“Don’t worry,” she said, but he couldn’t stop. He was pounding his shoes on the threshold. He lifted them to check there was nothing on them, and he was right, but still he kept scraping his soles against the stiff mat; the way he used to have to do for his aunts before they would allow him into the house.

He stooped to unpeel the duct tape but it took a while and kept attaching itself to his fingers. The longer he took, the more he wished he wasn’t doing it.

“I think I should leave my yachting shoes at the door.” The air inside was cool and still. There was a smell of disinfectant that reminded him of Maureen, and another that was hot food, possibly potato. He used the toe of one shoe to ram his other foot free, and then he repeated the process. Standing in his socks, he felt both naked and small.

The nun smiled. “I’m sure you’re longing to see Queenie.” She asked if he was ready to follow and he nodded.

Their feet marked the passage along the blue carpet in silence. There was no applause. There were no laughing nurses; no cheering patients. There was simply Harold, following the loose silhouette of a nun down a clean and empty corridor. He wondered if he could hear singing in the air, but listening again, he thought he was probably imagining it. Maybe it was the wind trapped in the Velux windows ahead, or someone calling. He realized he had forgotten to bring flowers.

“Are you all right?” she said.

Again he nodded.

As they reached them, Harold noticed the windows to his left opened out over a garden. He looked with longing at the closely cropped lawn, and imagined his bare feet sinking into its softness. There were benches set out, and a sprinkler, whipping the air with bowing curves of water that caught the light from time to time. Ahead there stretched a series of closed doors. He was sure Queenie must be behind one of them. He fixed his gaze towards the garden and felt a powerful surge of dread.

“How long did you say you had been walking?”

“Oh,” he said. The significance of his journey was reducing to nothing even as he followed her. “A long time.”

She said, “I’m afraid we didn’t invite those other pilgrims inside. We watched them on the television. We found them altogether rather noisy.” She turned and he thought she gave a wink; though that was surely not possible.

They passed a half-open door. He wouldn’t look inside.

“Sister Philomena!” called a voice, frail as a whisper.