The Programme

CHAPTER SIX-3

Colin was missing by a mile. He didn’t realise that she didn’t care. He didn’t need to manipulate her - to do a Charles. It was hurtful - if he had spent a little time talking with her, he would have known that it was unnecessary.

She threw him a vengeful scare.

“It’s only the first step, though.”

“Meaning?”

“Oh, I’m sure that it can be made to seem very attractive; obviously, if you can convince Alistair and Alison, you’ll be able to convince others; and in principle, the way you put it, there’s no reason anyone should object, even if, as you say, a few are bound to. But it alters the balance of the firm, and that’s the key issue, isn’t it? Europe’s only the first step; the ones that come next are the ones that count.”

“They’re not fools; people see that.”

“There’s a difference, though. Between seeing it and having it spelled out. People don’t look much further than the ends of their noses; especially lawyers. The prospect of what might happen in the future isn’t enough to push them back over the line, but once it becomes a reality, around a real issue, it’ll be a different head-count.”

He smiled thinly: she had summed it up correctly. She had the strength of character, and enough respect within the firm, to be able to pull them around: just as he had known and feared.

“All right, then: say that’s true. You know all the arguments: we can’t just stand still. How do you think we ought to be developing?”

“I don’t. I think you’ve realised how I’m feeling, Colin, you’re not that stupid. I can’t say, you know, that I’m ready to give it all up for good - being a lawyer or the firm. But I know something’s changed, I’ve changed. I know I need more than the firm can give me, and I know I can’t go on, feeling as empty as I have been. And, I suppose, whatever comes out of it, whatever comes out of this period, I’m not going to want to go back to exactly the way things were beforehand. So, no, you’re right, I don’t need to keep things the way they always have been. Especially if Charles is willing to let it happen.”

Her brother exhaled visibly. He glanced at his watch and got up from his seat to signify the interview was over. He said:

“It is important to me; very. It’s the sort of change we’ve been looking for, for a while.”

“We?”

He flushed.

“Yes, I meant Jan too; it opens up possibilities for us; it can take us onto a different level.” Financially. “It’s not such a terrible ambition, is it? To want the best for your family; security.”

“Money, Colin, money,” she said, rising. “It’s not the same thing.”

He let the comment pass, took her hands, kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks, Carey.”

“What for? I didn’t say I was going to support you, did I? All I said was, I didn’t need to oppose you.” She smiled at the confused expression on his face. “Just like you didn’t need to threaten me over The Programme. Right?”

The Meditation Hall at the front of the building had never again seemed full to Carey after that grand, last Midnight Meditation when Matthew and Cassandra had parted. Yet she had enjoyed the meditations more since.

She was floating, in near trance. She was aware of Emily, seated cross-legged next to her. She could hear Matthew, in the distance, inviting them to come in now, come in from their meditations. She could hear him ask:

“Are there those present who wish to come forward?”

Though she knew that there were others intending to join, she realised that they were waiting for her. She looked around at faces she knew: Father Simon and Sister Hannah; dear Brother George Cohen of whom she had grown so fond; Sister Lilith encouraging her with her eyes, recalling that what Lilith had said was that she was not expected to join, not that she would not do so - she did not have to, it was her own choice. She rose gracefully in her white dress, still floating, her eyes caught Emily’s, she passed her hand lightly over her friend’s hair, she knew Emily was not yet ready, but she knew what Emily was feeling, jealous, wistful, resentful of remaining an outsider. Yet it was not Emily’s face she carried with her, but another from long ago: Marion, her cupped hands held out towards Carey bearing forgiveness.

She made her way between other cross-legged members and stood before Matthew. She could sense others joining her - two or three others at least - but did not want to turn around to check: this was between herself and Matthew. Matthew placed around her neck the chain on which hung the symbol of The Programme.

“I am one,” he said.

“We are many,” she replied.

“Together we shall be whole,” they spoke in harmony.

Afterwards, she joined the other new Acolytes in the Coffee Lounge. They gathered to share their excitement, reassure one another they had not gone mad - whatever the outside world might think - this was no lunatic cult, it could not be, it was made of them and it was what they made of it.

At one o’clock, the Coffee Lounge was closed to the general public: new times for a new time. Only admitted members could remain. Carey walked Emily to the door.

Emily hugged her.

