Here are the first three chapters of Family Values. If you'd like to read the whole book, send me an email and I'll email it to you in PDF format (file is 952kb). There is no charge.

© copyright Derek Gillard 1999
Family Values is my copyright. You are welcome to download these sample chapters and print them for your own personal use, provided my name as the author is attached. But you may not publish them, upload them onto any other website, or sell them, without my permission.

The characters and events portrayed in Family Values are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1
Wednesday 22 April

He is the King!
He is the King!
Oh Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
He is the King!

The congregation stopped waving their arms in the air and burst into applause.

'Friends,' said the vicar, grinning broadly and gesturing to them to sit down. 'It's been a great service. And a great five years. Melanie and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You've shared with us your faith, your worship, and your lives. God has done great things in this parish,' (cries of 'Amen!' and 'Alleluia!') 'and I pray that He will go on doing so. We're looking forward to our new parish, where I believe Jesus has much for us to do. But we won't forget you all here in Riseley. You'll always be in our prayers. May God bless you all.'

More applause. With a crash of drums and cymbals, the Music Group started up again and the congregation began to file out into the modern Parish Centre which had recently been built on to the fourteenth-century church.

'Wasn't that beautiful?' said Carol, tucking her copy of Shout for Joy into her handbag. 'He's wonderful, isn't he? We'll never find another vicar like Paul.'

'No,' replied her friend Jill, offering her a plate and a serviette. 'He's certainly done a good job here - just look at the number of people at the worship services now.'

'Has George said anything about the new vicar?'

'Well, it's not settled yet, but the Bishop is very keen for us to have - oh, hang on, there's George now. George!' She called across the crowded room to her shortish, slightly tubby, silver-haired husband.

'Hello Carol,' he said, approaching them with a plate full of sandwiches in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

'I was just asking Jill if there's any news on the new vicar. I thought you might have some inside information - you know, as churchwarden.'

'The Bishop wants us to have a chap called Adrian Tyler.' He took a mouthful of cucumber sandwich. 'Mm, delicious sandwiches, Carol. Well done.'

'What's he like?'

'Don't know a lot about him yet. He's coming to next month's PCC meeting so we can meet him. Bishop's very keen, apparently.'

'Is he married?'

'Don't know.' He took a swig of tea and looked for somewhere to put his cup down. 'Don't think so.'

'Oh. Girl friend? Fiancee?'

'No idea, I'm afraid. Oh, sorry, there's Janice. Must have a word.' He grabbed his cup and dived off into the crowd.

Carol turned again to Jill. 'It won't be the same if he's not married. That's one of the things that's been so good about having Paul as vicar. He's really promoted Christian family values. And Melanie has been brilliant in the parish, hasn't she? The Dance Group have really added to our praise services, haven't they?'

'Yes,' replied Jill through a mouthful of cheese straw. 'And she started Housewives for Jesus. I've found that a real blessing.'

Someone was clapping loudly. It was Alistair, the other churchwarden.

'Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment.' The noise subsided slowly. 'We couldn't let Paul and Melanie leave us without expressing our gratitude to them for all the work they have done for God in this parish.' He turned to the vicar, whose wife was standing beside him, holding the hands of their two young girls. 'Paul - and Melanie - this comes with our love and thanks for all you've done for us in the name of Jesus.' He indicated a large box on the table beside him, gift-wrapped by Cartwright's, the smart department store in nearby Hampton. 'It's for you, too, of course, Melanie.' Melanie looked suitably grateful. The assembled multitude cheered.

The vicar gestured to his wife who, with the aid of the two girls, began to unwrap the box. It was a microwave oven. Loud applause, during which someone dropped a plate and a mushroom vol au vent rolled across the floor, coming to rest between Alistair's feet.

'Melanie was only saying the other day,' he explained to the congregation, picking up the vol au vent and handing it to someone who was proffering a black bin-liner, 'that she'd love a microwave so that she could spend less time cooking and more time on parish activities.'

The vicar thanked them all for their kindness and talked about some of the memorable events of the previous five years. The Sponsored Pray (and the many other successful fund-raising events) in aid of the new Parish Centre, the Day of Prayer for the Conversion of the Jews, the Conference on Christian Sexuality (which had resolved to invite homosexuals to be cured by being born again in Christ) and, of course, their successful campaign to keep the village school open when the County Council had tried to close it four years ago. 'I know you share our concern that the children of the village should grow up in a Christian community and it's good to know that we can rely on those of you who are on the school's governing body to see that it continues to promote our Christian values.' And so on. There was more applause and then the talking and eating resumed.

An hour or so later, people began to drift away, hugging and kissing Paul and Melanie on their way out. There were tears as well as smiles.

Carol and Jill and George were the last to leave, after they'd finished the washing up and tidied the Parish Centre.

'I don't know what I'd do without my faith,' said Jill, as her husband locked the front doors.

'No,' said Carol. 'Our lives have certainly been changed by Paul, haven't they? Let's just hope ...'

George put the bunch of keys into his coat pocket. 'Hope?' he said.

'Oh, nothing. I've just got a feeling ...'

'About the new vicar?'

'Mm. Oh well, we'll see. Perhaps we'll know more after the PCC meeting. Goodnight, Jill. Night George.'

Jill put her arm through her husband's and the two set off home on foot. They lived just round the corner from the church, in one of the older village houses, behind the vicarage. Carol stood watching them for a moment. They were a real Christian couple, she thought. They'd been a constant source of love and support during the past five years. Especially Jill.

Carol got into her car, the only one left in the new church car park, a bright red Escort, a birthday present from her husband a year ago. Not new, but very smart. She remembered that Saturday afternoon when she'd come home from her voluntary work at the hospital and found it sitting in the drive. At first, she'd thought it must belong to a visitor. Then Michael had opened the front door and said, 'Happy Birthday, Darling!', waving the key at her. 'Michael!' she'd exclaimed. 'It's beautiful!' And then there'd been that slightly cryptic comment, 'Well make the most of it, there won't be any more.' What had he meant by that? Actually, she was in two minds about the car. She had always tried to cycle - or catch the bus - whenever she could, partly because she believed she was doing her bit for the environment and partly for the exercise. But then there'd been that unpleasant incident when two youths on a motor scooter had snatched her handbag from the basket on the back of her bike as she was cycling home from church one evening. The hassle that had caused!

She did up her seat belt. This new car park was a real asset. No more desperately trying to find somewhere to park on the narrow village roads. And with so many people now attending the church, it was a necessity. Of course, there had been quite a row about digging up part of the churchyard, and protests about taking down some of the old trees. But the work of God must go on. If people wanted to worship - and they certainly did in Riseley - they must have somewhere to park, mustn't they?

