An Hour in the Darkness by Michael Bailey Page A

saying it was none of his damn business and that, when it clearly was because he was The Almighty. And then, him taking his own name in vain like that.
    â€œI sure will, sir,” I promised.
    I got away from him as quickly as I could. I had to, I swear it. I couldn’t take much more. I was sorry I hadn’t got to ask him all the questions I’d wanted, but I was feeling suffocated by it all. I started to scramble back down the rocks. I suppose I was crying by then. God suddenly yelled down at me, and I stopped and turned around. He was sitting on a rock. He said the strangest thing to me. He said that
I reminded him of his son and it withered me away. I thanked him about a trillion times and then started to climb down the hill again. I was almost slipping down trying to get away from him. Everything was blurry because of the tears in my eyes. I was ruined because God had told me I reminded him of his son. I stopped at the foot of the hill. I swivelled on the wet grass.
    There was a kid running towards me and she was holding a balloon. The balloon was too red for the dismal afternoon and it hurt my eyes. The kid suddenly tripped. She let go of the balloon and I watched it float up towards the sky. I started to run after the balloon. I tried like hell to catch it because the kid was crying and she reminded me of Jenny. I jumped up and down like a crazy man, but I couldn’t reach it. I was sorry I couldn’t reach it for the kid. I was sick to my heart over it, if you really want to know. We watched it soar away over Leicester and because there was something tragically beautiful about the whole thing, the kid stopped crying. I think we had a moment together over it or something.
    When the balloon was just a dot in the sky I looked back at God. Boy, was I staggered. He was still sitting on the grass and Old John looming out of the mist behind him. And believe this if you can: he was watching the balloon float up to heaven and not doing a thing to help. He was even smiling, for Chrissake. Listen, he was perhaps the only one who could get that damn balloon back and yet he never lifted a finger to help that poor kid. I couldn’t get over it. I really found it difficult to take in, if you really want to know. Don’t get me wrong, I love God – of course I do – but he sure makes it hard for you to like him sometimes. I ran to where you catch the bus and when I looked back for the last time, old God was waving his scarf at me.

6

    I used to sit next to the window in my room, staring out, across the market. I didn’t even put the gas fire on sometimes because I thought it was romantic to feel cold. Some days there were goddamn icicles dripping off my nose. It’s funny, but I can laugh about it now. I’d been back to the market about a trillion times, of course I had, but Ronnie never seemed too pleased to see me. Whenever I tried to speak to her she used to turn her pretty head away. It appeared she didn’t love me after all and the truth was shocking. I think she was crazy worried about losing her job. It was all very tragic, and everything. I was walking along the tight-rope of love, I know.
    Anyway, I figured that if Ronnie wouldn’t speak to me at the stall I would wait for her after work. So I hung around the edges of the market one frosty evening until she’d finished. Christmas was coming and there was a huge tree covered with lights next to the Clock Tower. It was all very meaningful, when you think about it. I’d made up my mind to ask Ronnie if she wanted me to walk her home. Christ, I knew that if I didn’t at least try I’d end up wishing I was dead.
    So I fooled around for an hour or two – it was five hours – under a streetlamp opposite the market. I was having fun, charging around like a horse and stamping my feet to keep the cold from my toes. It started to get dark and the city lights reflected like crinkled foil on the pavement. There