“You’re glowing, you’re beautiful.”

“I wish,” Carey bit her tongue off before she could finish the thought, that she wished Emily had also joined. Regret for what had not happened was never a fruitful emotion. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said instead.

Carey watched Emily mount the stairs to the street slowly. At the top, her friend looked around.

“Enjoy,” she said.

Carey went back inside to find that the Coffee Lounge tables had been pushed together in the middle of the lower area; members were sitting all over the place; Father Simon had settled himself at what had become the head of the table; he was holding a guitar; she had heard tell of these sessions. Simon was beginning to sing old Dylan songs, some of them rewritten withProgramme words with which the longer-standing members joined in; periodically from the kitchen would emerge snacks and jugs of mixed fruit juices; she found herself singing along where she knew the words, humming to the tunes, laughing, loving her new friends as much as they appeared to love her.

Shortly before two, she sensed his presence behind her. Simon acknowledged him with an exaggerated, but seated, bow and carried on playing. Matthew rested his hand on Carey’s shoulder for the remainder of the song, then squeezed just the once to let her know it was time. There was no coy attempt at concealment: she got up, took his hand and followed him from the room.

They did not speak as he led her up the stairs to the Temple, nor were words necessary within. From a cupboard in an alcove, he extracted candles, bowls, bottles of oil and set them around a floor-cushion. He placed candles in bowls of the oil and settled himself cross-legged on the cushion.

She understood. This was not Matthew, her lover, with whom she was to lie, but The Teacher, to whom she was giving herself in tribute and in submission. She unbuttoned her dress without fumbling, let it fall open. She was not wearing a bra, just panties and low pumps, adopting Emily’s understated style. She shrugged the dress back to drop to the floor behind her, stepped out of her shoes, quickly and easily peeled away her panties until they fell to the ground and she could kick them aside. She stood before him while he studied her. She did not fear disappointment: he would take her as she was.

He got up from the cushion, pulled off his sweater, let his trousers fall, stripped. He was not fully erect. He stepped back from her, turned and pressed himself flat against The Programme symbol, then, suddenly, swivelled around with his back to it, arms outstretched.

He had thick, grey, matted hairs on his chest, a scar on one side that reminded her he had been a soldier, fought in Vietnam, had been grazed by shrapnel. His skin was crinkled with age; he wore it like armour. She tried not to shiver, in case he thought it was fear. She could not help running her tongue over her lips, dry with anticipation; though it had only been a couple of months since that last time with Patrick, it seemed like it had been forever since she had been with a man; she was worried that her responses should be more spiritual but she was wet with excitement.

Then he was fully erect. She stepped forward so she could touch him. He remained completely still. She reached out a hand, cupped his testicles in it, then ran the back of a finger up the shaft of his p***s. She leaned in to him, kissed a n****e, tangled her tongue in his chest-hair without letting go of his p***s. She lowered herself to kneel in front of him, licked him slowly, all over his genitals, until they were slippery wet, gleaming in the dull glow of a background lamp. For the first time, she took him into her mouth; almost immediately, he emptied himself into her, thrusting so deeply she could not believe she did not choke, joyful to realise she could swallow him whole.

He did not lose his erection. He brought her to her feet, gently lifting her by the back of her head. He took her hand and led her to the cushion, lowered her onto it, limbs outstretched. Her back was arched to the point that he could enter her without needing to lie on top of her. With his thumbs, he pulled her open, did not check to see if she was ready, thrust into her in a single movement, once he was wholly inside he stopped, held himself there, impaling her.

She could not help herself. She moaned:

“Oh, God, Matthew, love me, love.”

He withdrew slowly, held himself at the very entrance, thrust back within. It was a programme of individual stabbing movements, each one leaving her wanting more, time after time, clenching to try and hold onto him. She could not contain a tiny cry of pleasure, he was still far above her, not holding her but merely in her, one moment she was thinking, terrified, that if she was not careful he was going to slip out of her by accident, that she would lose him, the next moment she was coming, he leaned back to thrust singly into her again, his arms behind him gripping her legs apart, preventing them encircling and enclosing him, the minimalist contact created a focus she almost could not bear, it seemed to have no end, she had no control and no responsibility, it went on and on until, finally, he released himself inside her for the second time and they dissolved into the fire beyond.

PART TWO