The Revelations Read Online Free PDF

bathroom cabinet, bundled up tissues to stanch the flow and mopped up the bluish drops that were falling onto the tiled floor.
    When she came out of the bathroom it was the priest and not his wife who was standing there. The light from the bathroom falling into the darkened hallway cut a bar across him, illuminating the whiteness of his teeth and his hair. She realised that he already knew everything and slumped into his outstretched arms. It was such a relief that nothing more needed to be said. They had descended the stairs, David’s arms still around her, and he drove her to the hospital. They sat in silence in the white light of the waiting room until the doctor had called her into the curtained cubicle, checked her over with brusque, efficient hands, and sent her home.
    The priest’s tenderness had reminded her of the first time she went on the Retreat. It had been held that year at a down-at-heel hotel in the West Country whose burly proprietor was a Course member. There were chickens in the courtyard outside the rooms. Abby had heard the fox in her sleep, had dreamed the terrified shrieks of the hens, the sound of jaws snapping shut. She woke early and went out to the henhouse, which was a silent mortuary, blood and feathers. David was sitting in the dust cradling a chicken. It was still just alive, its bare neck white and raw, blood darkening its breast. David spoke to the chicken in a quiet voice, stroking the bird’s broken wings, murmuring into its feathers. He was like that with her when she miscarried; after the hospital, he drove her home. He waited until Marcus had let her in, sitting in his purring car and watching them embrace in the doorway.
    *
    The lights in the church brightened suddenly, and David raised his head and opened his eyes.
    ‘Music is the closest of the art forms to God – when you lose yourself in a piece of music, it’s a truly spiritual experience. The music here at St Botolph’s is justly famous. So sit back and enjoy. Let me introduce: The Revelations.’
    Spotlights swept the stage, focusing on the band’s name which was spelled out in blue letters on the skin of Mouse’s bass drum. David stooped to pick up his guitar, nodding to one of the helpers who sat at the side of the stage adjusting the settings on his amp. The four friends rose from their seats and walked together down the aisle. The air around them hummed as they climbed the steps and took up their instruments. Mouse spun his drumsticks several times before beginning a thrusting, military beat. Then Marcus came in with a bass line that roared through the church. Lee sat at the piano, her visible cheek stained with a vivid pink blush at being so observed. The priest strummed power chords and then Abby sidled up to the front of the stage, her hips moving slightly. She hunched her large shoulders forward, brought her hands up either side of the microphone and began to sing.
    The music was not spectacular in itself: choruses cribbed from stadium rock anthems, verses that strained against the weight of the meaning they attempted to impart. But there, in the warm light of the church, with some of the older members joining in at the back for the choruses, arms held out, eyes closed, it was hard not to be moved. The four young people were earnest and beautiful, still retaining enough of their youth to touch the audience. The priest played a brief and nimble guitar solo, one leg raised on his amplifier, his eyes staring up into the shadows that clustered in the roof of the church. Abby looked extraordinary on the stage. As if she was made to be seen among such expansive scenery. She didn’t seem awkward or heavy or masculine there. Marcus watched the young men in the audience stare up at his wife as she sang and tried to see her reflection in their eyes.
    The second song was much softer than the first. The lights on stage were dimmed so that only Abby was clearly visible, with Marcus and David shadowy figures either side of her.