She tried to pull away. ‘I’ll scream,’ she yelled, opening her mouth in readiness.

Paul quickly put his hand across the open gap. ‘Now just stop it. You’re being hysterical.’

She tried to remove his hand but couldn’t.

‘Please, Angela, just cool it.’

Her eyes went wild. Lifting her free arm, she made a grab for his face. He automatically backed away but she caught him with her fingernails on his jaw. Shocked, he quickly released her. She looked at him, horror distorting her pretty face.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ she said anxiously. She lifted her tear-soaked hanky towards the bleeding scratches. ‘Let me wipe it for you.’

Paul didn’t answer. He couldn’t handle her mercurial change-about. He pushed her arm away, turned around and walked to his vehicle. Lifting himself in, he said to her, ‘You’re a grown woman, Angela. Choose what you want to do.’

She just stood there, looking at him defiantly. He started the engine and drove the short distance back to the vicarage.

He let himself in and wearily threw his keys onto the hall table. Walking towards the kitchen, he caught sight of himself in the hall mirror. What a mess. Blood was on his jaw, collar and shirt. He stripped off the stained clothes and put them to soak in the kitchen sink, watching the blood billow in the cold water. He put the kettle on for a coffee. While he waited for the water to boil, he sat with a cold damp kitchen towel pressed to his face, all the time thinking he should have handled the sad incident better. He should have seen it coming. Even Rita, his organist, had warned him about having the girl around him too much.

Poor little angel… falling for a gay priest!

He made his drink and walked to the sitting room to make sure the fire was safe. The heat in the room met him as he opened the door. He sat meditating for a while, but his mind was restless and thoughts refused to subside. So he let them flow past like autumn leaves drifting on a swollen stream. He couldn’t change the past; he could only ask forgiveness and rest in God.

When he opened his eyes, the fire was no more than a few glowing embers. He went wearily to bed. As he was about to close the curtains, he looked out of the window towards the church. There had been a shower and the lamp in the lane was lighting up the raindrops on the dark trees of the churchyard. It was half an hour off midnight and it would not be long before the church became a hive of activity.

He gripped the curtain to pull it across the window but then stopped. Something had caught his eye — light was coming from the windows at the east end of the church. Had a switch been left on or had someone broken in? Thieves and vandals could do serious damage; he couldn’t just forget about it and go to bed. Groaning with annoyance, he pulled on a jumper and trousers and ran downstairs.

He picked up a torch and looked for his church key. It wasn’t where he kept it. A key that size could not be slipped into a trouser pocket and forgotten. Where was it? The only thing he could think of was that Angela must have it in that big shoulder bag she carried around. She probably thought she might need it when she delivered the service leaflets.

Locking the vicarage door behind him, he hurried to the church. As he entered the porch, he heard music coming from inside. The key was in the lock. He carefully opened the door and stepped inside. What he saw and heard made him sick to the heart.

Under the spotlights, a couple were copulating on the altar. Clothes and bottles littered the chancel. Music was coming from a disc player. But what horrified Paul most of all, was that above the grunts of the male participant, he heard Angela shouting, ‘Paul… you’re hurting me!’

‘Stop this at once!’ Paul bellowed.

The male looked up and Paul saw that it was Mark. ‘Stop this, Mark — stop it now!’

But Mark was already withdrawing from Angela. He leapt for his trousers, leaving Angela moaning, ‘Paul, come back… don’t leave me.’

Paul ran forward to get hold of Mark, but he tripped over one of Angela’s shoes and fell heavily against a pew. Pain shot through his body. The torch rolled out of his hand and under a seat. Meanwhile, Mark ran in front of the pews and down the south aisle.

‘She’s all yours!’ Mark snapped as he pulled on his trousers before leaving the building.

Angela was still crazily moaning — in rhythm with the love song coming from the disc player. Paul quickly switched off the music, leaving the girl groaning on her own. As he approached her naked body, she vomited and then rolled over towards him. He just managed to break her fall before she hit the hard sanctuary floor — a pain shot up his bruised arm as he did so. As she lay on the floor, she gazed up at him and a little smile appeared on her vomit-smeared lips. ‘Darling, Paul, I love…’ Her glazed eyes went dreamy and her lids closed.

Paul shoved her belongings into her shoulder bag, stuffing the overspill into his pockets. Wrapping her coat around her, he threw Angela over his shoulder and carried her out of the church. With difficulty, he pulled the door closed and took out the key, intending to return later to clear up the debris and switch off the altar lights. He carried Angela to the vicarage and put her on the sitting room sofa, propping her on her side in case she threw up.

