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succession of tenants) had left. And those latest children, too, had fought with Finn.
    Watching TV afterward, sitting side by side on the shabby old couch with its many stains and old burn holes hidden under throws, Angie’s mind turned uneasily toward a truly sinister possibility. The enemy within , she thought. At Faith Rise they didn’t talk about ‘the Devil’: Pastor Tim referred to him as the enemy . The enemy we must be prepared to do battle with at any moment. The enemy who could insinuate his way into your life, your mind, yes, into your soul .
    No, no! Surely simple jealousy could explain what Finn had done. In a way, she hoped so, because otherwise …
    Is the enemy within my son? Angie asked herself, gazing at him as he sat solemnly sucking his thumb and watching what was supposed to be a comedy, judging by the raucous canned laughter, though he never cracked a smile. Is he there now, inside my own darling little boy?
    As though sensing her scrutiny, Finn darted a swift sideways glance at her and jerked his thumb from his mouth, tucking it tight inside his folded hand as though it might get away.
    ‘Finnie, why did you try to hurt that boy?’ she burst out. ‘Please tell me, sweetie.’
    Finn shook his head fiercely. ‘No!’
    ‘Is it because he has such a nice voice? Do you wish you could sing like that too?’
    ‘No, I don’t!’ Finn shouted, his face contorted. He clapped both hands over his ears. ‘I don’t don’t don’t !’
    Angie tried to hug him. ‘Finn, please ! Let Mummy —’
    Finn hit her arms away. ‘Nobody! No!’ he yelled. Throwing the rug aside, he ran from the room and while Angie was still getting to her feet his bedroom door slammed so hard the house shook. His wild defiant shouts: was this the enemy, flaunting his power over her boy? Frightened by the thought, she hurried down the cluttered hallway and pushed the door open, to see Finn kneeling amid the usual muddle of clothes and toys in his room. For a fleeting moment she saw a picture of utter innocence, the little boy in his pyjamas praying, but then with a lurch of dismay, she saw that he was pulling apart one of his most treasured toys: Robo-Boy, a fearsome-looking plastic warrior who stood guard by his bedside every night. What could make a child destroy his own beloved toy? Even as she came toward him, he succeeded in wrenching one arm off and threw it at the wall, then flung himself forward in a passion on to his unmade bed.
    Angie tried to pull his flailing body onto her lap; he kicked and struggled but she persisted. ‘Jesus loves you, Finnie,’ she cried above his yells. ‘He loves you and he loves Mummy too and he will never stop loving us, never ever.’ Please, dear Lord , she prayed, help me, guide me. I don’t know what to do, I’m so alone.
    Gradually Finn’s struggles ceased, and he quieted. She drew him closer. ‘I know you didn’t mean to, baby,’ she murmured.
    ‘If my daddy was here,’ he said, so faintly she could hardly hear him, ‘he would fix things.’
    Her throat tightened. ‘I know, my darling,’ she said. ‘He would. But Daddy’s in heaven now with Jesus, isn’t he? He’s helping God to watch over us and keep us safe.’
    Finn gave a huge exhausted yawn. The storm had passed. ‘Tell me about Daddy,’ he said, and she lay down next to him. With her son curled into the curve of her body, Angie looked up toward the ceiling. The fluorescent stick-on stars she’d put up there had lost most of their glow, but still lent a dim intimation of night sky. ‘Your daddy was born in a beautiful green country called Ireland,’ she began, as she always did, and stroked Finn’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. ‘He came from far away on the other side of the world because God wanted him to be here and meet your mummy.’
    Finn’s hand rested on the inside of her shoulder, his fingertips patting a gentle rhythm on her collarbone as, in a soft and dreamy voice, she told the story of