The path to the nature reserve hugged the beach, shaded by a thicket of conifers. It had just gone noon, and the forest was uproarious with birds and insects and little lizards that skittered across the burning sand. In his white gown, Saheel sailed through the thick humidity, grateful for the way it caught the salted breeze and funneled it over his skin, grateful for the softness of the earth beneath his sandals, grateful for the blanketing ambience of the sea as it breathed in and out.

As tends to happen on outings, the husbands fell into a rhythm that outpaced their wives and soon found themselves turning a corner out of sight.

"You guys go on ahead," said Asha, hooking the picnic basket around Saheel's arm. It was heavy, but the ice packs inside it refreshed him. "We're just gonna sit down for awhile."

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to walking like this," said Dove, her face flushed over, sipping water every few steps. Her tight summer dress looked anything but breathable.

"That's alright," said Saheel. "It's all in the clothing, here. We'll wait for you when we get to that cliff by the car park."

The women found a branch at the side of the path to sit on, and they sat and stared out into the endless horizon of blue and teal, speaking with an ease that suggested they'd known each other for years. It was one of Asha's talents. On the night Saheel had met her, she'd drawn him in closer than he'd ever felt to anyone, and he'd known with an uncanny certainty that she was to be his wife -- and because he'd known it, he never felt that proposing was a decision. Asha was the antidote to his overthinking.

"Shall we?" asked Sean, crunching over the carpet of pine cones as they went onwards, round the bend and up the hill.

Until now, they'd shared mostly pleasantries, comments about the fineness of the breeze, the peace of the forest, and they'd marvelled jointly at god's creation. But such remarks quickly ran dry, and they inevitably fell upon the topic of how they'd changed since their university days.

"I see you're still going about in sweaters," said Saheel. "No matter the heat."

"It's cold," said Sean. "It's been cold since the day I was born. I don't know how else to explain it."

"I'm not judging," said Saheel. "Hang on, I got a thorn in my sandal."

He stopped to pick it out. In turn, Sean untied his shoes and shook them onto the path, pouring out what seemed like endless buckets of sand.

Sean said, "You used to judge a lot. I remember you never liked it when we all went out partying instead of hitting the books."

"Yeah, well," said Saheel. "I've mellowed out, maybe. I was just sick of being the only one to turn up at 9AM lectures. After all, most early morning services--"

"Start at eight, yeah. We've all mellowed out, mate."

"Still," said Saheel. "Forgiveness. It's a tricky thing."

They continued, climbing the hill at a steady pace, earning a better and better view of the sun as it glistened off the waves. The air was thick with peace, and it troubled Saheel that the day would end in murder.

How to broach the subject?

He said, "You told me once that a vicar has to find it in his heart to forgive people, brother. Do you think that's still true?"

"Was that before you stormed out of Mary's office?" Sean shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Look, if you'd just asked, I'd have been happy to swap with you."

"Really?"

"Hell, Sandbank? Look at it! It's beautiful!"

With fresh eyes, Saheel looked at the town he'd spent twenty years of his life in, at the striped canopies, the sandstone columns, the wooden beach house chapel just barely visible as a small blob of brown.

"Don't tell me you're jealous," said Saheel. "Barden was incredible for your career. You're practically famous, country-wide. You've got book deals. And you've still got Dove!"

"Guess the grass is greener," said Sean, fingering his ring. "Don't tell me you're still holding a grudge about that. After all these years--"

"No, brother. I'm happy that you and Dove have worked out so well. I forgive you. Sorry I didn't come to your wedding."

Sean laughed at that, and shook hands with the person who would murder him in just a few hours as if it was the start of a lifelong friendship.

He said, "I forgive you for that, too. See how good it feels to forgive, mate? Anyway, you've got yourself a pretty fine wife in Asha, haven't you, you devil? Surprised you haven't got five kids by now!"

Saheel grinned. "There are some benefits to being a protestant."

They reached the top of the cliff by the car park, and they perched on the edge in the full heat of the sun, letting their feet dangle over the drop while they waited for their wives. The parrots in the nearby reserve sang in full concert. The melody danced in their ears.

