Chapter 16

I wasn't quite sure what to do with the information I'd received from Joby Turnbull. Could everything Dominic had done be due to a drug, or did it just lie in his own dark personality? I needed some fresh air. I suddenly felt claustrophobic in the coffee shop, surrounded by chattering lunchtime drinkers and squawking machines.

It was another bloody cold day in Newcastle, but the sky was a brilliant blue, and the low sun was shining. I buttoned my coat up and walked aimlessly, hands thrust deep into my pockets. One problem I had was that only one person had had anything good to say about my father, and that was my mother. His own father wanted nothing to do with him. His mother had killed herself over what he'd done, and he had no friends, it would seem. Even an ex-neighbour had called him a bad egg. So who knew the real Dominic Griffiths? Did he suffer from multiple personalities? Was he a cold-blooded killer using the Fenadine scandal as a way to get out of prison early? Was he innocent, panicked when he found the body in the allotment shed and hid it, like he'd always claimed? If so, he'd suffered a massive miscarriage of justice.

I stopped walking and let out a huge sigh. I was really struggling, and I felt completely alone. This was too much for me to do on my own.

A possible answer lay across the road. I looked up at St Andrew's Catholic Church. I'm not a religious person, and I've never even been in a church. I went into a mosque for a school project once, but that was the closest connection I'd had with religion. One issue I was wrestling with was whether I could actually forgive Dominic when he was released, especially as all the signs were indicating that he did actually kill Stephanie. And who knew more about forgiveness than the Catholic Church? In for a penny…

The church was a beautiful building from the outside. I walked through the iron gates and saw a gorgeous wooden door ahead. There was a plaque on the wall in honour of the church's founder, Father James Worswick, whom the street the church stood on was named after. The background noise of traffic and twenty-first-century life faded away. I felt calmer just being within the grounds.

The inside was bright and airy with pure white walls and tall, beautiful, ornate stained-glass windows above the altar. The pews were empty. I walked slowly down the aisle, my footsteps resounding around the space. I looked about me, marvelling at the beauty of the place. It was so clean and welcoming and peaceful.

‘Can I help you?'

I almost jumped out of my skin. I hadn't thought there was anyone there. I almost screamed out ‘Jesus' but managed to bite my tongue at the last moment.

I hadn't seen the priest come into the main part of the church. He'd obviously been alerted by my footsteps.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,' he said, in a soft, smooth accent that I couldn't quite place.

I was slightly disappointed. In my head, I had pictured Andrew Scott from Fleabag walking out. Unfortunately, this was no Hot Priest. He was tall and gangly. He had a warm smile, but his crooked teeth were off-putting. He wore Hot Priest's costume, but it didn't seem to fit him as well. Never mind. I wasn't there for an illicit tryst.

‘Sorry, I was wondering if I could have a word.' I sounded like I was shouting. My voice echoed around the space.

‘Of course.' He held out a hand to offer me a seat at a pew.

I unbuttoned my coat and tentatively sat down. It wasn't very comfortable, and I could have done with a cushion for my back.

‘I haven't seen you here before, have I?'

I smiled. I wondered if he knew every single one of his parishioners. ‘No. I'm afraid this is my first time in a church,' I said, pulling an apologetic face.

‘The first of many, I hope.'

‘Maybe.'

‘So, how can I help you?'

‘I'm really struggling with something at the moment, and I don't know what to do. I've never known who my father is. Last week, my mum finally told me the truth. The problem is, he's in prison for committing a murder. He's always denied doing it, but the evidence against him is… well, all signs point to him being guilty. He's due to be released next month, and I'm not sure what to do about it or how to feel.'

‘Wow, that's quite a story,' he said, with a smile. He wouldn't be bad looking if he straightened his teeth, maybe had a decent haircut and put on a few pounds. He thought for a moment. ‘You don't have to tell me, but I'm guessing you're talking about Dominic Griffiths.'

I laughed. ‘Everybody seems to know about him but me.'

‘You're his daughter?'

‘I am.'

‘And you want to know how to forgive him?'

‘I don't even know if I want to do that. Sorry, I'm feeling very conflicted right now.'

‘That's perfectly understandable. Murder is wrong. We all know that. The law is very clear on that. Even the Bible is clear on that.' He smiled again. ‘You said Dominic has always maintained his innocence – is he still sticking to that story?'

‘I believe so. I haven't seen him yet. I'm not sure if I want to.'

He nodded as he thought. ‘Luke 17, verses three to four, says: "If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying ‘I repent', you must forgive him."'

‘But he hasn't repented,' I said. ‘If he was sorry for what he'd done, I might be able to forgive him.'

‘Could you? Truthfully?' he asked, looking deep into my eyes.

I thought for a moment. ‘I'm not sure, actually. My mum can't forgive him. Stephanie's parents can't forgive him. His own father can't forgive him. Why should I?'

‘They can't forgive him because he hasn't admitted his crime. Pleading guilty, owning up to our actions, is the first step to repenting. Because he hasn't, everyone connected has been suffering in a limbo state, waiting either for him to finally admit his guilt or for the real killer to come forward.'

‘Some cases never get solved, though. What if the real killer is out there, and we never know it and wrongly believe Dominic is the killer?'

‘You will be forgiven in God's eyes, as you're taking the only evidence you've been given,' he said, with a smile.

‘But Dominic has said he's innocent, and we've ignored him.'

‘Numbers 35:30 says: "If anyone kills a person, the murderer shall be put to death on the evidence of witnesses. But no person shall be put to death on the testimony of one witness." You, yourself, will be forgiven for not believing in him.'

‘You really know your Bible, don't you?' I said, with a chuckle.

‘It's my job to know it.' He smiled. ‘I understand you want a father whom you can love and develop a relationship with, but it's not easy to love someone who has committed a mortal sin, especially if he doesn't repent.'

‘So, there is nothing against me turning my back on him?'

‘Nobody will judge you for doing so.'

‘I'll judge me.' I could feel myself tearing up.

‘You're being too hard on yourself.'

‘Can I ask you a non-religious question?'

‘You're going to ask me what I would do if I were you, aren't you?'

‘Wow, you really are good.' He might not be Hot Priest, but he was very personable. I liked him.

‘Well, personally, I'd go and see him. I would ask him if he killed Stephanie. Listen to what he had to say and base my decision on that. If you can forgive his past sins, accept him into your life. But you can also choose to walk away, get on with your life, and know you did the right thing in pursuing the truth.'

I thought for a moment about what he had said. He was right. The only way I could get peace from all this and relieve myself of the headache was by going to the source.

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘Have I helped?'

‘You really have.'

‘Good.'

‘Do I pay you or something?'

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘No. You're more than welcome to make a donation. We run many events and charities from here. It's not obligatory, though.'

‘I'd like to make a donation. You've been very helpful.'

‘The box is on your way out. I'm always here if you want to speak to me again. And you'd be more than welcome to come to our services.'

‘I'm not sure about that.'

‘Think about it. The Church isn't the scary place people think it is.'

‘I will. And thank you again.' I stood up and held my hand out to shake, which he did.

As I walked away, I rooted around in my bag for my purse. I rarely use cash. Everywhere I go I pay with card or my mobile, so it was a relief when I found a screwed-up tenner behind a bunch of receipts and smoothed it out before pushing it into the slot at the top of the box. I hadn't even realised I'd had the note, so I wouldn't miss it.

I turned around. The priest had gone. I looked up and saw Jesus on the cross looming over the whole church. I don't know why, but I curtsied before leaving. It felt like the proper thing to do.