A Song for Issy Bradley Read Online Free Page B

way down the corridor to the ladies’ bathroom. She stood beside the big mirror next to the paper-towel dispenser. She didn’t feel like laughing anymore; in fact she felt as if she’d been tipped upside down and emptied of every last chuckle and snigger. She snatched a paper towel and wiped her face. It was red and blotchy. She couldn’t go back looking like that, so she locked herself in one of the cubicles, sat onthe toilet lid for ten minutes, and worried about how to fall in love and get married without ever making any diabolical mistakes.
    “That woman,” Mum said in the car on the way home.
    “Claire.”
    “You let her say all those awful–”
    “It’s
her
calling, not yours.”
    “You
asked her to do it. You’re the Bishop,
you
called her.”
    “The Lord called her, through inspiration.”
    Mum muttered something that sounded like desperation, but Dad ignored her.
    “Did you enjoy tonight, Zipporah? I did. It reminded me of being young and meeting your mum. She was a catch, you know.” When Dad stopped the car at the traffic light, he let go of the gearshift and grabbed Mum’s thigh.
    “Catch of the century,” he said and squeezed, then he leaned in and kissed Mum’s cheek just before the light changed.
    Zippy pushes the blankets down and frees her arms. Adam is only seventeen, so it’s too early to catch him. He can’t go on his mission until he’s finished his A levels. He’ll be away for two whole years, but she’ll write to him every week to make sure he doesn’t forget her. She pictures him as a missionary, riding a bike; knocking on people’s doors and teaching them about the only true and living Church; converting them to the gospel; standing in the waist-deep water of the font to baptize them—dozens and dozens of them. When he comes home she’ll meet him at the airport or the train station, depending on where he’s been. She pictures the reunion sometimes at night before she goes to sleep. She will wear something sexy but modest, and she’ll look irresistible, in a good way, in a way that makes him want to marry her. She imagines getting married, and then … that’s where she’s supposed to stop imagining, but it’s difficult; it’s hard to focus on eternal marriage without ever thinking about sex.
    She sits up in bed and swings her legs around. The sole of onefoot touches the smooth surface of the prayer rock that she leaves on the floor. She made it at Youth Night while the boys played basketball in the hall. Her rock is gray, more of a large pebble, really. She painted “PRAYER” on it and then she asked if she could go and join the boys—she’d been hoping that Adam might be shooting baskets with his shirt off again—but Sister Campbell said no. So she had to wait while the other girls painted hearts and flowers on their rocks and copied out the accompanying poem in careful, neat writing. The poem is folded up in her bedside drawer. She fishes it out from under a pile of underwear and socks. Her handwriting is hurried but not untidy. She crossed out the last line of the poem and wrote a better one when she realized she wasn’t going to be allowed to play basketball. Sister Campbell was irritated. “You’re making light of sacred things,” she said, not realizing that you can make jokes about things and still take them seriously.
    I’m your little prayer rock and this is what I’ll do …
    Just put me on your pillow until the day is through
    Then turn back all the covers and climb into your bed
    WHACK! Your little prayer rock will hit you in the head
    Then you will remember as the day is through
    To kneel and say your prayers as you wanted to
    And then when you are finished just dump me on the floor
    I’ll stay throughout the night to give you help once more
    When you get up in the morning CLUNK! I’ll stub your toe
    So you’ll remember to say your morning prayers before you go
    Put me back upon your pillow once your bed is made
    And your clever little