he ought to be working on his homework.]

[Maybe he was thinking about something else.]

[Someone else, I expect. He's in love, or so he says.]

[Well, that's a common problem. I presume it's you that gets the headaches?]

[Actually... not as bad as Quentin.]

[{surprise} You both get them?]

[We think it's a bit different.]

[OK, well, let me tell you about the thing we call 'the pain'.] And John gave her the normal description, and what caused it. [Myra thought you were fifteen, is that right?]

[Yes.]

[If you were someone with a normal sort of range, you'd be hearing decisions about you at a range of two or three metres. If you're a hypersensitive, that range is probably at least five metres now, and it'll be getting up to thirty by the time you're eighteen. That's in clear air. Walls and things dampen it.]

[Oh, frogs giblets! I heard some spotty boy deciding to ask me out yesterday lunch, in the playground. He was about six metres away.]

[Did he ask?]

[Strangely enough, I suddenly saw a friend I needed to talk to in the other direction.]

[So, I'm afraid you've probably got it. Quentin?]

[Normally he's fine. But what I got out of him is whenever he's close to his 'lady-lust' then his mind goes crazy, like he's hearing every decision in the room. He sees her every lunch-break of course.]

[Let me guess, he really really wants to know what she's thinking?]

[I guess so. I mean, he hasn't even spoken to her as far as I know.]

[Well, I've not heard of it happening, but I'd guess he's turning off his filters. What happens when she's out of sight?]

[Nothing, he just keeps on hearing things, like everyone is shouting and he can't think. He's got exams coming up, and it looks like he's going to flunk them all.]

[Can you hide your thoughts?]

[What's that mean?]

[Turn off your receiver, transmitter too, actually.]

[We can do that?]

[I guess he can't either.]

[I'd guess not.]

[So... somehow you need to get trained in doing that. You don't know anyone else with the power, I guess?]

[No. We thought it was just us, until the news broke.]

[OK, basic warning... You can turn off, but you shouldn't do it for long. If you turn off for long, then you get stuck like that. If you panic, you get stuck worse, and believe me, the first time you get stuck, you'll tend to panic. You therefore need someone around you when you get stuck to give you calm, reassuring instructions on how to get out, and of course, your being stuck means it needs to be face to face.]

[How long is too long?]

[It depends. My wife gets stuck after about five minutes, I get stuck after more like ten or fifteen. If you stay stuck for a couple of days then we've only heard of one person ever getting their power back, and she had a few months in hospital to concentrate on getting out.]

[That's... scary.]

[The other thing that helps with the pain is to have someone there who loves you, thinking about wrapping you in a protective blanket of love. I know, it sounds mushy, but it works. I've heard of it working parent to child, and couples in love. I don't know if you'd accept that sort of love from your brother, or if he'd be able to give it, but maybe. Actually, for all I know a close friend might be enough.]

[What does that do?]

[My guess... it blots out the other noise with feelings of reassurance. We're pretty sure that stress heightens the range, maybe feeling loved reduces it. Holding hands helps too.]

[Icky!]

[Thought you might feel like that. I don't suppose you're planning at trip to Restoration anytime soon? If you could drop into the institute, that'd be one way of getting you trained.]

[Quentin's got a water-polo competition there at the weekend.]

[A school trip?]

[Sort of. He'll need to go up with a parent or two, but it's a school club. And it's an all day thing, lots of rounds, gaps between them, you know.]

[A little side trip to the institute would be rather obvious. But maybe there's a solution there somewhere. You'd be along too?]

[I guess I could. I don't normally. I mean, people splashing around in a pool isn't that much fun to watch. But I expect he's going to get a headache, anyway.]

[Why do you say that?]

[Because his 'lady-lust' is going to be there. He'll probably spend more time oggling her than watching for the ball.]

[Why do you call her that?]

[I don't know. Yes I do. He calls her his lady-love, mentally I mean. But really, if it was love, why can't he talk to her? So I think it's lust.]

[Well, the average seventeen year old boy struggles to know the difference.]

[Why? It's obvious isn't it?]

[The effect of too much testosterone, I guess.]

[But, I mean, love is patient, love is kind.... love does not stick pictures of undressed women under his bed.]

[No, it doesn't.] John said. [Do your parents know?]

[Dad'd just laugh. But Quentin's supposed to be a Christian.]

[Being a Christian and falling into temptation aren't mutually exclusive, you know.]

[I know, but... could you drop some words into his skull or something?]

[Any in particular? You know, like, your sister's thinking of telling your girlfriend about your picture collection?]

[He'd murder me!]

[OK, I'll tell him I'm finished, and remind him that God the Holy Spirit sees all his thoughts, all the time.]

[That might help. Thanks... I don't even know your name.]

[That's true, Bye.]

[Goodbye.] she thought, not knowing if he'd heard or not. It was... wow, it was just fantastic to think that someone like that would bother about her headaches. But then, if they were going to get worse... still, it was nice of him to drop in. And it sounded like she was going to need to shock everyone and actually not claim any other plans for once.

Quentin was trying not to let his eyes stray from his homework. But he wanted to finish that poem too. And look at her again, she was worth looking at, the girl of his dreams. And in that outfit... his hormones were screaming 'want' at him, and were hard to ignore. He forced himself to concentrate on his Latin.

[Quentin, I've finished talking to Rhianna. I don't know what you were doing or thinking about earlier, and I'm not even listening to your emotions now, but, do remember, if you're a Christian then the Spirit lives in you, and hears your every thought. And he's the Holy Spirit, not the guilty thoughts spirit. When you're tempted, seek His help. He doesn't want filth going through your heart, it's His home in you. The evil one wants you to think you're a failure, but God wants to help you to be a victor. Through Christ, you can be one.]

Then the voice was gone. Quentin called, but the man had gone. Leaving him with his thoughts. And realising that what that man had said rang true. Very true. He needed to talk to Rhianna, and he needed to finish this Latin first. But why was he trying to fight this battle alone?

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

“How does that help?” Sarah asked, when John told her about the water-polo match. “I mean, we're all at Teresa's wedding.”

“Is May?”

“Not as far as I know. You think I should send her to talk to a boy who's got a nasty case of teenage hormones?”

“He's going to be in the pool half the time. I was thinking you could send her to chat to his sister. She's got the pain. He's doing something stupid to his filters in the presence of the object of his desire, and is giving himself headaches.”

“Which is, quite frankly, weird in itself.”

“Obsessive, anyway. I'm planning to talk to Enoch and the others, to see if they've met anything like it.”

“I know May's over the flirting at the moment, but... isn't it sending her into temptation's way to be around all that heaving flesh?”

“You tell me, Sarah. I certainly wouldn't think of sending Quentin to a women's beach volleyball competition.”

“Unless the women concerned were over forty?”

“Eighty, I think, for safety.”

“I'm pretty sure it was the sense of being noticed that May was after, rather than any physical attraction. That's more a boy thing, mostly, isn't it?”

“You'll have to tell me, Sarah. But better still, ask May, in general terms.”

“You mean, do you like gawping at male bodies?”

“More of, I don't know, which of these situations shouldn't I ask you to go into, temptation wise.”

“OK, I'll do it, as long as you help me come up with a list.”

“Quality control in a Chocolate factory.”

“I've heard that's not as tempting as it sounds after the first few days. And after a few weeks you don't like chocolate any more.”

“I've heard the same thing. But...”

“You'd like to try and get sick of chocolate, John? Really?”

“No. Not really. Anyway, I've got you to kiss. Kissing you is far nicer than chocolate.”

“What, you've kissed chocolate? You're weird.”

“Thus speaks the woman who kisses radiators?”

“I never did!” Sarah protested.

“Just my leg.” John pointed out.

“Not the same at all.”

“No. And I've never kissed chocolate, by the way.”

