Jonathan was yet more afraid to speak. The wineglass slouched again as its lady crooked her other thin arm around his shoulders and murmured “Don’t worry, your daddy wasn’t really hearing her. She’s gone to Jesus and she’ll be talking to him.”

The mention of Jesus appeared to draw the priest, who smelled rather like an unlit candle wrapped in linen. He hoisted his tumbler of orange juice to acknowledge Jonathan’s. “That’s the right road. That’s what real men drink.”

“Is my grandma really talking to Jesus now?”

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised, but it won’t do any harm to pray she is.”

“How long do you think she’ll be?” Jonathan pleaded.

“That’s one of the things God’s keeping as a surprise for us. We won’t know till we see her again.”

“The father means till we’re with Jesus too,” Jonathan’s mother made haste to say.

“Isn’t she supposed to be there for ever?”

“If you keep your faith up,” the priest said with a smile that was less than wholly aimed at Jonathan, “I’m sure she will be. You know Jesus has time for everyone.”

How could Jesus deal with all the dead? God was meant to be able to see everyone at once, and perhaps his son had inherited the trick, but that wasn’t the same as talking to them. If Jonathan’s grandmother thought she didn’t have Jesus’s full attention, Jonathan could imagine her stalking off in search of someone who would have to notice her. He might have put some of this into words if the priest hadn’t moved away, leaving Jonathan’s parents to argue. “What are you trying to make Jonathan think of my mother?”

“Whatever’s the truth, Essie.”

“You didn’t stay around to see it.”

“Jonno knows why, don’t you, Jonno? It’s nobody’s fault Ire and I didn’t get on. I expect there are people you don’t with.”

“Maybe it was up to you to make the effort, Lawrence, considering it was her house.”