One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

has a lot to do with what has happened and it was my story then – but it’s not my story now.’
    Kitty looked down at all her notes. She’d stayed awake working until three thirty that morning in Sally’s responsible spare bedroom. ‘So, what’s the story?’
    He looked down. ‘I never believed in God. Not even at school when my priestly teacher drummed the fear and the guilt into us. I believed that he believed it, all right, but I thought he was mad. Delusional. I thought if somebody had to force you that much to believe in something then it wasn’t worth believing, that it wasn’t natural, you know?’
    Kitty nodded.
    ‘I prayed at night before I went to bed as routinely as brushing my teeth. I believed in God as much as I believed in germs. It was something adults just scared you about, just habit, something I had to do. I didn’t believe in God when I was six years old and we buried my mother, or at seven when I made my first Holy Communion, or at twelve when I made my confirmation. I didn’t believe in Him when I stood in His house and promised Him I’d forever be faithful to my wife-to-be, but,’ he looked at Kitty, his eyes glassy, ‘I thanked Him the day my daughter was born.’
    He went silent.
    ‘Now, why did I do that? How can you thank someone you don’t even believe in? But I did. Without thinking. Like it was natural.’ He pondered that for a while. ‘But then the sleepless nights began and I forgot about Him again. Occasionally, when she fell ill, ran a high temperature or bumped her head as a toddler and we had to fly her in to Temple Street for stitches I remembered Him again. But as quickly as her tears would dry and that beautiful smile of hers would come back to her face and light up my whole world, I forgot about Him again.
    ‘It was only when she went missing for one whole week and we started a public campaign to find her that I remembered Him again. I started praying to Him. Every morning just at first, at home, the very second I woke up. I’d pray for that day to be the day she came home. Then it became more regular, most minutes of every day. Then I started going to church. Every day. Thoughts of Him came as frequently as thoughts of her. I invested so much time and energy making pacts and promises, trade-offs: if You bring her back, I’ll do this; if You help us find her alive, I’ll do that. If You even help us find her at all I’ll be the best bloody person You’ve ever known. I begged Him. A grown man, down on his hands and knees, begging. I believed in Him so strongly, more than I ever had in my whole life.
    ‘But when her body was found battered and bruised, I not only stopped believing in Him, but believed so strongly in His
non
-existence that I felt sorry, irritated even, at those who did. I couldn’t spend a minute in their company, not one single second, and believe me they all came out of the woodwork when Rebecca was found, to
help
us. Their belief, their naïvety, their openness to such ridiculous theories reduced me to blood-curdling anger. I felt their belief was a cop-out, a passing of the buck, a failure to be able to achieve anything completely by themselves, a lack of responsibility and a carelessness. Their idea that they had a saviour, that somebody else would guide them, was reckless to me. They were weak, why couldn’t they just accept that their lives were
their
responsibility? I wanted nothing to do with them. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
    ‘I do. That you don’t believe in God.’ She offered him a small smile.
    ‘No. I
didn’t
. I
didn’t
believe in God. Then I did, and He let me down and I spent seven years hating His guts, hating the very idea of Him. But it’s the same as thanking Him, isn’t it? How can you hate somebody if you don’t believe in them?’
    Kitty had been so lost in his words she hadn’t noticed her breakfast being placed before her. She took a drink of water, trying to assess where they were, trying to guess where this was taking her.
    Archie watched her.
    ‘You’re not going to believe me.’
    ‘I believe you,’ she said.
    ‘I promise you, you won’t believe me.’
    ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
    He looked down at his tea, which must have been cold by then; Kitty could see the thin layer of hard water from the kettle on the surface. He didn’t speak for a long time.
    ‘Do your family know about the thing you don’t think I’ll believe?’ She tried to get them back on the subject