Page 96 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘When we were in the kitchen before arguing, a dove flew into the garden,’ I tell him carefully as I sit down. ‘It dropped this on the kitchen window sill.’ I pull a cutting with grey-green leaves from my dressing-gown pocket. ‘It was still there when I went back just now.’
Callum takes the cutting from me. ‘Is it from an olive tree?’
‘I think so.’
Callum glances at me to see if I might be thinking the same as he is.
‘It’s an olive branch,’ I say, confirming it for him. ‘The dove offered us an olive branch, didn’t it?’
‘The sign of peace,’ Callum says, still gazing at the leaves in his hand.
‘You’re thinking about Noah and the dove that flew back to the ark carrying an olive branch, aren’t you?’
‘Not necessarily; olive branches were offered by the Romans, too. In battle the defeated would offer them as a sign of surrender.’
‘But it’s the Bible story that’s the most well-known, isn’t it?’ I sigh. ‘Even the birds seem to be on your side.’
‘This isn’t about sides, Ava. If you want to see this as a sign, then perhaps the dove was simply suggesting that there be peace between us. You said you saw it earlier when we’d just been arguing – your word, by the way, not mine. I like to think of what we were doing more as a healthy discussion.’
‘Oh, stop being so nice!’ I plead. ‘How can I argue with someone who is so calm and understanding all the time?’
Callum grins. ‘Like I said, why argue at all? This isn’t a competition. I just want to understand you more and what happened to cause you to have such an extreme distrust of the Church.’
‘I don’t distrust the Church as such,’ I admit. ‘I just can’t believe there’s this all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful being watching over us.’
‘Why can’t there be?’ Callum asks softly. ‘Tell me.’
‘Because . . . bad things happen, and they shouldn’t. Not to good people, anyway.’
‘What bad things, Ava?’
I sigh. He’s brought me back to this again.
‘You see it all the time on the news, don’t you? Wars, famines, incurable diseases, natural disasters, terrorist attacks . . . ’
‘Yes, sadly you do. But I’m interested in which one happened to you,’ Callum says perceptively. ‘I doubt it was famine or war, and possibly not a natural disaster either . . . ’
He waits to gauge my reaction.
‘That leaves an incurable disease or a terrorist attack. Does someone you know have an incurable disease?’
I shake my head a tiny bit.
‘That only leaves a terrorist attack, then,’ he says quietly. ‘Is that what it is, Ava? Were you involved in a terrorist attack when you lived in London?’
I nod this time. Still silent.
‘Oh, Ava,’ Callum says softly. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘Not really,’ I reply quietly. ‘I’ve only ever talked with my therapist before.’
‘What about your family?’
I shake my head again. ‘I couldn’t. They tried to talk to me about it – lots of times. But I just clammed up. I wanted to protect them.’
‘That’s totally understandable.’ Callum reaches out his hand, but I pull mine away before he can touch it.
‘Sorry,’ I say, jumping up and walking over to the French window. ‘It’s difficult, even now.’
