Great Aunt Angelina swore her favourite habit attracted horny men like flies.

St Valentine's Day had coincided with Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent and forty days of abstinence.

So her Mother Superior uniform was ideal for tonight's masquerade party. I hung her pearl rosary around my neck and pulled on my over the knee boots.

*

I slunk out of the ballroom before my teaching colleagues from St John the Baptist's noticed me.

The tickets had stipulated formal dress. Not fancy dress.

I rushed towards the discreet exit in the leisure centre. A door flung open and my veil blew over my face. Muscular arms embraced me.

I regained my balance and gazed into doe like eyes. 'Jesus Christ!'

'No. Zayn.' Tall, with good teeth and hair. His veil was white and he wore matching flowing robes. A Thobe perhaps.

I tried to remember what I'd made my pupils learn about Islam from the diversity curriculum, but couldn't. Not with how he was making me feel.

From how his breathing and body were reacting, he was on fire too.

*

'I'm very late.' Zayn abruptly broke away and with a sexy bow, backed away.

His brush off sounded guilty and reluctant. I rubbed his soft sleeve. 'Wait. You've misinterpreted the dress code too. They advertised it as fancy so it was logical....'

'Miss, er Sister...... ?' He stared at the rosary that dangled between my cleavage.

'Angelina. I'm named after my Great Aunt.'

'Of course. I rushed here from the mosque.' He slowly averted his gaze to a dimly lit notice board. 'Today is the last day to join the swimming lessons.'

So he wasn't in costume! Zayn was for real. To dampen down my explosive awareness, I asked. 'Why are you learning to swim?'

'When I was fleeing, I couldn't .... My swimming is too bad.' Tears ran down his face.

He was a hot, sexy mess! My heart and hormones went out to him. I beckoned him into a seating alcove, hitched up my skirt and repeated my Great Aunt's mantra. 'Confess to mother.'

With his eyes latched onto the top of my thigh high boots, he did.

The war destroyed Al-Zabadani in Syria. With friends and family, Zayn made it to Lebanon and aimed for Greece via a treacherous crossing through the Mediterranean. Their small boat capsized and many were still missing.

Days later, a Medicine Sans Frontier crew found him among the flotsam. Then the Red Cross intervened.

Drunken shouting outside suggested the ball was over. We'd been talking for hours.

Zayn gently wiped my forehead with his fingertip. 'You've a smudge, Sister.'

'Ashes handed out in school by our parish priest.'

He removed his hand and bolted off our sofa. 'I'm late. I will apply for my class.....'

'Wait. I'll learn too.' At reception we enrolled for six bi weekly classes of elementary swimming. Then we joined the breakfast buffet together.

*

Later, I packed my Great Aunt's seduction kit in acid-free tissue paper and returned it to my heirloom closet. Zayn mightn't have twigged I wasn't a nun.

It didn't matter.

Nothing was going to happen apart from, perhaps a quick sexual hook up if he was willing and able. It couldn't. He was a Muslim. I was a pick and mix Catholic.

In Ireland, age, ethnic or social differences never drew much attention.

Religion was a can of worms. 'Mixed' was the derogatory sneer for those who fornicated outside of their own flock.

Nevertheless I couldn't resist buying sexy but classy swimwear.

*

Our swim tutor was useless and I struggled to hide my lifeguard qualifications. By the third lesson, everyone, apart from Zayn and I, had dropped out.

Zayn's torso had numerous scars but was the best I'd seen. His swimming wasn't.

So we met up between lessons to practise the breaststroke and for coffee afterwards.

The swimming classes ended on Good Friday. Zayn failed his final exam but I passed it easily. When we emerged from the changing rooms, to console him, I confessed. 'I've some swimming experience.'

'Why did you join?'

'To see you.' I ran my finger down his toned chest.

'Before he died, I promised to obey my grandfather wishes.' He shook water from his wet hair. 'He was a very wise Imam.'

A theological masterclass wasn't what I'd in mind. So I stroked his hair making sure that my cleavage brushed against his arm.

He stared at my rosary for a second then kissed me. He didn't go in deep in the pool but, thanks be to the Lord, was more adventurous when it came to kissing.

We only broke apart to let our swim tutor pass.

It was the Easter weekend but the hotel had a last minute cancellation. After a bit of haggling, we got a reduced rate for three overnights.

I didn't expect much.

Great Aunt Angelina had noticed on her missionary work abroad, that men of alien faiths had a high incidence of erectile dysfunction.

My fears were ungrounded.

*

On Sunday morning, St Peter's Cathedral bells chimed. Zayn immediately rolled away from me. 'You shouldn't have slept with me. You're a bride of God.'

I opened the complimentary Easter Egg on the bedside table. 'The night we met, apart from the boots, my clothes belonged to Great Aunt Angelina.'

He climbed back into the bed beside me. 'My Grandfather, also Zayn, explored new cultures and theologies.'

'So did my Great Aunt Angelina.' Our nostalgic reminiscing reminded me of her tip for using up leftover Easter Egg. I broke the chocolate into small pieces and scattered a trail down his body. 'I'll lick this off you.'

'And then I take my turn.' Zayn grasped this one quicker than the breaststroke and added a few tricks passed down from his grandfather.