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

THURSDAY 28TH DECEMBER, NOON, BLACKWOOD AREA

William watched his class, calling instructions and encouragements to them. It had started small, with just Karen and George on Tuesday, but by the end of that lesson he had a queue of five new would-be customers, so he'd given them their first lesson on Tuesday afternoon and had taught seven yesterday on Wednesday morning. By lunch time, he'd got a message from the office that there'd been queries from another five campers, and a few locals had not only rung and asked when the lessons were, but had turned up too, and he had another five probable-students starting at two. It finally looked like one of his plans was working — and the students were doing well, all of them. He shouted a few more encouragements.

He saw from the corner of his eye that someone was coming down the slope, from the ridge. More advertising for the ski-hire, that was nice. There was something familiar about the patterns on their ski-suit. He turned his attention back to his class, just in time. “Remember, lean forwards to slow down, not back, and keep your toes together!”

He checked his wrist-unit. They'd ought to take a break when they got to the bottom, and then there'd be time for another two runs before lunch.

He heard someone coming to a stop behind him. “Hi William!”

“Susan! Hi! What a surprise!”

“I know you're busy, just thought I'd say hi.”

“We're about to take a break, but yeah, I do need to pay attention.” He called “If you're comfortable at that speed, Karen, try just a little faster, George too!”

“What if I'm not comfortable?” George asked.

“With the speed? Don't speed up.”

“I was more thinking about my legs.”

“Fifteen minute break when we get to the bottom.”

“Speed up, Karen!” George urged, with a grin.

“Not too fast. Safe easy stages, remember.” William corrected.

William called the promised halt when they got to the bottom, and looked around for Susan. He saw next to the ski-lift's winch, and skied towards her.

“I think I recognise this behemoth from your barn, it is yours?” she asked, looking at the mechanism.

“It used to be.”

“You've sold it?”

“No, it's my investment into Blackwood Cableways, a little company which owns this, the bits between here and the top, rights to use the land, an awful lot of grease and five kilometres of high quality cable.”

“The grease is for the cable?”

“And the mechanical bits and pieces.”

“And you own a percentage of the company, I presume?”

“I do. Forty nine percent. Which isn't bad considering how much that cable will cost.”

“And the other owner or owners?”

“The other fifty one percent is owned by Carbon-carbon land management, who also own the cabins and this half of the mountain.”

“That's handy.”

“So's the fact that the cable and fitters should arrive tomorrow, and the fact that with this many students paying me for lessons I'm going to be able to make my bank manager a happy man.”

“And what about you, William, are you happy?”

“It's all finally working, Susan. Yes, I am.”

“I'm glad.” she said, but didn't really sound it.

“So, what brings you up here?”

“Skiing, better company than anyone else I can think of at the moment.”

“Oh? Who's the company?”

“You.”

William did a double take. Susan was nice, Susan was a friend, Susan was pretty, but Susan was engaged, or so he thought. She had been as long as he'd known her. “Urm, Susan, what happened to Aaron?”

“It was sort of a joint decision, we've broken up. Well, I dumped him and he was understanding. It just wasn't going anywhere.”

“You were engaged, weren't you?”

“Not... officially. We'd done a lot of talking about marriage, but he never actually asked me. I was wondering why not, and asked him on Christmas eve.”

“You asked him why, or you asked him to marry you?”

“I asked him why. It turns out he had been keeping a little secret from me.”

“Oh? Anything you can share?”

“Oh, I'll share it, all right. You know how he likes to gamble?”

“Yes. Not some gambling debt?”

“Worse. Can you believe it, he made some enormous bet with someone that he won't marry until he's forty. He bet his house, and pretty much everything on this bet. If he wins then he gets a million or two. It's all in escrow or something already, which explains why he won't move either. But it's another six years before he's forty. We've been going out for six years already, and he never even hinted at it. I thought I knew him really well, but it feels like I don't know him at all, now. He's not going to back out of his bet, I'm not going to wait another six years. Happy Christmas, your almost-fiancé has gambled away your future.”

“Oh Susan, I'm sorry!”

“So, since everyone else I could think of was married or engaged, and that was just a bit painful, and I know you've had a lot of tough knocks, I thought I'd come and cry on your shoulder, if that's OK.”

“That's fine, Susan. My shoulder's always available to you.”

“Thank-you, William, I'll hold you to that.”

“Did you mean that literally, or metaphorically?” She didn't seem like she was going to burst into tears at the moment.

“Both, but I'm OK for now. Maybe later. What's your schedule?”

“This class ends about twelve forty-five, and I've got another class starting at two. Then I'm teaching until about four.”

“Want some unpaid teaching assistance?”

“I'll swap you meals for assistance. How's that?”

“Very all right.”

“Not for this class, I'll introduce you to the two o'clock class, if that's OK?”

“Fine.”

“How long are you staying?”

“A week. Then I'm back to work and don't need to spend too long in my flat.”

“Too many memories?”

“That too. And... too many opportunities.” the way she said it, they didn't sound healthy to him.

“To do what, Susan?”

“I'm on almost the top floor, I've got a balcony. The last few evenings, I've felt like stepping into the sunset, you know?”

“Oh Susan! Don't do that!”

“I've wasted the last six years, William. Who's going to give that time back?”

“No one, but I don't think you've wasted them. You've made other friends, you've got all of us. You could say the same about my plans — they've all come to nothing too, except this one, now.”

“Yes, OK, but still...”

“Susan, we've never talked much about faith, have we?”

“No. It's not my favorite topic.”

“It helps, you know, when plans fall apart. Why don't you like talking about it?”

“Guilty feelings.”

“What were you guilty about?”

“Do we have to?”

“Not if you don't want to. But, we could talk about it as distraction therapy if you like.”

“Instead of talking doom and gloom we talk about judgement and death instead?”

“Christianity is about salvation and life, not judgement and death.”

“Ha! Read your Bible again, William.”

“What are you thinking about? Susan?”

“It is impossible once someone has been enlightened and done various things, I can't remember exactly what, and then fall away to be brought back to repentance. They've crucified the Son of God again and put him to shame. There! That's me.”

“Hebrews somewhere?”

“Probably.”

“And you think that's you?”

“Isn't it? I used to be a Christian, I turned my back on God, and he's turned his back on me. I had my chance, I blew it.”

“I doubt it, or you wouldn't feel guilty about it. I want you to consider two verses, Susan.”

“Go on.”

“'Nothing is impossible for God.' and 'Nothing can separate us from the love of God, neither height nor depth, neither angels, demons, or anything else in all creation, neither past nor future', Susan.”

“I think I remember it differently.” She said.

“I know, I always get the order wrong. But the point is, Susan, God loved you while you were still a sinner, He loved you when you turned to him, and he loves you now. If you've got a guilty conscience, then great that means you haven't seared it and shut the door on God completely. He wants you back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Doing anything tonight? We can study the Bible together if you like.”

“I'd like that. But I think you need to get back to your students.”

“You're right.”

As he polled his way up slope to the students, William's thoughts were all about Susan. He'd thought he was just offering a couple of meals, with there being no chance of romance because she wasn't a Christian. But he realised he'd just agreed to spend almost his whole week with her, including physical crying on his shoulder, and opening up to each other in whole new ways with the Bible study thing. She was hurting and she needed emotional support, obviously. But that much time together? When she was this wounded, and let's face it, emotionally unstable and vulnerable. There was a phrase for that — catching her on the rebound. From what he knew of her, she was a good catch. If she hadn't been so serious about Aaron, and hadn't been acting the non-Christian, then he might have asked her out. But that wasn't a motive to abuse her vulnerability. They'd have to talk about it.

Arriving at the group, he switched to instructor mode. “Right, who's feeling they're ready to move onto the next stage?”

“Does that mean putting our feet up?” George quipped.

