‘God cares for all His children. He cares about your sister.’

‘But not enough to save her.’

The priest opened his mouth as if to speak, but he couldn’t find the words, anything adequate, nothing that seemed even remotely sufficient. He’d faced evil before, but never anything like this.

‘Are you lost for words, Father? Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing to say for yourself?’

‘What can I say in the light of such evil?’

‘Oh dear, I’ve just had the most terrible thought. Maybe you’ve wasted your entire adult life indulging a fantasy. Or perhaps it was the devil’s work. That could be it. I could be the devil in human form, Beelzebub, The Lord of the Flies. You could be talking to the devil face to face right now. You have to admit it’s a possibility. I have no concern for anyone but myself. Surely, that makes me evil personified? I’d be interested to know your thoughts.’

The priest winced as a sheen of sweat formed on his brow despite the cool temperature of the ancient building. ‘Why would you say those terrible things? Why tell me all of this if you’re not here to seek absolution for your sins?’

‘I would have thought it was obvious. I’m telling you because I want to. I’m telling you because I can. The rules of the confessional bind you more effectively than any prison walls. You can’t tell anyone, not a single soul. You can’t unburden yourself however much you want to. Happy days! I find it rather amusing.’

‘Don’t forget about God! This is His house. There has to be a small part of you that feels guilt. I have to believe there’s some good in you somewhere.’

‘Are you referring to a small but distinctive voice in my head? A voice pointing out my many failings and encouraging me to change for the better, that sort of thing?’

The priest’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, a conscience, the knowledge of right and wrong, the voice of God.’

Heath was silent for several seconds as if considering his reply. As if it mattered. ‘No, not really, not that I can think of. Maybe I haven’t been listening closely enough. Or maybe there’s no voice to hear.’

The elderly priest took a brown plastic medicine bottle from a trouser pocket. He unscrewed the white plastic cap, and urgently placed an angina pill under his tongue. ‘Is there nothing positive you have to say for yourself before we bring this charade to an end?’

‘Now let me think, positives… positives… are there any positives? Ah, yes, there is one thing which may interest you. I trained as a nurse and gained a degree. It made my dear mother so very proud.’

The priest’s relief was evident. ‘That’s good to hear, Henry. Nursing is an admirable calling.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

‘Sorry? What are you trying to say?’

‘I worked for various overseas charities after qualifying, in war zones, famine areas, natural disasters, Asia, Africa and the Middle East. I’ve seen this world’s suffering in all its infinite complexities. I’ve seen it up close and personal. And believe me, it’s not a pretty sight, even for the likes of me. It’s a terrible world when you think about it. Why does your God let so many people down?’