A Willing Victim Read Online Free PDF Page B

with God the worst of the lot.
    Stratton glanced at his daughter and brothers-in-law. Don was frowning and Monica seemed to be staring at her feet. Reg was leaning forward with the sort of strained expression which could have denoted anything from total concentration to stifling a fart. After about forty minutes, Graham, who’d been talking about what he called ‘getting right’ with God, opened his arms wide and, after a dramatic pause, intoned, ‘Come and give yourself to God! Declare yourself for Christ! If you want Christ, you need Christ. You want Him to change your life. Come to the front . . .’
    After some initial reluctance, a trickle of people began to move towards the platform. Graham repeated his exhortation, and, slowly, more people followed. Stratton did a quick headcount: one hundred, two hundred, three . . . They seemed to display no emotion, although, as they passed, he noticed that one or two were in tears. As the choir began to sing an anthem, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Reg had stood up. Monica, looking surprised, moved out of his way, as, after leaning down to whisper briefly in Don’s ear, he began making his way towards the front.
    Stratton raised his eyebrows interrogatively at Don, who, giving a disbelieving shake of the head, muttered, ‘He says not to wait for him after.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ Stratton watched as Reg and the other stragglers were marshalled to the side of the platform, where a group of dark-suited men with what looked like badges on their lapels waited to lead them out of sight. Stratton supposed that these must be the counsellors he’d read about in the paper, who encouraged people in their faith. He tried to imagine what sort of conversation Reg might have with such a person, failed, and then, detaching himself from the proceedings, sat back with his arms crossed, waiting for the thing to end so that they could go home.
    ‘What did you think?’ he said to Monica. They were standing under the overhang of the vast building, sheltering from the drizzle as they waited for Don, who’d got stuck behind a knot of people, to make his way through the crowd.
    His daughter, who’d been adjusting a headscarf over her long black hair, paused for a moment, biting her lip. ‘Don’t know, really. It’s a bit . . . well,
much
. For me, anyway.’
    ‘I know what you mean.’
    ‘I’m surprised about Uncle Reg. Being so keen on it, I mean.’
    ‘Me too.’
    ‘Is he all right? I thought he looked a bit under the weather.’
    ‘He’s probably coming down with a cold or something. How about a cup of coffee? There must be somewhere open round here.’
    Monica knotted the scarf under her chin. ‘Better get back. If I miss the ten o’clock train, the next one’s not for ages.’ She leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll give you a ring.’
    ‘All right, then.’ Stratton patted her on the back. ‘Keep safe, won’t you?’
    ‘Course. You too, Dad. Night, then.’
    Stratton watched her weave through the crowd until her slender figure was lost to sight, wishing, not for the first time, that she’d find a nice chap and settle down. His niece Madeline had beenmarried for a few years now – Don and Doris were grandparents – but Monica, at twenty-six, showed no signs of doing the same. She seemed happy enough, working as a make-up girl for a film studio in Essex and renting a tiny cottage nearby with a girl who worked for a fashionable London milliner, but there’d been a lot of trouble over a young film star called Raymond Benson, who’d proved to be a complete shit, and married, to boot. He worried that the experience – not to mention her subsequent miscarriage – had put her off men for good. It couldn’t be for lack of offers, because she was lovely looking, just like his wife Jenny had been at her age except for the hair colour, which was like his – or like most of it, anyway. In the last year, he’d suddenly noticed that he was