“No, it means putting your feet together.”

“You're joking!” Karen said “We'd go much too fast!”

“That depends what angle you are to the slope. Once we've got up the hill, then what we're going to try now is turn a little bit further than you've been doing, and rather than turning back, put your skis together and coast a bit. We've got plenty of width. So, think of it as making our zig-zags wider. Then most of us will make the normal nice slow turns again, but if you want to try it, then towards the bottom you can try coming out of your turn a little earlier, and finishing it by leaning up-hill like this.” He showed them what he meant.

“Why at the bottom?” Jim, one of the villagers, asked.

“So if you accidentally get it wrong, there isn't so much space to pick up speed.”

“Oh, that sounds sensible.”

“Right, all aboard then.” he indicated the tractor and trailer.

Before they left, Susan came up to him and asked “William, will there be space for one more on the way up?”

“I'm up front, so I don't really know. How was space in the back?”

“There's space.” Karen said, wondering who this woman was, and whether she'd really been having a bit of a private cry since talking to William. It looked like it. “Hi, I'm Karen.” then as they got into the trailer added quietly, “Are you OK?”

“Mostly. I was just admiring the view and was thinking this would be a lovely spot for a honeymoon, then remembered I'm single now, not almost engaged.”

“You've split up recently?”

“Christmas Eve. Happy Christmas, your almost-fiancé of four years has just said he refuses to get married until you're too old for children.”

“Ouch! That was William?”

“No, William's a long-standing friend. Do I recognise you? You look familiar.”

“Urm... you might have seen George and me on the news, on Saturday. Our wedding, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, just my luck. I come up here to get away from happy couples and start having a heart to heart with the bride of the year.”

“You're a long way from OK, aren't you?”

“William's offered me his shoulder to cry on. He's trying to keep me sane.”

“Is it working?”

“I don't know. I only found him just now.”

“You came up here, just hoping to find him, though?”

“Yes. It seemed like a better option than stepping off my balcony.”

“I'd say so. You're not planning on doing anything silly here I hope.”

“Not like that, no. At least, I hope not.”

“You don't mind if I pray for you, do you?” Karen asked.

“Please do. William has just denied something I was taught when I was younger. I'd... really like to know the truth.”

“What was that?”

“That there's no sacrifice left for someone who loses their faith.”

“Oh. And you have?”

“I've been almost engaged to a non-believer for the last four years, and have hardly given God a thought since he walked into my life. Whenever someone mentioned faith I get a big guilty feeling that I'd blown my chances.”

“And now?”

“Now, I'm hoping maybe I haven't.”

“If you're feeling God calling you back, then you haven't.”

“And if it's just wishful thinking?”

“What, as in wishing that you might be able to repent?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it, woman!” Karen said “God wants you to be saved.”

“How do you know?”

“I read it in my Bible. I can't remember the reference, I guess a letter. Something about God not wanting anyone to perish, but that everyone should repent.”

“You think He really wants me back?”

“Do you remember the story of the prodigal son.”

“But I was a Christian, and I turned my back on God. Why should he still want me?”

“Love, vast as an ocean, loving kindness like a flood.” Karen quoted.

“The prince of life, my ransom, shed for me his precious blood, and I treated it like something unclean.” Susan pointed out in reply.

“Another hymn: The patient love of the Lord never ceases.”

Susan recognised it, vaguely, and hummed a bit. “How does it go on?”

“Great is your faithfulness, Oh Lord. Great is your faithfulness.”

“But mine wasn't, Hebrews still says I've had it. I deliberately sinned.”

“We're almost where we get off, so a last things for you to think of: David and Bathsheba. Peter's denials of Jesus, Psalm 51.”

“All pre-resurrection, not convincing.”

“Are you determined that you ought to be damned?”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“No! I just want to be convinced I'm not.”

“Maybe you need to step out in faith.” Karen said.

“I guess I just don't know if I've got that much faith left.” Susan replied.

“We'll pray for you.” Karen said, as the tractor stopped and they got out. “What's your name?”

“Oh! Sorry. I'm Susan. Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Trying.”

“Susan, if William can't convince you, come and talk, OK?”

“What, and interrupt you two in your honeymoon love-nest?”

“Afternoons are revision time. No romance, I guarantee it.” George said. “We're at Restoration uni. They've brought the finals forward so they can get them marked before the impact.”

“That's tough on you. You don't need me interrupting then. I'm not worth it.”

“I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying to Karen, Susan. You bear the image of God, you're worth it.” George said, “And as for what you were taught... It's something the church has debated since very early on. The church is full of people who fight battles with sin, and sometimes they fail, they repent and God forgives, because Christ's blood is sufficient. If you claim that Christians must never sin and can't be forgiven when they do, then you're denying a lot of scripture, and adding conditions to the gospel. Paul talks about not doing that in Galatians. Don't believe the devil's distortion of Scripture.”

“Let's not keep everyone waiting, please George, Karen.” William called, realising that they hadn't followed. They said their hasty goodbyes and started off.

“What about that passage in Hebrews?” Susan asked, training after them, plaintively.

“Balance Scripture with Scripture.” George called over his shoulder.

Susan wasn't really feeling like skiing at that point, so she headed back to the tractor's driver. “Can you take me up to the top please?”

“You're planning to ski the whole way down, then, miss?”

“Not to start with. I need some time to think, and was going to go back to my cabin.”

“That's a long way for a bit of quiet. Why not go to the library? It's warm, quiet, and just on the left there, with the red roof. I don't think they'd mind you putting your skis into their umbrella stand. It's big enough.”

“Oh! Thank you. Yes, that's much nearer. That'll save me some effort.”

“My pleasure! It saves me fuel too!”

Susan judged it would only take ten minutes to get to the library, and she had until two to do some reading, find some food and get to wherever William was meeting the class. That looked far more possible than via her cabin. She sped off, thinking the library ought to have a much better screen for her to read than just what her wrist unit could offer. William noticed Susan heading down the hill, at high speed. She was certainly a good skier. It would be good to have another expert, even if only to demonstrate things, help put people in their skis, and also help pick people up. The two p.m. group would be a good size, and were self-confessed beginners, there would probably be quite a few falls before the lesson was over. “Remember, you're putting your weight on the left foot to turn right, but not leaning left, Jim! Don't get into bad habits!”

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1.50PM, BLACKWOOD AREA

“Hi Susan, I thought you might be joining me for instant noodles.”

“What? You were planning to feed me before I worked?”

“Why not? Like I said, it would only have been instant noodles.”

“I was in the library. George said something useful, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My theology was bad.”

“I knew that.”

“Yes. But he pointed me in the right direction, rather than just saying 'believe me'. I wanted to, but...”

“Oh. So you've been doing some personal Bible study?”

“And looking at some early Christian writings — in summary, I hasten to add.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“Yes, I found your local sandwich bar.”

“That's good. I wouldn't want you fainting from hunger.”

“I hope you're not offering me instant noodles for this evening's meal.”

“No, I wasn't. Would you like me to cook, or something in town?”

“Decisions, decisions... Would you like to cook?”

“Yes, I would. I'd also like to make something clear, Susan.”

“Yes?”

“I'm expecting we're going to spend a lot of time together this coming week.”

“I knew that much.”

“I just thought it was worth saying that that's because you're a friend in need, not because of any romantic urges.”

“You're saying you're not interested in dating me, no matter how much I feel like you're the only port in my storm, and you're trying to warn me I shouldn't fall in love with you?”

“Urm, yes. You know, 'rebound' doesn't make a good basis for a romance, nor does counselling.”

“We both know that. Why does it need saying?”

“Because the thought was there.”

“I'm not sure I get it.”

“That's OK.”

“Hold, on, William, are you saying that you are interested in dating me?” Susan asked.

