It took me a second. ‘Chloe? But she’s—’
‘She was never baptised. I prayed and prayed for Kate to see that she was stopping her daughter from receiving the greatest gift there could be. God was waiting to help her, his arms open wide, and Kate was stopping her from going to him.’
‘And does Chloe want to be baptised?’
‘Kate said she did not.’ He closed his eyes for a second and sighed. ‘I always left her house exhausted, feeling I had battled hand to hand with the devil. Do you believe in evil, miss?’
‘Yes, I do.’ I said it without hesitation, and meant it.
‘Kate was full of evil. I saw it in her, and I heard it.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know evil.’
‘When you say she was evil—’
‘No!’ He slammed his hand on the counter. ‘I said no such thing! I said she was full of evil. The devil was strong in her. He countered my arguments. I am but a man and although God was with me, guiding my path, he was stronger than me.’ He leaned back, apparently drained, and murmured, ‘But I would have succeeded. I know I would. God conquers all. Jesus cleanses us of all our sins, no matter how dark.’
‘What’s all the shouting about?’ Oliver Norris was standing in the doorway, crisply dressed in a polo shirt and chinos. He was looking at Gareth. ‘Practising for Sunday?’
‘I was talking to this lady about the devil,’ Gareth said gruffly, pointing at me.
When he saw me, the colour drained from Oliver’s face under his tan. ‘It’s just a simple prayer ceremony. It should help.’
‘Help who?’ I looked from him to Gareth, who was rolling down his shirt sleeves as if they were his main concern.
‘We conduct special ceremonies now and then for people who are very much in need of prayer. There will be one on Sunday. I think Oliver assumed I was speaking about it.’ Gareth smiled at me. The preacher was gone: the man remained and he was gentle, normal – pleasant even. ‘It’s very effective. Of course Kate will be on our mind and in our hearts.’
‘Did you want to talk to me?’ Oliver had shoved his hands into his pockets and was tensing his arms so his triceps flickered.
‘Please,’ I said, standing up. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time.’
‘Take her through to the main hall,’ Gareth said. ‘Show her where we worship. I think she’d find it interesting.’
Oliver looked as if he wanted to argue but he nodded. I followed him, heading in the opposite direction from the office. He held open a door for me and ushered me through. I found myself on a red-carpeted platform facing a huge room about half-full of gold-framed chairs. It felt more like a convention hall than a church to me, but then I was used to pews, statues of saints, banks of candles, the Stations of the Cross and the red glow of the sanctuary lamp. This had two projection screens and a pair of chairs on the raised platform, with a keyboard and drum kit on the right. There were big loudspeakers on either side of the platform and a soundboard at the back of the room. Oliver flicked some switches and lights went on at the sides of the room and all the way down the centre.
‘This is where we have our services. We dim the lights in the main body of the church when they’re going on, of course.’
I walked to the centre of the platform and looked out, imagining a sea of faces focused on me. There were no distractions here – no pictures, no aphorisms. No banners promising eternal life. Here you were alone with your God and your fellow worshippers, abandoning yourself to religious bliss. Or damnation, depending.
‘What’s that?’ I pointed at a large square structure below the platform, in front of the first row of chairs.
‘That’s where we carry out baptisms and other ceremonies.’
‘In it?’
He nodded. ‘Total immersion. It symbolises rebirth, whether that’s in Christ or in good health or simply a fresh start. All our members are baptised once they’ve repented and placed their faith in Jesus, even if they were baptised as children. It’s a wonderful celebration that unifies the whole church.’ His voice was toneless, as if he was reciting something he’d said before but his mind was elsewhere.
‘Mr Selhurst said you have a small congregation.’ I stepped down and started walking along the aisle, Oliver following me as if he couldn’t let me get too far away.
‘Small but growing. We have over thirty regulars but the door is always open if anyone else wants to join us.’
Gareth had said there were fifty in the congregation. I suspected he had a tendency to exaggerate for effect.
‘We have visitors from other communities, of course,’ Oliver went on. ‘We are part of the Modern Apostles movement. There are two hundred thousand of us in Asia, half a million across Africa, the same again in South America.’ He reeled off the numbers fluently. ‘The new world has a lot to teach us in Europe about faith. They’ve kept the flame burning brightly even if we’ve allowed it to dim.’
‘Do you preach?’ I asked. He looked disconcerted.
‘Me? No.’
‘You sound very practised. Very persuasive.’
‘I do all the public relations for the church. I write press releases, do the website – that sort of thing.’
‘And it’s a full-time job?’
He nodded. ‘It’s not only this church. I’m based here but I work for other churches in the Modern Apostles movement. There’s one in High Wycombe, one in Haywards Heath, one in Leighton Buzzard that Gareth planted before he was directed to come to Putney and start a new congregation here. We have national conferences every three years and I’m involved in organising them.’
‘What did you do before?’
‘I worked in the PR department of a major pharmaceuticals company.’
‘So you’re used to selling hope.’
His face flushed. ‘I always wanted to help people, if that’s what you mean. But we’ve healed more people here than the pharmaceuticals company ever did.’
‘Literally healed them?’
‘The lame walked.’
‘The blind saw?’
He gave me a half-smile. ‘Not quite. Not yet, anyway. But God can do anything.’
We had reached the back of the hall. It was piled with boxes. I glanced in one and saw groceries.
‘We run an unofficial food bank. Everyone contributes what they can and once a month we distribute them to those in need in the area.’
‘That sounds useful,’ I said.
‘I don’t understand why there’s such hostility to Christianity when we just want to help people.’ The words came out with surprising force, as if he’d been suppressing them for too long.
‘What kind of hostility?’
‘People mock us for how we pray and for our beliefs.’ He shook his head, still angry. ‘We get called names. You hear things on the radio or on television – slighting comments. And no one says a word! If you said these things about Muslims or Jews, you’d be hounded. But Christians are fair game.’
‘You have to turn the other cheek, as I understand it.’
‘I get tired of it.’ A glance. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I’m still finding out more about Kate. She came here.’ I shrugged. ‘It might be relevant, it might not.’