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at them; a couple who they were friendly with gave them conspiratorial winks and big smiles. Dean joined in the singing without picking up a hymn book. The church had been his haven since his teen years. It had saved him from the world, from himself. And it would save him now, he knew it in his heart. All that needed to happen was the one thing that wasn’t happening, him wanting to be saved.
    After the church service finished, he and Helena mingled among their friends. Then he stood back and watched as Helena went to welcome some unfamiliar faces. Long, blonde hair, stunning legs; even within her conservative clothes her perfect figure was clear to anyone who so much as glanced at her; Helena was beautiful enough to be a model. More important than surface appearances, she was kind and had a warmth to her manner that made everyone she spoke to feel special. So why hadn’t he proposed to her yet?
    Helena possessed a fiery temper, thought it was more important to spend an hour reapplying her make-up than to arrive on time. Her driving was erratic and there had been several occasions when she’d shocked him with her stubborn irrationality. But still, why hadn’t he proposed to her yet?
    Dean stared at her slender figure and thought how all his male friends considered him incredibly lucky. As if sensing his attention, Helena glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. She glowed in the way women were supposed to glow after they had sex.
    Why hadn’t he proposed to her?
    He’d done all the right things, reached out to her when she first arrived in the country and came to the church seeking solace. He became her best friend, praying with her for God to intervene in Zimbabwe. And when God in his greater wisdom didn’t, Dean helped find work and accommodation for her and the rest of her family who followed her over. He kicked a ball about with her younger brother, discussed British Christianity with her older sister, flattered her mother, and withstood her father’s interrogation.
    In so many respects Helena and he were a couple. They planned their weeks together, went to the cinema every Saturday afternoon, alternating who chose the film (he always chose one he hoped she’d like, she always chose one she knew she’d like), shopped together, cooked meals together, slouched in front of the telly together, said their nightly prayers together. And then they slept in their separate beds in their separate rented flats.
    Sometimes it felt like they were the oldest virgins in the country. But in the church community their chastity was presumed and encouraged, and his work colleagues at the addiction support centre had more important things to worry about than Dean’s sex life. If they thought about it at all, he guessed they would assume as he spent so much time with Helena he had an active and private sex life. The only time he doubted his convictions was alone with a box of tissues in front of the computer screen.
    He drove Helena back to his flat. On the journey, she told him which Bible study groups they were going to this week and informed him everything she’d learnt about the new family.
    ‘They said they’d come again next week. I’m not sure they will. But if they do, I’ll invite them around for dinner. Your house, of course, but you’ll need to dust all your bookshelves properly – you never dust properly, but it has to be your house. I’ve decided I’ll phone the council next week if my new neighbours keep it up with that noise they call music. I’ve been reasonable, you know I’ve been reasonable, but I need to sleep. It’s not fair.’ Helena sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll invite Sarah and Peter too. Another couple to provide a bit more conversation but not too many people that they feel intimidated.’
    Dean nodded, although he’d lost the thread of the conversation.
    At his flat they prepared their Sunday roast in comfortable silence, working in unison as they always did.
    While they waited for the