"There's something different about you this morning,'' Honora says, dishing more French toast onto Maya's plate.

''Wha-? Nooo. I am hungry, that's all.'' Maya looks down at her food. Honora is an amazing cook: her skills both culinary and magickal. The French toast is homemade brioche, stuffed with a compote of tart plums, a dash of cardamom and a dollop of clotted cream. Maya has to admit that her mother could have rolled an obedience charm in there alongside a love potion, and she would still have eaten the whole thing.

''Mmmhmm.'' Honora is not convinced. "It's a really busy day for me today, love. There is full moon tomorrow, so I have to start getting ready for that, and I have a couple of things on for clients. Could you please run this down to the Collins house on your bike?''

She pushes a food container across the table towards Maya, mouth-wateringly savory steam escaping from its corners. It is tied with a deep green ribbon and a sprig of blue-flowered hyssop. Honora whispers some final words over it as she lets it go.

Running errands was not exactly what Maya had in mind for her Saturday morning, but it might be better than hanging out at home. Felicity, still feeling bad after neglecting to inform Maya of the tantra workshop, came into her room last night and invited her to participate in the Munay-Ki initiation rite that she is holding in the orchard this morning. Her instruction to wear loose-fitting clothing because there would be ''intuitive dance sequences'', had sealed Maya's non-participation. So she takes the food willingly, pondering the endless buffet of cultural appropriation that constitutes Felicity's down-time.

The Collins's live near the center of the village in a tiny cottage with a pretty front yard full of lavender and wisteria. Mrs. Collins, a small woman in late middle age with hair in a bun and reading glasses hanging on a chain around her neck, answer's Maya's knock quickly. She looks tired and worried but manages a limp smile.

''Oh Maya, thank goodness it's you.'' Maya is ushered into the darkness of the entrance hall. The sound of background television is droning and through the doorway and the lights are on in the lounge. A man is bundled on the sofa, wrapped in a duvet, his grey hair flops over a rumpled pillow. Bottles of medicines and newspapers and glasses of water are placed on stools within his reach, and Maya can hear his rattling breath as he sleeps.

''Hi Mrs. Collins.'' Maya's own smile is equally grim, it doesn't seem like an occasion for anything more joyful. "My mum sent this for you.'' She hands over the food container and Mrs. Collins grabs it as if it offers the elixir of life.

''Oh, bless your mom, Maya, and you too for bringing it!'' She gives a quick look at her husband through the lounge doorway. "It's the only thing he can keep down at the moment, and to be honest, I don't know what is in there, but it seems to help him more with his pain than what the doctors give us.''

She opens the container, and the rooms fills instantly with a scent that speaks of winter comforts and childhood memories. "This looks like it will do for most of the week he eats so little.'' A tiny amount of her tension seems to dissipate and then she remembers something and begins digging in a drawer in the hallstand. "I know I owe your mom for last time still. Did she say how much to give you?'' Maya shakes her head and stars zipping up her backpack again.

''She didn't tell me anything Mrs. Collins, so I assume she is not expecting any payment right now.'' Maya turns and makes her way out of the little house, grabbing her bike from the picket fence it is leaning on. Mrs. Collins waves from her doorway and she feels half a stone lighter as she cycles off. Funny. She could have sworn the food only weighed a pound or two.

Just around the corner from the Collins household, Maya dismounts and decides to walk. There is a slight chance of meeting Truman somewhere in town and she doesn't want to miss it. As she passes the parish church, the doors are open and light streams out welcomingly from the porch, reminding Maya of something.

She scrabbles in her jacket pocket, extracting the crumpled flyer that the vicar handed her on Thursday. A muddy faced Bear Grylls looks at her pointedly from the glossy pamphlet. Is there more to life than this? It reads. Where am I going? What is the point? Come and find out the answers and more. Saturdays at 10.

Fastening her bicycle to the churchyard fence, she approaches cautiously. The church is cool and quiet, apart from an echoey giggle coming from the far corner of the North aisle. Maya catches a glimpse of Dean Markowitz, his tongue firmly down Kelsey James's throat and his hand firmly up her skirt. Should she...? Naaah. Not her problem, Maya tells herself.

A door to the side of the altar leads into a small hall area with fuzzy beige carpet-tile flooring and a metal trestle table set up with a lace-edged cloth, a tea urn and a box of Fox's Favourites biscuits. A handful of teens from the school and recent graduates sit in a circle of folding chairs.

Maya notices the vicar ducking surreptitiously out of a back door as she enters.

"Maya Winthrop! Welcome!" A blonde twenty-something Maya knows to be Kevin Hodges from the garden center booms to her. ''Join us! Join us!''' He gestures to the circle of youths who look alternately zealous or bored.

''We were just talking about the exciting journey that is faith.'' Kevin explains, the light of inspiration in his voice reminiscent of Gwyneth the tantrika. ''About how one cannot but want to share the knowledge we have gained.''

Maya looks awkward but sits down anyway. She admires people who have faith in anything, honestly she does. To have that level of certainty about the world seems so reassuring.

''We were just about to watch today's video.'' Kevin Hodges fiddles with his laptop and a video begins to play on a wall-mounted screen. High speed trains traverse broad landscapes, clouds swirl over airplane wings and dessert sand dunes. Clear-skinned, clear-eyed young people jump from hillsides with parachutes and take ferries over buoyant waters.

Next, a good-looking young man whose wholesomeness would rival Truman himself explains that a lawyer he knows finally accepted the existence of God because he saw so much evil in the world, and it stood to reason that if the power of evil existed, then so did the power of good.

He is pacing through London with his attractive female companion who warns that a preoccupation with the practices of evil is just as dangerous as disbelief in it. Maya squirms as the girl's concerned face describes the dangers of tarot cards, horoscopes and palm-reading and she looks down, knowing that anyone in the room who isn't already looking at her, is trying really hard not to.

The remaining twenty minutes of video go by in a blur. At the end, Kevin stretches, flicks on the lights and says, "Right, are there any questions?'' as if there is not a glaring elephant in the room.

''You will see that they point out,'' he goes on, ''that experimenting with fortune telling is not the unforgiveable sin. I think the important thing to remember is that as long as we repent, turn away from these things and destroy any books on the subject, then we will be forgiven.''

The girl next to Maya leans over and lays a hand on Maya's arm, giving her a supportive smile. ''We're here for you, Maya,'' she beams.

"Let's pray,'' says Kevin and Maya releases her pent-up breath as the group close their eyes. Kevin is calling on the powers of Christ to vanquish the evil in their hearts and Maya wonders how it worked for him before he visited her mother that time to beg her to "cure'' his homosexual desires. She isn't sure if this current demonstration is a means of punishing Honora for her refusal to do anything of the sort, or whether he is simply following the script he already had laid out.

''We can revisit this next week I think,'' Kevin stands and gives a hug to each of the people in the group, including a cringing Maya. ''Now let's have some tea, shall we?''

Maya doesn't stay for tea, and she definitely won't be back next week. No matter how infuriating her mother and grandmother can be, she can't for the life of her believe that Honora and Felicity are anything even vaguely approaching evil. And as for Bear Grylls – really? What more does he want?

https://youtu.be/poc_5YqT1JQ