Chapter 40

As the only large indoor communal space on the estate, the Children of Job used the old school gym as a multipurpose room, Joshua explained. Poe asked for examples.

‘Morning and evening prayers, obviously,' Joshua replied. ‘Harvest festivals, a few of the other traditions we celebrate. Anything too large for one of the classrooms basically. It's used every day and it has to be booked in advance. Any diary clashes were mediated by Cornelius.' He paused. ‘I imagine that will fall to me now.' It didn't look as though it were something he would relish.

Despite the unexpected turn the gym had taken, echoes of its past were there if you knew what you were looking for. Scars on the polished maple floor where badminton and basketball court markings had been scraped off. Walls that still bore evidence of climbing frames, hooks for the ropes that remained in the ceiling. He could almost hear the slap-slap of kids in plimsolls as they ran and jumped and yelled in excitement.

It was currently being dressed for that evening's graduation ceremony. Half-a-dozen men and women were hanging up banners and putting out chairs; another two were setting up what looked like a dry bar in the corner. One end of the gymnasium was wall-to-wall stage. Poe couldn't tell if it was new, or whether this was where the headmaster had stood during assembly. Probably the latter. It was made from the same wood as the floor. The wall behind the stage was bare brick. On it hung a large crucifix, at least ten feet tall. It was a simple design, two bits of oak and a wooden Jesus. No colour. Given how frippery-free Cornelius Green's life had been, Poe wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the Children of Job's founder had personally chosen it. On the stage underneath the crucifix the band rehearsed. They watched for a while.

Poe had always thought Christian rock was to music what Michael McIntyre was to stand-up comedy – cosy, clean-cut, with no personality. Nothing to dislike, but nothing to admire either. It had none of the Sex Pistols' disenfranchisement or the Clash's politics, the Ramones' humour or the raw sexuality of Led Zeppelin. It was music without danger, and it therefore had no value.

Poe listened for a while and decided that the rosy-cheeked musicians on stage, two boys and two girls, weren't actually that bad. They finished a song he didn't recognise and moved straight into a punchy, guitar and drum-heavy cover of ‘Kumbaya'. When they got to the bit about ‘Someone's singing, Lord, kumbaya', a voice behind them started chanting in time with the beat.

‘I cast thee out, serpents, I cast thee out! Oh serpents, I cast thee out!'

Bradshaw frowned. ‘Those aren't the right words,' she said.

They all turned. A wild-looking woman shuffled towards them. She continued chanting, getting louder and louder, until it was little more than unhinged ranting. When she was twenty yards away, she stopped. Her ranting did not. She was younger than Poe had imagined. Mid-thirties if he were forced to guess. Her back was stooped, and it was this that caused the shuffling gait. She had Edward Scissorhands's hair and wore a chewed up old cardigan that was grey rather than the white it had once been. The buttons were in the wrong holes, adding to her lopsided look. Her eyes were manic and unfocused; her face mottled with rage.

One of the men who had been quietly putting up a ‘Congratulations!' banner climbed down from his ladder. He approached the woman cautiously but made no move to intervene.

Poe faced Joshua. ‘Well, she's not with me.'

‘That's enough, Alice,' Joshua said kindly. ‘These people are our guests.'

‘Sinners!' she shrieked.

She began tugging at her hair. No wonder it was wild, Poe thought. She probably pulled it out in clumps.

‘That may be the case,' Joshua said, ‘but the heart of the Gospel is rooted in hospitality, is it not?'

‘Hey,' Poe said. ‘Tilly isn't a sinner.'

‘Hello, Alice,' Bradshaw said. ‘My name is Matilda, but you can call me Tilly if you want. I am very pleased to meet you. I like your jumper – is it wool?'

‘I cast thee out, serpent!'

‘Oh my.'

‘I think they need some help in the greenhouse, Alice,' Joshua said. ‘The tomatoes will go soft if we don't get them picked. You like working in the greenhouse, don't you?'

‘I do,' she mumbled.

‘Why don't you let Mark take you there?'

‘OK.'

‘And I'll see you at evening prayers.'

As Alice was gently led away, Joshua said, ‘This is what happens when a devout woman can no longer cope in a society that mocks her faith.'

‘She'll be OK?' Poe asked, ignoring the dig.

‘She will. The greenhouse will calm her and we'll have a chat later. See if she needs some extra support.'

‘Who is she?'

‘Alice is part of the furniture, Sergeant Poe. She's been here fifteen years and I doubt she'll ever leave.'

‘And why's that?'

‘The locals call her Mad Alice, which is why she's so wary of strangers. This is the only place she feels accepted. And yes, she occasionally has her little episodes, but she's never violent and an hour in the chapel or the garden always calms her.'

‘Does she work here?'

Joshua shrugged. ‘She doesn't get paid, if that's what you mean. But she's here almost every day of the week and she takes her meals with the permanent staff whenever she wants. If she wanted a job, we'd give her one, but every time we broach it, she says no. She says she's just happy to be here.' He sighed. ‘And I suppose this is what the people who mock us don't realise. The Children of Job isn't only a religious organisation or a pressure group or a training company; it's also a place for the people who don't quite fit in. A sanctuary for the forgotten. No one will ever be turned away from here, Sergeant Poe.'

Unless they happen to be gay, Poe thought but didn't say. The band started playing again and he watched as Alice reached the gym door. Just as she was about to step through it, she turned and caught Poe's eye. It might have been his imagination, but he was sure she winked.

After Alice had left for the greenhouse, Poe said, quietly and without looking at Joshua, ‘I want to know why you won't tell me about the conversion therapy groups you run.'

‘I told you; we don't do that kind of thing here, Sergeant Poe,' he replied. ‘It's been proven to be ineffective.'

‘OK,' Poe said. ‘Now I want to know why you're lying to me.'

‘I'm not—'

‘Tilly, show Joshua the scanned conversion therapy programme you have on your tablet. The one that's on this year's curriculum.'

Bradshaw found it quickly. She passed Joshua her tablet. He paled as he read what was on the screen. For a moment he seemed lost for words. His Adam's apple bounced up and down. ‘I think I would like to discuss this somewhere a little more private,' he said eventually.