She pressed the wiper switch to clear the thin layer of mist which the cool April evening had deposited on the windscreen and looked out across the field to the left of the church. You used to be able to see right across the valley to Hampton, she thought. It was beautiful on a winter night, especially if there was snow, the lights of the market town twinkling on the horizon and reflected on the icy whiteness. Now, all you could see was the new estate. She started the car. Springfields. What an inappropriate name! It sounded quite nice. Sort of countrified. In fact, it was a huge development of mostly terraced houses, many of them council houses, and all occupied by throw-outs from London and Scotland. The sort of people the village could have done without. The sort of people who snatched your handbag when you were cycling home from church. There'd been quite a battle over the estate. She and her friends at the church had fought a long campaign to get it stopped. But in the end the developers had won and Springfields was now finished. The only good thing was that none of the estate people ever came to church. Thank God!

She drove past the school and the shop to Hillside, the small development of executive homes on the other side of the village. As she turned into Hillside Close, she noticed a car parked on the road in front of the house. It wasn't one she recognised.

The tyres scrunched on the gravel as she pulled into the drive. She and Michael had bought the house new five years ago, with help from her parents. Well, Michael was setting up his own computer firm at the time. She loved the house. Five bedrooms (the master room en-suite, of course), a double garage and a large and - she allowed herself the compliment - beautiful garden. Of course, it had meant saddling themselves with a mortgage - the best part of a quarter of a million. Still, Michael had been confident about the business and she was proud of the fact that, for four years at least, he had done so well for himself (with the help of her prayers, of course). Things had been a bit more difficult lately, but she felt sure that God would look after them. After all, she did enough for Him! It was a pity Michael wasn't a Christian - well, not a churchgoer, anyway. She had tried on numerous occasions to get him to attend services with her, but he always refused, muttering things about 'mumbo-jumbo'. At least he didn't mind her going.

She turned the key in the front door. 'Anyone home?'

'In the kitchen.'

She opened the kitchen door to find her daughter sitting at the table, painting her nails.

'Hello Dear.' She kissed her daughter on the cheek. 'Good day?'

'This is Neil.'

She turned round. Leaning against the radiator behind the kitchen door was a young man of about twenty.

'Hello Neil.' She looked him up and down.

'Hello Mrs Hill.'

'I suppose it's usual to say We've heard a lot about you, but actually, Karen doesn't tell us anything much.' She shot an accusing glance at her daughter.

'Mum ...'

'So what do you do, Neil?'

'He works for an insurance company in Hampton.'

'I work for an insurance company in Hampton.'

'See, Darling, he can speak for himself. Have a seat, Neil.' They both sat at the table with Karen. He was a good-looking lad - tall, short curly dark hair, brown eyes, casually dressed - jeans and a white T-shirt - but clean and smart. And his leather jacket, on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, was clearly an expensive one. Carol wasn't entirely unimpressed.

'Are you a Christian, Neil?'

'Mum, why do you always have to ask that?'

'Because it's important, dear. If my daughter's considering marriage, I want to know she's choosing someone ... appropriate.'

Neil looked embarrassed. Karen was furious.

'Marriage? Who said anything about marriage?'

'Well, you've been going out with Neil for over a year now, much longer than any of the others, so I thought perhaps ...'

'We have talked about marriage,' said Neil, 'but at the moment we're just having a good time.' A slight weariness in his voice suggested that this was Karen's view of the relationship rather than his. 'We enjoy each other's company. And I'm afraid I'm not a Christian. At least, I don't go to church. I did when I was a kid, but only because Mum insisted.'

'Ah, so your parents are Christians, then?' asked Carol, hopefully.

'Not really. Mum never went to church. Just sent me and my sister.'

'And your father?'

'Mum never married. Katie and me - that's my sister - we had different fathers and we never saw either of them much. Mum brought us up on her own.'

'And she made a brilliant job of it,' said Karen, placing a black-nailed hand carefully on his and smiling mockingly at him.

Carol sat back in her chair. She made little attempt to disguise her disapproval. Is he a half-caste? she thought. Or Mediterranean? Or perhaps it's just a tan. 'Is Justin in?' she asked, coldly.

'Writing an essay.'

Carol changed moods again and smiled. 'You should have come tonight. It was wonderful. Paul was brilliant.'

'Mum, you know I'm not into God and that sort of thing. Neil and I ...'

'You'd've liked the music.' She got up and opened the cutlery drawer and took out some spoons and knives.

'I don't think so.' She checked her lipstick in a small mirror. 'I ...'

'You would, honestly, Karen. The Music Group are really very exciting. Do you like music, Neil?' As she got some cups and dishes out ready for breakfast, she sang, 'Oh Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! He is the King!'

Karen looked sick. 'Mum. Please!' She put her make-up into her handbag and got up. 'See you tomorrow, then.'

'You're not going out now, Dear?'

'Yup. Meeting Sue and Dave at the club.'

'Not that awful nightclub again? Do you think it's wise? You hear some awful things ...'

'Mum, I'm nineteen. I can look after myself. See you.' She swept out of the kitchen.

Neil picked up his jacket and hitched it over his shoulder. 'Don't worry, Mrs Hill, she'll be OK with me.'

Carol gave him a look which suggested that she rated him slightly higher than something she would rather not have trodden in. 'What time will you be ...?'

'Come on Neil!'

'Sorry, Mrs Hill.' He pushed past her.

The front door slammed shut.

What had he meant, Sorry, Mrs Hill? Sorry they were going to the club? Sorry he wasn't a Christian? Or sorry he was a bastard? And why did her daughter have to look like that? She was a pretty girl. Or she would be if it wasn't for that ridiculous hair-style, the black nails and lipstick and that revolting stud in her nose. And as for her skirts - if they got any shorter ...

She walked into the hall and opened the study door. 'Michael? You're not still working?'

'I am. How was your service?'

'But it's nearly eleven. Oh, fine. Brilliant, in fact. Paul was wonderful as always. I don't know what we're going to do without him.' She rested her hand on her husband's shoulder. He was still a handsome man, she thought. His dense black hair was just beginning to thin a bit on top, but he'd looked after his figure and avoided the sagging waistline of so many of his contemporaries. 'Are you coming to bed?'

'When I've finished going through these figures. It's not been a good month.'

'George was saying he's a bit doubtful about the new vicar.'

'I didn't think one had been appointed yet.'

'Well, no, he hasn't. But apparently there's this chap the Bishop wants us to have - Adrian somebody-or-other.'

Michael tapped some numbers into a calculator and sighed. 'I'm sure the Bishop will find you somebody suitable,' he said, trying not to sound too irritated.

