Читать книгу Escaping the Cult: One cult, two stories of survival - Kristina Jones - Страница 23

I eyed the glass suspiciously and sniffed it. Its smell was sweet, with hints of nutmeg and vanilla.

‘Go on. It won’t poison you.’ Marc laughed.

I wasn’t so sure. Eggnog – even alcohol-free eggnog – seemed to imply it had eggs in it, and I didn’t like eggs.

I took a tiny sip. It was thick and cloying, and its texture was just a bit too close to Aunty Rebecca’s horrible scrambled eggs.

‘Urgh!’

It made my head shake from side to side in a spasm of revulsion.

Marc laughed again. ‘Not for you, then?’

‘No,’ I said, regaining my composure. I was suddenly mindful of all the other teenagers around me. ‘Maybe next time.’

I was reasonably confident there would be a next time. I had just hit my teens, 13. The end of the world was still nigh; supposedly it would begin any time that year. All that mattered to me was that it didn’t start this week because Marc and I were at a Family-run teen camp in the Belgian Ardennes. It was the first time I had been away from home and I was super-excited. Tonight was dance night.

A Latin disco number, produced by The Family’s own music and meaning team, played at full volume. We weren’t allowed to listen to any music that hadn’t been either made by our own musicians or approved by the leadership.

The prettiest older girls were holding court in the middle of the dance floor. Shaking their hips suggestively and flicking their long hair, they would twirl towards the boys. The atmosphere was so sexually charged it felt electric. This wasn’t the type of gross flirting we saw the adults do before they had sex. This was different. This was thrilling to be a part of, even though I felt on the fringes, not really knowing what to do.

The camp days were spent listening to lectures about how to fight the devil’s temptations, or hearing testimonies from adults who had led depraved, drug-fuelled lives before being saved by The Family. We were at the age at which The Family thought we might start rebelling, so the camp was organised to remind us of our role as ‘witnesses’ to the end of time and to help us be more spiritually mature. But it was also a lot of fun. Growing up I had never played sports before; our PE lessons consisted of swimming, playing games like hide-and-seek or tag, or doing aerobics to cult-made exercise videos. At camp they had real games like football and volleyball every afternoon. I didn’t play because I didn’t want to look even less cool than I already did.

Instead I joined the organised walks on trails through the pine forests. I was going through my poetic, melancholic phase, convinced I was the deepest and most misunderstood girl in the world.

Some of the older boys were camping on the lawn outside the lodge we had rented for the week. This provided plenty of opportunity for couples to get together. It was obvious that the camp leaders knew what was going on, but they didn’t mind. They actively encouraged it.

I was very nervous and shy. I had just got my first period, which only added to my adolescent insecurity. Thank goodness Marc didn’t mind me hanging around with him. Matt was at the camp too, but he was busy doing his own thing and hitting on girls. He didn’t want gawky little sister tagging along and cramping his style.

A euro-techno pop song came on, all synthesised beats and cheesy words of love. Caleb was on the other side of the dimly lit room effortlessly talking to a group of girls. I felt a pang of jealousy – they were close enough to stare into his beautiful brown eyes. I had to make do with admiring his athletic physique. He was gorgeous, funny, popular – and out of my league.

He looked over in my direction and waved. I had half started to wave back when I realised his wave was meant for Marc. What an idiot. I could feel myself blushing deeply as he made his way over to us.

‘Hey, man,’ he said to Marc.

His eyes really were beautiful. And his shoulders were even broader up close. It was like staring at a teenage Richard Gere.

‘Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?’

‘Hi …’ I said weakly, running out of words.

‘Cool, talking to the chicks, dancing. You? Knocking back a few ’nogs, I see.’ He nodded at my brother’s glass.

Marc laughed. I smiled, not really following their conversation, but staring in adoration instead.

‘That German kid drank his body weight in eggnog – then thought it would be a good idea to show some of the girls how many press-ups he could do. Last time I saw him he was throwing up in the garden.’

‘Smooth. Yeah, the girls all love that stuff!’

