The Woman

A miserable, chilly, wet Friday evening. Dusk turned dark as a greasy mist blew in off the sea, just enough to smear the windscreen.

Teri was hurtling along in her white pick-up, just one more delivery before heading home.

Home was a caravan on a small holding about 7 miles out of town. Sheep, geese, Christmas trees - and logs and kindling which she supplied to shops, householders and garages within a 20 mile radius.  

Teri was not bitter, or embittered, or even disillusioned. But she had been let down a lot. Her father started the trend. He left when she was 9. She had split with her most recent partner 3 years ago. She had no expectations. Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. The longest and most stable relationship she had had was with Maddy, her 11 year old border collie, who was curled up asleep on the passenger seat beside her. Teri rubbed her warm neck gently.

She pulled into a service station to drop off some nets of kindling and to fill up. This was not really her side of town. Teri lived in a divided community. There were no fence sitters here. Everyone knew which side everyone was on. Like squaddies out of uniform who still look like soldiers, here people could not hide their roots.

The worst of the troubles might be in the past. The atmosphere was definitely more relaxed than when Teri was a child so she did not worry too much about whom she supplied. But she still felt uncomfortable here.

As she finished filling up a large and lived in, brown and battered Mercedes pulled in and jerked abruptly to a halt on the other side of the pump. The driver was a rather attractive 30 something. She remembered her father saying, “If angels drove cars, they’d drive Mercedes.” He wound down the window, leaned across and reeled her in with a smile and a lyrical accent.

“Excuse me .... could I, er .... would you ... could you help me fill up please?”

He was from the other side. She could also see through the open passenger window that his left knee was encased in plaster. He held out a £20 note.

She shrugged. “OK”.

She wasn’t that bothered. She couldn’t see anyone around who might tell tales. She stared at his knee – he didn’t look like an activist or a hoodlum.

“Football.” He said in answer to her gaze. “Late tackle, my fault, we lost 3 – 0. I wasn’t very popular. If I hadn’t been carried off I would have been sent off – I think.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a farmer. No. A builder.“ He smiled. Sweet. “Actually, I’m a minister – I plant ... build ... new churches.”

“And I was just beginning to fall,” Teri thought to herself as she instinctively ran up the defences. At least with the Mormons and JW’s you can see them coming – this one was cute and had nearly caught her off balance.

“I haven’t got time for God,” she jousted, “I have to live all the time with the mess religion’s made of people’s lives.”

“I think people use God as an excuse for furthering their own agendas. I wouldn’t judge him by what some people claim to be doing in his name.”

“Yeah. That’s as maybe, but he still sits idly by watching all the hurting and maiming; businesses, livelihoods, widows and orphans, wreckage....” She scrolled through in her mind the many many faces of the victims she knew.

“Well, I believe he cares more deeply than we give him credit for ... like any father he...”

Just as when you overheat a drink in the microwave the boiling liquid erupts and cascades over the side of the mug when you stick in a spoon. So all the hurt and anger Teri kept neatly pressed and folded deep down inside burst and bubbled out at the sound of the “F” word - father - forgotten, forsaken, failed.

“What does your God know about being abandoned and betrayed ...,” she spat. “And by people who are supposed to take care of you. All tucked up cosy and warm in his little heaven. I’d b. ...”

She is interrupted by the jerk and click of the pump. She slams it back into its holster and grumps off to pay. When she returns she thrusts the receipt through the window.

Looking down and a bit embarrassed, the man says “Thank you ........... you know it says he was despised and rejected ... acquainted with grief ... pierced and crushed.”

He held out a card. “I’m sorry I upset you. Come and see us. You’d be very welcome”

The misty rain concealed her tears. She took the card. It looked irritatingly colourful and contemporary. Without a word she climbed into her cab, screwed it up and flung it on the floor. She shoved Maddy’s head away from the handbrake roughly. Tyres squealed as she moved off.

On the drive home Teri found herself thinking about that man. The other one. The one she had learned about so long ago. Who left his home, his comfort, who was betrayed by a friend.

As she pulled into the yard and shut off the engine she had the distinct feeling she had been met.

She switched on the cab light and started rummaging around amongst the muddy discarded papers, crisp packets, invoices and coffee cups on the floor looking for that card.