'That's what I'm bothered about. The Bishop's a bit High Church you know. What if he sends us one of his cronies in a lace surplice? It won't go down well at St Martin's. Paul's always taken the services in his ordinary clothes. Never saw the need to dress up. It's really important that we get someone who likes our style of worship and shares our ....'

Michael lit a cigarette.

'... values. Oh Michael, do you have to?' asked his wife, retreating towards the door.

'Yes. Could I finish this now?'

She closed the door quietly behind her and went upstairs. She knocked quietly on her son's bedroom door and opened it.

Justin was sitting at his desk, his back to her, working on his computer. As she came into the room, he slid a piece of paper under a textbook.

'Mum?'

She kissed him on the head.

He looked up. 'Good service?'

'Wonderful, Dear. You should have come.'

He smiled at her. 'Not really my scene. School chapel's more me. Smells and bells. You know. Anyway, I must get this essay finished. Blakesby wants it in first day of term. Or else.' He turned back to the computer and continued to tap away at the keyboard.

She gazed round the room. Books and organ music all over the purple duvet. Papers all over the floor. The noticeboard on the wall above the desk covered in little notes and a poster of some awful pop group. Still, at least Justin had managed to get to the age of seventeen without having bits of metalwear pierced through his nose or ears. Unlike his sister.

'And will it be ready? You've only got a day or two left now.'

'It will.' He looked up at her and smiled. 'I'm going over to Andy's tomorrow for a sleepover. I'll be back Friday afternoon. He's finished his essay.'

'All right Dear, if you think you can spare the time. Night.' She withdrew and shut the door.

She got ready for bed and sat at her dressing-table, gazing absent-minedly at the round face in the mirror, brown hair in a short, sensible style. She'd kept her looks, too, she thought, despite having had two children! Yes, there was much to thank the Lord for. She took the opportunity to say a prayer, thanking Jesus for the five years they'd been at Riseley. For her husband and his successful business (Could You make sure he gets through his current problems, Lord?), for their lovely house (Thank You for persuading the Social Committee to hold the Summer Fete in our beautiful garden), their two children (help Karen find a decent, Christian boyfriend and help Justin get his A Levels), and the wonderful times they'd had at St Martin's with Paul and Melanie. Finally, she put in a request for a suitable new vicar. Preferably a family man. Amen.

She cleaned her teeth and turned off the light in the en-suite bathroom. She got into bed and pulled the duvet around her. Goodness knows when Michael would come up. She thought he looked worried. But Jesus wouldn't let them down, would He?

Chapter 2
Friday 15 May

April came and went. So did various temporary priests during the interregnum at St Martin's. Justin went back to school. May began with some warm, sunny weather and Carol's garden began to blossom. She stood at the kitchen window one Friday morning admiring her handiwork and finishing her coffee. She rinsed the cup and looked at the clock. No gardening today. Church cleaning morning. It was a beautiful day, so she would cycle to church. She remembered they needed a new tin of polish so she rummaged in a cupboard under the sink, found what she was looking for and put it in the basket on her bike.

Jill was standing at the church door as she pedalled across the car park.

'Morning, Jill!' She wheeled her bike up the path.

'Morning Carol. Lovely day.'

They went into the church.

'Chancel this morning?' said Carol, opening the cleaning cupboard and getting out a tin of Brasso and a variety of cloths and dusters. 'I want to hear all about last night's PCC Meeting.'

They set to, Carol dusting the choir pews while Jill busied herself polishing the brass candlesticks either side of the altar.

'Well, the main news is that we are getting this Adrian Tyler chap as our new vicar. The Bishop even came to the meeting himself. George and several of the others weren't happy, but with the Bishop there, it was difficult for them to say No.'

'Who is he? What do we know about him?' She collected up some copies of Shout for Joy and stacked them neatly at the end of the pew.

'Well, he's thirty-three, single and High Church - an Anglo-Catholic, as the Bishop described him.'

'Just about as inappropriate as you could get for St Martin's!'

'That's what George says.'

'Has he had his own parish before?'

'Yes. But for the last five years he's been Chaplain at a private school.'

'What sort of school?'

'West Dean. One of the minor boys' public schools, apparently.'

Carol stopped polishing and looked up. 'So why is he leaving the school and coming to a parish again? There isn't something fishy going on, is there? I mean, you hear stories about boys' schools ...'

'Oh, I don't think there's anything like that. Mind you, it does seem odd that he starts in a parish, then goes off to be a chaplain, and then five years later goes back to parish work. At the very least it suggests he doesn't quite know what he wants to do.' She finished at the altar and collected up her cleaning things.

'And what about his churchmanship? How high is he?'

Jill proceeded to the lectern, lifted the heavy Bible on to a nearby pew and began polishing the huge brass eagle. 'Well apparently there wasn't a lot said about that at the meeting, but George was a bit bothered that he kept talking about Mass, rather than Communion. And he asked if we kept the Reserved Sacrament in the church!'

'I don't think this is going to work, do you? St Martin's just isn't that sort of church. Paul and Melanie worked so hard for five years, building up a good congregation. I can see what's going to happen. This chap's going to come along and ruin it all. People won't like it. They won't stay.'

'Well, that's what I think. But George says we must give him a chance.'

'George doesn't approve, surely?'

'No, of course not, but he does feel we've got to be fair. He says it's not Adrian Tyler's fault he's coming here. It's definitely the Bishop's idea.'

'We shall see.' Carol sounded sceptical. 'I don't know what I'm going to do. I've always been a Christian - Mum and Dad saw to that. But it was only when we came to Riseley that my spiritual life really began to develop. It was Paul and Melanie who saved me. Without them, I'd probably still be a heathen! But here I am, born again. And it's all down to them. And you and George, of course.' She finished polishing the pews and started dusting the sculptured wall memorial to Charles Higson, of Riseley Abbey, who had been responsible for the nineteenth-century restoration of the church.

'I know, but you mustn't give it all up just because we're having a new vicar. After all, Carol, you go to church to praise God, not the vicar.'

'Well, of course, I didn't mean ...'

The conversation fizzled out and the two women got on with the cleaning.

An hour or so later Jill said, 'I think that'll do for today, don't you?

Carol agreed, and they returned the cleaning materials to the cupboard.

'Come round and see the garden. It really is looking rather good, if I say so myself.'

'I'd love to,' said Jill.

They went out into the warm May sunshine again, and walked along Church Lane, Carol pushing her bike. The village looked beautiful as they turned left into Hampton Road, the little shop and Post Office on one side, and, after Home Farm Lane, the village school on the other. Children began streaming out on to the playground for their lunchbreak as the two women passed.

'How's your course going?' asked Jill.

