She didn’t even try to be quiet as she pulled the milk out, the fridge door slamming and the glass rattling on the counter. She was hindered as ever by her insistence on using her phone at the same time as she was trying to do something else.

‘You can’t be texting someone at this hour?’ he said.

She gasped, the milk that was until now finding the glass making a break for freedom.

‘Shi—’ started Sarah then stopped.

‘You’ll have to confess that,’ said Chandler.

His daughter resumed pouring.

‘Will I? Is it going ahead?’ She looked back down and the tapping on the phone recommenced.

‘We’ll see.’

She didn’t respond.

‘Who are you texting at this time?’ he asked, curious and a little concerned.

‘No one. I’m pre-texting.’

‘Pre—?’

‘For tomorrow,’ said Sarah. ‘Wait . . .’

She held the phone at arm’s length and took a selfie. Of her holding a glass of milk. Chandler didn’t understand why. Maybe he wasn’t meant to. Maybe this was what passed for entertainment these days. And that was okay, he supposed. His notion of entertainment was probably just as foreign to her. A bottle of beer and some sport on the TV after the kids had gone to bed: cricket, golf, AFL, he didn’t care. Sometimes he could watch a whole game and not know the score at the end, his mind cleared and his gut that little bit larger.

Sarah finished taking the selfie and was studying the results.

‘Are you angry with me?’ asked Chandler.

The pause suggested that she was.

‘Naw,’ she said, her jet black hair washing around her face.

‘Sarah?’

Escaping the sofa’s clutches he met her in the kitchen where she had sped her way through half the glass.

‘I know you’re disappointed.’

She tossed her head from side to side as if her brain were a Magic 8-Ball and she was calling on it for an answer. ‘They think that it’s your fault. That you stopped Confession from happening.’

‘We had to stop it.’

‘Why?’ she said. He could hear a trace of bitterness in her voice.

‘There was a chance I wouldn’t be there.’

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘And only you wouldn’t be there? You always told us not to be selfish.’

Chandler smiled. Put that way it did sound selfish, postponing the entire event because he had other plans.

‘It is selfish, but I’m not going to miss something as big as your First Confession because I’ve got an investigation.’

‘What did they do?’

‘We’re not sure. He hasn’t confessed his sins. We haven’t made him confess his sins. But we will,’ he added, determined, as if trying to convince his daughter that he was capable. ‘And even if the Mass doesn’t happen on Sunday, it’ll happen another time.’

‘Part of God’s plan then?’

‘Only God can tell you that.’