Chapter Text
1. Beloved
The church was small. The benches were cramped together in the tight space; even the faintest sound would be heard by everyone attending mass. An old woman coughed, and more than a few heads turned to see who disturbed the pastor. She wore an apologetic look on her face, but she was elder, weaker, which made her easier to forgive.
Harry suddenly thought about how humans were truly not allowed to be bodies at church; the divine and the humane was never to meet, so one had to crumble into a silent creature. God-fearing.
Harry’s eyes fell on two large candles stood at the altar, they cast long dreary shadows across the lime floor. Paintings were scattered on the church walls in no particular pattern, and only a few rays of sunlight escaped through the thick glass windows, on which scraps of old glass paintings were left. A memoir of the beauty the church once was. The church smelled like stairwells and old wood, which had a nostalgic taste to it, but Harry could not figure out whether he liked it.
“…And if you will stand with me to say the Creed.”
The pastor gestured with his arms, and people shuffled to stand up and fold their hands. Harry´s hands felt numb from having been tightly intertwined for the past 45 minutes, he gave them a slight shake and squeezed them together again.
“We believe in God, the Father…”
Harry’s mother spoke loudly beside him, her voice irritating his ears after a while of silence. We need to make a good first impression, Harry heard her say in his head, we will not be new and clumsy, Harry.
The church they used to attend back home had a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the pastor often had to speak into a small microphone attached to the side of his head. This church almost made you feel shame for breathing, it made you want to confess sins you had not even committed. Where is the glory? Harry thought, where is the light?
Harry’s mother gently slapped his right wrist, trying to get him to focus on the words of the Creed. He bowed his head and mumbled along, shivering from the loud echo of voices in the small space.
After mass Harry and his mother went to introduce themselves to the pastor. He had short, what seemed to be home-cut hair and small brown eyes. His nose was delicate and did not fit his broad face. He smiled at them, welcoming, his sharp teeth showing under the pale lips.
“You must be Harry and Anne,” he said, looking between the two.
Harry stepped on his own feet and bit his lip, as he reached out to shake the pastor’s hand.
“Yes, pastor,” Anne started, “and I am much too grateful that you took the time to respond to my emails.”
“No problem at all, I am merely glad to welcome new people to the church.” He widened his smile and nodded. “also, I can understand the importance of choosing the right church in a new place.”
“Yes,” Anne said, “the one across the street seems… rather fun,” she finished, raising her eyebrows at the pastor.
The church across the street would catch anyone’s eyes; it was not much bigger than this one, however, it had huge glass windows in the roof, and a multitude of colorful flags decorated the outside walls. Harry would have never guessed it was a church if it had not been for the crooked letters above the entrance which said: Holmes Chapel United Reformed Church.
“Ah yes. They are fairly modern,” the pastor winked at Harry, “not really our style.”
Harry assumed he was referring to the flags, Harry did not recognize all of them, but the rainbow pride flag he did - he figured the rest were various pride flags as well.
“They’re evangelic,” the pastor noted, as would it explain everything.
The cold autumn air welcomed Harry as he stepped out, it toyed with his out-grown curly hair and blew through his light coat. He took a deep breath through his nose, the temperature, the weather was not much different from home. This is home, Harry, his mother snapped in his mind, this is where you were born, where I and your father met.
Harry stared at the church across from them with curiosity, he wondered what the obvious display of support toward those people, as his mother called them, was about. He skimmed the building and confirmed his initial thought: it did not look like any churches he had even know. However, he spotted some scripture beneath the church name, which caught his interest:
1 John 4:7
Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God, and every one that loveth is born of God and knoweth God.
Harry knew it, he had heard it in a few different contexts, never next to pride flags, though, that was certainly a first. To love is to know God. Harry chewed the inside of his cheeks; it was so simple, too simple, and he could not let himself believe in simple things. Simple things are for simple people, his grandmother often told him, and we are not simple people in this family. And as if had his mother snuck her hand into his head and stolen his thoughts, she lets out a huff and said:
“That seems oddly simple, even horrible people probably love someone, doesn’t mean they are children of God, does it. Probably taken out of context, it is.”
Sunday evening was strange to Harry. It was a vast space between weekends and weekdays, it came with the warning of reality that awaited people. On weekends people dreamed of the life they strived after; they planted flowers in the near-dead gardens, ate family supper, and drank hot tea in the afternoon with a book they had been reading for months on their laps. Harry liked to think of Sundays as a window to real desire; like the way, his mother spent an hour applying eyeshadow before church, or the pancakes she slowly cooked and the dishes she left for later. Harry’s mother lived within the vast space and found joy in it. Harry spent too much time thinking about it.