'I'm really enjoying it. Mind you, things have changed since I was last in a classroom.'

'Yes, it must be a few years now ...'

'A few? Twenty!'

'Is it really?'

'I only did four years' teaching. Then Karen came along. I did think about going back when Justin started school, but we didn't need the money and ... oh, what with one thing and another ...'

'And since you've been in Riseley you've been so involved with the church.'

'Yes, well, I've already had to cut back on a few of my commitments, with the course and so on. Still, with Paul gone, things are a bit quiet at church at the moment, aren't they?'

'So what made you decide to go back to teaching?'

'Well, mainly I just felt I wanted to share my Christian beliefs with the children. They get so little ...'

'It wasn't the money, then? Oh, forgive me, that was rude.'

Carol smiled at her friend. 'It wasn't when I signed up for the course. Mind you, with things being a bit ... well, let's just say the extra cash will certainly help.'

'How long's the course?'

'Just this term. I shall have to start looking for a job soon. Of course, I'd really love to teach in the village school.'

'Yes, well, you realise the vicar ...'

'When's he being installed, the new vicar?'

'July. Thursday the second. Should be a big service. The Bishop will be there, of course.'

'That's very quick. Interregnums usually last longer than that - they can go on for a year or more.'

'Well I suppose, truth to tell, the Bishop had made up his mind, so once he'd persuaded the PCC to accept Adrian Tyler, there wasn't much point in hanging around.'

'But what about his present job - the school? Doesn't he have to go on until the end of term?'

'Apparently he left the school at Easter. He's having a bit of time off at the moment. The Bishop called it a sabbatical.'

They turned into Hillside Road. 'Well I call it fishy. Sounds to me as though the school couldn't wait to get rid of him. I've always been suspicious of boys' boarding schools.'

'But ...' began Jill, carefully, 'your Justin ...'

'Oh, there's nothing fishy about St Jude's. Michael and I have visited it several times. It's a good Christian school. The chapel's a bit high - not my style - but Justin likes it and as long as he goes to church ... Honestly, Jill, how could you think ...?'

'I didn't mean there was anything fishy about St Jude's. I'm sure you're right. And if you've visited it ...'

'Justin's done so well, there. Nine GCSEs last year - seven of them at Grade A.'

'Oh I know. You must be very proud of him.'

'And the music master has persuaded him to start learning the organ. I'd've liked him to play the piano for the Music Group at St Martin's - he got his Grade Seven, you know - but he likes the old-fashioned stuff. Of course, he could only have played during the holidays anyway. And now he's doing his A Levels. Takes them next year.'

They crossed Hillside Close. Carol leaned her bike against the garage and opened the front door.

'How's Karen getting on?' asked Jill. 'Is she still working for that estate agents?'

'She is. That reminds me, she said she'd be a bit late home this evening.' She filled the coffee machine and got out two cups. 'Amazing, really - she doesn't usually tell me anything! Someone's leaving, so they're all going out for a drink after work. She's a bit of a worry.'

Jill sat down at the kitchen table. 'Still nightclubbing?'

'Yes. Rolls in at three in the morning, sometimes a bit ... well, you know. I just hope she's not getting mixed up with people who take drugs ... She's got this boyfriend, Neil. He's pleasant enough I suppose, but not a Christian, I'm afraid. And he's a ... well, let's just say his parents never married.'

'So many like that nowadays.'

'Yes, well I want Karen to marry a real Christian and start a proper Christian family. When Michael and I were engaged he used to come to church with me but he was never really interested. I sometimes think he only did it to impress me. Once we were married his churchgoing gradually fizzled out. Still, at least he does have Christian values.'

The machine stopped chugging and spluttering and Carol poured the coffee. 'I've tried to pass on my Christian values to Karen, but you know what they're like at that age.'

'Oh yes. George says thank God ours are off our hands now! Both married. In fact, I'm expecting to become a grandmother before long.'

'Jill! Congratulations. I didn't know!'

'Oh it's a bit early for congratulations. Nothing definite yet, but they're certainly trying!'

'The garden?' said Carol, opening the back door.

'Oh, Carol,' said Jill, as she stepped out on to the patio, 'It really is looking wonderful this year. You must put in an awful lot of time on it.'

'I do. I love it. I feel it's a little bit of God's creation that I'm responsible for. Shall we have a walk round?'

'What a lovely way of looking at it!'

They meandered around the garden, Carol pointing out the newly planted ceanothus and moaning about the blackfly on the Lonicera - 'of course, I do try not to use any chemical sprays', Jill admiring the wild garden and the new pond - 'No, Michael and Justin did the digging - I'm not that liberated!'

'George is the gardener in our household. I do a bit now and again, but he's the keen one. And since he retired, he's been able to do a lot more. He loves it.'

'He doesn't regret retiring early, then?'

'Oh no. He always says the novelty of selling insurance lasted about five minutes!' She laughed. 'No, he saved for ages so that he could retire at sixty. He's got quite a decent pension. Isn't that a beautiful azalea? And, of course, we've lived in the village for years, so we've paid off the mortgage. No, we're quite comfortably off. Not rolling in it, but comfortable. We've even booked a holiday this year.'

Carol pulled up a young dandelion. 'Oh, where are you going?'

'Normandy. Little village near Bayeux. We stayed there some years ago, when George was still working. Lovely countryside. And there's plenty to see - the tapestry and the cathedral and so on. And George wants to see the D-Day landing beaches again. Bit of a pilgrimage, really. His father ...'

'Sounds lovely.'

'What about you?'

'Ah, well, Michael's booked us the holiday of a lifetime this year. Guess what!'

'Go on.'

'A Caribbean cruise!'

'Really? Tell me more!'

Carol led the way into the greenhouse. 'Well, we fly out to Barbados. Then we cruise around eleven paradise islands - well, that's what the brochure calls them - Grenada, Trinidad, St Kitts, Antigua and ... oh, I forget the others. Fifteen nights of bliss. I can't wait!'

Jill picked up a small plant in a pot. 'Your fuchsias are coming on well. When do you go?'

'End of August. What about you?'

'We thought we'd wait till September. Makes the winter seem shorter, somehow.'

They came out of the greenhouse and headed back to the patio.

'More coffee?'

'Please.'

Carol disappeared indoors to refill the cups. Jill sat down. 'I love your new patio furniture,' she called.

'Nice, isn't it?' Carol called back from indoors. 'I think the green looks so much better than white.'

'It does. Less glare.'

Carol reappeared with the coffee and sat down opposite her friend.

'George and I are going to the garden centre tomorrow - you know, that new one on the ring road.'

The phone rang.

'Sorry, Jill, I'd better get it.' She ran off indoors and picked up the phone in the hall.

