Man Of Few Words

Chapter 19

It's now the day after the hospital visit and, after a relatively good night's sleep, the dizziness has almost entirely gone. Thank God.

I think I do believe in God, by the way. That's about as committed as I'm ever going to be to the idea anyway. 'Ever' not being particularly long in this case, of course.

You hear a lot about people suddenly either losing their faith or else finding God when death draws near, and I can see why. It's not that facing death somehow forces you to change your mind about things, it's that it gives you, for the first time in your life, a genuinely compelling reason to really think about God. An' that. Or whatever.

So I have been. And I think that, yes, I do believe in God, and always have done. I've no idea what it is, what it's for, or where it came from. But still, I believe in it.

I mean, there have been so many situations in my life where I have instinctively, reflexively, desperately called upon God. Sure, sometimes it's just a word to be triflingly thrown around, but there have been times where, if I'm completely honest, I have one hundred per cent meant it when I've directly addressed God. And I'll give you an example.

It's a Friday afternoon. I've got what teachers like to call a 'study period', which means I've finished college early and come home with absolutely no intention of doing any work towards any of my three A-Levels.

This is very much in line with my overall attitude to A-Levels. I chose the three subjects I chose based on the belief that I wouldn't have to do much work for any of them. English – I was already good at it; I'd just have to sit around reading books. Philosophy – I heard an urban myth about a student who got full marks in an exam with a one-word answer, and I believed it wholesale, even going so far as to try it for myself (responding with "WHAT?" to a question that I genuinely did not understand – had to re-sit that one). And weirdly enough, Performing Arts, which I really thought would be a doss, but actually ended up demanding more of my time than the other two put together, thanks to the more-or-less obligatory participation in college productions of this and that.

I definitely couldn't sing or dance or play an instrument, and I really wasn't much of an actor either. But according to both the teacher and my classmates, I did have "stage presence". So I'd get given roles that involved a lot of stoic intensity, and not a lot of speaking. I was Horatio in Hamlet, Gooper in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and, most memorably by far, Riff Raff in The Rocky Horror Show.

Knowing full well that I was only on the course for what I perceived would be an easy ride, my fellow 'performing artists' were clearly, and quite vocally, surprised at just how readily I took to wearing heavy make-up and delicate-yet-slutty lingerie in front of a few hundred squirming, embarrassed parents each night of our five-night run.

And that, as you'll see, brings me back to that Friday afternoon "study period". The afternoon on which I found God, and rather more besides...

I'm at home on my own for a whole afternoon and do not intend to waste such a rare opportunity, so I start doing things I don't get to do when any other member of my family is in the house. My first port of call is my parents' bedroom.

There's no particular reason I want to go in there, other than that I know I'm not really supposed to. It turns out to be pretty boring, partly because this isn't the first time I've had a nose around in here. The only at all remarkable thing is that they seem to own an enormous amount of clothing that they never, ever wear. Jackets and shoes in particular. Why?

Anyway, I go back out to the landing and fix my eyes on Harriet's bedroom door. I'm not really comfortable going in there. She's a girl, and therefore her room is otherworldly and foreboding. I can't help feeling that the normal laws of the universe no longer apply once that threshold is crossed, and that this would leave me deeply vulnerable.