The two ate sweet potato wraps for dinner and shared half a bottle of wine, which Anne never let Harry have on weekdays, and discussed how the guest room should be decorated. It was calm, they existed together in the space, and Harry’s mind was still; only filled with ideas for wall art and paint samples.
Monday morning soon came, and the nervous pit in Harry's chest grew larger, and almost made it impossible to eat his toast, while his mother rambled about her new job. Anne worked for a law firm, and though she did not exactly stand in court or anything, it made a good living for the two of them, and Harry always thought she was content with her job. Anne was so unlike Harry about changes and was excited about their new beginning in Cheshire, and she had gladly chatted with everyone they bumped into, trying to make herself know around town already.
“Can you recommend a place for lunch?” She had stopped a young woman to ask.
“Do you know whether the library is any good?”
A poor elder man had been forced to give details about the various books the library contained.
Harry knew she was only reaching out to strangers to get to know people, she already knew places around here. Harry envied his sister, Gemma, who was away at uni in Dublin, probably living her best life free from the chains of their mother and her social-butterfly ways.
“Have a lovely day at school!” Anne shouted before Harry closed the door, and he was left alone in a town that might as well have been another planet to him.
A bold middle-aged man introduced Harry to his new class, which, if Harry was being honest, looked quite similar to his old class back home. Tired teens with mostly pale skin and light brown har, who looked as if they would rather be anywhere else.
“This is Harry who has just moved from Northern Ireland -”
“Uh Irish!” A kid shouted, making his classmates whistle and laugh.
“I was actually born here,” Harry explained shyly, and he noticed a few faces fell at the sound of his far-from-Irish accent.
“Anyway,” the teacher said, looking tired, “Harry will be joining your class, and Irish or not, you will give him a good impression of our school.”
Harry walked awkwardly to a seat in the front row, he felt taller than usual, and his shoulders suddenly appeared comically wide to him at that moment. He sat next to a boy with blue eyes and brown hair styled in a fringe that covered half his forehead. He wore a colorful red shirt and black trousers and had a cross necklace having from a leather string around his neck. Harry let out a breath.
“I like your necklace,” Harry whispered to the boy, his cheeks bright red and heart-pounding even into his fingertips.
“Ah thank. Courtesy of mom number one.” The kids held up one finger and flashed a smile showing his slightly crooked teeth.
Harry liked them like that, he thought.
Harry wanted to ask what on earth “mom number one” meant, but the teacher started speaking Spanish at a pace that forced Harry to look at his lips, just to follow just half of the words.
The class went by rather smoothly, Harry learned that the boy next to him was Louis, the one next to Louis was Niall, and the two behind them were Liam and Zayn, who kept whisper fighting about which brand of cup noodles was best throughout the entire lesson.
They all quickly introduced themselves while the teacher hurried to the teacher's lounge for more coffee.
“we’re the cool gang,” Zayn, who had grand hazel eyes and a sideways smile and smelled faintly of the mint tea sat on his desk, said, and wiggled his eyebrows.
This made all the other boys laugh and shake their heads. Harry took this to mean that they were in fact not cool, which was fine, Harry was not cool either.
Louis was silent for most of the class, occasionally he would smile at Harry and pull a funny face. He also drew a butterfly with purple wings and a neon pink body on his notebook, which made Harry giggle softly. Louis had somewhat small hands, and a rainbow bracelet on both wrists, which made Harry wonder if he attended the other church. He chose to ignore it for now, because Louis was sweet and fun from what Harry could tell, and he also had a fringe that was not really in style anymore, which all made him seem like someone Harry would want to be friends with.
Lunch came soon and Harry was invited to sit with the boys at their "cool gang table", which was honestly the least cool thing every said by any human, and he was so very grateful still. He positioned himself between Louis and Niall, and followed the boys interactions with his eyes. They were all warm. Red hot cheeks, soft shirts, and fluffy hair - warm was really the only word that fitted.
"So how come you moved back here then?" Louis turned toward Harry, who was slightly startled.
"My mum´s work, mostly," Harry said, not feeling like handing a bunch of almost-strangers his entire background story.
"What does she do, then?"
The boys were all giving Harry their attention. The room smelled of chips and overly steamed vegetable, it sparked anxiety in Harry, it was all unfamiliar.
"She does like work for law firms. Paperwork and stuff," Harry explained quietly, "how about you parents?" he then asked, changing the subjects.
Louis' eyes lit up and he seemed eager to give his answer:
“One of my moms is a priest at the United Reformed Church? The one that doesn’t look like a church. Other mom is a paediatric surgeon.”
And those few lines held so much that Harry´s knees shook, and he felt as though all air had been punched right out of him.