'Hello. Carol Hill here.'

'Mum. It's Justin.'

'Justin! What are you doing ringing at this time? You're not in trouble?'

'No Mum, course not. Mum, there's this trip to India in the summer. Can I go? Andy's going.'

'Oh Justin, you'll have to ask your father. How much is it?'

'One thousand four hundred, give or take a pound or two. But I'll do some holiday work. I could probably earn five or six hundred. You'd only need to find about eight hundred.'

'Eight hundred pounds!'

'Oh, go on, Mum. It's the chance of a lifetime. We'll be climbing in the Himalayas. Just think of it!'

'Well, I ...'

'Oh go on, Mum, talk to Dad will you? I really want to go. Andy's Mum and Dad have already said Yes.'

'Well, all right, I'll talk to your father tonight. But I'm not at all sure ...'

'Couldn't you ring him at work now?'

'Is it so desperately urgent?'

'Yes it is. There's only a couple of places left and it's first-come, first-served.'

'Oh, all right.'

'Great! Thanks Mum. I'll call you back in an hour to see what he says. Bye. Thanks.'

Carol went out on to the patio again.

'Problems?' said Jill, noting the look on her friend's face.

'No, not really. Well, I don't know. Justin wants me to ask Michael if he can go to India with the school in the summer.'

'India! How much is it? If you don't mind me asking.'

Carol told her. Jill made a shape with her mouth which would have produced a whistle if she'd blown through it.

'He wants me to ring Michael now. Do you mind?'

'Shall I go? I've got things to do ...'

'Well, if you don't mind. Somehow I don't think this is going to be an easy phone call.'

She saw her friend to the front door.

'Bye, Carol. Thanks for the coffee. Good luck!'

'See you on Sunday.'

She closed the front door, sat on the chair by the phone in the hall, took a deep breath and dialled her husband's office number.

'Hill Computers,' said a girl's voice.

'Oh, hello Teresa. Is Michael there?'

'Hello Mrs Hill. Yes, he's just outside the office. Hang on, I'll get him for you.'

A pause. The phone being picked up.

'Carol?'

'Michael, are you busy?'

'Not especially. What's the problem?'

'I've just had Justin on the phone. He wants to go to India with the school this summer.'

'India? How much?'

'Well, fourteen hundred pounds.'

'Fourteen hundred! You must be joking. If I ...'

'He really wants to go. He says he'll do holiday work and earn about six hundred. So if we could just find eight hundred ...'

'Carol, I'm sorry. There's no way I can find eight hundred pounds for Justin to go to India or anywhere else for that matter.'

'Don't forget I shall be earning again. I could ...'

'Carol, you haven't even got a job yet, and even if you get one ...'

'But his friend Andrew - you remember that nice boy who came to tea during the Easter holiday - his parents have already said ...'

'Well that's up to them. Perhaps they're rolling in money. I'm sorry. It's just not on. Not unless we cancel our cruise. And frankly, I don't know how I'm going to pay for that, either.'

'But Michael ...'

'No, it's no good, Carol. Tell him I'm sorry but it can't be done. Business is terrible. There just isn't the money. Sorry.' And with that, he put down the phone.

Carol sat in the hall, staring at the front door, the receiver humming limply in her hand. How was she going to tell Justin? She went back out into the garden. She would prick out a few seedlings, if only to take her mind off it. But it didn't. She couldn't stop thinking about the forthcoming conversation with her son. And about how badly her husband's business must be doing now.

Forty minutes later the phone rang again. She rushed indoors.

'Sorry, Mum. Couldn't wait an hour. What did he say? Can I go?'

'Justin, your father ...'

'I can't, can I? You needn't bother to say it, I can tell.'

'I'm sorry, Love. The business is in a mess at the moment and there just isn't the money.'

'I notice there was plenty of money when you booked that holiday in the Caribbean.'

'Oh, that's not fair, Justin. That holiday was booked last year when things were going well. Honestly, if we had the money ...' But she was talking to a dead phone.

She went back outside and tried to carry on with the seedlings. But she found it difficult to settle to anything. She'd have another go at Michael when he came home that evening. Perhaps she could persuade him. She'd give him a good meal - something special he really liked - and then she'd talk to him.

She finished the seedlings, got the car out and drove into Hampton. She bought the ingredients for Michael's favourite pasta dish, and a bottle of his favourite wine.

When she got home, there was a message on the answering machine. She dumped the shopping in the kitchen, then went back into the hall and played the message.

'Hello, Carol, it's your mother here. We've just had a phone call from Justin. He says you can't afford to let him go on a school trip to India. Are things all right between you and Michael? Is he having problems with the business? We'll pop over to see you this evening. Oh, your father's agreed to pay for the trip. Hope that's all right. See you later. Take care. Bless you. Bye.' The machine beeped. Carol pressed the stop button.

'The little ...'

She made the pasta dish anyway. Well, she'd bought the ingredients, and, besides, she'd need Michael to be in a good mood when he found out that Justin had asked her parents for the money for the trip. She had just finished setting the table when Michael's car pulled into the drive. The key turned in the lock and the front door opened.

'Carol? I'm sorry about Justin's trip but there's just no way ...'

She met him in the hall. 'Don't,' she said. 'Don't talk about it. Not yet, anyway. Let's just forget about it and enjoy dinner.'

'But ...'

'No buts. I've done your favourite dish.' She gave him a kiss.

'Well it certainly smells good,' he said, slightly bemused. 'I'll just wash and change.' He disappeared upstairs.

She made a real effort not to talk about Justin or how the business was going during the meal. Whenever Michael started veering in that direction, she changed the subject. She talked about the weather, the garden, and church. Only when the meal was over and they sat in the lounge with their coffees did she say what she knew she had to.

'Michael, after I told Justin we couldn't afford his school trip, he rang Mum and Dad.'

'What? What did he do that for?'

'Don't get angry. Listen. He's asked them to pay for the trip.'

'He's done what?' His expression changed dramatically and his face flushed.

'And they've agreed.'

'My son - our son - has gone begging to your parents?'

'But it solves the problem, doesn't it? Justin can go now and we ...'

'Solves the problem? It doesn't solve the problem, Carol, it creates one!'

'What do you mean, it creates one?'

'Because it means your father will be able to gloat over how badly his ne'er-do-well heathen son-in-law is doing again. Oh no, Carol, I'm not having it.' He stood up and began pacing round the room. 'Ever since your parents paid the deposit on this house - when I was having a difficult time setting up the business - they've regarded this place as an outpost of their own little empire. Well not any more. I don't want anything from your parents and ...'

'But it isn't for you. Or us. It's for Justin.'

'Same thing.' He took out a packet of cigarettes.

