'Believe me, McCullough, this is nothing to the pain onanists receive in h.e.l.l.'

After another minute of sobbing, Father Wilfred told Henry to put the nettles in the wastebin and sent him out into the church to pray for forgiveness.

'Not a word, boys,' said Father Wilfred to me and Paul as we put on our coats. Paul had gone a shade of pink with the excitement of it all. 'These lessons are for you and n.o.body else.'

'Yes, Father Wilfred,' we said in the same monotone chorus.

'Good,' he said. 'Kneel down now.'

We knelt down before him on the stone flags of the vestry, and in turn he placed a cold hand on our heads, reciting one of his favourite pa.s.sages from Proverbs.

'"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight."'

'Amen,' we said and he smiled and went into his office and closed the door.

We were like that old bike tyre he used to roll down the streets of Whitechapel as a boy, giving it little corrective taps to stop it tumbling into the filth, something which poor Henry frequently seemed to do.

We found him in the lady chapel, kneeling in front of the Virgin, looking up into her doe-eyes, whispering and crying, his swollen hands shaking as he desperately tried to keep them together. Paul laughed and zipped up his coat and went outside.

Chapter Fifteen.

Even though Moorings had been built fortress-solid to withstand the weather, and Mummer, out of London habit, made a point of checking every door and window before she went to bed, I still had the rifle next to me that night.

I couldn't stop thinking about what we'd seen in the woods. It seemed clear that Monro had been lured up there on purpose by the smell of the meat. We were supposed to find the thing hanging from the oak bough. It was meant to frighten us into leaving. And if we didn't, what then?

I thought about the animal roasted on the fire; the flies crawling in and out of its face.

Every knock and creak of the house brought me back from the edge of sleep and I felt my hands tense around the rifle. Quite what I would do if anyone broke in, I didn't know. The sight of the rifle might be enough to make most people turn heel and run, but Parkinson and Collier were used to guns and they'd know immediately that it wasn't loaded.

It must have been around eleven o'clock when I heard someone knocking on Father Bernard's door. It was Mr Belderboss. I stood at the head of the stairs and waited until he had gone in and then went down one step at a time, sticking to the edges where they didn't creak quite so much, and slotted myself into the darkness of the understairs cupboard.

I could hear the clink of gla.s.ses and Father Bernard said, 'Do you want a drink, Reg?'

'Do you think we ought to, Father? Esther was right. It is Lent.'

'I'm sure the Lord would permit us a small one, Reg. After all that's gone on this evening.'

'Well I will, Father, thank you,' Mr Belderboss said. 'Just don't tell Mary. You know what she's like. Anything stronger than Typhoo and she thinks I'm going to drop down dead.'

Father Bernard laughed. 'Is everyone alright now?'

'Oh, yes,' said Mr Belderboss dismissively. 'They don't half get into a two-and-eight about nothing sometimes. Like I say, it'll just have been kids from the village messing about.'

'Aye,' said Father Bernard.

They knocked their gla.s.ses together and there was a moment of silence while they presumably took back whatever it was they were drinking.

'Father,' said Mr Belderboss.

'Yes?'

'I'd like you to hear confession.'

'Of course, Reg,' said Father Bernard. 'If you're sure you want me to.'

'I am, Father,' he said.

'Well, finish your drink first,' said Father Bernard. 'Then we'll talk.'

'Alright.'

Edging back a little, I found a box that would take my weight. Lower down there was a crack between the wooden boards and I could see a narrow slice of the room. Mr Belderboss was sitting on a chair in front of the grubby curtain that curved around the washbasin.

He crossed himself and said the Act of Contrition.

'What's on your mind?' Father Bernard asked.

'It's Wilfred,' said Mr Belderboss.

'Ah look, Reg, I'm sorry if it seemed as though I was prying the other day.'

'Oh, no no, Father,' said Mr Belderboss. 'That isn't why I came to speak to you. I'm not cross with you.'

He hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck.

'Father, Mary doesn't know, but the police brought me home from the cemetery one night the other week,' he said.

'Why, what happened?' Father Bernard asked.

'Nothing happened, as such,' said Mr Belderboss, shaking his head. 'I think they were going to take me in, but I got the impression they thought I was bit doolally, being out at that time of night, so I let them think it and they brought me home instead.'

'What time was this?'

'Oh, I don't know. After midnight sometime. One. Two. Perhaps. I can't remember.'

'What made you go and see Wilfred at that time of night?'

'I just wanted to make sure no one had pinched the flowers,' said Mr Belderboss. 'They were quite expensive, you see, but it wasn't the money really. I just couldn't sleep for worrying that he was lying there all alone and thinking no one cared.'

'Wilfred's with G.o.d,' said Father Bernard. 'He knows how much you miss him. I'm not sure you need flowers to convince him of that.'

'But someone had taken them,' said Mr Belderboss.

'Oh,' said Father Bernard. 'So what did you do?'

