‘Besides,’ put in Mike Bull, ‘what are you being so critical about? This church has saved your life, hasn’t it? And your daughter’s life? Just be thankful you’re not out there with all of those hungry people!’

Season was about to say something sharp in reply, but she checked herself. Maybe she was just tired, and frayed, and depressed. Maybe she was sick of being imprisoned in this supermarket, sick of the lines for the washroom every morning, sick of the evening sing-songs and the daily arguments, sick of the whole way in which the Hughes Supermarket had become a microcosm of American smalltown thinking – we’re okay because we’re in here with our food, buddy, and just you keep your distance.

Season was a smart, bright girl; a city girl. In the city, you learned how to be aggressive and you learned how to survive. But somehow, sitting on your own little pile of stuff wasn’t what real survival was all about. Real survival was working things out with other people – taking the risk to relate. Amongst these smug, quasi-religious Californians, Season felt even more alienated than she had on South Burlington Farm.

‘Granger,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I apologise. You offered to help me and I accepted your offer. I didn’t have any right to slander your beliefs.’

But Granger didn’t answer. Granger was looking at her with a bright, mesmerised glassiness in his eyes that made her involuntarily turn around, to see if there was someone standing behind her.

‘Granger?’ she repeated. Even Mike Bull frowned. ‘You’re right,’ Granger said, in a hoarse, slow voice. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

‘I’m right? What are you talking about?’

Granger raised his hand, two fingers extended, a gesture unnervingly reminiscent of Jesus.

‘Those people out there – they deserve the benefits of our faith – they deserve the miracles – just as much as we do—’

‘Granger,’ said Mike, taking his arm. ‘Why don’t you come and have a cup of hot coffee, and maybe some cookies? I know Nan Mameweck just brewed up.’

‘No, you misunderstand me,’ breathed Granger. ‘I’m being tested here. This is my test. This is how my faith is being put through its ultimate workout. Don’t you see it? How God has spoken to me, through Season here? How God has arranged this whole situation, this entire interface, so that I can discover at last what practical miracles really are?’

‘Granger, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ said Mike. ‘I mean, really.’

‘You don’t remember John, chapter six, verse five, when the five thousand followed Jesus to the mountain, and Jesus said to Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?’

Mike Bull glanced outside at the restless crowds. ‘Well, yes,’ he said awkwardly, ‘but the plain fact is that we just don’t have enough.’