Saheel couldn't stop looking at Sean. There was no boy left in that man, a man that seemed so at peace with his surroundings that it was impossible to avoid feeling guilty about the fate that awaited him. Waves pounded against the rocks below them. Last summer, a riptide had caught a young boy and knocked him unconscious against the very same cliff. Saheel had led the funeral.

"You wrote a book on forgiveness, right?" he said, a lump rising in his throat.

Sean's mouth twisted up at the edges as he idly traced circles in the sand, making the sand flies hop away.

"You really seem to want to talk about it," said the Barden vicar. "Is something eating you? Do you want to make a confession?"

"I don't know, brother," said Saheel, gazing in vain at the horizon for an answer. "A good Christian shouldn't even question it."

Sean nodded. "I see. Well, I'm all about radical forgiveness. Punch me in the face? Forgiven. Steal my wallet? Forgiven. Sleep with my wife? Forgiven. It just makes it easier, you know? I never held with Casus Belli or any of that. It's about what the big J would do."

"So, if I killed you..."

"Forgiven."

Saheel's jaw dropped. "Just like that?"

Sean nodded. "Just like that."

"But wouldn't you get angry? I mean, that's your life that someone's just ended there, brother.And what about Eir-- Dove? Doesn't it make you angry to think about how I'd make her a widow? You’ve still got so much ahead of you. How could you forgive me so quickly?"

"That's what you never got, mate," said Sean. "You don't decide to forgive, in the same way you don't decide to resent. It's not a decision. You live it. You breathe forgiveness. So yeah, you kill me? I forgive you."

Saheel stared at him, lost for words. Before he could even decide what to say, Asha snuck up behind him and wrapped him in a hug, then held him even tighter because in his startlement he nearly slipped off his second cliff of the day.

Next to him, Dove laid a hand on Sean's shoulder absentmindedly. The fluttering of the parrots' colourful feathers through the trees had completely drawn her attention.

"I haven't suffered through all of this for nothing," she said. "Let's go and see the birds!"

“Yar!” said Asha.

Sean laughed; Saheel laughed.

—

The group made it to nightfall, through countless plates of Asha's mussels and chips, through a bottle of wine, and now they were drinking gin on the sofas as they watched the last sliver of pink evaporate over the horizon. They turned out the lights in the house. Above them, magnified through the clear glass of the conservatory roof, the nebulae were already out and swirling. Stars beamed messages of blue and red.

Cosy was the word for it. The two couples felt comfortable in each other's presence, and they spoke in calm, low murmurs about nothing much at all.

"This is an amazing gin," said Dove, swishing it around in a tumbler as she rested her head on Sean's shoulder.

"Sure is," agreed her husband. "Where'd you even find a gin like this? Some kind of Sandbank special?"

"It's just from Tesco," said Asha. "It's not a special gin or anything."

"Really? Same deal with the coffee and the wine. I'm thinking it's the air around here. Everything just tastes better. Let me guess — I bet they do a good rum here."

"How’d you know that’s the specialty?" said Saheel. "One of the ladies at the parish makes it."

"We bought a couple of shares in her company," said Asha. "We'll show you the shop sometime."

“I’d die to taste some of that,” said Sean, looking at the liquor cabinet.

"You guys probably want to try some, don't you? As you can imagine, we’ve got bottles of the stuff," said Asha, getting a set of shot glasses out the cabinet.

"Fu-- frick yeah," said Dove, rosy-cheeked. "That sounds amazing."

"Language, darling. You guys are spoiling us," said Sean. He downed the rest of his tonic. "We couldn't give you half as much in Barden. My vicarage is an apartment, for crying out loud."

"And we live opposite this nightclub." Dove screwed up her face. "So not only do we get to bump shoulders with whores on our street, we have to keep the windows closed at night or the music drives us mad."

"Whores?" said Saheel, taken aback.

"She's got this thing about how people dress," said Sean, ruffling her hair. "I keep telling her not to stress about it, but really, she loves to spend Friday nights staring out that window and muttering all sorts of ungodly things."

"She has a name," said Dove.