“I think I'm saying that you're a friend, I don't want you hurt, I'm not planning to take advantage of your feelings of loneliness.”

“You are, aren't you?”

“Susan, you're a friend, we're both single, I've not made any vows of life-long celibacy, you're attractive, you're nice. I'm not going to take anything you say about your feelings in the next week as binding.”

“Ah, so I need to make my protestations of undying love in eight days, do I?”

Susan said, teasingly “William, you are my only port in the storm. Thank you for saying you want to be a safe port for me. It's very very sweet. Totally misguided to say it, though.”

“Why?”

“Because you've sown a seed of hope which is going to wrap you up and carry you to the altar, my friend.”

“That was poetic. It's a good thing I'm not taking your emotional promises seriously, or I'd run a mile.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not ready to make a life-long commitment to you, Susan, or to anyone else.”

“You mean I'll need to wait six years for you too?”

“No. I mean that I want you over Aaron before I think about asking you out.”

“Aaron's history.”

“You've said. But what if he called you back and said 'let's get married this weekend, I don't mind being a pauper if it means being with you.' Would he be future too?”

“Urm....”

“Exactly.”

“It would be very difficult. But, I hope I'd tell him get saved first. I'm not right with God yet, but I know that's the right answer.”

William felt like kissing her there and then, but felt it would be entirely inappropriate. Especially since the students were coming. “Students coming. Have you taught before?”

“No.”

“OK, I'll do the teaching, if you can just help them put on their skis, help pick them up, that sort of thing?”

“Sure.”

“What about demonstrate snow-plough skiing?”

“That's cruel! My poor leg muscles!”

“Please try, otherwise they'll try to copy you too soon.”

“I can try. It's been years since I've used it much.”

“I guessed. So, I'm going to introduce you as a prospective assistant instructor, OK? Seeing if you can cope with it.”

“You cruel man. You're not even going to admit we're friends?”

“Of course I am. I'm going to say this is my friend Susan, she's hoping that it'll get her a free ski-pass on the lift if she signs up as my assistant instructor.”

“Would it?”

“I'm not sure. I'll have to ask. It ought to.”

“It sounds like a good deal.”

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

THURSDAY, 28TH DECEMBER, EARLY AFTERNOON.

Quentin knew that his lady-love was likely to be going to the shops, spending some of her Christmas money on more beautiful clothes. So, he'd been waiting, sitting on the bench and slowly freezing. He was eating the crisps from the packet in front of him, very very slowly, and watching out for her. He didn't really like this flavour, but he knew she did. If he saw her, then he'd take the plunge. Ask her if she wanted some crisps, would like to sit a bit and chat. And... ask her for a date, if he cold pluck up the courage. There!, there she was! Quentin clutched the love poem he'd written, and had in his pocket. He probably wouldn't be brave enough to actually give it to her, but... maybe.

He watched her turn her head, looking behind her, with her gorgeous smile, and his heart froze. She reached out and grabbed the hand of a boy behind her. Quentin didn't recognised him, but she obviously did. He saw, in minute detail, how with intertwined fingers, she twisted and wrapped his arm around her waist and then kissed Quentin's rival, driving the knife deeper into Quentin's heart. He felt the chill in his arms and legs as his plans fell apart in ruins. Quentin boiled with a mix of frustration and rage and disappointment, but his rival was taller than him, and looked like a rugby player to Quentin. Quentin wasn't going to start a fight; he was a fast swimmer, a poet and a lover of languages, not a fighter. And the other guy had obviously got in first and won.

Quentin got up, threw the crisps away, and trudged home. He didn't cry. He'd got enough self control to wait until he was home for that.

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

THURSDAY 28TH DECEMBER, EVENING

“Thank you for the meal, William. If you can make that in this kitchen, then I think you're a good cook.”

“I've been self-catering a long time.” he said dismissively.

“William, you're a good catch for someone. You're kind, you're well off, or at least used to be, you've still got a nice house. Why haven't you ever married. I'd have thought girls would be throwing themselves at your feet.”

“That's part of it.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm not interested in someone marrying me for money, Susan. That'd be a disaster. I mean, my business deals haven't exactly been a resounding success, have they? Nor did I see much future in someone who was interested in marrying me for my house, since I had a contingency plan that if I really failed in anything else, then I'd sell up and lock the money away in some kind of fifty year annuity or something so I wouldn't lose that last bit of my inheritance. I... I didn't quite have the courage to follow through.”

“And you were never interested in anyone?”

“Never anyone who threw themselves at me, no. I had hopes... it didn't work out.”

“Anyone I know?”

“I was hoping that things might work out with Gwen, we even dated a couple of times.”

“Oh, William, I didn't know.”

“So... you might be safer staying away from me. So far, every business venture I've been in has failed, and the only woman I've dated has died a sudden death.”

“I didn't think Christians were supposed to believe in bad luck.”

“I don't.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe I still need to learn something, I don't know. I wouldn't want you to get caught up in my education, Susan.”

Susan decided to go back to the earlier subject. “You're not interested in women who throw themselves at you, but aren't I throwing myself at you? Coming up here and blackmailing you into spending time with me with my tales of contemplated suicide?”

“I know you're not after my money. That makes a difference. Is that really how you think of it? Emotional blackmail?”

“Not really, I just was pretty sure you'd be your reliable selfless self. I didn't expect you'd start thinking romance quite so soon. But then you're feeling the first rush of business success, aren't you?” Susan asked.

“I guess that's part of it too.”

“So, we're both emotionally unfit to make life-long decisions.”

“That's true. Do you want to do some Bible study, or shall I walk you to your cabin?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Urm, because I want to?”

“But you're not interested in romance.”

“I'm much more interested in knowing you're safe.”

“Oh, OK, not romantic at all, then.” she said, with gentle sarcasm “And you'd want to walk me home however long I stayed, wouldn't you?”

“Of course.”

“I do have some questions about what I read today.”

“Ask away.”

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

FRIDAY, 29TH DECEMBER.

“Quentin, what are you doing?” His mother asked, having seen him take a second well-sealed rubbish bag downstairs and out to the bin.

“Having a clear up.” he said, not admitting what he was clearing up. He had a nagging feeling that maybe his lady-love had been denied him as punishment for all the times he'd given in to temptation. So, stage one to having less of a struggle with temptation was clearing away the incriminating and tempting — oh how tempting — rubbish. Why had he collected the pictures? It was a stupid thing to do.

“That's nice, dear.” his mother said, “But what brought that on?”

“Nothing.” Nothing except guilty feelings anyway.

“What sort of nothing? Did you see her yesterday?”

“Yes.” he admitted. He didn't want to share his pain.

“And?”

“Nothing.” Nothing worth reporting.

“You just watched her go past?” pressed his mother. It was too much, the dam broke.

“I just watched her kiss someone.” he said, letting his bitterness out.

“Oh, Quentin!” his mother exclaimed, wanting to comfort her son, but fairly sure he wouldn't want it.

“I'm OK.”

“Maybe God's got someone better for you. You're still very young.”

“I'm seventeen, Mum.”

“I know. That gives you plenty of time. You don't need to have lots of girlfriends before you find the right girl. I know I never wanted to have someone else's reject.”

“Oh, thanks mum! I'm a reject now, am I?”

“No, Quentin. But if you'd gone out with her and she'd broken it off, then that would hurt you more than this. This was a missed opportunity, or maybe God was saving you from something or for someone, I don't know. But having your love accepted and then rejected? That would hurt you far deeper. I don't want you hurt.”

Quentin went back to his room without a word. God might have been saving him, not punishing? Well, he supposed he didn't actually know she was a Christian. He hadn't even thought of that. Brain, where were you? So... had it been love, or just lust like he'd heard Rhi thinking. It was so hard to tell! He mused it over in his brain as he continued in his cleaning up. How do you tell the difference? He could tell that was a rotten apple core. Yuck. He looked around his room; it was still a pig-sty. And his mind was probably worse in God's sight. [Oh, God. Forgive me, and make me clean!]

