Alys pulls a face which says, ‘Oh I can, Carla, and I just did!’

We are quiet for a while and then she smiles at me, almost tenderly, and says, ‘Perhaps if you finally decided for yourself what you think about the whole thing, took a leap of faith instead of just … just constantly evading the issue, you might eventually find some kind of … well, happy resolution; dare I even say it: peace.’

My eyes suddenly fill with tears. ‘It’s fine for you,’ I mutter, ‘you were born a Catholic, Alys. It’s your culture, a fundamental part of your psychological make-up. But it’s all so … so foreign, so alien to me. And it sometimes feels like such a huge … such a struggle …’

‘Then why not just stop struggling?’ she suggests (as if it would be as simple as that! As simple as merely deciding to stop. To stop struggling. To … to give up the struggle and admit defeat).

‘I loved Orla, Alys!’ I groan. ‘And I still can’t accept – I won’t, I just won’t – that what happened to her was right, something to be … to be celebrated. Her death was a disaster, a tragedy, a failure. That’s what Bran thought, and Kalinda. And because I was so weak I …’

My voice starts to shake, uncontrollably. ‘I loved Orla, Alys,’ I repeat.

‘I know.’ Alys nods. ‘And she loved you too, Carla. Better still she trusted in you, trusted the final part of her story with you, so why can’t you trust in her? Why this need to always make everything so difficult? What’s the earthly good in it? Why not just embrace your memory of her? Love her. Just love her. Accept her. As she was. Exactly as she was.’

I turn away, blinking, frantically.

We are silent for a while.

‘Did Orla ever discuss St Faustina with you?’ Alys asks, fishing around inside her mug for a moment and removing something from it on the tip of her finger.

‘Cat hair,’ she murmurs.

‘St …? Uh … No.’ I’m thrown slightly off kilter. ‘I don’t actually own a cat.’

‘Well, St Faustina was a Polish nun.’ Alys wipes her finger on a tea towel, then inspects the tea towel and shudders. ‘She was born in 1905 and she died when she was only thirty-three years old. She’s one of the greatest saints of this century and had many holy visions throughout her life. Part of her mission was to write extensive diaries about “The Divine Mercy”, which is the loving mercy Jesus afforded mankind when he died for us on the cross. For that reason she’s sometimes nicknamed “God’s Secretary”.’

I nod, wearily.

‘Well anyway, St Faustina was a “suffering soul”, just like Orla was,’ Alys continues. ‘She offered her life up to Jesus – her Holy Spouse – so that she could suffer for all mankind, just like he had. And she did suffer. She was rejected by her superiors and by all the other nuns in her community, her visions were ridiculed, she was constantly humiliated and doubted, she was prone to terrible bouts of ill health …’