'Oh, not in here, Michael. Go in the study if you must smoke.'

'There you are. Typical. This isn't my house, it's yours and your bloody parents! Christ!' He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

The front door bell rang. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, went out into the hall and opened the door. Standing on the doorstep was a short woman in a bright red light-weight coat and pill-box hat, matching handbag over her arm.

'Hello Dear!' They kissed. 'Have you been crying?' She turned to her husband, who was still fiddling around in the car. 'Come on, Brian!'

'Just getting the cheque book, Dear,' he called. 'Ah, here it is.' He removed it from a coat pocket, threw the coat onto the back seat and locked the car. 'How are you, Carol?'

He took one look at his daughter and realised that things were not good. 'Make us a cup of tea, there's a dear, and we'll sort it all out.'

Ten minutes later they were sat in the lounge with their tea.

'So Michael doesn't like the idea of us paying for Justin to go to India?' asked her mother, rather pointlessly, since Carol had spent the previous ten minutes explaining this.

'He says it's very good of you to offer, but we can't possibly accept.'

'Nonsense, Girl,' said her father. 'Look, I'm writing the cheque now.' He got out his pen. 'And I'm making it out to the school. Not to you. Or Michael. To the school.' He looked at his wife. 'Can't stop me doing that, can they, Elspeth?' She smiled at him. He wrote a cheque for eight hundred pounds, made out to St Jude's School.

'Where is Michael?' asked her mother.

'He's in his study. I think it might be better not to ...'

Her father closed his cheque book. 'Don't be silly, Carol. Must say Hello while we're here.' He got up and walked to the door, crossed the hall and opened the study door, without knocking. Carol dreaded the row that was about to erupt. But there was silence. Her father returned to the lounge. 'He's not in the study.'

'Oh well, perhaps he's popped out for something,' she said, very relieved.

'What's going on between you two?' said her mother. 'Things difficult at the moment?'

'No, not really, it's just the business is going through a rough patch. But I keep praying and I'm sure Jesus will ...' She was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door, followed by the sound of a car screeching off at high speed.

'What on earth's that?' asked her father.

'I don't know, I'll just ...' She went to the front door and opened it. As she did so, Karen, who had been dumped on the doorstep, slumped backwards into the hall. She was clearly drunk and in tears.

'Mum!'

Carol lifted her to her feet. Brian and Elspeth stood at the lounge door. They looked at Karen in horror. Then they looked at each other in horror.

Brian leapt into action. 'Come on, Girl, let's get you up to bed.' He took Karen from her mother, put his arm round her and helped her up the stairs.

Elspeth looked at her daughter, who was once again in tears.

'Carol, really! Sometimes I wonder how you've brought these children up. Of course, if you'd married a Christian ...'

'Don't, Mum. Just don't.'

'Well someone's got to say it. He's no good, Carol. He has no values. All he's interested in is money. And he isn't even any good at that. You'd be better off without him.'

'Oh would she?' Michael stood at the kitchen door, his arms folded.

'Michael, where have you been?'

'Trying to get a bit of peace in the garden. Your garden, of course. Well I've had enough of this. Elspeth - Out! And Brian. Where is he?'

'He's upstairs putting your drunken daughter to bed. Brian!' She shouted up the stairs. 'We're going. We're not wanted here.' She turned to Michael. 'And frankly ...'

'No, you're not. So take your ...'

'Michael. Don't, please.' Carol was now in floods of tears.

Brian came down the stairs. 'So this is the thanks we get for helping you, is it? Well don't worry, we won't be coming back. Ever. Oh, and you might like these.' He tipped half a dozen small white tablets into Michael's hand. 'They fell out of your daughter's handbag. Good night.' He slammed the front door behind them.

Chapter 3
Thursday 2 July

The Rev'd Adrian Tyler's Installation at St Martin's Church, Riseley, was, as might have been expected, a very different affair from the farewell service for Paul and Melanie three months earlier. True, the Music Group played - they hadn't had an organist since Paul told the last one her services were no longer required - but there were no 'Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!'s this time. There were traditional hymns, chosen by the new vicar. The drummer, a studious-looking lad of about seventeen, was almost redundant and sat there looking bored much of the time. The Bishop's sermon, on the theme of Sacrifice, was not interrupted by shouts of 'Amen!' or 'Alleluia!' and the service ended with 'O Jesus I have promised to serve thee to the end' sung to a tune which only the oldest members of the congregation seemed to know.

There were some similarities. There was a bun-fight afterwards. The sandwiches were still cucumber. The vol au vents still had mushroom in them, (though none of them rolled across the floor this time). And Jill still tried to speak with her mouth full of cheese straw. But there the similarities ended. Although the Bishop looked pleased, and quite a few of the congregation made a point of welcoming Adrian to St Martin's, there was, without doubt, an atmosphere. It was not altogether a pleasant one.

'What do you think?' asked Jill.

'Not much,' replied Carol. 'He needs his hair cutting!'

'Carol!'

'I didn't think much of the service. Did you know any of those songs - sorry, hymns?'

'Well, I did know the last one. George and I used to go to a church in Hampton before we moved out to Riseley. Of course, that was years ago. We used to have hymns there. But we've got used to the songs in Shout for Joy now, haven't we George?' She turned to her husband, who had just pushed his way through the crowd with a plateful of sandwiches and crisps, most of which he had managed not to drop.

'What's that Dear?'

'I was just saying ...'

'Good evening,' interrupted the new vicar.

'Ah, Vicar, meet my wife. Adrian, Jill. Jill, Adrian. And her friend Carol. Mrs Hill.'

'Very pleased to meet you both,' said Adrian. 'I do hope we shall be seeing you in church on Sunday morning? The service is still at ten, you know. I'm not proposing to change that!' He grinned.

'Is your wife here?' asked Carol.

'I'm not married, Carol. And your husband? Is he here tonight?'

'Michael doesn't ... He is a Christian, you understand, but he doesn't have time to ...'

'Oh, sorry, the Bishop's beckoning me again. Sorry. Will you excuse me?' He disappeared into the crowd.

'There you are,' said Jill. 'No change. You can stop worrying, Carol.'

'He was only talking about the time of the service, Jill. I bet that means he's going to make other changes. You'll see. I can tell. Well, just look at tonight's service. Hardly St Martin's, was it?'

'No, but ...'

'No but nothing. I've got a feeling we're not going to enjoy church from now on.'

'You shouldn't write him off yet, Carol,' said George. 'Give him a chance. By the way, the Church Fete was wonderful. Marvellous idea having it in your garden. It really is beautiful. The PCC were delighted.'

'Yes, it did go well, didn't it?' She finished her cucumber sandwich and washed it down with the last of her tea. 'Well, I'm off now.'