My late Great Aunt and his grandfather swore multi denominational collaborations were the path forward. They were wise for their time. I almost said, it was a pity they never met.

But that would never have worked out. And neither would Zayn and I.

*

We didn't expect to fall in love. But like a miracle, we did.

Shortly after our Easter together, Zayn was thrown out of the kip he was renting. His nightmares were disturbing his housemates sleep. 'I keep dreaming that I'm drowning.'

'I'm a qualified lifeguard. Move in with me.' I was planning to buy an apartment in the converted convent were my Great Aunt spent her final years.

Zayn disagreed. 'You must be you.'

'It's all I can afford.'

'We'll join together.'

We pooled our savings and qualified for a larger mortgage. Banks weren't interested in religious beliefs, only financial habits. Zayn painted, tiled and plumbed our detached home. We agreed on furniture and fittings.

Rather than our differences, we found our common ground. Like watching American sitcoms, home improvements and making love. We continued our swimming.

Zayn and I believed in us but nobody else did.

*

My family were lapsed Catholics. Religion was solely an excuse for extravagant weddings and funerals. At first, they were horrified I was with a Muslim. Zayn went on a charm offensive, with flattery, gifts and household repairs.

They called a truce. But behind his back called him Paddy O Jihadi.

Elevenses in the school staff room became repetitive banter. The infant class teacher would lace her coffee with brandy and kick it off. 'That Muslim's up to no good. Why did he come here?'

'He's a job and pays tax.' I explained but she opened doubts. Zayn was vague about why he choose to come to Ireland. Most Syrian's aimed for Britain, Germany or France.

'You'll end up in a harem. And a burka.' The infant teacher snapped shut her travel mug and left for yard duty.

The school principal started next. 'I couldn't help overhearing! By any chance is he a suicide bomber?'

'No. A pharmacist.'

'Even in ISIS? Would he do a career show and tell? Our final years are showing particular aptitude for terrorism.'

Our age, racial or cultural differences weren't joked about. Even that Zayn earned twice what I did.

Only religion!

I received a formal letter from the Department of Education. The teasing may have been more serious than I realised. They mightn't renewing my contract.

They'd use dwindling pupil numbers or my teaching performance to oust me. They wouldn't mention the real reason, like how they often refused to take non Catholic children on trumped up excuses.

Finally, I opened it and released my breath. I was being offered a permanent post. To celebrate, I set my class a written assignment and bought a buy five get one free wine offer in the adjacent off licence.

Wait! Zayn didn't drink.

I donated them to the staff room kitty for casual Friday. My delighted colleagues stopped obsessing about me sleeping with a Muslim and reverted back to complaining about money or occupational stress.

In time, Zayn and I would win everyone over.

******

The only thing I brought from Syria was my grandfather's sacred diary. It survived the sea in my waterproof belt pack.

I couldn't leave it behind. It was my final promise to him before the rebels killed him.

Medicine Sans Frontiers had located my family in a British tourist destination off Turkey where they were happy to settle.

When I told them about Angelina, they were disbelieving. Angry shouting was coming from our computer screen. And my tablet and my phone. They were calling her a wild European woman who was taking sexual advantage of me.

Angelina sensed my family reunion wasn't going very well. 'Is it me?'

'They want me to forget my plan. But somethings are too deep to let go.' I kissed her shoulder but I could imbibe her melancholy.

'Will you go back?'

'It's not safe. Someday and with you.' She would revitalise my war torn country. I turned off the computer but didn't hit my phone quickly enough. My brother Wissam had learnt good English from British holiday makers. 'It's not fair. Granddad hooked you up with a stunner.'

Angelina had overheard. The love and hope in her eyes changed to fear. 'Are you...?'

'My grandfather arranged my marriage. I promised to obey him.'

'So you're taken.' Tears rolled down her face. 'I should have listened to Great Aunt Angelina.'

I located the photos in my grandfather's diary. 'Your skin is darker but you resemble her.'

'Is this some Muslim breakup ritual?' She squinted at what I was holding up. 'Wait. That's not one I've seen before! Where did you find it?'

'Thirty years ago, my grandfather and your great aunt were lovers.' I translated extracts from his diary. 'He was an influential Imam and his subjects didn't approve. They threatened to stone her.'

'Wait? Your grandad was that sexy Sheik she brought up when she'd drink taken! She escaped death through the desert on a camel.'

'My grandfather said it was a four wheel drive.' I shut the diary. 'Your great aunt mentioned you. My grandfather thought since they couldn't be together, maybe, by the time we grew up, the world would be more tolerant and we could.'

'So you came for me?'

'The war delayed me.'

'Are we a promise you made to your grandfather?'

'I was only going to make a token effort and meet you. Then I opened the door and you fell into my heart.'

She kissed my hair and then held out her necklace. 'Great Aunt Angelina ordered me to always wear her rosary and my salvation would arrive. She smuggled the pearls from Syria and got the kids in the orphanage to make it.'

My grandfather blamed the jewel theft on his fourth wife. I replied more diplomatically. 'Our grandparents had different values. They weren't meant to last but we are.'

'As they prayed for decades ago from a desert tent.'

The diary said argued and hotel in Aleppo. I threw it back into my waterproof belt pack. That was then, this was now. 'Will we go swimming later?'

That night, I completed a length of the pool with my breaststroke.