More laughter.

‘Actually,’ Caleb went on, ‘I came over to ask a question. I wondered if I might have a dance with your little sister.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Marc began to answer, but I didn’t give him the chance.

‘Yes. I mean, yes, you may.’ I grinned at Marc. I sensed Marc had set this up. He knew I had a crush on Caleb, but I didn’t care. I held out my arm, inviting Caleb to escort me the dance floor. I felt like a princess with my handsome prince at my side.

Just as we got to the middle of the room the song changed to a slow power ballad. Everyone started to slow dance. I was blushing again – I could feel the heat on my cheeks. My mind was blank and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so when he held out his arms I just put my head on his chest and drank in his scent.

After the dance he walked me to my room like a proper gentleman. There was no moment of embarrassment or teenage fumbling. Instead it was as if we had an unspoken bond – something that didn’t need words to be communicated. As he walked back down the hall I just waved goodnight, which he returned with a flash of his gorgeous smile.

This was more special to me than anything. Sex was banned for the under-16s, but lots of campers were managing to do it. If we’d really wanted to we could have snuck away and had some sneaky sex in his tent. But for Caleb to walk me to my room and not so much as kiss me made the evening feel like there was something magical going on.

It was a feeling that stayed with me when I woke the next day. A thick mist had carpeted the pine forest valleys overnight, so that only the mountain top poked through. It was a wonderful sight and I felt like God had planned it as my own special surprise – a sort of beautiful morning to a beautiful night.

‘So? Spill.’

It was my new friend Jeanette – she was blonde, beautiful and an insatiable gossip. We’d made friends the first day. I was over the moon that she liked me because she was so pretty and the envy of every other girl at camp. She came from an aristocratic French family and exuded a sort of natural grace with the delicate features of a porcelain doll, a little bit like I imagined my mother had looked at the same age. But she was also very timid and shy, which is probably why she felt at ease with me.

‘Oh, gossip. What’s going on?’

Another new friend, Sienna, trotted towards us, pulling back her dark hair. She and I had become very close over the last few days, but in this instance I wasn’t so pleased to see her – she was Caleb’s sister.

‘Somebody was dancing with your brother Caleb last night,’ blurted Jeanette.

‘Oh, that’s old news. I thought you had something juicy.’

I was so relieved Sienna wasn’t being strange about it.

‘In fact,’ Sienna went on, ‘I spoke to the man himself just before, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.’

‘Ooohhhhhhh …’

I knew where Jeanette was going and cut her off.

‘You can calm down. Nothing happened.’

This just fuelled Jeanette’s curiosity.

‘Really? I thought you liked him.’

‘I do. I really do. Sorry, Sienna.’ I touched her arm in one of those ‘I know it’s a bit gross talking about your brother like this’ ways. ‘I do like him. But nothing happened, I promise. He walked me to my room and we said goodnight. It wasn’t weird. It was just … nice.’

‘Urgh. The “N” word.’ Jeanette really couldn’t help herself at moments like this. ‘He must really like yooouuuu,’ she said, sending her voice into a high pitch that climbed with her knowing eyebrows.

When the final day of camp came round everybody was a bit demob happy. We only had one lecture – a kind of round-up of the week’s lessons on fighting the lures of Satan.

Afterwards I was sitting on the grass with the girls when Caleb sauntered over.

‘Hi, Natacha.’

Jeanette pulled an ‘Oooohhhhh’ face silently behind his back.

‘Hi, Caleb. You want to take a walk?’ I surprised myself with my boldness, but I was desperate to escape Jeanette’s antics.

‘Sure.’

We went down through the woods to the lake. I didn’t really know what for, but I was just happy to be alone with him before we had to go our separate ways.

He took my hand in his as we walked along the shore.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ I said, taking in the stunning view one last time.

‘I know what else is beautiful.’

I turned my head back to Caleb, catching his soft lips with mine. My head spun with the sheer joy of it and for a moment I thought I might topple into the lake. It made me cling to him even tighter. I could have stayed there for ever, except some other kids came crunching along the shoreline.

