The morning comes too soon, just minutes, it seems, after she and Rebekah and Jen have managed to fall asleep. In the dining room, her stomach turns at the thought of the eggs, sitting pale and flabby in circles of oil on the hotplate, but Pastor Rick insists they tank up in the face of the day to come. She forces a few mouthfuls down, mainly toast, and sips a cup of scorched coffee. Probably this is what people mean by morning sickness, she thinks. The Pill, after all, works by tricking your body into thinking it’s pregnant. The thought makes her skin tighten and her insides loosen 68in a peculiar way. Lord, let me carry in my body the death of Jesus; let me renounce my secret and shameful ways.

They set up between the university and the main shopping street, near the statue of Molly Malone. Pastor Rick takes a selfie of all of them beside Molly Malone for the newsletter, then deletes it because it looks indecent: his head and grinning mouth inadvertently tilted towards the statue’s heaving bosoms. She’s glad he’s deleted it. Her mom always sang them the song when they were little and she’s certain that Molly was a little girl in it, not a buxom woman. Besides, in the photo she’s clearly taller than Steve. They take another selfie instead, against the railings with their Jeremiah banner visible, and then they fist-bump and get ready to roll.

It’s not what she thought it would be. Some pro-life campaigners stop to introduce themselves, and they all hug and swap some pamphlets, but hardly anyone else stops to talk: or if they do, they have made their minds up already, and just want a fight.

Yous are wrong, one passer-by yells at them. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’ll pray for you, Pastor Rick says, and when the woman says, Oh, believe you me, you can keep your prayers, he just repeats: I will pray for you, ma’am.

We all will, adds Jen. You have a nice day. 69

Oh, I will, the woman says, eyeballing each of them in turn.

You do that, Jen says, super-sweetly. Rebekah giggles.

She just looks away and scuffs her ballet pump against the sidewalk.

Hey, Steve says. Hey. Don’t let them get to you. Right is right even if nobody else is right, right?

She turns to him. It’s the first thing he’s said directly to her all trip. He grins and fiddles with his earring. She hopes her make-up, done in the harsh light of the hostel bathroom, doesn’t look too orange.

Yeah, she says. Right is right, and she tries to think of something witty to say. But he’s already turned away.