One Tuesday morning, Rosalyn’s friend Carrie found a copy of the Daily Mail in the Sixth Form common room, and brought it over to Rosalyn and their other friends so that they could share in the outrage.  “Who even reads this shit?” she snarled, throwing it open on the table in front of them, “‘The heart-breaking, inspirational poetry of tragic Emily, aged 7…’  Ohh yes, that sounds amazing.”

The others laughed, especially after Carrie read out a poem or two and found that they weren’t so much “heart-breaking and inspirational” as “more-or-less what you’d expect from a bright seven-year-old.”  Even Rosalyn smiled before she said what she had to say.  “You can’t blame her parents for having them published, though.  It was probably a real comfort to them after she died, knowing they still had those poems.”

“I don’t blame her parents,” said Carrie, “They can grieve however they like- I’m not judging.  They’re not the ones who coated a dead kid in treacle to make old ladies cry so they could sell more papers.”  She flicked ahead, the grey pages flying through the air, before settling on a long editorial about a soap that had featured a gay kiss a few days back.  “Look at this wanker!  ‘I have many gay friends, and they were just as outraged as I was…’  Imaginary gay friends don’t count, you jackass.”

“I’m sure he’d have been just as outraged if it had been a man and a woman kissing,” said their friend Jodie, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh no, Jodie!  Nobody would ever use a straight kiss as a ‘tawdry publicity stunt’!  This is a special case, right here!”

Rosalyn thought about what Sally said whenever they talked about gay marriage on the news.  I don’t know what they’re trying to achieve.  It says in plain black-and-white:  “Do not lie with a man as you would with a woman.”  You can protest ‘til you’re blue in the face, but you’ll never get those words to change.  She wouldn’t go on about it.  She wouldn’t even get angry- she’d say it with a shrug, most of the time.  As far as she was concerned, the matter was settled.

So what was Rosalyn supposed to do now?  Tell her friends that she actually agreed with the guy in the paper (even if she didn’t)?  Tell them that he was only repeating what it said in the Bible?

But he doesn’t even mention the Bible! Rosalyn thought furiously.  He’s just going on about what a terrible publicity stunt it was, and how its going to ruin the actors’ careers!  Rosalyn knew what Sally would have said about that thought- Look at how many mental gymnastics you have to go through just to avoid admitting the truth– but she still managed to keep her mouth shut until Carrie turned the page.

For the next few minutes, things were a bit easier.  Carrie pointed out and decried a number of little things- an article about how awful it was that people dropped their ‘t’s and ‘h’s when they spoke, a feature speculating whether or not Victoria Beckham had had a boob job- and Rosalyn managed to laugh.  She even joined in on making fun of it, once or twice.  But all that changed when Carrie turned to an article near the back, by the letters pages.  “‘Yes, sex can kill- it killed my daughter,’” Carrie read, “Oh, this ought to be good.”

Carrie read them bits and pieces from the article.  The writer’s daughter had recently died of cervical cancer, and the mother hadn’t even waited for her to be cold in the ground before racing to the papers and implying that she’d brought it all on herself by being a foolish slapper.  The article concluded, “Our Heavenly Father has ordained sex for marriage alone.  We go against that at our peril.”

Rosalyn began to feel queasy.

“So, Our Heavenly Father will strike you down dead for having a few one-night stands?” asked their other friend, Ebony, “Sounds really loving.”

Rosalyn swallowed.  Sally would have said that Ebony had no right to talk about God in that way.  Sally would have said that the daughter in the article deserved to die for defying Him.  And Rosalyn was so very scared that Sally was right.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Carrie, “My cousin Naomi shagged her entire university class, and she’s still here.  Unless God’s just behind schedule with her.”

Sally would have said that Rosalyn should tell her friends to fall to their knees and repent of their blasphemous words.  Sally would have said that to do otherwise would be to condemn them to Hell through inaction.  Sally would have said that if Rosalyn was ashamed of God, then one day God might be ashamed of her.

Jodie spoke up.  “I say, have as much sex as you can, and just get regular cervical screenings.  Best of both worlds.”

“Or just avoid having a mother who writes for the Daily Mail in the first place,” muttered Carrie, shoving he paper aside.

“Well, yeah…  But that wouldn’t have stopped her from being dead.”

“Sometimes dead is better, Jode.”

Sally would have said that Rosalyn should have given them her testimony on the joy of knowing Jesus (or the joy that she imagined would come from knowing the first thing about Jesus… or the joy that would come from your entire concept of religion not being a terrifying, confusing mess…).  Sally would have said that Rosalyn should have saved their souls.

And the worst part was that, underneath all the guilt and the fear, there was a big part of Rosalyn that just wanted to let loose and make fun of a stupid newspaper with her friends.  And Sally would definitely not have said that was a good sign.

*

One day. Rosalyn fainted twice in three hours, and the school called her parents.  It was then that they finally noticed how much weight she’d lost.

“She wants to look like the girls in the magazines,” Sally informed Mum and Dad, as they stood around in Mum’s living room, “It’s a sign of the times.”

“She’s worried about something,” said Mum.  She cast a suspicious glare at Dad and Sally.  “I don’t know what’s going on in your house, but…”

“Just what are you implying, Maggie?” snapped Dad.

“I’m implying that anyone would be off their food if they were being filled up with hellfire and brimstone every other weekend.”  Mum wasn’t all that tall, but at that moment, she seemed to tower over Dad and Sally, her blonde hair shining around her face like a halo.  “I’ve held my tongue because I felt Rosy and Oliver needed their father in their life, but good God, if you can’t even protect your own daughter…”

Dad spluttered.  “You?  Hold your tongue?  That’d be something worth seeing.”

“‘Good God’?” muttered Sally, her lip curled in contempt.

Dad prodded with his finger in Mum’s direction.  “They’re at your house twelve nights out of every fourteen.  This is something that’s happened on your watch.”

“It only started when you married the Mother Superior over there!” snapped Mum.

Sally’s lip trembled.  “Excuse me for trying to introduce some morality into their lives!  But I suppose that’s not very politically correct, is it?”

Rosalyn herself hadn’t said anything for at least an hour.  She sat in one of the armchairs in the corner, staring at the ground, until they all finished shouting and Dad and Sally left in a huff.

Mum came over and stood, awkwardly, a yard away from where Rosalyn was sitting.  “You don’t have to listen to her, Rosy,” she told her, “Just because she married your dad doesn’t mean she has the right to run your life for you.”

“I know,” said Rosalyn quietly.

“You know the things she says aren’t true, right?”

“Yeah,” said Rosalyn, because it wouldn’t have made any difference if she’d said something else.  Mum thought that all religion was just a coping mechanism.  She thought that people only believed in it to avoid admitting to themselves that the universe was a bleak, indifferent place.  But at this point, Rosalyn would have been quite happy to believe that the universe was indifferent.  Indifference didn’t strike you dead for thinking the wrong thoughts.

(To be concluded)