Page 37 of The Cut
‘I am dealing with it.’
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CHRISTMAS 2023
Midnight mass had always been a bit of a chore to Ben Knot. As a kid, he resented being dragged out into the frosty night at11.45 p.m. when all he wanted was to lie in bed, guarding the empty pillowcase that was hanging from the knob of his chest of drawers and waiting to be filled by Father Christmas. But Marian was raised a Christian and out of love for her, Anthony Knot would get them all bundled up in duffel coats, hats and scarves and insist they all head to St James’s. In those days, the church congregation was a healthy smattering of devout locals and some who came from the surrounding villages. The handsome young priest, Father Allen, was a big draw. He was a fun and optimistic minister, who decorated the ancient whitewashed chapel with colourful tinsel and a huge tree by the altar. There was always a mince pie and a cup of mulled wine after the service, but it was his Christmas message of peace and goodwill, with a couple of jokes thrown in, that left a lasting impression.
Even though he hated it as a child, there was something in Ben that had made him carry on this tradition, even after he’d moved away. It’s what families did at Christmas. So, that Christmas Eve, they walked in the pitch dark from Fosse Grove along Barton Road, feet crunching through the frosted grass of the verge, the twinkling lights from the trees guiding the way. Most families didn’t bother with church anymore, but one or two hunched silhouettes gravitated towards the warm glow emanating from the stained-glass windows and the single bell chiming out the call to mass.144
Ben sidled into the pew next to Dani, who was all wrapped up in faux fur. Nate was hunched grumpily over a hymn book, turning down the corners of the pages, while Lily filmed selfies to prove she was actually there, ‘at frikkin midnight, y’all’.
There were very few people in the church, but old Father Allen, in his dotage bearing a vague resemblance to Gandalf, kicked off the proceedings. The chapel was unchanged, stark and simple. There was no heating and it felt colder in here than outside in the subzero night. Ben’s eyes were blurred with wine and dazzled by the candlelight. He exhaled deeply. Two withered figures, well into their late eighties, were sitting in their place alone at the front. As usual, they were respectfully left in peace, aside from a whispered conversation and a friendly squeeze on the arm from Father A. This would be a difficult Christmas for them both. Their daughter’s killer was about to be released from prison. Ben could see his cold breath trembling in the air as they sang, but something inside him became that child again. He gripped Dani’s arm and pulled her in tight.
The candlelit service was as charming as it had ever been, the darkened church austere yet magical at the same time. As the organ piped up the introduction to ‘Silent Night’, the door at the back of the nave creaked open and a gust of cold air licked across the flagstones. Ben turned mid-verse.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child
All alone, a man had slid into one of the pews at the back, trying not to be seen. He kept his head down and, with hunched shoulders, removed the flat cap he was wearing. His eyes were cast to the floor, but he picked up the hymn book and began to sing along with the congregation. As the carol came to an end, and Father Allen once again took his place at the lectern, Ben glanced back a second time and his eyes met those of Dr Sandeep145Patel. They stared at each other for a second and Ben’s stomach hollowed out. Sandeep looked like the shell of a man, thin and gaunt, his few wisps of white hair combed across his bald head.
Ben nodded his head in acknowledgement, as Father Allen began the ‘in memoriam’ of those who had died.
After the communion was taken and the collection bag passed around, Christmas morning was welcomed in with ‘Oh Come, All Ye Faithful’, and the service was over. Ben looked for Sandeep, but he had gone. Dani was in a deep conversation with Margaret Carson, leaning on the font under the portico, a cup of mulled wine in her hand. Ben agreed Lily and Nate could walk home ahead of them, while he waited for Dani. He grabbed a mince pie and stared vacantly at the congregation bulletin board.
‘Bold of you … showing your face here.’ A brittle-throated voice behind him. ‘Bit brazen, isn’t it?’ The Derbyshire accent was still strong.
Ben turned. ‘John?’
‘Mr Maddock to you, son.’ John Maddock gripped his wife’s arm.
‘Mrs Maddock …’ Ben smiled at her.
‘She won’t remember you.’ John kissed his wife’s head. ‘Barely knows who I am anymore.’
The lights on the Christmas tree were extinguished and the nave was plunged into shadows. The room was suddenly so cold they could see their breath.
‘Happy Christmas.’ Ben held out his hand to shake but the old farmer stared at it and kept his deep in his pocket.
‘I don’t think it’s right … this film being made … it’s not right.’ John pushed past him.
‘The film? Nate’s film?’ Ben was rooted to the spot.
‘The whole village knows what it’s about … it’s not right.’ John dabbed his wet eyes.146
‘What are you talking about?’
John took his wife’s arm and muttered under his breath as he left.
On the walk home, over the glass of sherry before bed and even into his dreams that night, Ben tried to understand what John Maddock had been referring to, struggling to shake off that haunted look etched on to the old man’s face. Why would John Maddock be upset about the film Nate was making? What the hell was going on?
A sharp pain wrenched at his chest. Ben gripped his sternum and tried to breathe.
That one was real.
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