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under the wardrobe in the spare room. The Holy Bible wedged there, face down, like some old telephone directory! This was the child who always wanted to be assured, before the light went out, that Jesus was watching over her. Now she doesn’t want go to church any more, she looks down at her feet every time she has to even
pass
the church…’
    ‘Since when?’
    ‘Five weeks? Six weeks? The first time she wouldn’t go, she claimed she was feeling ill, with a bad stomach. Well, she’s always been truthful, never tried to get a day off school, so of course I sent her back to bed at once. The second time… Oh, it was some essay she had to write for school – she’s always been
very
assiduous about her school work, as I say. Very well, her dad said, you must decide what’s most important, and she promised she would go to evensong that night instead, on her own. And, sure enough, she got changed and off she went. But I know she didn’t turn up. I
know
that.’
    Her voice had become loud enough to cause an echo, and Merrily glanced quickly around to make sure they were still alone.
    ‘Another time, she made the excuse of having a particularly severe period pain. But when she gave me the same excuse again last Sunday, I counted up the days and I can tell you there’s nothing wrong with my arithmetic. “Oh no,” I said, “up you get, my girl. Now!” And I made her come with us to the early Eucharist.’
    ‘Did she make a fuss?’
    ‘She was sulky. Distant. That glazed look.’
    ‘Has she got a boyfriend?’
    ‘What does that—? No. She hasn’t got a boyfriend. But she’s only fourteen.’
    ‘You sure about that?’ What could be better guaranteed to undermine the piety of a starchy fourteen-year-old girl than a sudden, blinding crush on some cool, mean kid who despised religion? ‘For instance… where did she
really
go, do you think, when she claimed she was off to evensong?’
    ‘I know what you’re thinking, Mrs Watkins! And
yes
, I’ve had her to the doctor this week, and
no
, he couldn’t find anything wrong with her. But… well, I can tell you there certainly has been illness in the house as a result of all this. David’s had migraines again, and my… Anyway, everything has seemed under a cloud. Unhealthy. A darkness, even in the height of summer. And you may say this is subjective, but I know that it isn’t. The child’s become a receptacle for evil.’
    Hazel Shelbone stood up, her back against a stone pillar by the pew’s end. Defensive, Merrily thought.
If she’s so certain, then there’s something else
.
    Mrs Shelbone walked into the chancel and faced the altar.
    ‘I come here, and I polish and polish the bit of rail where she was sick, and I pray for her to be redeemed, and I get down on my knees and ask God what our family could have done to deserve this.’
    Merrily went to join her. ‘You seriously believe Amy is possessed by evil.’
    ‘By an evil spirit.’
    ‘And you want her to be exorcized.’
    ‘I feel it’s not something we can ignore.’
    ‘Yeah, but it’s… it’s not something we undertake without a lot of… There’s a procedure, OK? I’m afraid it would involve bringing in a psychiatrist, initially.’
    Hazel Shelbone didn’t turn around. Her whole body had stiffened.
    ‘We need to be sure.’ Merrily put a hand on her arm. ‘What might at first appear to you or me to be demonic possession could be some form of mental breakdown.’
    ‘Reverend Watkins…’ Hazel Shelbone stared up at the crucified Jesus in the window above the altar. ‘We’ve had our shareof problem children, David and I. We’ve had children from broken homes… children whose parents have been admitted to psychiatric institutions… disturbed children, a child who ran away after smashing up our living room. There’s really not a lot anyone can tell me about child psychology.’
    ‘We have to be sure,’ Merrily said, and took a step back as the big woman spun round at