Her mum had always insisted that she make an offering for her father and brothers to the Immaculate Conception. Her mum had put a lot of store in the Mother of Jesus, had trusted her to take good care of them. She had believed that Mary, Mother of God, would understand her fears; after all, she was a mother herself. Her son had been imprisoned, her son had been tortured, and He had died for His beliefs.

Tania closed her eyes wearily, and prayed to Our Lady. She begged her to give her mother peace at last, some kind of heavenly reward; she deserved it.

The police were finally talking about releasing her mother’s remains to the family, so they could hold her funeral. It was surreal knowing that there wasn’t even a body, as such, to bury. She had read in the papers that there had been nothing left of her mother to identify; her mum had been plastered all over Soho. It was a terrible thought, and she tried to stop herself dwelling on it, but it was impossible. Knowing that her mum had been reduced to no more than lumps of bloody meat haunted her. She wouldn’t even be able to see her in her coffin and say her goodbye face-to-face. They would be burying what was left.

Tania felt her nana slip into the pew beside her and, glancing at her, noticed how much she had aged since her mum’s death. She had joined Tania and her mum many times over the years for the early Masses, and Tania knew now that, like her mum, Theresa had also been praying for the salvation of her sons. She could see how seriously her nana took this routine; like her mum, her nana embraced the Mass, felt the power of its message, felt the age-old belief of their religion deep inside her, and Tania finally understood it now herself.

As they took Holy Communion together, Tania felt the familiar security that the sacrament had always engendered inside her. She knew she was, for those few moments, once again clean and without stain.

There were fewer than twenty people in the church; it was cold, it was dark, and yet Tania felt, as always, that she was a part of something much bigger than the world she inhabited.

She sensed the authority that this religion commanded in its followers.

She sat with her nana and looked around the church. She focused on the Stations of the Cross, the statues of Christ and His poor mother, the beautiful crucifix that hung above the altar depicting the last moments of Jesus before He died to save them, and she felt a brief moment of peace at long last.

Tania and Theresa sat together after the Mass was over, enjoying the silence of the church, and the atmosphere of calm serenity.

‘Are you all right, Tania?’