God's Loving Embrace

Part Thirty-Three

The Show Must Go On

July 2025

'And these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteous into life eternal.'

Matthew 25:46

Sister Amelia had not left Sevenoaks Reformist Church for five days. Bishop Murray had arrived in his car, but in the end he decided that until their new star recruit was ready to meet the press it was better to keep her off the radar, and Sevenoaks was about as far off the radar as he could get her, with the added advantage of a very secure Chapter House and a highly competent senior Sister in situ. He instructed Pastor Nigel Brown to keep a close eye on things, and got working on what they could do with her. Sister Marie, the senior Sister in Sevenoaks, kept Amelia locked in a cell most of the time. She was fed through her feeding tubes, and forced to listen to the grim duties and responsibilities of a Sister until she thought her head would explode. She was beaten three times for struggling when her fellow Sisters tried to feed and change her. Nothing too serious as the bishop had left very strict instructions that she needed to be unblemished, but enough to make her cooperate. Then on the sixth day she was forced to bath and dressed in a fresh habit, before being led back into the Pastor's office.

"Good morning Sister Amelia...I am pleased to meet you properly at long last, although I have heard a lot about you, of course...and witnessed your initial entry into the Order a few days ago." Bishop Murray spoke from behind the desk, with Nigel standing behind him, and Megan, invited by the bishop as thanks for her help, sitting in a chair to the right, fully veiled and muzzled, as a good wife should be. "Firstly, let me assure you that your dear mother is quite well, and really rather delighted by your news...although she knows rather more about it than you do at the moment, of course. I have explained to her that you have most admirably decided to honour your debt to society by refusing to defer your National Service again. Your enthusiastic agreement to take part in what I believe is called a reality television programme as you prepare to take your holy vows meets with her full and enthusiastic approval, and she is more than happy to take part, too...in fact filming has already started...as the producer and director needed some background shots to cut into the footage we will shoot with you here later on, of course. She says it is just your sort of thing and she seemed sure that it would help your career when you have completed your five years...oh yes, I know your initial paperwork said three, but it is being increased...so we thought you would like to be one of the first to benefit...and we are planning further one-off specials throughout your service. I am sure you will agree that it sounds like a lot of fun, and your agent agrees that it is exactly the sort of positive career exposure you have been longing for. It will all be dramatised a little, to give the story some meat, so your basic training will be delayed a few weeks, but you are going to be the face of the Order, Miss Nicholson...at least until you finally disappear behind a mantle for five years!"

Amelia shook her head in disbelief, but no one took any notice of her. Her rather fierce uncompromising gaolers, her fellow nuns, dragged her away and locked her up in her cell again, to listen to more endless sermons. She shouted and screamed, as she used to do on set when she was thwarted, but no one could hear her. She sucked on her tube but it was just tepid water, and she only liked sparkling water. It was intolerable. When she eventually got it all sorted out, someone was going to pay, she promised herself that, and pay big time. They clearly did not understand who she was.

'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.'

Hebrews 11:1

Mrs Fitzgerald had settled in front of the television after dinner, which she still called tea in her house, and which her husband liked to eat as soon as he came home from work, so she normally caught the end of the early evening news. Mr Fitzgerald was washing up, his daily chore, and a ritual contribution to their routine. He was tired after a day at the office. As usual the house was quiet, without their girls, but he said his usual prayer of thanks as he left the kitchen and passed the cross on the wall in the hall, heading for his end of the old sofa and the inevitable snooze. Nothing much was happening in the world, except some politicians arguing about voting rights, as if that made any difference to anyone. Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald had always voted together, for the same man, and he did not need to tell her to do so. If it saved money and saved them a boring trip out to the community centre to tick the same box on election days, he was all for it, and he knew his wife would feel the same. She had only disagreed with him once, about the girls serving God, but that had been selfish, as he had told her, and she was quite proud once she had got used to the idea, and always blushed with shy pleasure when the Pastor sang the praises of the pious families who had gone that extra mile to earn God's love. He took his place and took his wife's hand, just as the next programme began with a long sweeping shot of a nun kneeling at an altar, clearly lost in prayer.