Saheel poured the rum, wincing alongside Asha, who nodded and was already winding up a smile.

"What are we toasting to, then?" she asked, handing them the shots.

"The perfect end to a pirate's day out." Sean winked, and they laughed.

The rum was like a gunshot to Saheel's chest, and it set his lungs ablaze. He couldn't say much about the taste because it scorched and overwhelmed his tongue. Dutifully, he filled up a carafe of water and refilled the tumblers.

Dove fanned her breath then gulped down the water.. "That's a bit too much for me, thanks. I mean, I’m not saying it’s bad, but… wow."

No sooner had she put it down than Sean had downed it as his second shot.

"Wow," he said, wobbling, pressing on the armrest. "The heck is in that? Hot sauce? That's the stuff, alright! I'm just gonna take off my sweater. Sorry for flashing you, Asha -- I could do with a bottle of that!"

Asha drank hers in graceful, measured sips. "We'll take you to the shop sometime. There's stronger ones than that. It doesn't so much as take the edge off, as make you forget there was ever an edge in the first place."

Saheel laughed.

"Amen," said Sean, and he slumped back on the sofa with his arms spread out, staring up into space. "That rum seals it. Sandbank. What an incredible place, huh, honey?"

"Sure," whispered Dove. "I mean, I liked the parrots, but it's a bit hot for me."

"You get used to it. Of course you get used to it. Go on, Saheel, I bet you were uncomfortable when you first arrived, but you got used to it, didn't you? People get used to all kinds of things. I could get used to this heat."

Dove said, "We couldn't get used to the nightclub."

"That's different. You know it is. Saheel, tell me this isn't paradise."

"Sure thing, brother," he said. "You look like you wouldn't mind another dose of brain rot."

But a brief conversation in eye-contact between the couple seemed to deny it, so instead they switched to coffee.

"Such an amazing blend," cried Sean. "I don't know if it's the air here, or what! Asha, Saheel — you’re incredible!"

"You're repeating yourself, honey," said Dove, looking at her watch. She stiffened, and her smile didn't seem to reach her eyes.

He pouted. "You want to look at the videos I shot earlier? Man, I'm glad we took videos in a place like this. You need a memory aid for the sights and sounds. We should have brought the proper camera."

"I can remember them perfectly well," said Dove, already finished with her coffee. "I don't need to look at a picture of a parrot on a tiny screen to remember what it looked like."

"You want to see them, Saheel?" he asked, pressing the phone into his hands. "Tell me what you think of these shots I took."

"Sure, brother," said Saheel. He began swiping through them, and to be honest, immediately agreed with Dove. He may as well have been looking at an image search for the word 'Parrot'. He wasn’t sober enough to hide the burst of laughter that escaped him.

"It's getting kind of late, isn't it?" asked Dove.

"Don't let us keep you," said Asha, standing up. "It's been great having you here. We'll have you round any time you like, just give us a day's notice."

"I'm still finishing my coffee," said Sean, initiating another sparring match of eye contact between him and his wife. He poured a dash of rum into it.

“You can take the mug with you, if you want,” said Asha. “That way you’ll have an excuse to pop round again. Go on, Saheel, give him his phone back.”

“He wants to look at the parrots,” said Sean. “Let him look.”

Saheel reached the end of the gallery, and out of curiosity, swiped further left through the images. Sean had captured nearly every angle of the beach hut church. Before that, it seemed he'd catalogued every shell he'd found in the sand. And then he came upon a shot that, impossibly, came from inside his own house that was dated to Wednesday.

"At this rate, we're not going to be able to drive home," said Dove.

"We can walk," said Sean. "It's a beautiful night."

“Do you want me to call you a taxi?” asked Asha. “I don’t mind calling you guys a taxi. Come on, Saheel, give him the phone back.”

“You’ve done enough for us,” said Sean. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

Saheel zoomed in on the picture, probing the reflection in an empty wine-glass on the counter, and in the reflection of the wine-glass he saw his wife and his new friend standing in the middle of his kitchen as naked as the day they were baptised.

Voting will close on the 17th May at 09:00 UTC