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wall with the shadow of an oak. The small peaked porch was lit, Craig saw. 'I'll just get the newsletter,' Benedict said. 'Come in if you like.'
    Small blurred gargoyles poked their heads out of the thick walls beneath the high sloping roof. Light streamed onto the sparkling grass through the tall, thin arched windows, each of which contained three figures in stained glass, crowded so closely that they looked almost like a single figure - indeed, as a child Craig had thought some of them were. The memory made him feel unexpectedly childlike as he followed Vera through the porch into the church.
    Beneath the pointed arches of the vaulting the nave was calm and welcoming. Unbelievers welcome too, he thought as Vera leafed through the visitors' book. 'A pity more people don't come in, it's a pretty church. Figures are up this year, anyway,' she said, and then, 'Oh, dear.'
    Hazel glanced over her mother's shoulder and gave a cry of disgust. Someone had scrawled 'Piss off' across a page full of signatures. All the signatures were dated earlier that month. Before Craig could comment, Hazel cried, 'That's what happens when people stop believing. They've no respect for anything, even God.'
    'I think God will forgive them, Mrs Eddings,' the priest said, emerging from behind the high oak pulpit. He was a squat, beer-bellied man with a cheerful red face and straggling grey hair. 'I'm more worried that folk like yourself may be offended. I think that's a sin.'
    Hazel stared open-mouthed at him. 'You don't think insulting God is a sin?'
    'I'm not sure that whoever wrote that rather silly comment had God in mind at all. I rather think they hoped to shock whoever read it. After all, this church has been here for close to eight hundred years, and the foundations for much longer - you can feel that, can't you? Yet that isn't a split second in the eye of God. Think how much less important this bit of childishness must be.'
    'Are you sure you ought to speak for God like that?' Benedict said.
    'Well, it rather comes with the job, you know. I do believe God forgives, and I think you can feel that here too.' He turned to Craig and Vera. 'You're Mrs Eddings' parents, aren't you? Do I hear you're thinking of joining my parish?'
    'Sorry,' Hazel intervened. 'Father O'Connell, Craig and Vera Wilde.'
    Craig shook the priest's hand, which was strong and warm. 'If we retire we might come to Moonwell - we might even carry on doing legal work. But I ought to tell you,' he said, taken aback by his own embarrassment.
    'We aren't what you'd call churchgoers.'
    'If you're pubgoers, you'll find me there too. You're from Moonwell originally, aren't you? Did you ever help dress the cave? We still make up the panels in here, you know. My personal opinion is that it strengthens the church.'
    'I'd be happy if you got to know Father O'Connell.' Hazel lowered her voice as if she didn't want Craig to hear. 'You aren't getting any younger.'
    In the street Craig said, 'I quite like your priest. At least he doesn't believe in the hard sell.'
    'Maybe he ought to,' Benedict said. 'Nothing wrong with being aggressive for God. He lost quite a lot of his congregation when he preached against the missile bases, as if he didn't realize the fear of them is bringing people back to God. They want strong leadership now that there's a base so close to Moonwell; they don't go to church to hear that kind of thing. I really believe he had the chance to turn our whole town back to God if only he hadn't been so soft. That's why we've so much crime here now, because people won't stand up for what's right, and no wonder when even their priest seems afraid to.'
    'Still, you're helping prevent crime, aren't you?' Craig said, rather than suggest that Benedict had something to thank crime for. 'How's business since you changed the company name?'
    'It wouldn't be half what it is without Hazel,' Benedict said, patting her head. 'Changing the name is standard business practice, of course.'
    So tell