“Would you like me to say a prayer now c or to pray with you?”

“No. There’s no point.”

“I think there is.”

“Of course you do.”

“I’ll pray. You just sit.”

“Why did Lizzie die?”

“I don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t put an animal through that. Who would? What is this joke?”

“Come on c why don’t you come back to my house and I’ll make some coffee c you can talk if you want to, not if you don’t. You shouldn’t be wandering the streets, you need company.”

“I need Lizzie.”

“I know, Max. If I could give her to you I would. I do know she is with you all the time now in spirit.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps it will soon.”

Then he said, “You look like her.”

“No.” Jane smiled. “Lizzie had that wonderful long hair c straight and smooth c” Her own was dark red and sprang out from her head, impossible to tame.

“You are young, beautiful c you’re like she was.”

“Come on, Max c come with me.”

“You are alive, though, that’s the difference, and Lizzie is dead. Why isn’t everyone else dead? Why aren’t you?”

Jane took him by the arm and he allowed her to lead him, out of the chapel and down through the side aisle of the empty cathedral. He seemed bewildered, unsure of where to put his feet. She felt afraid for him, his grief and pain were so overwhelming, racking him physically as well as emotionally.

“How long is it since you ate anything?” she asked as they walked down the quiet close.

“I don’t know.”

“I can make you something c It’s up to you. Do you have any family coming for Lizzie’s funeral?”

“I don’t want any funeral. A funeral means the end of Lizzie, it means Lizzie is dead. Don’t you see that?”

“Yes. But Lizzie isdead. Her body is dead,” she said gently.

“No.”

“We go in through this side gate. The security lights will come on in a second.” She took Max’s hand like that of a child, and led him through the garden of the Precentor’s house, along the path which had a trellis to one side, to her small bungalow. Somewhere in the bushes, there was the rustle of a cat or a fox, eyes gleaming momentarily out of the blackness.

The tiny hall was still in a state of disarray. Jane put lamps on in her study, and the gas fire, and held out her hands to take Max’s jacket.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Sit down there. I’ll make coffee c or tea? And I’ll do some sandwiches c I haven’t had anything myself yet. Just you rest, Max.”

He looked around the room, at Jane’s books, her desk, the crucifix and two candles on the small table. She drew the curtains against the night, left him there and went into the kitchen. The light on her answer-phone was flashing.

“Jane? They’re sending me home tomorrow morning. A district nurse is supposed to come but I shan’t need her. I’ll telephone you c I might catch you between church matters. Goodbye.”

She smiled to herself, recognising that nothing was going to change her mother now and refusing to worry about it. The thought of her returning to the house ransacked by the burglars and muggers was troubling, but she had done what she could and Magda would call on whoever she needed. She was good at that. She put the kettle on, and took out a loaf from the tin.

As she went to the fridge there was the sound of a step, and an arm came round her throat from behind, not choking her, but making it impossible for her to move.

“Max c” she managed to say. “What c?”

“How can you be here? How can yoube here, making tea, cutting bread when Lizzie is there lying dead? What did Lizzie do? Why did your God kill Lizzie? You shouldn’t be alive, I can’t let you live, not now, not after what happened. You’re too like her. You shouldn’t be alive.” He spoke in a strange, soft voice as if he were reciting what he said, had learned it by heart for just this time, this place.

“Max, please loosen your arm.”

To her surprise, he did so. He let her go then pushed her towards the study. When they were inside, he closed the door.

Suddenly, now, Jane felt afraid. Max was out of his mind with distress and people in his state could behave irrationally and wildly. He was angry. She did not know how his anger might explode.

Help me, she prayed, help me. There were no other words, except: Help him.

“Sit down,” Max said.

She did so. It seemed better for the moment, not to argue, not to plead. Stay calm.

“What do you want, Max?”

“Oh, a cosmic question? Let’s ask a simple one. Simple answer. You’re supposed to have those, aren’t you?”

“Not really. I ask a lot of questions too. All the time.”

“You’re not paid for that.”

She smiled.

“I musthave answers.”

“It’s hard, I know—”

He lunged at her, so that she shrank back in the chair.

“How dare you tell me that? How dare you say you know it’s hard. How do you know? Has this happened to you?”

“No,” Jane said. “If you mean, has a person I was in love with or was married to, died, no.”

“Then don’t patronise me.”

“And please don’t you threaten me.”

“Do you believe in it? Really believe in it? Would you die for it?”

“For my Christianity? I believe in it, yes. Whether I’d die for it c I wonder how brave I am. But plenty of people have died for their faith. They still do.”

“You believe Christ was raised from the dead?”

“Yes.”

“And prayer?”

“I don’t believe prayer is a magic trick. We always get an answer but maybe not the one we wanted.”

“Good cop-out.”

“Is that what it sounds like? I just don’t think it’s like a note to Father Christmas c I want, please can I have?”

“Why did Lizzie die? Can you answer that?”

“No. I don’t know c it seems cruel and horrible and pointless c the world often does. Is. I know we can come to terms with things in time and I know that when appalling things happen God is with us in the middle of it all.”

“Sorry, I failed to notice. How stupid.”

“Let me make that drink, then I’ll drive you home.”

“No.”

“Give yourself a break, Max.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Nor are you. Not until your God brings Lizzie back to life.”

“He won’t. There is no point in having this talk now, you’re not fit.”

“Until you can explain to me why my wife died and unless your prayers can bring her back to me, woman priest, you are here and I am here. Maybe for tonight, tomorrow c maybe till we die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me drive you home. If you want to say anything to me, let off your feelings, whatever, that’s fine, but not tonight. You’re distraught, I’m exhausted. Come and talk tomorrow.”

“I want you to lock the door c is there only one door?”

Jane hesitated.

“TELL ME.”

“Yes. One door.”

“Go and lock it. I’ll watch you.”

“Max c”

“I’ll watch you.”

“Please calm down.”

He stood very still, scarcely seeming to breathe, very tense, focused.

She got up.

He took her arm and moved her towards the door with a strength she could not have fought. She turned the key. The door was solid, without glass, the lock an old-fashioned, heavy one. There was also a second, drop-down latch. Max waited. Slowly, she turned the brass knob.

“Where’s your phone?”

“In the study, and there’s an extension in my bedroom.”

“Pull them out of the wall sockets. Give me your mobile first.”

It was in the pocket of her cassock. She wondered how she might somehow dial as she reached to take it out. Before she could, Max grabbed her wrist and held it while with his other hand he found the pocket and the mobile phone, took it out and switched it off.

“Now the others.”

They went into the study, then to the socket beside her bed.

“Are there locks on the windows?”

“Security locks. Yes.”

“Are they locked?”