“At school in the lower sixth—you’d already left—our form head used to get people from different walks of life to come in and explain what they did. They invited your dad to give us a talk on the difference between Baptists and other branches of the Christian church. He was actually really good. Informative, but also funny.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“Did he make you and your mother go to his church, too?”
“My mother was a good Irish Catholic girl. Still is. But no, he didn’t force us to go. I went a couple of times when I was little, but it wasn’t for me.”
“So you’re not a believer?”
“I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t say that.”
Lenny seemed intrigued but Adrian wasn’t sure he wanted to go into his reasoning.
“Let’s just say I’ve had a few special moments in my life when a prayer was answered. How about you? Are you an atheist, too? Like your parents?”
“Humanist.”
“Humanists. Atheist. Same thing, isn’t it?”
Somewhat dramatically, Lenny Day hissed in a breath before answering. Adrian took his eyes from the road for a second to witness the mix of shock and amusement on Lenny’s face.
“You ought to have discussed that particular topic with my father while he was still alive. Over a pint or two at the Red Lion, preferably. You’d have been there for hours. He was more passionate about that particular question than he was about the indoctrination and controlling nature of organised religions. I unwittingly touched on the subject once and was rewarded with a diatribe about atheism being merely the absence of belief, while he viewed humanism as a positive attitude, a positive force and movement in the world, centred on human experience, thought and hopes. Personally, I’m still not sure where I stand, but in a sick world where people are finally waking up and trying to create sustainable ways to keep the planet alive and habitable, humanism seems to make more sense than passively offering the world a prayer. Do you notice how we’re starting to hear people voice their irritation when government officials or politicians fall back on their standard ‘our thoughts and prayers are with the families’ monologue whenever natural disasters occur. I heard one woman on television saying, ‘You can keep your thoughts and prayers. How about doing something?’”
“Amen to that,” said Adrian.
“Or not, as the case may be.”
When the two of them laughed together, Adrian found himself enjoying Lenny’s company. Ahead of him in the road, he spotted the left fork which would take them to Ted’s garage. As he steered into the road, he also slowed the speed of the wipers, the rain now reduced to a light drizzle.
“So what about you?” Adrian asked. “Back for good?”
“No. Only until I’ve got everything sorted out with my dad’s estate and Mum’s settled. Then I’ll return to work.”
“Which is?”
“I run a suite of online businesses. One of them being classic cars, of all things. So you’d think I would know my way around a motor car engine. But the types of cars we specialise in are vintage and often with unique designs, so I hire experienced mechanics to inspect the engine and other working parts.”
“You’re the boss?”
“I am, yes. I’m also involved in selling antiques, and restoring and selling old, and often listed, buildings.”
“Which is why you asked me about the kind of building work I’m involved in.”
“Busted. Always on the lookout for good workmen.”
Adrian mulled the words over for a few moments.
“So you’re successful?”
“Well, my accountant seems to think so. As do the talented team of people I have working for me.”
“Yeah, I thought maybe you were.”
“Thought maybe I was what?”
“Successful. You have that look about you.”
Adrian sensed Lenny turn his way, eyeing him humorously.
