Rapping noises from behind me: a skinny-looking guy with hair shaved down to stubble, knocking urgently on the swing doors under the organ gallery. A man in a suit comes out.
Is the priest here?
I'm afraid he's busy.
Look, I really need to see him.
Well, does it absolutely have to be now? Are you absolutely sure it can't wait?
Yeah, I'm sorry, but I've really got to see him, I really need to see him, it's urgent.
I'll have to fetch him. What's your name?
Chris. Christopher. Christopher Beaney. He knows me.
The man in a suit disappears. The man in anorak and shorts shifts his position and folds his arms, looks down at his feet. The priest appears, in a cassock. Younger than me. Dark-haired. Stifling his impatience. You can tell he's really pissed off, but trying not to show it. The man in anorak and shorts looks up again, observing.