to the rice, won’t you? That is a Nigerian dish, actually.’
‘Oh, yes. I’ll help myself, Miss Dark-as-Night,’ crooned Christopher under his breath. ‘If you’ll step into the kitchen with me.’ He reached across her to grasp the wine bottle, and his forearm brushed hers.
Leila swung round to face him, eyes glinting dangerously. ‘Sorry, Christopher?’
He smirked uncertainly, and his glance darted to Hilda and back.
‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ Leila insisted, her voice slightly too loud. ‘Could you just repeat it for me?’
Christopher shrugged and looked sullen.
Angus intervened, diplomatically. ‘You can both be justifiably proud of your son,’ he remarked genially, slicing through the awkward silence. ‘This is a pretty tough parish. The last curate didn’t last the distance.’
‘What makes it such a difficult job?’ asked Hilda, covertly glaring at her husband.
‘It’s vast,’ replied Angus. ‘And like all inner city parishes there’s poverty and racial tension and all that comes with it. The churchyard gets used by bored teenagers as a meeting place. They smoke, drink, sniff glue, get one another pregnant—all the usual things. We’re fighting a losing battle against vandalism.’ He paused, taking a mouthful of casserole. ‘Delicious, Leila!’
After another moment’s silence, Elizabeth took up the baton. ‘Breaks people’s hearts. They spend more than they can afford on a carved marble angel for their baby son or whatever, and it’s smashed. Only last night, an old fellow arrived at the rectory in tears. He’d laid a bunch of red roses on his wife’s grave—her favourite flowers—cost half his week’s pension, and within hours they’d been ground into the dirt.’
‘Ever catch ’em at it?’ asked Hilda.
‘Ah.’ Angus held up a triumphant finger. ‘Yes, the odd win. Last summer I caught some boys in the act of lighting a fire in a litter bin. Two ran away, but one stayed to face the music. That bit of courage changed his life. He’s since joined the choir and become a legendary goalkeeper in David’s new team. Quite literally, David is his hero.’
‘Then I’d keep a very close watch on the church silver if I were you,’ advised Hilda, with a knowing curl to her lips.
Leila met Elizabeth’s startled eye. ‘Hilda’s a magistrate,’ she explained.
Elizabeth’s gaze ran over Hilda before she nodded, coolly. ‘I see. Well, I don’t think there’s any need to lock away the silver. We trust Kevin. He’s a good lad, getting confirmed after Christmas. Lovely voice, too.’
Hilda smiled. ‘I admire your forgiving nature. But actually, he’s an arsonist. And he always will be.’
By the time Leila brought in the fruit salad, Christopher had drunk himself into a wheezing, dangerous silence. He seemed to be sulking. Hilda, by contrast, had stepped smartly into her stride.
‘People talk about education,’ she mused, passing the cream jug across David’s empty place to Elizabeth. ‘You can’t just take a child and educate it and hope it will behave differently. No. In my experience, it will always go back to its genetic roots.’
Elizabeth chuckled, but Angus looked appalled. His mouth actually fell open.
‘Surely you don’t mean that, Hilda? You’re not suggesting that some folk have no choice but to be criminals? That they’re trapped in their subculture, prisoners of their genes, whatever they do?’
Hilda blinked sunburst eyelashes. ‘Well, of course they have a choice . They have a choice when they think about burgling a house, but they’ll always choose to go ahead and do it anyway.’
‘Whoa there,’ cried Angus. He loved a debate. ‘If they’ll inevitably make that decision they don’t really have a choice, do they? Actually,’ he paused, cheerfully conducting an imaginary orchestra with his spoon, ‘in my view, people are largely a product of their experiences. There’s a genetic component in personality, I’ll accept
‘Oh, yes. I’ll help myself, Miss Dark-as-Night,’ crooned Christopher under his breath. ‘If you’ll step into the kitchen with me.’ He reached across her to grasp the wine bottle, and his forearm brushed hers.
Leila swung round to face him, eyes glinting dangerously. ‘Sorry, Christopher?’
He smirked uncertainly, and his glance darted to Hilda and back.
‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ Leila insisted, her voice slightly too loud. ‘Could you just repeat it for me?’
Christopher shrugged and looked sullen.
Angus intervened, diplomatically. ‘You can both be justifiably proud of your son,’ he remarked genially, slicing through the awkward silence. ‘This is a pretty tough parish. The last curate didn’t last the distance.’
‘What makes it such a difficult job?’ asked Hilda, covertly glaring at her husband.
‘It’s vast,’ replied Angus. ‘And like all inner city parishes there’s poverty and racial tension and all that comes with it. The churchyard gets used by bored teenagers as a meeting place. They smoke, drink, sniff glue, get one another pregnant—all the usual things. We’re fighting a losing battle against vandalism.’ He paused, taking a mouthful of casserole. ‘Delicious, Leila!’
After another moment’s silence, Elizabeth took up the baton. ‘Breaks people’s hearts. They spend more than they can afford on a carved marble angel for their baby son or whatever, and it’s smashed. Only last night, an old fellow arrived at the rectory in tears. He’d laid a bunch of red roses on his wife’s grave—her favourite flowers—cost half his week’s pension, and within hours they’d been ground into the dirt.’
‘Ever catch ’em at it?’ asked Hilda.
‘Ah.’ Angus held up a triumphant finger. ‘Yes, the odd win. Last summer I caught some boys in the act of lighting a fire in a litter bin. Two ran away, but one stayed to face the music. That bit of courage changed his life. He’s since joined the choir and become a legendary goalkeeper in David’s new team. Quite literally, David is his hero.’
‘Then I’d keep a very close watch on the church silver if I were you,’ advised Hilda, with a knowing curl to her lips.
Leila met Elizabeth’s startled eye. ‘Hilda’s a magistrate,’ she explained.
Elizabeth’s gaze ran over Hilda before she nodded, coolly. ‘I see. Well, I don’t think there’s any need to lock away the silver. We trust Kevin. He’s a good lad, getting confirmed after Christmas. Lovely voice, too.’
Hilda smiled. ‘I admire your forgiving nature. But actually, he’s an arsonist. And he always will be.’
By the time Leila brought in the fruit salad, Christopher had drunk himself into a wheezing, dangerous silence. He seemed to be sulking. Hilda, by contrast, had stepped smartly into her stride.
‘People talk about education,’ she mused, passing the cream jug across David’s empty place to Elizabeth. ‘You can’t just take a child and educate it and hope it will behave differently. No. In my experience, it will always go back to its genetic roots.’
Elizabeth chuckled, but Angus looked appalled. His mouth actually fell open.
‘Surely you don’t mean that, Hilda? You’re not suggesting that some folk have no choice but to be criminals? That they’re trapped in their subculture, prisoners of their genes, whatever they do?’
Hilda blinked sunburst eyelashes. ‘Well, of course they have a choice . They have a choice when they think about burgling a house, but they’ll always choose to go ahead and do it anyway.’
‘Whoa there,’ cried Angus. He loved a debate. ‘If they’ll inevitably make that decision they don’t really have a choice, do they? Actually,’ he paused, cheerfully conducting an imaginary orchestra with his spoon, ‘in my view, people are largely a product of their experiences. There’s a genetic component in personality, I’ll accept
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