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were vibrating with the power of the combined sound.
    Annie sat in a pew and listened, feeling all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Yeah, it was magic.
    She’d called first at Louella’s address, expecting that a whole bunch of family would be gathered around to support her. But a neighbour told her that Louella had gone to church. Said Louella always went to church this time every week for choir practice. So Tony had driven Annie over, and now here she was, listening to the choir pounding and clapping and swaying and singing to the rafters and wondering what good she could possibly do here. But she had to be here, had to say how sorry she was, had to ask if there was anything she could do to help, if only for Aretha’s sake. She didn’t even know what Aretha’s aunt looked like—but, as it happened, that proved no problem, because there, on the left-hand side of the group, bellowing out the words of praise and swaying in time to the beat, grinning and clapping with all the rest, was a woman whose eyes were full of tragedy and whose cheeks were wet with tears.
    It had to be Louella, singing and sobbing at the same time.
    Annie gulped as it hit her again. Aretha was gone. Had Aretha ever come here, with her Aunt Louella? Had she ever sat right here and listened to the choir? Before Aretha and Louella had fallen out over Aretha’s career choices, had they come here together to worship?
    Annie didn’t know. There was so little that she really knew about Aretha Brown. All she did know was that she’d been a friend. All she knew beyond that was that she couldn’t let Chris get stitched up for something he didn’t— couldn’t —do.
    The choir roared out one last, bell-like note, and it echoed all around the great vaulted ceiling before finally fading away. Their organist clapped madly. The vicar clapped politely too. Annie stood up and joined in. The choir started to disperse. Annie walked up the aisle. Some of the women were patting Louella’s shoulder, murmuring to her. The vicar came forward and talked quietly to her. Annie waited until he moved away, then she stepped up and said: ‘Louella?’
    The woman looked at her blankly. Her eyes were swollen with all the tears she’d shed.
    ‘Louella, I’m a friend of Aretha’s. I’m Annie.’
    Louella’s face closed down. She looked at Annie with suspicion.
    ‘You one of them Delaneys?’ she asked.
    Annie shook her head.
    ‘Only she was workin’ at a Delaney place,’ said Louella.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘And you ain’t one of them? You ain’t one of them that preyed upon my little girl?’
    My little girl.
    But Aretha wasn’t Aunt Louella’s little girl: she was someone else’s. Someone thousands of miles away, toiling under the baking Rhodesian sun, had lost a daughter. The Africans had extended families; they shared their children, their grandparents, their joys and their losses. The English did not.
    ‘I’m not a Delaney, Louella. I’m Annie Carter.’
    Louella looked no happier. She rubbed a hand over her face, drying her tears.
    ‘She spoke about you,’ she said.
    ‘Did she?’ asked Annie.
    ‘Yeah, she said you was tight together. But you was involved with that place she worked, I know that. You and that Dolly woman, and there was a boy too who worked there…’
    ‘Darren,’ said Annie, swallowing hard. Darren was gone, and she still missed him.
    ‘He was homosexual, that’s against the word of the Lord,’ said Aunt Louella huffily.
    ‘He couldn’t help what he was,’ said Annie.
    Louella looked at her. She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Anyway, the Lord says hate the sin, but love the sinner.’
    ‘Can we sit for a moment? Have a talk?’
    ‘They told you she’s gone, my baby?’ asked Louella, tears spilling over again.
    Annie nodded sadly. She indicated one of the front pews. Louella heaved a sigh and sat down. Annie sat beside her.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, I sorry too,’ said Louella, choking on a sob. ‘I’m