The waiter came to clear and bring the dessert menu. Phil ordered another glass of wine for her and more mineral water.

"I couldn't eat anything else," she said.

"How disappointing. I could."

He ordered a pudding for himself, then said, "I'm an atheist. I cannot understand how anyone of intelligence believes in a God. It baffles me. I also think religion is dangerous. A force for ill. And if you're a Scientologist we'll have to agree not to mention Thetans, that's all."

"So ..."

"So?"

"Oh, I'm just getting my head round being a person without intelligence."

"You believe in God?"

"I think so. Anyway, I sing with the cathedral choral society. I go to the Easter service, Christmas, the Advent carols ... That's about it, though, I'm not a very good churchgoer."

"Ah. Accrington Stanley in fact."

"It's Tom you should know about. Not that I mind, not that it makes any difference at all to ... anything."

"Tom. Tell me."

He leaned closer and put his hand on top of hers on the table. "What is so dreadful about Tom?"

"No, not dreadful ..." She sighed. It was difficult and it ought not to be but she still felt uncomfortable sometimes with what had happened.

"When he was sixteen one of his friends asked him to go on holiday with him and his family. Tom said yes and then it turned out to be some sort of Christian holiday-in tents on a showground. Anyway, by the time Tom realised, he said he'd better go as he'd said he would. It would be a laugh and there were bands, he'd get through it. There were beaches nearby for surfing, which he loves. It was in Cornwall. So off he went. Lizzie and I went to walk in Northumberland-Hadrian's Wall. We laughed a lot about how poor Tom was coping. But when we all got back he'd coped by joining up."

"You mean they brainwashed him?"

"Not exactly. But the atmosphere was so highly charged and emotional and he was under a lot of pressure. He said it was like a light going on. He did nothing but read the Bible and go off with these people. They have very extreme, fundamentalist beliefs and they're pretty ferocious about everyone who isn't one of them. I was angry. I tried to talk to him. But you can't. Their brains seem to be rewired and you can't get through. Lizzie gave him hell. But I assumed it would fizzle out, like all these teenage things."

"And it hasn't."

"On the contrary. And I've been trying not to tell you."

Phil started to laugh.

"Not funny. It really isn't. You should hear him-he's so earnest and serious about it. He isn't the Tom I know, Phil-he never talks about anything else, he has hardly any other friends. He went to one of their conventions in America this summer and he came back quite terrifyingly right wing and even more fundamentalist. We've had to agree not to talk about it at all. I find it pretty difficult to live with."

"So would I."

The restaurant was emptying. Phil had finished his pot of wine-soaked cream. They agreed to pass on coffee. Phil asked for the bill. But what he had said seemed to drop heavily onto the space between them. So would I.

Helen got up and went to the cloakroom, furious that she had had to tell him, furious with Tom. Now everything would go wrong. Fall apart.

She looked in the mirror. "You love him," she said.

Lizzie was at a friend's. Tom's motorbike was in the passage.

"I won't stay," Phil said. "Come to my place at the weekend."

"No. Come in now. I'm not going to have my life ruled by my son."

Phil touched her arm. "It won't be. But I've a long teaching day tomorrow."

She watched until his car had turned the corner. Tom's light was on, and the lights downstairs.

Helen looked up at the half-moon. The air smelled cold, with a touch of winter. So now he knew. It seemed hopelessly wrong that it was not drugs or bad company, not drink or giving up on school, but a narrow sectarian religious faith which divided her from Tom, made life with him difficult and might drive Phil away. Would she be scared off, in his position?

No, she thought. No, actually, I wouldn't. I'd say what Phil said. That it was Tom's life and she shouldn't let it affect hers.

But that was easily said.

Tom was at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal, a booklet propped on the milk jug.

"Hello."

Tom grunted. "Good time?"

"Very. The play was excellent and so was the Italian dinner. So yes. Tea?"

"No thanks."

Helen glanced sideways at what he was reading. "Is that something they're keen on then? Chastity?"

"No sex before marriage."

"Same difference. Goodness."

"What?"

"Oh, just-goodness. Not very fashionable."

"No, fashionable is promiscuity, fashionable is casual sex, fashionable is gay, fashionable is at the root of social breakdown. The Bible says-"

"Ouch!"

He looked up.

"Sorry-splash of hot water. It's fine."

She wished she hadn't started the conversation, but what conversation with Tom could she start which didn't head in the same direction?

"Don't expect too much of people, Tom."

"I don't."

"Not everyone has your take on it. And when you meet a girl you're very keen on you might see things differently."

"I'll make sure I don't. Anyway, we all see it the same way."

"We?"

"My friends. We don't compromise."

How had the sturdy, pragmatic but gentle little boy who had been Tom turned into this narrow and unfeeling person who read pamphlets entitled "Satan Works Through Sex'? What kind of people had him in thrall?

"Do you give them any money, Tom?" she asked suddenly.

"Give who?"

"Your-the church."

"Of course. How do you think we fund our outreach? How do you think the Word is spread? It costs."

"Right."

He got up from the table.

"Put your bowl in the dishwasher, Tom."

She looked at his long, thin back, the blades of his shoulders through his T-shirt, his pepper-coloured hair. Terry's hair.

"You should come," he said. "You never have. You go to Lizzie's orchestra, you go to your choir. You never go to my things. How do you know what it's about? You'd be fired up. You'd see everything differently."

"That's what I'd be afraid of."

She was ready for bed but she didn't go. There was a tension about Tom, a nervousness. She waited, fiddled about putting things away and wiping down the work surfaces. In the end he said, "Might go back to the States next year."

"See some more of the country? Good idea."

"Thing is, we've got this college in Carolina. A kind of Bible college. For training."

We.

"I can train there."

"A training college. I get it."

"Don't wind me up. I want to be an outreach minister, it's what I think I'm called to do. To bring others in-to spread the faith."

She said nothing. The questions that came to her lips could not be asked. What would your father have said? How are you going to pay for this? Don't you think you're too young? Are you sure?

"Mum?"

"Yes. Well, it's your life, Tom. But just think hard about this. It's a big commitment."

"I think hard and pray about it all the time."

She wanted to hug him, tall, bony, worried-looking, some thing of the ten-year-old still lingering on his face.

"Goodnight, love."

"Mum ..."

She waited.

"This Phil guy."

"You have to meet him. Lizzie has. You'll like him."

"Thing is ... I know I was cool about it to begin with ..."

The kitchen was quiet. Wait, Helen told herself. Just wait.

"I just think maybe you should watch yourself. What's he like? You don't know really. He might be anyone."

"He's Phil. He teaches history. I've been out with him half a dozen times. I've been to his house. What's to know?"

"Just think you should be careful."

"At first. I met him over the Net so I was careful. But you know that, Tom. I honestly don't think you've anything to worry about now."

"OK."

"No, it's obviously not OK with you so talk to me."

"What if he wanted you to go and live with him? Or get married?"

"I'd think about it very carefully."

"He could be anyone."

"But he isn't. Tom, next year, Lizzie will be off to Cambridge, we hope, you say you'll be in America. That leaves me here."

"Doesn't mean you have to hitch up with someone."

"Please let me make my own choices."

"I could have found you someone. I'd have picked the right person."

"What, from that sect of yours?"

"It's about truth. It's about being on the inside, not out there."

Helen sighed. They had reached the brick wall again.