She would be a martyr like St Rita, pierced in the forehead to understand the suffering of the Saviour. Or like St Jade, enduring bites from venomous snakes to stamp out evil on Lark.

Viola ceremoniously removed all her clothing above the waist – St Catherine the inspiration for this. The tapestry on the wall of their church back home showed the martyr bare-chested and proud, as she was led towards the breaking wheel.

‘You girls keep on calling out for your Oak King, your Horned God…’ This was how he announced his arrival, strutting into view, his head adorned with the horns of a goat. ‘Well, he heard you. Here he is!’

‘Men aren’t allowed any further,’ Viola told him. ‘It brings on a terrible fury.’ And she stepped beyond the brink of the circle.

As he came forward, the Eldest Girls retreated to relative safety by the hollow centre stone. Viola let her arms hang at her sides. She held her chin high. The cold was anaesthetising, but she still felt the aggression of his kiss, the teeth behind it, the way he grabbed at her breasts forcefully, more deliberately than Michael. She was doing so well, hiding her shock, masking her fear, then abruptly, where his cloying warmth had been, there was bitter winter air once again. He’d been wrenched away.

She would not be St Viola after all.

‘How could you! How could you do this to me!’ Leah was screaming, dragging him backwards, throwing him to the grass, the horns tumbling ignobly away. Leah drew back her fist and he raised his arms to his face, his knees to his belly, protecting himself from the imminent blow.

Then Leah’s arm dropped. She fell quiet. He relaxed his armour. He peered up at her.

‘Oh,’ she said

He was swearing now, getting up, brushing himself down, asking her what the fuck she thought she was doing.

‘It’s you,’ she said, and she laughed, a strangled sound that disintegrated into a strange wail of pain. ‘But that’s not your coat,’ she said, ‘you even smell like …’ They all stared at her, wondering what words, what noise, might come from her mouth next. ‘Does your mother know you’re here?’ Leah asked. ‘Does Mary?’

‘The fuck they do,’ he replied, zipping the blue parka, flipping up the hood.

Anna came forward to throw a coat around a shivering Viola.

No one spoke.

Viola was reduced now, half-naked in the freezing air.

He was palpably on-guard, disturbed by the arrival of this deranged woman.

Leah Cedars was unsteady after the directness of her initial attack, but she found the strength to take charge, falling back into a classroom role, her voice sharp as a skewer.

‘Are you hassling these girls, Luke?’