'You're not staying on to help clear up, then?' asked Jill.

'No, I did tell the Social Committee I couldn't. Promised to get home early tonight. Michael's had a meeting with the bank manager this afternoon and I want to know what's been said. See you Sunday ... I suppose.' She smiled wanly at them and made for the door.

'Oh dear, George. I think Carol's determined not to like our new vicar, don't you?'

Her husband's mouth being full of sandwich, he nodded.

As she opened the front door, she could hear voices. Loud voices. Coming from the kitchen. She put her handbag on the hall table, took off her jacket and slung it over the bannister. She stood for a moment, listening to the shouting, muffled by the kitchen door but quite audible.

'Karen, for God's sake see sense! He's got you into enough trouble already!'

'You can't stop me. I'm nineteen. I can do what I like.'

'No, I can't stop you.' He was obviously making an attempt to cool the situation. 'But I'm your father. I care about you. Neil seemed such a nice lad. You could do a lot worse for yourself.'

'Huh! All Neil's interested in is getting married and settling down. I want to have a good time while I can.'

'And that's another thing. I don't want to see you getting mixed up in ... drugs and things. And think of your mother. She cares about you, too.'

'Her? Care? All she's interested in is that precious church of hers. Last time Neil came round here she made it very clear what she thought of him. He's not a Christian. He's a bastard as far as she's concerned. Literally and ... whatever the other thing is.'

Carol had heard enough. She opened the door. Her husband and her daughter were sat facing each other across the kitchen table.

Michael slumped back in his chair and threw his hands in the air. 'She's going back to Dave. You'd think she'd've learned her lesson. Last time she was with him she ended up drunk - and drugged - on our doorstep. And in front of your parents.'

Karen was indignant. 'That was nothing to do with Dave.'

'Oh no? And who gave you those tablets?'

'We've had all this out before. Dozens of times. It was only a few Es, for Christ's sake.'

'Karen, please,' said her mother. 'Your language!'

'Oh great! Here I am, trying to get our daughter to see some sense and all you can worry about is her bloody language!'

Karen got up and made for the door. 'Right, I've had enough of this. I'm going. And I won't be back.' She ran upstairs.

'Aren't you going to stop her?' asked Carol.

'What's the point? She doesn't listen to anything I say.'

She followed her daughter upstairs. 'Darling!'

Karen was throwing some clothes into a holdall. 'Don't you Darling me! I've had it up to here with this family. He never stops moaning and you never stop trying to sell us your pathetic beliefs. Well I've had enough. I should have done this years ago.' She zipped up the bag. 'Goodbye Mum.'

Carol remained in the doorway. 'You can't go like this ... where will you go? Wait till the morning. Perhaps if we prayed together ...'

'Oh that's a laugh. Your bloody prayers are half the problem. Excuse me.' She pushed past her mother.

'Karen! Please! At least tell us where you're going!'

'I'm going to my friends,' she called from the bottom of the stairs.

'Which friends, Dear? Not Dave's?'

But the front door had slammed.

Carol walked slowly down the stairs and returned to her husband. He was still sitting at the kitchen table, smoking and gazing into nowhere. She leaned against the sink unit.

'Not in the kitchen, Michael. Please.'

'I wish she'd stuck with Neil. He seemed a decent type. She says you were rude to him.'

'How long has she been seeing Dave? I didn't know. When did you know?'

'I've only just found out. Some of those times she was supposed to be with colleagues from work or seeing Neil, she was actually with him.'

'I thought he already had a girl-friend.'

'So did I. I can't keep up with them. Have you ever met this Dave?'

'No. She's never brought him back here. In fact, come to think of it, I don't know anything about him - except she did once mention he lived in Hampton - somewhere near the hospital, I think she said. You know what she's like. Oh Michael, what are we going to do?'

'Do? You've done enough already.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, it's hardly any wonder Neil's finished with her, is it? He comes round here and you treat him like a piece of dirt because his parents weren't married and he's not a Christian - at least, not your sort of Christian. And now he's found out that Karen's been two-timing him. I'm not surprised he's decided to cut his losses.'

'You can hardly blame me for ...'

'It's not you I blame, Carol. It's your bloody religion.'

'But ...' She had lost enthusiasm for the argument. For a minute or so, neither said anything.

'The bank's given me one month.'

'What do you mean, one month?'

'I mean one month. Four weeks. To sort out the firm's finances. Otherwise they'll call in the loan. And if they do that, we're finished. Bankrupt.'

'Oh Michael, I had no idea it was so bad.' She sat opposite him at the table. 'And can you? Sort out the finances, I mean?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'If I sack a couple of staff, and if the bank will reschedule the loan, and if business picks up a bit, and if the recession in the Far East doesn't have too many knock-on effects over here ... it's too many Ifs, Carol. They'll never buy it.'

'I shall pray,' she said, with determination. She looked at her husband's face. 'Oh, you can scoff if you like, Michael. But Jesus has been good to us and I don't see any reason why He shouldn't go on helping us. No, I shall pray. Why don't you come with me?'

'Carol, you know what I think about your religion. As far as I'm concerned, it's just so much mumbo-jumbo. My business is successful when I work hard and make a profit. It's got nothing to do with religion. But if it makes you feel any better ...'

'Well, that's just where you're wrong. It's got everything to do with religion.' She stood up and pushed her chair under the table. 'I've prayed hard for you, Michael. For us. That's why we've been successful. And it's why we're going to be successful again. You'll see. God won't let us down. I shall go upstairs and pray now. I don't suppose you'll join me?'

'You might pray for your daughter while you're at it.' He got up. 'I'll be in the study. Doing something useful.'

She didn't usually kneel beside the bed to pray. It was a bit old-fashioned, she felt. She usually just lay in bed and talked to Jesus. Informally. But tonight she had very important things to say to Him. To ask Him. So she decided she'd kneel. She felt better when it was done.

Michael came to bed later - much later. He turned off the light.

Carol stirred. 'I've done it,' she whispered. 'I've prayed that everything will come right.'

'Good night,' he replied, and kissed her forehead.

Neither of them could sleep. They both lay there, side by side, in their own private worlds of anxiety. He, worrying how he could persuade the bank not to pull the plug, she, hoping against hope that Jesus would answer her prayers. That would show Michael. Perhaps he would even be converted. Born again. Saved. Everything would be wonderful. A light breeze moved the curtains silently and caused the silver birch in the front garden to cast flickering shadows in the yellow light from the street lamp across the Close.

Then they heard the noises. First, there was breaking glass. A neighbour's house being broken into, perhaps? They listened, both now alert. Then, a car engine revving. They looked at each other.