He sat looking at her. What had she and Mark been up to, that is, beside the obvious? It grieved him that Angela had been drinking heavily. Had he driven her to it? Poor girl, what a way to lose her virginity — desecrating the church altar. Mark had a lot to answer for.

Now what? If he took her home in that state, there was no telling what her belligerent father might do. Should he ring them up… and say what?

He couldn’t ring Nick. He had the bishop staying at the rectory overnight. He rang Rita, apologising for the late hour. Quickly explaining the situation, he begged her to come over and help him with Angela. She didn’t argue or fuss, just said she would get there as soon as possible. He breathed a sigh of relief and went to the kitchen to prepare coffee for them both.

The front doorbell rang — too soon for Rita. Puzzled, Paul opened the door to be confronted by an angry Kevin Raymond.

‘Where’s Angela?’ he demanded, as he rushed inside the vicarage. ‘She’s been out since early this morning. I saw her in church this afternoon with the service sheets. She showed me that cross you gave her for her birthday. We expected her to be home when we got back. Mark was picking her up. But he bloody didn’t. I was on my way out when he drove past me like a bloody madman. So where’s my bloody daughter?’

‘Angela fell asleep on the sitting room couch; she’s still there. She’s been working very hard… best not to wake her,’ Paul told him calmly.

‘Not wake her? What’s she doing bloody asleep?’ Kevin yelled. Then he caught sight of Paul’s jaw. He looked at him suspiciously. ‘What’s happened to your bloody face?’

Paul had forgotten the scratches on his jaw. He put his hand over the wound and said the first excuse that came to mind. ‘Stray cat objected to being picked up,’ he lied. ‘Your daughter is quite safe. She’ll be home in the morning.’

‘You could have bloody rung. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. Fell asleep? Not bloody likely! Well you can wake her up. She’s coming home with me.’

‘She’s nineteen, not a kid; let her sleep, she’s quite safe.’

‘And you’re supposed to be a man of God! You’re a bloody disgrace to the cloth. You so called charismatics are all the same — always bloody hugging and touching. If you do that in public, God knows what you do in private!’

Paul struggled with his growing anger. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

Kevin looked at him wildly; his eye’s bulging, veins raised and fists clenched. Muttering incoherently, he turned to go. Suddenly, he changed his mind and headed towards the sitting room. Paul jumped in front of him and barred the way.

‘Let her sleep. I’ll bring her home myself… in the morning when she’s awake.’ His apparent composure belied the fear that was gripping his guts.

‘You filthy swine,’ Kevin snorted, his knuckles growing white with anger. ‘You’re up to something, and we both know it.’ With that he left the vicarage.

As Paul watched him disappear into the night, he had a dreadful thought — would Kevin see the light on in the church? Would he go and investigate? Well, if he did, he’d be back for sure.

He collected a bowl and a damp flannel, and went to sit with Angela. After wiping her face, he watched her heavy breathing. What could he possibly say to Kevin, that is, without letting him know what he’d witnessed in the church?  He didn’t want to tell lies but he wasn’t averse to being foxy and not telling the full story if it would protect the girl.

The doorbell rang. Kevin was back.

‘Ring the police at once. The church has been desecrated. My god, I’ve never seen anything like it — vodka and beer bottles all over the bloody place. Much worse, there’s blood and filth all over the altar. Bloody disgusting! There’s been a black mass or something. Ring the police I tell you!’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Kevin. Come into my study and we’ll talk about it.’

‘If you won’t call in the police, then I bloody will!’ Kevin went over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

‘Put it down and listen,’ Paul said sharply. ‘There’s something you don’t know.’

The doorbell sounded. Paul thought it would be Rita. ‘Hold on, Kevin. It’s important we talk about this first and discuss the implications.’ He left the man sitting thumping his fists on his knees.

Paul let Rita in, whispering, ‘Kevin’s here; he wants to send for the police. I’m trying to put him off. Please look after Angela.’ He led her to the sitting room.

He hurried back to Kevin. ‘Look, Kevin, whatever happened in the church, we don’t want publicity. Tomorrow’s a big day; we don’t want folk turning up for all the wrong reasons. Before long it would be on the radio and in the papers… the place would be full of sightseers. We’d get kids from miles around having parties in the churchyard. I’ll go over and see what needs to be done. I’ll have a word with Nick Palmer… we’ll do something about the altar before the service tomorrow. I don’t suppose any real damage has been done has there?’

Kevin sat with wrinkled brow mulling over the argument. ‘You might have a point. The bloody rubbish can soon be cleared, but what’s been happening? It must be something bloody evil.’

‘We’ll go over now. I’ll get my key.’

