When we left the church, Gilbey suggested going for a coffee. I agreed. Secular surroundings and a shot of caffeine seemed a suitable antidote.

Seated at a window table, I sipped an espresso, my eyes on the passing traffic but aware of Gilbey watching me.

‘So, what do you think of our Stations of the Cross?’ he asked. ‘They’re said to be one of the finest examples of Christian art.’

I hesitated, knowing Gilbey could be very touchy when it came to religious matters.

‘Well,’ I said, pausing to make it clear I took his question seriously. ‘I’ve always found Christian art to be overly sombre.’

‘Really?’ Gilbey pursed his lips.

‘Really.’ I drummed my fingers on the table. ‘But I suppose a certain sombreness is to be expected, given that the doctrine is predicated on blame, sin and punishment. Don’t you think crucifixion is a little extreme?’

‘A necessary extreme to atone for the sins of mankind.’

‘Even so, the iconography is forbidding,’ I said. ‘There’s not enough empathy.’

‘The love of God is sufficient for true believers.’

‘Maybe so.’ I attempted a smile. ‘But the less committed may need some encouragement to counteract the gloominess.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Since you ask, The Stations of the Cross could do with some modification.’

‘What sort of modification?’

‘They’re very morbid. No reason why certain scenes can’t be lightened.’

Gilbey shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing.

‘I’m not suggesting any change to the outcome. The message stays the same, but maybe provide something by way of sustenance. It’s a grueling journey.’

‘It’s meant to be grueling.’ Gilbey leaned forward. ‘We must appreciate the suffering of Our Lord.’

I could have left it at that and said, ‘Fair enough, have it your way.’ Instead, I decided to finish what I’d started just as Jesus had, from Station 1 all the way to the tomb, and back to life.

‘Here’s what I suggest. A slight rejigging of one of the Stations, say the one where Jesus is carrying his cross through the crowd.’

‘Station 5: Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the cross.’

‘Right, we can have Simon in the foreground, looking concerned. Just before he gets to Jesus, someone in the crowd shouts, ‘Hey, Jesus The Redeemer’. Jesus turns and wallops one of the centurions across the head with the end of the cross.’

I looked out the window, avoiding Gilbey’s gaze but forming an impression of red cheeks and outrage.

‘Then, the next Station, Number 6,’ I said. ‘Christ responds to a shout from the other side and floors a second centurion. After that, he continues his journey to the crucifixion but the centurions give him a wide berth.’

Gilbey pushed his chair back and stood.

‘I’m not prepared to listen to this blasphemy. I feel sorry for you.’

Off he went, leaving me to pay the bill, but that’s always the way with the righteous ones.