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

SATURDAY, 30TH DECEMBER, NOON.

After they'd drawn their second match, Quentin's team had an hour's break. It was a demanding schedule, and he was hungry. He looked around for Rhianna, who'd said she'd come so that she could make her planned New Year's resolution with a clear conscience. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, though he suspected that she was planning to resolve never to come to watch him play again. In any case, she was looking after their food. He didn't expect her to be in the crowded front rows of the tiered seats, of course, but finally he spotted her to his left, up in the top row of seats right in the furthest corner. Rhianna was deep in conversation with some strange girl. Correction, some unknown, attractive girl. He wondered who she was. Something about her looked familiar. As he got nearer, he mentally catalogued her clothes, her hair, her looks. She was clearly older than Rhianna. Maybe his age, or a bit younger? He had plenty of time to take it all in and he liked what he saw. Perhaps there was a silver lining to the aching hole in his heart? This girl was prettier than her, and it looked like he'd have to talk to her. And she to him. Wow!

“Hi, Quentin, meet May!” Rhianna said as he got closer. “May, this is my big brother, call him Q.Q, and he'll be your slave for life, well maybe.”

“Hi Q.Q I don't think I need a slave. Maybe a friend.” May said, offering her hand to shake.

Quentin, wanting to make a good impression, shook her hand and said “Hello, May, you're sure you're not called Venus? Friendship's an attractive prospect” and as he said it he cherished a wicked little thought that her cleavage was probably a very attractive prospect under her clothes, and it would be really nice to be friends with it.

May got the whole thought, including the image that came to his mind. Was this what Karen had talked about? Yuck! And she'd been feeding those thoughts! Thanks to practice with Mama Ng, her reply was instant. [So's this one. {image}] She'd pictured him falling slap onto his face into a pile of dog mess. Full of fury at herself as well as him, she then thought at him [Shame on you, boy! Keep your disgusting thoughts to yourself. I'm not anyone's sex-toy, or the goddess of stupid decisions.] Her conversation with Deborah came back and she added [I'm a servant of the living God, and He's going to cast thoughts like that into hell where they belong. You going to go with them?]

Quentin realised that she'd obviously heard his thoughts and seen the image too. He wanted the ground to open under him. [I didn't...] he managed before the ground did, metaphorically. He tripped over his own feet as he tried to step away from her fury. From all the swimming, his arms and legs were tired, and he didn't manage to recover. The tier of seats in front, firmly bolted in place, did nothing to help either. He ended up with his face pressed against the chewing gum on a seat-back of the row of chairs in front, his left arm, up almost to his shoulder, was poking through the gap between two seat-backs, and his right fore-arm was painfully wedged down between the concrete tier and the seat his face was squashed against.

“What happened?” Rhianna asked.

“Instant justice.” Quentin said. “Sorry, May. I didn't know you'd hear. Or see.”

“And that excuses it?” May asked, pointedly, though still ashamed at her past behaviour.

“No. I know I'm slime.” he tried to move, but found he had no leverage. “And I'm stuck, too.”

“Come on Rhi, let's get the slime back on his feet. Your first real test.” May said.

“You're sure?” Rhianna asked.

“Why not? Q.Q, see what you get from your sister.”

Rhianna hid in the mud and pulled at her brother's left arm.

“Ow. My elbow doesn't bend that way!”

May stepped around him and looked at his right arm. She saw some blood. It wasn't gushing, but it was worse than a graze. “Can you move your fingers?”

“That bad?” he asked, realising that the pain in his arm wasn't just the pressure. They waggled appropriately.

“Just checking. You're bleeding, not much, but I don't know where from.”

“Just get me out of here, can you?”

“You don't want me to call help?”

“I'll scream if I do, OK?” It had sounded funny to him before he said it.

“So, what do you want us to do?” Rhianna asked, “Just pull?”

“Not in any old direction, no.”

“I'm guessing that you ought to get your bottom hand out first.” May said, analysing the situation. “Hold on, I'll try and take your weight on my knees.” She squatted down and put her knees under him, levering them up to take his weight. “How's that?”

“Much more comfortable on my arm, thank you, and probably highly embarrassing.” he said.

“Well, let's just get Rhianna to take some photographs then.” May joked, still worried about his arm. “Can you get your arm free?”

“I think so. Ow. Maybe.”

“Don't do any more damage. The chair probably comes off.”

“I'll try. You can't push on the seat a bit more, can you? It's got a bit of give, I think.”

“I'll go down and try to pull.” Rhianna said.

“I bet this is the fastest you've ever ended up lying in a girl's lap.” May said.

“Only time. I really didn't want to think those things to you.”

“Just to yourself?”

“Not really to me either. Temptation, you know? I'm not good at resisting, but after I give in, then I feel terrible.”

“And you really think I look like some armless statue made to commemorate the Roman goddess of stupid decisions and ruined lives?”

“No. I think you look really really beautiful, beautiful enough for mortal man to confuse you with aforementioned goddess of beauty.”

“So what's this going to do to you?” May asked. Glad that he couldn't see quite how close her chest was to the back of his head.

“Depends what my arm's like. Probably give me the afternoon off, if the cut's bad enough.” He deliberately misinterpreted her statement. Better not the think of the real answer.

“Where are your parents?” wondering if she could pass this duty on to someone else.

“Shopping.” he said. Not sure if he wanted them to witness his predicament, but wishing that they were here to get him out of it at the same time.

Rhianna finished working her way along the end of the row. “So, shall I put my arm beside yours and see if I can pull the seat?”

“Yes, please. How come I'm not hearing anything from either of you?”

“Rhianna's practicing hiding her thoughts. I've been teaching her. Only Rhianna, you should probably think about getting out now.”

“It's sticky!” she said surprised. “There, I'm out.”

“You were hidden quite a while. Any longer and you'll have to use the ball trick.”

“You're still hidden though?”

“Well, wouldn't you be, in this position?” May asked.

“Urm, yes. Preferably from sight too. Ready, Quentin? One two three, now!”

His arm came free, and as it did May saw that something, maybe a screw-head, had cut a five or six centimetre long gash in his skin.

“Ow.” Quentin said seeing his wound.

“How do you want to do the next arm?” May asked.

“I'll try and kneel if that's OK.” He moved his head away from the gum and bumped into some part of May. If May had been listening, she'd have heard him decide he didn't want to know which, but she noticed him flinch away. Maybe he was struggling against temptation after all.

“Just let me get out of the way.” she said.

“Just think of it as a game of twister.” Rhianna suggested.

“I didn't know twister was a blood sport.” Quentin replied.

“OK, Q.Q. You're relatively safe to move now.”

“Relatively?”

“Don't ask.” May said.

“Do you have a boyfriend? I'm just thinking I don't want any more injuries.”

“Not that you're thinking you'd like to ask me out?” May challenged.

“Well, I would, but...”

“I have no boyfriend, and in the interests of keeping my employer and my mum happy, I'm having a rest from the species for the moment.”

“Your employer?”

“I'll tell you when you're not lying all over me.” May said, thinking it would be nice to get out from underneath him, and be nice to un-hide. And nice to know if he might possibly be 'one of the good ones' that Karen had talked about.

“Oh, sorry.” He wriggled and managed to get his knees underneath him, and then got his arm out from between the seat backs. He looked again at his wound.

“It's not very deep.” he concluded.

“Good. Now, let me get myself out of the mud please.” May said, moving away completely. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on being a shiny non-stick ball.

“What mud?” Quentin asked, looking around at the floor.

