‘Heathen aren’t supposed to go to church,’ he offered, as they slipped down the sandy road to the gate, the loose stones spurting from under the tyres.
‘Who is heathen?’ his mother asked, her mind on the road.
‘I am. I’m a Mohammedan.’
‘Then you have great need to go to a Christian church and be converted. Open the gate, Pat.’
‘I’ve no wish to be converted. I’m fine as I am.’ He held the gate open for them and shut it behind them. ‘I disapprove of the Bible,’ he said, as he got in again.
‘Then you can’t be a good Mohammedan.’
‘What for no?’
‘They have some of the Bible too.’
‘I bet they don’t have David!’
‘Don’t you approve of David?’ Grant asked.