‘I’d say the church definitely attracts slurs and negative attention. The question we should be asking is, why? We’re arguing for equality across races, we want redistribution of wealth. I’ll just say, judge for yourselves, after a week. Keep an open mind, and don’t let the mainstream media, or people with a vested interest in the status quo, tell you what truth is. You’re on the threshold of seeing truths that, honestly, will amaze you
‘Will Papa J be at Chapman Farm, when we’re there?’
The questioner was a middle-aged woman with what looked like home-dyed ginger hair and large, round glasses.
‘You’re Marion, aren’t you?’ said Becca, and the questioner nodded. ‘Papa J moves between our temples and centres, but I believe he’s going to be dropping into Chapman Farm this week, yes.’
‘
The minibus had driven through Norwich and arrived in countryside. After half an hour’s travel along lanes bordered by hedgerows, Robin finally saw the sign for Lion’s Mouth, a narrow, tree-lined road. Robin, who’d memorised the map with the subcontractors’ annotations, spotted cameras placed discreetly in trees to the right.
Not long after entering Lion’s Mouth, they turned up a well-maintained track. Electric gates opened at the minibus’s approach. The bus drove up a short driveway until it reached a car park, in which two identical minibuses were already parked. Ahead lay a long, one-storey edifice of light brick which, in spite of its Gothic windows, appeared recently built, and far away, on the horizon beyond the farm, Robin spotted a tall, circular tower that looked like the rook of a chess-playing giant.
The passengers disembarked, carrying their holdalls and rucksacks. Becca led them inside, where they found a room that resembled the changing room of an upmarket gym. Opposite the door was a wall of lockers. To the right was a counter, behind which stood a smiling black woman with long braids, wearing an orange tracksuit. On the left-hand side were a series of changing cubicles.
‘All right, everyone!’ said Becca. ‘Line up here to receive your tracksuits from Hattie!’
‘OK, everyone, listen, please!’ said the attendant, clapping her hands. ‘When I’ve given you a tracksuit, footwear, pyjamas, bag and locker key, you change in the cubicle. Put your waterproof coat, underwear and pyjamas in your UHC bag. Then put your day clothes, jewellery, phones, money, credit cards, etc into the bag you’ve brought with you, and put it in the locker! I’ll ask you to sign a chit, to show which locker’s yours, and you’ll hand me back the key.’
Robin joined the line and soon, equipped with white cotton pyjamas, a slightly worn pair of trainers, a size medium orange tracksuit and a bag made of hessian with the church’s logo stamped on it, proceeded into a cubicle and changed.
Having put on her tracksuit and trainers, and stuffed her pyjamas, underwear and coat into the hessian bag, Robin placed her holdall into the locker – she’d brought no credit cards, as they were all in Robin Ellacott’s name, only a purse containing cash – handed her key back to the woman with braids and signed a chit to say her possessions were in locker 29.
‘Just a quick check,’ said the attendant, and she rifled through Robin’s hessian bag to check the contents, then directed her with a nod to sit on a bench with the others who’d already changed.
The blonde teenager was now tearfully demanding why Hattie wanted her to remove the many studs and hoops from her ears and nose.
‘This was clearly stated in your pamphlet,’ said the attendant calmly, ‘no jewellery. It’s all down there in black and white, honey. Just put it in the locker.’
The girl looked around for support, but none came. Eventually she began tugging out the bits of metal, eyes full of tears. Her green-haired friend watched, and Robin thought she seemed torn between sympathy and a desire to blend in with the silent watchers on the bench.
‘Wonderful!’ said Becca, once everyone was clad in their orange tracksuits, and had their hessian bags over their shoulders. ‘OK, everyone, follow us!’
The group rose, bags over their shoulders, and followed Becca and Jiang through a second door, which opened onto a path leading between square buildings of pale brick. Multicoloured pictures of children’s handprints had been stuck to the windows of the building to the left.
‘Some of our classrooms!’ Becca called over her shoulder, ‘and the children’s dormitories!’
