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is not exactly what you’d call common either, is it? Are you from a church family, Reverend?’
    Another laugh. Joe recognised it as Rain’s. ‘Heavens above, no! A pair of old hippies, that’s my mum and dad.’ More laughter. But only Rain’s.
    ‘And what do they make of their daughter becoming a minister?’ An old lady’s voice.
    ‘Well, I can’t, in all honesty, say they approved. But it was OK; it was such a long time ago. I heard the call of God as a teenager, and I was strong-willed. They couldn’t stop me. Live and let live, that was their motto,’ Rain said. ‘And mine.’
    ‘Strong-willed,’ another voice, male this time. ‘Runs in the family, does it?’
    ‘Do you ever visit your family, Minister? You grew up round these parts, I believe.’ The old lady again.
    ‘They passed a long time ago,’ Rain said. Shifting gear, she continued. ‘Now, before we wrap up … I received this yesterday.’ She held aloft some kind of leaflet.
    ‘Posted all round town, they were. I got one too.’
    ‘And me.’
    ‘And me.’
    Rain again. ‘Well, what do we think? It sounds like a very worthwhile cause to me. I’ve been thinking that we could play a role? Help raise awareness and maybe even funds.’
    ‘But is it appropriate for a church to be involved in a campaign to save a place of frivolity, of dancing and drinking, and heaven knows what else?’ the old boy said.
    ‘Judging by the photos it was a beautiful place. And our Lord doesn’t rule out fun,’ Rain said.
    A woman spoke. ‘I danced there in my youth. Every Saturday night. Oh, it was magical, it was. The coloured lights, the mirrors and, oh, the windows … Beautiful, it was, beautiful. On summer nights, when the windows were open, you could hear the sound of the waves, the sea birds, smell the salt in the air.’
    Joe realised they were talking about the decrepit ballroom at the tip of the pier. Crumbling and neglected, it was all boarded-up and clearly hadn’t been used in decades. It looked pathetic, though Joe could see that it must have been exquisite in its heyday.
    ‘The flooring often rose. You had to watch your step, for fear of tripping over loose tiles. No way to impress the fellas, that!’ said another woman, laughing as she remembered.
    ‘Stupid place to build a ballroom, with all that wood. Bound to be trouble so close to water.’ A male voice.
    Rain broke their remembrances. ‘The thing is, if redeveloped correctly – and from the research I’ve done, this is key, it could serve all kinds of purposes. It could help reinvigorate the town, attract visitors again. Do we, as God’s foot soldiers, really want it to become a “leisure complex”? That is a euphemism for those awful gambling machines. The ballroom should be a ballroom once more.’
    There were grunts of approval and Rain continued. ‘And getting involved might be another way to lure,’ she coughed theatrically, ‘ ahem , entice, the younger generation to the church.’
    Joe suppressed the urge to laugh.
    Another voice. Male. ‘Surely the youngsters won’t be interested in a dancehall. They’re into rages and all sorts.’
    ‘Ah, well, raves have had their day, Mr Roberts. And the space won’t just be used for dances. It can hold art, exhibitions, gigs.’
    ‘Gigs?’
    ‘Concerts, Mr Roberts. Music concerts.’
    ‘The youth of this town don’t want concerts, Reverend!’
    ‘How can we know, Mr Roberts? They never have a chance to go and see bands here. The space can accommodate whatever the townsfolk want it to, like an arts centre. I really do feel it could attract more visitors. And more visitors means a stronger economy. More work. What have we to lose? If I’m not mistaken, everyone here backs the restoration campaign. Let’s get more involved.’
    There followed vociferous noises of agreement, until the cantankerous Mr Roberts piped up again. ‘And how do you propose to reach the youngsters, Reverend? Your daughter seems entirely