“If you hide your thoughts too long, you get stuck, and it feels like you're in mud or treacle. It almost trapped me, and it's got hold of May properly, I guess.”

“And I don't want to lose my power. But I'm out now, praise God. The mud wasn't very deep. But your arm is still dripping, Q.Q. At the very least, wash it, and keep it over your head. You're making a mess.”

Rhianna told him, “I think you should take it to your coach, see what he says.”

“We didn't come by coach.” he tried to joke, “Don't I get a sandwich first, Rhi, please! I'm starving.”

“Let's go with him, May, his brains have turned to mush again.” Rhianna pretended not to get it. It was petty, but well, he was her brother.

“Does it happen often?” May asked, curiously, playing along.

“Only when he's hungry, tired, or just met someone pretty.”

“Oh. We'd better feed him, then, it can't be either of the other two. I mean, he's only played two matches so far. Open your mouth, Quentin, Rhianna's got some nice food for you!” she teased.

“All right, I'm going to see the coach!” he said, snatching the sandwich before Rhianna could feed it to him.

“What on earth happened to you?” the coach asked, seeing Quentin's arm.

“I tripped, my arm went down behind the chair. Rhi and her friend got me out.”

“Well, you certainly can't play with that. I've got some spray-skin, but that needs an hour to set. I think you should just sit out the next game, Q.Q. You've had two games already. Jimbo can play your position, he's only been in one so far.”

“So I'd be in the final if we get that far?”

“Let me see it better.” The coach had a closer look. “Was this from the concrete or the chair?”

“The chair.” May supplied.

“I thought so, I'd guess it was a loose screw-head. It's left quite a flap. Spray skin probably isn't going to hold it well enough. Sorry, Q.Q. Are your parent's here?”

“No, they went shopping.”

“Well, get changed, lad. No more swimming for you today. It looks pretty clean, but go and spray some of this on it, can you? It's just a cleaning solution, but it does a better job than tap water.”

“Yes, coach.”

“And watch where you put your feet.”

“Yes, coach.”

“And Q.Q?”

“Yes, coach?”

“Don't blame yourself if we lose. They're good. Very good.”

“I'd seen that sir. Better than us, I think.”

“Defeatists, the lot of you. That's half your trouble.”

“Your trouble, surely coach.”

“No, my trouble is cheek, boy. Go on wash your wound and take your fan-club with you.”

“Hey! I'm not his fan, I'm his sister, I probably wouldn't be here if I didn't need to talk to May.” Rhianna protested.

“I'm local, so with Q.Q. playing here it was an easy way to meet up.” May explained.

“Well, Q.Q., it looks like you're going to have to work on your public relations. You've got two pretty girls hanging around you and neither claims to be very interested in you or your play.”

Quentin decided that didn't need a reply, but Rhianna did anyway.

“I think that's what he was trying to do when he tripped.” Rhianna said, “But you know, sir, he's not good at walking and chewing gum at the same time, let alone introducing himself to a pretty girl.”

“Oh, our best defender was slain by your beauty was he?” the coach asked May, “I hope you'll at least stay around and cheer us on in that case.”

“I guess I could do that. I might need Q.Q. to try and explain the rules to me.”

“Really?” Quentin asked, brightening up. “I'd be honoured.”

“Once you've stopped dripping blood.” she added.

The coach looked at May suspiciously, and then the whistle blew for the start of the game, and he had work to do. “Scat, the three of you, I need to watch this game.”

Quentin headed in the direction of the wash-rooms with the spray, thinking. May seemed so familiar... and confident. Very very confident, almost like she had her entire life planned out before her, and it was the duty of the rest of the world to fit in. He wished he had firm plans beyond the end of exams. Was that what it was like to be royalty? Not to have to worry about what job you'd get or whether you'd get into university. Why had he thought of royalty? What was his subconscious saying? May certainly wasn't Eliza Underwood, or that woman in Eliza's dress. Oh! That that was where he'd seen May! She'd been one of the bridesmaids! He'd thought she was gorgeous then. And shame filled him about his response to her picture. That was a clear case of lust, certainly. Plus he'd lusted over her in person too. [Oh Lord, create in me a new heart!] he prayed.

He then realised she'd seen it but still suggested he explain the rules to her. That was... that was very encouraging. Even if she wasn't going to accept a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship, perhaps she was open to a 'just friends' sort of friendship. She'd said as much before hand. He'd like to have her as a friend, for now. And maybe later... Something attracted his attention and looking round he realised that he'd just walked straight past the wash rooms. Embarrassed, he ducked in.

While Quentin cleaned his wound, Rhianna asked “Why did the coach look at you like that?”

“It might be because we beat your school last year in the girls' match. I was in goal, I think he recognised me.”

“So, coach now thinks you're interested in Quentin?”

“If so, then I guess I provided a bit of gossip to boost your brother's ego. But in any case I've provided an excuse to sit next to him while I teach him hide his thoughts too.”

“Does his ego need a boost?”

“Well, the average boy doesn't call himself slime. And me calling him slime when he'd just cut his arm open wasn't exactly charitable.”

“You didn't know.”

“No. But I didn't check, either. And I did shock him into falling down.”

“What did happen?”

Touching Rhianna's hand, May thought in gentle reproof [I'm a truth-sayer, not a gossip].

“Sorry. Oh. Here's my brother.”

“So, lunch?” May suggested once they'd started walking.

“I guess so. No point starving.” Quentin said. “May, you see the two goals? The point of the game is to get the ball in there. There's six mobile players on each side, plus the goal-keeper...” He trailed off when he saw her shaking her head slightly.

May checked she wasn't in anyone's earshot and said, “Sorry Q.Q. I misled your coach.”

“Oh.” he said. “You're not interested?”

“I play in goal for our school team. Your girls' team didn't score much last year.”

“You're May Ng-gila?”

“Ngbila, yes.”

“Urm. Wow. We heard the coach talking about you for months. You're famous!”

“Not very.” she said with a laugh.

“And it was you, last Saturday, wasn't it? On the news?” he asked.

May shrugged. “My Dad was preaching, and another of her bridesmaids had to drop out. Once in a lifetime... I did get to dance with prince Albert at the reception though, that was neat.”

“And now you're making up excuses to my coach so you can talk to me?”

“Yes. You need to learn how to hide.”

“Hold on, you're here because...” he caught her signal to stop again, “urm... you were asked to be?”

“Yes. I was asked to see to your sister's education, and since you've got the time, I might as well tell you too.”

“If it's not rude to ask, I wondered since I first heard your name. What sort of name is Ngbila?”

“I might well ask the same about Quy.” May retorted.

“We're not quite sure. There's a village called Quy, just north of Cambridge, which apparently started off being called 'Cow Island', but whether some ancestor came from there or the name is from that, or some other source, we don't know. We do know we had relatives about seventy kilometres south of there, in the seventeen hundreds.”

“Cow Island?”

“I guess they kept cows there.” Quentin shrugged.

“Or it was cow-shaped.” Rhianna suggested with a giggle.

“Oh well, that's almost as good a story as my name.”

“What's your story?”

“I can't remember how many generations ago, but back when it meant something, my grandmother was a chief's only child. She went to university, fell in love, and wrote home to tell her parents about him. Her parents took one look at his name and said 'Sorry you'll need to find someone else, no way is any daughter of ours marrying someone called an English name like 'Smith'. Our grandson is going to grow up to be a chief and will need to have a proper African sounding name, or no one is going to take him seriously. And they wouldn't be budged on the issue.”

“So what happened?” Rhianna asked.

“He changed his name and she wrote saying she now had a very good friend called Ngbila, and she thought he might ask her to marry him. Her parents wrote back saying wonderful, as long as she thought he was a good guy. So they got married. I don't know what his parents thought of him changing his name, or if they were even still alive at the time. But, according to the story dad told me, her parents never knew it was the same guy.”

