"I remember kneeling down and absolutely sobbing into the carpet.
I said to God, 'You have to either take my life or take this attraction away because I cannot do both.'" Her eyes glisten for the first time.
"Realising that I was attracted to them was a horrible feeling," she says, looking down. It became more and more of a struggle because I couldn't tell anyone." As adolescence emerged, with school and Church services several times a week, alienation set in."I increasingly began to feel like I was living behind an invisible wall.
' It felt like all of my relationships were built on this ice that would break if I stepped out on to it."Beeching is cross-legged on a sofa in my living-room, deportment impeccable, done up in a tailored jacket, made up with absolute precision.By 16, the isolation, fear and shame were escalating.Her mother, who is very musical, had taught her to play the piano and guitar, and Beeching was already writing worship songs and performing them at services in front of hundreds.To avoid the desolation of her personal life, Beeching would perform endlessly, ensuring every birthday and public holiday was booked up.Countless unrequited loves for straight female friends compounded the torment of her teenage years. By 2008, aged 29, she decided to move to California, hoping that San Diego would provide a more liberal setting.And so, as Beeching's story pours out on a hot afternoon – a story of psychological torture, life-threatening illness and unimaginable loneliness, imposed all around from a supposedly Godly environment – one question fills the air: if shrinks, brutes and fascists know how best to devastate a person, does the Church of England? She has never said this publicly before – a handful of people in her private life know.