I spent a few moments in the pantry. There were jams in there from a decade back. I recognized my own handwriting on the damson jelly label from ’61. There were tins of meat and trays of eggs. A barrel for biscuits full of crumbs. Tea. Tins of baked beans, stacked like mortars. A first-aid box, issued in wartime. I thought there might be plasters inside. Maybe gauze. I used to burn myself on the cooker a lot and if he had any spare ointment I knew where it would find a good home. I opened the box. The keys stared up at me like treasure. A great bunch of them, like somebody would carry on their belt in a castle. Church keys. Crypt keys. Keys to the outbuildings in the church grounds.

Maybe a whole minute went by as I stood looking at those keys. I’m not sure my brain has ever worked as fast. I don’t even know where the impulse came from. I just suddenly had a flash of something I didn’t know I knew, like when you look at your husband’s crossword puzzle and somehow just know the answers to the questions and you daren’t tell him in case he thinks you’re calling him a fool.

I took the keys. They were cold and heavy and there was mud on the body of the biggest one. I slipped them into my sleeve. They made a bulge like a muscle and felt cold against my skin. I closed the door to the pantry, pulled on my coat, closed the back door and stood on the back step like a thief. The rain had eased but the road was not far off being a river and I knew I would get wet to the knees just walking back to my own front door. Might as well turn right at the junction instead of left. Might as well hurry down to the church while John was at work.

When I tell you this was out of character I don’t want you to think I’m exaggerating. I swear, this was so unlike me it felt like I had just decided to fly to the moon. I don’t even know what I was planning. Perhaps I had been bitten by the bug of excitement and needed to do something daring. Maybe I liked that feeling of my heart beating in my chest.

The rain started coming down again as I fumbled with the lock of the church. It was set in an iron casing, sunk into wood so weathered and worn it could have been a timber from the ark. There was no doubting which key would open the church door. Nor any protest from the lock as I turned it. The lock had been well-tended. Oiled and frequently used.