“So he just picked a name?” Quentin asked.

“Made it up, in fact.” May admitted.

“And the moral of the story is love conquers all?” Rhianna asked.

“More like, don't put too much store in names.” May responded.

“And did their son become a chief?”

“Not really. War broke out. There wasn't much left of the tribe outside the immediate family.”

“Ouch.”

“Life can be tough. We've actually been a bit of a matriarchy since then anyway.”

“Urm... how does that work?”

“While my gran was alive... really well. She was real matriarch material. Now? Well, transitions of power are always tricky, she's new to the job.”

“Do you mean you your mother? Or you?”

“No! I'm no one's mother. Well, nor's our new matriarch yet, but give it time I'm sure that'll change. She's learning too, poor thing.”

“I'm confused.” Quentin said.

“You're supposed to be. Cultural differences are easy to spot, hard to understand.”

“Would you be prepared to educate me properly?” Quentin asked, thinking it would be a good route to a deeper friendship.

That took May's breath away. Did he understand what he was asking? Probably not, it was quite a request. “Q.Q, that very much depends.”

“On what?”

“On what the matriarch decides, of course!” May said with a grin. “You'd need to pass interview. Let's stick with friendship for a few years before you get that seriously involved, Q.Q.”

“Urm, May, what did I just ask?”

“You've just asked to join the clan.”

“What, to marry you?” he asked.

“Not necessarily.”

“I don't understand.”

“No. You don't. You've just asked to know me as well as my cousin, brother or husband. But you asked me to educate you. That does rather suggest you're thinking of the latter. So... I'm going to have to tell my mum.”

“Even if I didn't understand what I was asking?”

“Even then. You haven't retracted your request, you notice.”

“Urm. No, I haven't. Should I?”

“Entirely up to you. But I have to tell my mum.”

Rhianna had been watching and listening, “May, I don't quite understand, what's going on. Has Quentin just proposed to you or not?”

“No. He hasn't. That'd be much easier. I'd just say 'get lost, I hardly know you'. What he's said is that he wants to get to know me, my family, my extended family, and maybe eventually be part of it. Since there's no bar to marriage, and we know he thinks I'm the physical match to some pagan goddess of hormone-driven stupidity, and I presume those hormones are at least behind part of that request, then I need to tell my mum. She's going to be thrilled, I expect.”

“I still don't understand.”

“Your brother's doing it right Rhi. I don't know what prompted him to, but he is. He's asking to get to know my family, and how it works. That's not talking about asking me to fall in love with him, or about hormones. At root it's asking for friendship. Maybe love will come, maybe it won't. But that doesn't matter.”

“It doesn't?”

“Not if the friendship's real.”

“So, if I wanted to understand you too?”

“Then you'd better be good at saying no, because I've got quite a lot of male cousins, and they will be so optimistic.”

“Any of them got the power?”

“Just one.”

“I think I can hold out then.”

“You haven't met them yet. At least wait a while, Rhianna. You're still young.”

“You're not?”

“I'm not fair game for my cousins. If you joined the clan all unattached...”

“It'd be like her saying, 'I'm available, who's going to woo me?'” Quentin suggested.

“Exactly.”

“Then what about Quentin?” Rhianna challenged.

“If he does join the clan, and I let on I don't want him, then he'd better have another girlfriend lined up already or my pretty cousins are probably going to swoop. Even then, actually.”

“Gulp.” Quentin said, not sure that he was quite ready to be fought over like a piece of meat.”

“But I'm not at all sure they're Christians, in which case you're OK.”

“Why?” Rhianna asked.

“'Cause they won't get past Sarah.”

“Sarah?”

“Our matriarch. Your dad's cousin Myra talking to her is what got me sent to meet you.”

“Now wait a moment...” Rhianna said, “Myra interviewed Sarah Williams, multi-millionaress, you're saying she's your matriarch?”

“Yep. And my employer. She's cool. Still got a lot to learn about being matriarch, of course.”

“And she'd tell your cousins to let me alone if they're not Christians but not if they are?”

“Well... it depends how convincing you are if they are but once I tell her she can tell them to back off, I know she will if they've got no faith.”

“How do you know?” Quentin asked.

“Because she takes God seriously.”

“And if they ignore her?” he pursued.

“You've got a lot to learn, that you even ask.” May said. “Have a sandwich.”

“May, you're the one Sarah talked about in the interview, aren't you? I should have realised.” Rhianna said.

“Yes.”

“You're brave.”

“I guess so.”

“What's this?” Quentin asked.

“May's our country's first employed truth-sayer. Eventually she's probably going to be hob-nobbing with royalty as the founding member of the Chartered Institute of Truth-sayers or something.”

“I'm not sure what a truth-sayer is.”

“How about a demonstration?” Rhianna suggested.

“What, on Mr ignorant volunteer, here?”

“Yes. I've certainly got some questions I'd like to hear the answers to.”

May thought about it. So did she. “Full disclosure and informed consent. This isn't a game.”

“I don't understand.” Quentin said, yet again.

“Quentin, I'd like to eat, but can we think together a bit? It's faster.”

“If you think it's wise. I mean... last time.”

“Keep your thoughts under control, and it ought to be.”

“I trust you.” he offered his right hand.

“Left's better, unless you want to eat left handed?”

“Oh. OK.”

[OK. A truth-sayer's sort of a human lie detector. Rhianna's asked for a demonstration, I don't think it's a good idea, but what'd happen is I'd listen to your thoughts, and tell her if you're lying. I wouldn't tell her what you were thinking though. It isn't my role to expose thoughts, only say if you're telling lies.]

[But I'd hear your thoughts too.]

[Probably not. I've practiced with my Gran, I can listen really quietly.]

[Really?]

[.......]

[I don't hear anything, you're still listening, you haven't hidden?]

[.......]

[I sort of feel your presence, but I can't hear your thoughts. Is that what it's like if you hide?]

Her presence vanished, and she shook her head. Then she came back.

[See? I don't know how many other people can do it. Gran told me it was something I'd find useful, and I guess she was right. Hiding is a total cut-off — nothing in or out. What I was doing wouldn't help with Rhianna's pain.]

[Or mine, but you might. Oops out of control thought, sorry.]

[I'm sorry. This is about full disclosure, not chatting: OK: I will not reveal what I hear from your thoughts. Except if I learn you are planning or have committed a crime, in which case I will be free to act as any well-intentioned citizen would. I face extreme penalties if I break your confidentiality — loss of employment, confiscation of my personal wealth and a fine amounting to... I can't remember but it's enormous. Two years of my income, maybe? I am bound by these conditions any time I use my power, in accordance with my agreement to the ethics code of the I.H.M. as enforced by the I.H.M ethics committee, which my dad is on so I'm really in trouble if I break the rules. Soon these restrictions will be introduced into law too, by the way. If you consent to being interviewed by me as a truth-sayer, you allow me to reveal whether you lie or not. I am not required to be a passive party and may ask further questions, though I must formulate these so that in and of themselves they do not reveal what I have learned from your thoughts. Do you have questions?]

[You won't tell of my lustful thoughts, then?]

[Not without your permission. I can't say it won't affect my feelings.]

[Knowing I'm a multiple-adulterer in my heart? I hate myself for it. I'm... I'm trying to stop.]

[I don't think I'm the one to hear your confession.]

[Why not?]

[{embrrassment}I went off the rails when my gran died. Seeking attention, flirting. I didn't realise it, but I guess... encouraging thoughts like yours. I've stopped.]

[How?]

[Someone told Sarah.]

[And that solved it?]

[Lots of tears later, and prayer and Biblestudy. I felt God had abandoned me, you know? That he didn't care. Stupid thoughts. And now I've got this job, which specifies as point one that I have an impeccable moral character. Impossible without Jesus.]

