‘Gillian and Tom are my patients for a reason,’ said Evi. ‘They both have problems.’

He was moving – impossible not to catch her breath – but he only reached up to the car roof and unlocked it. The soft leather folded back and the night, shimmering with wood smoke and gunpowder, wrapped itself around her like a cool blanket. Above Evi’s head, the sky was the colour of damsons and the stars seemed to have moved a light year or two closer to earth.

‘Tell me when you get cold,’ he said, settling back into his seat. A second of silence and then: ‘What if I’ve heard her?’

She risked a proper look. ‘What?’ He was leaning back in his seat, hands behind his head, staring at the sky. Whatever he was about to tell her, it was something he wasn’t comfortable talking about.

The night air felt damp in Evi’s nostrils; rain wasn’t far away. A volley of violet stars hurled themselves into the sky, distracting them both for a second.

‘Your eyes are that colour,’ said Harry. ‘And, yes, I’ve heard voices too. Eerie disembodied voices, coming from nowhere.’

And he hadn’t thought to mention it. ‘When?’ she asked, pushing herself a little more upright in the seat. ‘Where?’

‘When I’ve been alone,’ he said. ‘Only in Heptonclough, though. Only in and around the church. I’ll bet Tom doesn’t hear his voices at school, does he?’

Evi leaned back again. ‘I need to think about that one,’ she said. ‘What are we doing up here, exactly?’

‘I found this spot a couple of weeks ago,’ said Harry, as he leaned forward to switch on the cassette player. It started to hiss as he pressed the Play button. ‘We’re about twenty yards from the edge of Morrell Tor, the highest spot on the moor. I promised myself I’d drive up here and watch the fireworks.’

He was nuts. And she had to stop smiling, she was just encouraging him. ‘You’re three days too early,’ she pointed out.

He turned to her, his arm sliding along the back of her seat. He was inches away. She could smell the beer he’d drunk at the Fletcher’s. ‘In three days I couldn’t have been sure of having you with me,’ he said. ‘Do you dance?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Dance. You know, move your body in time to music. I chose this track specially.’

Evi listened for a second. ‘Dancing In The Dark,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘My mum used to play this. Where are you…?’

Harry had climbed out of the car and was walking round the front of the bonnet. He held open her door and offered his hand.

Evi shook her head. Definitely nuts. ‘I can’t dance, Harry. You’ve seen me. I can barely walk by myself.’

As though he hadn’t heard, he reached across her to turn up the volume. Then he’d taken her by both arms and was lifting her out of the car. Evi opened her mouth to tell him it wouldn’t work, she hadn’t danced in years, they’d both end up sprawled on the ground, but with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, she found she could walk quite easily across the few remaining feet of farm track and on to the rock of the Tor. He took her right hand in his, his other arm stayed round her waist to hold her up. His jacket wasn’t fastened. His hand felt like ice. Holding her tightly against him, he began to move.

The old-fashioned cassette player seemed to distort the music somehow, making the drumbeat louder, more insistent than she remembered. And it was ridiculously loud, they’d be able to hear it in the town… but impossible to worry about that, to think about anything but Harry, who danced like he was born to it, holding her up without effort, singing softly in her ear.

The wind blew her hair across his face, he tossed his head and pulled her into the curve of his shoulder and still they kept moving, swinging backwards and forwards in a four-time movement, on the hard rock of the Tor. And she’d thought she’d never dance again.

‘The singing, dancing priest,’ she whispered, when she sensed the track coming to an end.

‘Played in a band at university,’ said Harry, as the vocals faded and the notes of the saxophone curled out across the moor. ‘We used to do some Springsteen covers.’

The sax drifted away. Harry dropped her hand and wrapped both arms around her. She could feel the heat from his neck against her face. This was insane. She could not get involved with him, both of them knew that, and yet here they were, on what felt like the tip of the world, clutching each other like teenagers.

‘I’ve had a very weird day,’ he whispered, as a new track started.

‘Want to talk about it?’ she managed.

‘No.’ She felt a soft brushing on her neck, just below her ear, and couldn’t stop herself shivering.

‘You’re cold,’ he said, straightening up.

No, I’m not. Don’t let go of me.

He stepped back, one arm dropped away, he was taking her back to the car. She stopped him with a hand on his chest. ‘I’m not cold,’ she said. ‘Why are you a priest?’

For a second he looked surprised. ‘To serve the Lord,’ he replied, looking down at her, then up at the sky. ‘Was that rain?’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I need more than that. I need to understand what makes a man like you become a priest.’

He was still smiling but his eyes looked wary. ‘That’s a lot to ask on a first date. And that was definitely rain. come on, back in the car.’

She allowed him to lead her back to the passenger seat and hold the door open until she was sitting down again.

‘You said this wasn’t a date,’ she pointed out, as he joined her in the car and twisted round in the seat to refasten the roof in place.

‘I lied,’ he muttered, locking the hood and switching on the engine. Then he seemed to change his mind and switched it off again.

‘I never intended to become a minister,’ he said. ‘I come from a working-class family in Newcastle who weren’t churchgoers and it simply never occurred to me. But I was bright, I got a scholarship to a good school and I met some very impressive teachers. History was my thing, religious history in particular. I became fascinated by organized religion: its rituals, history, art and literature, symbolism – everything really. I did religious studies at university, not theology.’

She waited for him to go on. ‘What happened?’ she asked, when he didn’t. ‘You had a road-to-Damascus moment?’

He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he wasn’t comfortable talking about this. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘People kept telling me that I’d make a good priest. There was just this little problem of faith.’

The rain came from nowhere, thudding down on the soft roof of the car like small stones. ‘You didn’t believe?’ she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I was almost there,’ he said. ‘I could tell myself that I believed in all the distinct parts, but they were still just a whole load of separate theories. Does that make any sort of sense?’

‘I think so,’ said Evi, although it didn’t really.

‘And then one day, something happened. I… saw the connection.’

‘The connection?’

‘Yep.’ The engine was on again, he was reversing away from the Tor’s edge. ‘And that is all you’re going to see of the inner man for one night, Dr Oliver. Fasten your seatbelt and prepare for take-off.’

They drove down the moor at a speed that had Evi wishing she believed in a deity she could pray to: for her own personal safety. She didn’t dare try to talk to him again, to say anything that might distract him. Besides, she’d just been ridiculously indiscreet. How could she tell herself she wasn’t involved with him, when she knew that the skin of his neck smelled of lime and ginger, and the exact point on his chest her lips would touch if she leaned towards him?

Within minutes of the rain starting, small streams were racing down the sides of the road. A quarter of an hour later, they’d left the moor and were depressingly close to her house.

‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Harry as he turned into her road.