'Michael! That's my car! I left it on the drive!'

Scrunching gravel, then tyres screaming on the road.

They leapt up. Michael pulled back the curtains and looked out. The red Escort was just disappearing from the Close, out into the main road. Left, towards the village. 'You call the police. I'm going after them!' He began frantically pulling on his trousers and a shirt.

'I'm coming with you.'

'No. You stay here. And ring the police,' he shouted, already half way downstairs.

'I'm coming with you,' she shouted back.

She dialled nine nine nine and reported the theft.

A minute later they were reversing the firm's Renault out of the garage, the automatic door closing slowly behind them. They screeched off out of the Close and along the main road into the village.

'They'll be from Springfields. Bound to be,' she said. Michael drove as fast as he dared. 'Typical!'

Past the village green, the full moon shining at them from the duck pond, past the school and the Post Office. No sign of anything or anyone. Past Church Lane and on towards the new estate. Still nothing. Michael stopped the car beside the 'Welcome to Springfields' sign, which had 'SHIT' written across it in large letters of mud. Or something.

'Why have you stopped?'

'Listen!' He switched off the engine and pressed a button. His window hummed open. They listened. Nothing for a few seconds. Then the distant screech of tyres.

'Where do you think?' he whispered. 'Over there to the left?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Michael, what are you going to do if we find them?'

He started the engine again but left the window open. 'Don't worry. I'm not going to try any heroics. I just want to get a look at them. Perhaps frighten them off.'

They drove into the estate, along the yellow-lit roads, left, then right, then finding themselves in a cul-de-sac. They stopped and listened again. The screeching tyres were louder now and to the right. They set off again, round the main estate road and then right, along Springfields Boulevard.

A minute later they came to the centre of the estate, where the developers had thoughtfully provided a small shopping precinct and a Community Centre. Here the road split into two, like a dual carriageway, with a strip of grass in the middle. Carol's car was ahead of them, being driven maniacally to one end of the precinct and then, with a screeching of tyres, wheel-spun round so that it was now coming towards them. Fast. Michael pointed the Renault at them and put his foot down. As they drew close, he swerved just enough to avoid them. The kids in the Escort leaned out of the windows, yelping and whooping with delight, and spun the car round at the other end. Michael did a hasty three-point turn and repeated the exercise.

The joy-riders clearly thought Michael was playing the game. So did the small crowd of youngsters gathered round the concrete seats in front of the Community Centre. They cheered and threw their empty lager cans in the air as the Escort wheel-spun past them. Then jeered as Michael's car approached. Someone threw a bottle. It hit the car, shattering the rear window. The youths cheered.

Carol was petrified. 'Michael! You'll get us both killed.'

He wasn't listening. The Escort had now left the precinct and was heading back to the main road. He gave chase. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. Then, with screeching brakes, left into a narrower road. Suddenly, the Escort was coming towards them again. He swerved, bouncing the car onto the pavement, knocking over a dustbin but narrowly missing a lamp-post. Round again, back to the main road. No sign of them.

She looked both ways. 'Which way did they go?'

'Left. No, right. There they are.' The Escort was racing along the main road back towards the village. He put his foot down, did almost as good a wheel-spin as the driver in the Escort, and shot off after them.

Carol peered into the dark distance. 'They've turned off! Into Church Lane by the look of it.'

'But that's a dead-end. There's only the church and your precious new car park down there.'

'Well that's where they've gone.'

He spun the wheel and they screeched into Church Lane.

'Michael. Do you think we ought to wait for the police now? If you corner them ...'

'I'm not giving up till I've got a good look at them. Damn! I left the mobile at home!'

They'd reached the end of the lane now. There was no sign of the Escort. A cloud had covered the moon and the car park was pitch black. Michael drove in, turning the car slowly so as to use its headlamps like a prison camp searchlight. There it was, on the other side, just by the path up to the church. Michael pulled up beside it. It had been driven into the stone wall of the churchyard, its bonnet crumpled by the impact. There was no-one in it. Michael opened his door and got out.

'Oh, Michael, be careful.'

He looked round. Two youths - a boy and a girl, he thought, were running bandy-legged across the bumpy field towards the estate. He ran across the car park to get a better view. The boy was wearing a leather jacket - it reflected the yellow streetlight - but he couldn't see much else.

Carol got out of the car. Suddenly, a figure rose up in front of her from nowhere. Another boy in a leather jacket. They looked at one another for a second. This one had a thin, rather rat-like face. There was blood trickling down his forehead.

'Bastards!' he shouted, and shot off across the car park. Michael was just turning back towards the car when he heard the shout. He ran towards the youth. They collided and fell to the ground.

Carol screamed. 'Michael!'

The youth got up, leapt over the fence and ran off across the field to join his mates.

'Fuckin' bastards!' he screamed again as he disappeared into the night.

'Oh Michael, are you all right?'

'Yes. Just my shin.' He got up, painfully. 'He kicked my bloody shin.'

He hobbled over to the Escort. 'Too dark to see how much damage there is.' He sniffed. 'Petrol leaking from somewhere. I'll get the garage to pick it up - after the police have had a look at it.'

'Never mind the car. Let's get you home.'

They didn't talk on the way through the village, but as they pulled into the Close, Michael couldn't resist the temptation to murmur, 'Say your prayers tonight, did you?'

She didn't respond.

Once inside, he rang the police.

'I'm sorry Sir, there's been a major accident on the Hampton bypass and we've been a bit snowed under. We could get someone out to you soon.'

'Well, don't bother now. The car's been crashed in the church car park. It isn't going anywhere. Perhaps you'd send someone out in the morning to take a look at it. Fingerprints and so on.'

'Certainly Sir, I'm making a note of it now. For the morning shift. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight.'

Carol went into the lounge and sat gazing at the blank television screen, unable to understand what she'd done to deserve all this. She said her prayers, didn't she? She never missed a Sunday morning in church. She gave money regularly to the Christian Mission to the Heathen and she'd recently joined Christians for Jesus and the Family. She tried to live her life by her Christian values and to get everyone she met to do the same. It just didn't make sense.

Michael shut himself in his study with his balance sheets, his cash-flow projections and his cigarettes.

The Scenes of Crime Officer attended the car at 09.18 the following morning. 'Unfortunately,' he later reported to Michael and Carol, 'the little buggers returned during the night and torched it, so there was no evidence left to collect.'

Just another car crime statistic. And, since the local garage were without their recovery vehicle driver until the following Monday morning, embarrassment for Carol when her friends in the congregation found the smelly brown shell of her car beside the church gate as they arrived for Family Praise on Sunday morning. Or, as the new vicar insisted on calling it, Parish Mass.