Tilly ducked her chin to her shoulder. “You do make me feel good about myself,” she said softly.

Kate nodded, a strange wave of emotion washing over her as Tilly’s eyes burned across her skin. God, it was too early in the morning to be feeling this much. “I’m not just telling you what you want to hear,” she said. She sat forward and squirted lemon over her grilled sole. “I’m just saying ‘maybe.’ That’s all.”

As they ate, Kate told Tilly about her small group of friends in the city. She hadn’t seen them in months, she said. She missed them, wished she’d invited them to Lords—wished they’d offered to visit.

“Are your friends mostly women?” Tilly asked.

“Mostly.” Sated, Kate slid her fork into the bag and reclined on her side on the grass. She looked up at Tilly. “What about yours?”

“It’s a mixed bunch. Most of my friends have married, a few have children…” Delicately, she bit at a chip. “Things change when they marry. You don’t think they will, but they do. I do miss their company,” she said, “the company of female friends…” She set down her own fork and brought her knees to her chest, mindfully fixing her skirt.

“When I first arrived in Papua New Guinea, for a good few months, I was the only female missionary. The local women I worked with were so kind to me, so warm, but with the language barrier, it was difficult. There were men who spoke English, Australian men, too, but…I suppose that it was the first time that I realised how much I needed women in my life, how they made me feel safe and understood. I mean, I was raised by women—by so many women.” Her features softened, as though she was reliving something sweet. She pulled her cardigan around her body. “I know you don’t like Sister Mary Monica, but she was just as much of a mother to me as my aunt. She cared for me when I had chicken pox, and bronchitis, and she taught me how to shoot a netball, how to ride my bike…”

Kate sipped at her water. “It’s not that I don’t like her, Til. She just doesn’t like me.”

Arching a brow, Tilly tilted her head.

Kate grinned. “Okay so maybe it goes both ways. But the fact that she had to make a point of making sure our dorm room door was open every night didn’t do her any favours…”

“I forgot about that,” Tilly murmured. Silent, she tossed the remaining chips to the hovering seagulls. “You know, I’ve had a hard time reconciling the fact that I feel what I feel for you and being Catholic. I’ve prayed about it. A lot.”

Kate studied Tilly’s features, the way she refused to look at Kate. “I don’t know what to tell you, Til,” she said honestly. “I can’t really relate to that.” Religion had never been something that Kate had held dear. By the time she was old enough to think for herself and consider what it was that she truly believed—if she believed—judgment was already set in stone: even if Kate was interested in God, he wasn’t too fussed on her. If she wanted religion to play a part in her life, she’d have to go out into the real world and find a church that distinguished tolerance from acceptance, one that welcomed her for exactly who she was.