And then I remembered my parting threat to Blackman the day the diocesan men came to the house: The newspapers are going to hear about this.

‘Now, where is your father?’ Miss Calver asked. ‘I realise this is a terrible time, but we do need to make some kind of response.’

A sudden terrible fear gripped my heart. Pa was in such a fragile state of mind that if he’d seen this article, it could easily have tipped him over the edge. ‘We have to find him,’ I said, rushing to pull on my boots and throwing a jacket over my pyjamas. As we opened the door, George Diamond was crossing the road towards us. ‘Come quickly, Miss Goddard. Over to the church.’

In the churchyard stood a group of villagers, their faces tilted upwards, arms pointed to the sky. I followed their gaze. High up in the tower a small figure was just visible, yet unmistakeable: it was my father.

‘What’s happening?’ I shouted.

‘He won’t come down,’ someone said. ‘He’s gone and locked the door at the top of the stairs, so we can’t get to him.’

In a brief flare of optimism I thought Pa might have gone up there to find Jimmy. Or to scan the countryside, using the advantage of height? I remembered how, when we’d first arrived in the village, he’d taken us both up the narrow winding staircase to the top of the tower. And what he’d said: ‘Makes you feel closer to God, being up here.’

Around me, people were talking all at once. ‘Get her to try calling him down,’ someone suggested, and it was a moment before I realised they were talking about me.

‘Perhaps if you could call to him, Miss Goddard? Ask him to come down. Tell him we’re concerned for his welfare.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, feeling strangely calm. ‘He’s just gone up there to be closer to God.’

The villagers went silent. Some of them looked at me as though I was mad. Pa disappeared for a few moments, but then reappeared again. He was climbing the spire now, using the metal ladder fixed there for inspecting the lead roofing and the weathervane, a single arrow set on a swivel above a fixed horizontal cast-iron cross with the letters N, E, S and W. He looked like an ant, dwarfed by the height of the tower and the scale of the spire above him. There was a collective holding of breath. Someone swore: ‘What the . . .?’

‘We have to stop him.’

‘Miss Molly, please. Call up to him. Tell him to come down.’

I took a few steps forward. ‘Be careful, Pa. Please.’ My voice was carried away by the wind. I tried again, louder this time. ‘Pa, it’s me, Molly. You must come down. It’s not safe up there.’