'Well this is it, Father. I wandered around for a bit, trying to see if they'd been put on someone else's grave. People do that, don't they? If they forget to bring some or they can't afford them. Then I saw this woman. She was sitting in one of the little shelters they have there, you know the ones, Father?'

'Aye.'

'She looked quite normal at first,' said Mr Belderboss. 'She was dressed up in a fancy hat and she had a fur round her neck and new shoes, like she was on her way home from a party or something. I was going to ask her if she'd seen anyone acting suspiciously, but when I got closer I could tell she was a drunk. You know how they smell of the stuff? And when she moved, her coat opened and she wasn't wearing anything on her lower half, if you know what I mean, apart from her shoes. She went on and on about someone called Nathaniel. I thought, who on earth is she talking to? But then I realised she thought I was him. She kept on thanking me for sending her these flowers. So I said-what flowers?-and she had Wilfred's next to her on the bench. Even the little card was still there with them.'

'Go on.'

'Well I tried to take them off her and she started screaming and next thing I knew there were two bobbies coming along the path with torches. She'd disappeared and I was there holding this bunch of hyacinths. I felt such a fool, Father. I mean, getting into trouble with the law at my time of life, can you imagine?'

'It's perfectly alright, Reg. To miss people that have died, I mean.'

'But not normal to go to their graves in the middle of the night?'

'I'm not sure normal comes into it when you're grieving,' said Father Bernard. 'But it might be better to go and see your brother during the day. I'm not sure I'd want to be wandering round Great Northern in the dark.'

Mr Belderboss looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

'I just feel ashamed that I've kept it from Mary,' he said. 'I ought to tell her what happened, just in case she gets to hear about it secondhand. They're a nosy bunch down our street. One flash of a blue light and the curtains are going.'

'I'm sure she'd understand if you did tell her.'

'So you think I ought to, Father?'

'I can't answer that. It's up to you. You know her best.'

'So it wouldn't be a sin to keep something important from someone?'

Father Bernard paused.

'Reg,' he said. 'I'm struggling to see what sin you've committed exactly. I'm not just going to send you off like a child to say three Hail Marys for mouthing off to your mammy. I think you need time to think about what to do for the best.'

'But what does G.o.d want me to do?'

'Whatever decision you make will be the right one, if you trust in Him.'

Mr Belderboss rubbed the back of his neck and breathed out heavily.

'Look,' said Father Bernard. 'It seems to me that you need to be in a dialogue with G.o.d, not putting out your hands for a caning. Take some time, talk to Him, pray for guidance, not punishment. G.o.d will answer you, Reg.'

'Yes, of course, I know.'

'You need to think about what there is to be gained from telling Mary,' he went on. 'Are you going to be happier for telling her, but make her worried in return? Or would it punish you too much to keep it to yourself?'

Mr Belderboss shook his head.

'I don't know,' he said. 'It all just seems wrong.'

'Well, grief can often make you feel like that.'

'No, I don't mean that, Father. I mean where Wilfred's buried seems wrong.'

There was silence for a moment and then Father Bernard spoke.

'Why did he choose to be buried away from Saint Jude's, Reg?'

'So that he could be with the family.'

'You don't sound so sure.'

Mr Belderboss said nothing but stared at the floor in front of his feet.

'Tell me if I'm prying again,' said Father Bernard. 'But the other day you said that Wilfred seemed to change after you came here the last time.'

'Yes, Father, he did.'

'How?'

'I don't know. He just wasn't himself anymore. He just seemed to give up.'

'Give up what?'

'Honestly, Father?' said Mr Belderboss. 'I think it was his faith.'

'Why would that have happened?'

'I don't know, Father, but for all he said every Sunday at Ma.s.s, I wasn't convinced he believed any of it anymore. It just seemed like lip service. Like he was trying too hard. You know how if you say something often enough you can get yourself to believe it? And then in the end, well, he just seemed to shut himself away from everyone. Wouldn't speak to me or Mary.'

Mr Belderboss closed his eyes.

'Poor Wilfred,' he said, shaking his head. 'It's bad enough for anyone to stop believing, but it must be a terrible thing for a priest. It must have driven him out of his mind.'

Father Bernard pulled back the curtain and poured Mr Belderboss another drink, but he didn't touch it. They sat for a while and didn't really talk other than to eventually bid one another goodnight. They shook hands and Father Bernard patted Mr Belderboss on the shoulder.

'Peace be with you,' he said.

'And also with you, Father,' said Mr Belderboss.

When he had gone, Father Bernard stared at the door, deep in thought, then downed Mr Belderboss's brandy as well as his own and got up, disappearing from the splinter of the room I could see. I heard him talking to Monro, scolding him affectionately, then he returned with a book.

I made no sound, but he suddenly turned as though he had seen my eye in the crack. He looked directly at me, but then went back to reading, shivering a little as the wind lowed against the window and dimmed the bulbs in the room.