‘How did they get in? That’s what I want to know. Too many keys to that bloody door. I’ll find out where they got one,’ Kevin said, looking at Paul in a threatening manner. ‘I’m convinced it’s one of those bloody tattooed shaven-heads that hover around your club. I knew something like this would happen — they’ve probably sacrificed that bloody cat that scratched you!’

They were on the way out with a full set of keys and a bin bag for rubbish, when Kevin saw Rita’s car in the drive.

‘Rita Lee here?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Yes. She’s concerned for someone in desperate need. We’re going to pray when I get back. Do you want to join us?’ Paul was absolutely certain what the answer would be.

‘Bloody odd hours some people keep,’ Kevin muttered.

It didn’t take long to clear up. Kevin retrieved a fresh altar cloth from the linen drawer ready for the sacristan to set out in the morning, saying he would keep the evidence in case they changed their minds about calling in the police.

Paul walked back to the vicarage, leaving Kevin searching for more evidence. He told Rita what had been happening. They both agreed they needed to get in touch with Mark and hear his side of the story.

‘I don’t expect he gets in until the early hours; perhaps I could get him on his mobile… if we could find his number.’ Paul said, looking at Angela’s bag.

Rita nodded. ‘I’ll take a look. She might have a mobile with Mark’s number programmed in.’ She pulled out Angela’s clothes from the bag and rummaged inside.

Paul rescued Angela’s underwear from one of his pockets.

Rita smiled at the bra and briefs. ‘With those sticking out of your pocket ready to greet Kevin, just as well you were wearing that long jumper. If I didn’t know certain facts, even I would find your story hard to believe.’

For once, Paul was pleased that at least one of his parishioners knew his secret. Of course, like a lot of zealous Christians, she refused to accept it and considered he was in need of healing. He was only thankful that she did not know about Nick.

Rita found a mobile at the bottom of the bag but it was switched off. She tried pressing the power button and the phone came to life without a PIN number. Within seconds Rita had Mark’s number ready to ring. She handed the phone to Paul. ‘Over to you.’

‘Right, let’s see if he’s answering.’ Paul pressed the send key.

An angry Mark came on at the other end. ‘Angela? Is that you? What do you want? You’ve already got me into a mess.’

The noise in the background was overpowering. It would be impossible to have a sensible conversation with that racket going on.

‘It’s Paul Stringer. If you don’t want the police picking you up, you’d better get somewhere quiet so we can talk,’ Paul barked down the phone.

‘Who? What the devil has she got me into?’

‘I’m not shouting down a phone. Get somewhere quiet.’

‘Hang on.’

The noise of music, laughter, and shouting grew louder and then went quieter until it became imperceptible.

‘Police? What are you on about?’ Mark sounded very angry. ‘It was her idea. I thought she was mad. It didn’t seem right to me but she wanted to do it.’

‘It’s no use blaming Angela… she’s not in a position to defend herself. I need to know what you’ve given her.’

‘What she asked for. What’s all this about the police?’

‘Kevin Raymond came looking for Angela and found the church in that awful mess. He thinks there’s been a black mass or some kind of ritual going on. He wanted to call the police but I’ve managed to hold him back. He doesn’t know you and Angela are involved. Now tell me what happened, and what you’ve given her. She was obviously out of it — still is!’

‘Shit! It was her fault, man. I picked her up in a bit of a state. She said she wanted it bad… wanted to do it in church. Said she wanted to sacrifice her virginity on the altar. I thought she was barmy. I could hardly say no… I’ve been waiting for years.‘

‘Oh, yes? Then why is she stoned out of her mind? Why was she calling you Paul?’

‘Look, Mr Stringer. She saw I’d got some bottles in the back of my car. They were for this party see? But she wanted to get boozed up. The way she was swallowing the vodka down, she didn’t need any boosters. She had the church key in her bag. We went inside and she put on those spotlights over the altar. She got out that player, took her clothes off and started dancing around. She started drinking again. I wasn’t happy about it; I wanted her sober. She climbed on the altar and started singing the Magnificat. Then a song came on the player and she sang ‘I’ll always love you, Paul’. Shit! What a turn off.’

‘But it didn’t turn you off did it? Not the way you were going at it,’ said Paul angrily.

‘Shit! You can’t blame me for what’s happened.’

‘Okay, we’ll talk some more when you come and see me — make it soon!’

Paul switched off the mobile.

‘What now?’ asked Rita, after Paul told her what Mark had said.

‘This must never get as far as the police, Rita,’ said Paul seriously, putting his head in his hands and sighing deeply. ‘Poor kid, I feel it’s all my fault.’