We pulled our heads apart with a little smile.

‘I guess this is goodbye, Natacha. For now.’

On the drive home I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. I ran my finger over my lips where his had touched mine, and hid a little smile.

I was still smiling when I walked into our kitchen. My father was sitting at the dining table poring over documents.

‘Hi, Daddy.’ I ran over to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘What you doing?’

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, slouching in the chair.

‘It’s my mother’s last will and testament. She died some years ago. I never knew. My sister just told me.’

‘What?’ I had never met the woman, yet somehow I instantly felt her loss. For the first time ever I thought about our other relatives. Who were they? Did they know we existed? Did they believe in Jesus like us? I had no idea what they looked like, where they lived or what kind of jobs they did. They were my blood relatives but I knew nothing about them. That realisation saddened me.

Then over dinner he made a shock announcement – we were going to pioneer a new country where The Family wasn’t known. The place we were going was called Réunion.

I didn’t really know what to think. My mother looked perfectly happy about it. She patted her belly where her ninth baby was growing inside. ‘And you would like to be born into an exciting new mission, wouldn’t you, little one?’

Matt, Marc, Vincent and I looked at each other a little bit stunned. Since moving to France my parents had been pretty much cast adrift by The Family, especially financially. If they’d wanted we could have easily left for good. The last thing we expected was for them to drag us half way round the world to be missionaries again.

Only Vincent could manage the obvious question.

‘Where’s Réunion, Daddy?’

‘It’s a little island near Madagascar. It’s a colony so they speak French, and we can get welfare there so we won’t starve either. They don’t know God and there are no Family members, so we will be true pioneers for the Lord. Sounds great, doesn’t it?’

I had very mixed feelings as we boarded the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Arriving here two and a half years ago I had been a terrified child, expecting to be murdered the moment we landed. France had been unexpectedly kind, allowing us a glimpse of normality – school and a normal family life, two things I wasn’t ready to leave behind.

But as the plane descended over Réunion I felt like I was in a dream. Its rugged volcanic peaks and unspoilt coastline were matched by the inhabitants, such as the witch doctor we nearly ran over in our car as he prepared an offering of freshly slaughtered chicken, rum and fruit in the middle of the road. I’ll never forget leaving the airport and seeing a road sign warning of waterfalls ahead. We all laughed at the silliness of it, but then as we turned the next bend, there it was – a waterfall right in the middle of the road.

Friendly locals warned us from the start not to be fooled into a false sense of security by the undeniable beauty of the island. We were told to watch out for gangs of desperately poor teenagers roaming the streets, drinking and looking for opportunities to enrich themselves at someone else’s expense. When my dad heard this he immediately slapped a ban on my going anywhere without his or a brother’s supervision. The black magic, or gris gris, that Réunion’s cultural life ran on was spoken of in hushed tones in our house.

Our new home was a small concrete house surrounded by sugar-cane fields from where my father would conduct his missionary work, heading out daily to surrounding villages to spread the message. I was relieved that we were the first ones there and didn’t have to move into an established commune, as I’d had my fill of bullying children and cruel surrogate parents. My father home schooled me, something he did with a great deal of impatience. When not taking my lessons, most of my time was dedicated to helping run the house or look after my younger siblings. It was very lonely for a 14-year-old girl.

I started to get sleepless nights again, often waking up after a bad dream to find my sheets soaked in sweat. I constantly felt anxious and sad, unable to work out exactly why. It was as if I was walking around with a great big heavy rock on my head.

Marc and I had become much closer since hanging out at youth camp. I felt that of all my brothers he was the one who understood me best because we were similar types. He could tell I was going stir crazy with the sense of confinement so he persuaded my father to let him chaperone me to the beach, a short bus ride away. We spent the afternoon confiding in each other about how sad we were. Marc told me he wasn’t even sure he believed in any of our teachings any more. He’d spoken to some other boys at camp who’d had similar doubts. He was seriously thinking about leaving the group, but he had no idea how.