5. Grace

The Gospel According To Bethany

"Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself." Carol Ann Duffy

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When I was nine, my parents divorced and my father moved away. I remember the day he left; I sat on the front porch as he walked in and out of the house, carrying his things to the car. When it finally came to saying goodbye, he gave me a big hug, and told me that I could come and see him whenever I wanted. Even then, I knew he was lying. Less than a year later he had a new wife and a new child. A new family, shinier and better than the one he left behind. All proof to a ten-year old Beth that being a parent is a job you can quit if you don't like it.

They tell me that two thousand years ago, a baby was born and he changed the world. I wonder if the illegitimate child growing inside me will be a prophet or a saint. I have no idea who the father is, so maybe, just maybe, it's immaculate conception. Except, of course, Mary was a virgin, and like I told Father Michael not so long ago, I identify much more with the other Mary. The woman that everybody spat at. But still, it's a nice thought - it's what I cling to as I walk in and out of my mother's house, slowly packing my car. Not carrying too much at once, of course, not in my condition. My mother isn't sitting on the front porch, watching me like I watched my father. She's stood in the kitchen, staring out into the back garden at the old swing that I used to play on, that hasn't been used in almost a decade but still she hasn't the heart to get rid of it.

I don't know what's going through her mind. I certainly don't want to know how much she knows about my life. About the mistakes I've made. That day, when I went to Father Michael and slept with him, that was the first time in years that I have set foot in a church. But the story that I spun to trap him, the dreams about Mary Magdalene and Jesus, that was all real. Perhaps my conscience was trying to tell me something after years of being away.

I hear a cough behind me and when I turn around, Joe is walking up my driveway. I remember the other night, with Devon, and I instantly begin to apologise.

"It's alright," he cuts in, "Dev explained everything. A drunken mistake."

"One of many," I say wistfully. "And I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's forgotten," he smiles. Oh, Joe. I wish I could be like you. With the kind of faith and forgiveness that overcomes all obstacles.

"No, Joe. Honestly. Someday I'm going to make it up to you. I'm going to make you proud of me."

"You're different today," he says. "What happened?"

I see Ava's eyes, the eyes of a woman who works hard and secretly holds out for true love. I hope she finds it.

"I spent last night in another woman's arms," I reply, "crying my heart out over all the stupid things I've said and done in as long as I can remember. It's the kind of release that no amount of sex can give you."

I can see he doesn't really know what to say, and I suppose that it's best if he says nothing at all. I look at him, at the one man I could never have, and I hug him, whispering in his ear;

"Thank you for being my friend. I never deserved you."

"Why do I get the feeling you're saying goodbye?"

"I'm not. Not forever. I'll definitely be back. But there are things I need to do first. Questions that need answering."

"Off to find yourself?" He grins lopsidedly. "You'll miss out on that road trip we had planned."

I laugh, and kiss him on the cheek. I have a pilgrimage of my own.

"I'm off to meet my maker," I say, and I get in the car. Ten minutes later I'm on the road to see my father.

The End

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Author's Note: This story is something of a labour of love for me - I started writing it over a year ago, beginning with the first chapter, Reverence, which I intended to be a one-shot. Then I thought it would be interesting to get a view of Bethany from another perspective, and then finally herself. I'm not entirely happy with the ending, but I felt she needed some kind of redemption. Please let me know what you think.