God's Country

Part Forty-Four

'I never read a self help book except for the Bible.'

Jon Heder

Paul Craig could not sleep. Not on the eve of the day they had all been working for over the last twenty years. He kissed his wife goodnight and returned to his study. He turned on the television, still full of the shock news of Philip Henderson's offer to the CDP, and then his computer, just killing time. He could not settle. Meeting Michael Winstanley and then, much later, Charles Buckingham, had given his life a new purpose. He still loved doing business but he had long since taken a back seat in what he thought of as their modest empire, and it was the building of Meadvale and the growth of the Church that filled his time. He was not as rich as David Harrington, who had invested in other things as well as HCR, but he had paid his fair share, and he considered it money well spent, so the first foray into the wider world was a crucial moment if his investments were going to pay dividends. Not in vulgar cash, of course. He did not need the money back and he would happily invest even more. Even if David had made more, Craig was still a billionaire. But he believed in the project and wanted to see it fly.

He clicked on his email out of habit, not expecting to find anything of any particular interest. His personal assistant dealt with his business address, and his private one was seldom used, a relic of much simpler times when his business and private life could be kept separate, but it was sensible to check every once in a while. The name in the inbox surprised him, but pleasantly so. He had made many contacts over the years, but few had been as profitable as Stephen Lawrence, and Craig rather regretted having lost touch with him, so he clicked on the message. He read it carefully and then replied in the affirmative. He would have done many more things for Lawrence. Putting his daughter up for a few weeks would be an easy pleasure. However, his response took some time. He needed to explain the situation to Lawrence, but in the circumstances he could not see it being a problem. He owed the man more or less everything and looking after little Brogan was the very least he could do for the man who made Reformism possible in many ways. There certainly would not have been any money without Stephen Lawrence. And Craig was well aware that it was his money that had made the renaissance possible.

He enjoyed crafting his response. It took his mind off the general election and he also wanted Lawrence to know that he felt indebted to him. He explained the dynamics of his life in Meadvale, and his beliefs, which he did not think would surprise Lawrence. Reformism had been a part of his life when they met, but in truth a smaller part. But if Lawrence wanted a safe haven for his errant daughter for one week or fifty, he made it clear that he would very happily oblige.

'I've always been interested in definitions, because in the Bible, the Ten Commandments are there but there's no clear definition of what sin is, in a fundamental sense – how we can use the words to evaluate our lives as we go along: Am I doing something that is ethically good? Am I being worthwhile in my life at this moment?

Whitley Strieber

"Sleep is simply impossibly overrated at times like this," Pastor Michael Winstanley shook Charles Buckingham's hand with enthusiasm, full of the adrenalin of the result, as if he could feel his dreams coming true. He had been planning for that moment for so many years and he had expected to wait at least a few more. "Well done Charles...bloody well done."

"Oh I think we can thank Stephen Reynolds for this result...any word from anywhere else yet?" Charles shrugged, having just made a speech thanking his supporters. He had won with a majority of over five thousand votes as the support for the disgraced Conservative melted away. It felt too much like a hollow victory to celebrate. It was three o'clock in the morning and he actually thought that bed seemed like a rather good idea, for once. He felt flat, having run on sheer adrenalin for days, and the thrill of victory was a little hollow.