[Pretty hard even with him.]

[Yes. Harder for boys.]

[You think so?]

[You've got more testosterone. So.... any more questions before Rhianna suspects that we're having an intimate head to head conversation about our past sins?]

[We are.]

[I know. Like I said, I'm going to talk to my Mum, and Sarah.]

[But not tell her what I thought at you.]

[No. They'll probably guess if I tell her how I reacted though.]

[What will they think about you, if you're still having anything to do with me after knowing that?] His eyes drifted down from watching her face and focussed on her chest.

[I'll have to ask them. By the way, I once heard someone saying in a sermon that noticing once is optics, looking twice is biology, looking a third time is lust. So, stop it!]

She quickly broke the link. “Q.Q. You understand now what Rhianna's asked for?”

“Yes.”

“And what's your response?”

“I have the right not to answer?”

“Yes.”

“And you don't mind if I try to trick you?”

“Absolutely not. I've never tried this with someone with the power. It's going to be a challenge.”

“Then, OK.”

“Name?” Rhianna asked.

“Quentin Quy.”

“Age?”

May heard [Seventeen, no let's test May],

“Sixteen.”

“A lie” May said.

“What are you going to do with your life?”

[Get to know May. I can't say that! Sorry May.] “My mind's gone blank.”

“Partial truth.” May said.

“What's the real truth?”

“Mind your own business.” Quentin said.

“OK. What did you feel towards the girl you used to call you lady-love? Love or lust?”

[How should I know?] “Dunno.”

Rhianna looked at May for confirmation. “Truth.”

“Interesting. What do you feel towards May?”

[{Attraction, respect, awe, curiosity, desire} {Outrage}] “How can you think to ask that when she's listening in?”

“Sorry. What do you want to study at university?”

[May. Sorry, May!] “Anthropology and human language.”

“Where?”

[Restoration, but it's going to be flat. Where are you going to move to, May?]

[.....]

“Don't know.”

“Partial truth.”

“Where did you want to study?”

[Applied to the capital, but I was glad I was rejected.] “The capital.”

“Partial truth.” May said.

“Restoration.”

“Truth.”

“What's so good about Restoration?”

[May's there.]

[You're infatuated. Stop it! Why did you want to go there before you met me?]

[{image}] “The attractive campus.”

[Letcher] May accused, and said “Lie”

“Interesting! What attracted you to Restoration?”

“The lecturers.”

“Closer.” May said with a smirk.

“All right. One attractive lecturer. Look, the courses were identical on paper, the campuses have their good and bad points. The lecturer we had at the capital was supposed to be a great expert but he seemed like a horrible piece of work, moaning under his breath that he had to come and talk to a bunch of idiots. The one at Restoration was pretty, interested in her subject, and really seemed to want us to catch her enthusiasm about it.”

“So why were you fibbing at first?”

“Just because.”

“Was it because her beauty was the main reason?”

[It just made the decision easier.] “No.”

“Truth.” May said, then asked “Which reason did you think of first when Rhianna asked?”

“Her appearance.” Quentin said with a sigh.

“Is it fair of Rhianna to keep on asking about your thought-life?”

“No.”

“Why do you think she does it?”

“To embarrass me. She thinks I need embarrassing.”

“Would you like her to answer under these conditions?”

[Great idea!] “Yes!”

“Is she legally competent to make that decision?”

[Bother.] “No.”

“Here, around your class-mates, how do you feel about your sister?”

[{protective}] “She's an annoying little squirt.”

“Lie.” May said. “Would you like her to fall in love with someone like you?”

[{horror}] “No.”

“What would you like her future husband to be like?”

“Christian, self-controlled.”

“What would you like to be like?”

“Self-controlled.”

“Would you like her to fall in love with someone like you want to be?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anyone like that among your team?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone like that among your year group?”

He thought “I don't think so.”

“When should she start dating?”

“Not yet.”

“When should you start dating?”

[{awe, revelation}] “When I've got some self-control.”

“Was this useful?”

“Yes.” [Thank you]

“What's the difference between love and lust?” Rhianna asked.

“Lust takes, love protects.”

“Which one best describes how you feel about May?” Rhianna asked.

May dropped her hand “Rhianna, stop stirring. He's just said he's not going to date anyone until he's learned self-control. You can exercise some too, you know? Right, end of the brother-grilling.”

“Just one more question, please.” Rhianna asked, hiding her thoughts.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to hear the answer.”

“Why?” May probed again.

“Because confession is good for the soul.”

“Deliberately causing embarrassment isn't though.”

“What do you want to ask, Rhianna?” Quentin asked, taking May's hand, and enjoying the sensation.

“What's under your bed?”

[Nothing now.] “Carpet”

“Truth.” May said.

[She's right. Can I confess?]

[Doesn't take much guesswork. Dirty pictures?]

[Yes. I'm sorry.]

[That's where the first image I saw from you came from?]

[Yes. Dirty, polluting pictures. I binned them.]

[Good first step.] May said. [Next step is not to replace them.]

[And to not wish they weren't gone.]

[What's the step after that?]

[Get to know you, the most beautiful girl I know as a person. Learn to see the ugliness in sin.]

[Flatterer.] “Right, education time.”

“Yes miss.”

“Rhianna, since the best way to learn is to teach, you can be teacher.”

“Me?”

“Why not? You might need to teach someone else.”

“Urm. OK. Q, you need to think of the most embarrassing moment you could possibly think of, something like wetting the bed on a school trip, and imagine how you'd wish the ground would swallow you and no one would ever knew you existed. And very quietly make yourself sink down into the ground, so that you're not there any more.”

It was easy to think of an embarrassing moment — like opening his lustful thoughts to May — sinking into the ground was easy. “It's quiet down here.” he said.

“Then as a test, you get to see how fast Rhianna's reactions are without hearing your decision.” May said. “But don't punch her because it'll probably connect.”

“I never connect, she's too fast.”

“She won't hear you. So you probably will.”

“So how do we test it?”

“You could try the hand slap-game.” May said. “See how slow your reactions are without warning.”

“OK.” Rhianna agreed.

“I can't hear her, and she can't hear me?” Quentin checked.

“Exactly. One try each.”

“OK.” Quentin agreed, and put his hands finger to finger with Rhianna's.

It didn't take long. “Ow! Where did that come from!” He asked his sister.

“See?” May asked “You've probably got slower reactions than normals, by the way. They're used to watching for muscle movements. You're used to hearing the decision to strike. That's a disadvantage.”

“OK. I believe you. I don't need to hurt Rhianna. How do I get out?”

“Just float up to the surface. If it doesn't work, you need to think of yourself as being in a nice shiny bubble, which is going to float up to the surface. And remember — you're going to get very stuck if you hide for more than about twenty minutes, half an hour. Stay there an hour and you might not get out at all. Of course, if it's that or torture, you'll have to hope for a miracle.”

“Torture?”

“There are some bad guys out there, some of them can throw horrors at you. They'll find your worst fears and fill your mind with them, until they make you mad, if they can.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Get you to reveal things, maybe? A sense of power? I don't know. My Gran met one when she was younger. With your mind hidden, then they lose their power over you, and they're just another thug. And they'll probably be as handicapped as Quentin was just now. She got away from the thug by using a well placed knee, that's all I know. The other thing you can do, if you're really fast, is to strike back. But hiding your mind and using your panic button is normally a better solution. Are you out yet, Q.Q?”

“Yes.”

“If you do get stuck, and you forget what to do, you can call the institute. They know how to get you out.”

“The institute?”

“Institute for the Human Mind. There's an A.I. there, with speech recognition, which they've programmed to talk you out of it, if it's night time.”

“That's nice of them.” Quentin said.

May nodded, “Getting stuck is nasty. Shall we watch your team's game? Q.Q.”

“O.K.”