So Ned, on the strength of his CV alone, and with no strings pulled from us because we didn’t know anyone, had gone for a few interviews in the City, and, against all the usual old boy network odds, had secured an internship, and then a coveted job at a hedge fund. To his credit, he said he found the job interesting, and of course, it was highly rewarding, financially.

I’d been surprised at the way he’d been able to seemingly effortlessly suppress his real desire, and I’d tentatively brought it up with him when he’d been there for a while. He’d smiled.

‘Just because I’m religious, doesn’t mean I’m not ambitious. I’m making a shedload of money here, Mum.’

I was even more surprised.

And then, one day, exactly five years to the day after he’d started in the City, he resigned and enrolled at St John’s College in Durham, to prepare to be ordained. He was a grown man now, with resources enough to do exactly what he wanted. I wondered if that had been his game plan all along, to accrue some money and then go his own way. Even Michael knew when he was beaten. Ned barely talked to him anyway at that stage, and Michael made no attempt to persuade him; he just harrumphed about it being a total waste of brain power.

‘How so?’ asked Ned, on one of the few occasions when we’d gathered as a family. It was Christmas Day, I believe. With my parents, at Pope’s Farm.

‘What – hedge funder to parochial parson? You can’t see that isn’t a waste?’ he’d spat, over the turkey. ‘Who’s going to listen to you, anyway? I’m surprised the Church has even accepted you. You’ve compromised your belief – sold your soul. You’re tainted with the whiff of money.’

Since it was Michael who’d forced him to compromise, there was a collective intake of breath around the table. But Ned stayed calm.

‘Doesn’t seem to have hindered Justin Welby, does it? Eleven years in the oil business before he was ordained. And by the way, I fully intend to be an archbishop.’

This silenced even Michael, who’d gaped at him like a goldfish over the parsnips. My father’s eyes had gleamed with delight, and as I followed him out to the kitchen with some empty plates, I heard him mutter ‘touché!’ as he tossed a sprout to Hector, who caught it in his mouth.