The Catholicism of Dawn Foster, the sometimes acerbic left-wing journalist who died last month at the age of 34, was a puzzle to many who knew her. But as a friend explains, her faith was at the heart of her life, her loves and her struggles

She was always at least one step ahead of me. Dawn Foster was, for many people, their most terrifying friend: one reason for that was how quick-witted, in the true sense of the word, she was. Sometimes a merciless critic, she was almost always an acute one; shrewd, methodical, instinctively intolerant of cant and sophistry, whether from her enemies or her friends (“terrifying”, remember: the adjective was earned). She could strip complex ideas down for parts over the course of an article or a broadcast. She could strip personalities down, too: opening people up, measuring out their character, making a judgement after a few minutes of conversation. If you were lucky, she’d like you. If you were very lucky, she’d decide to be your friend, and the talking would continue; the conversation continuing to unfold over months and years.

That conversation that will now remain unfinished. Dawn died unexpectedly last week, due to the chronic illness that had always darkened, but never overshadowed, her journey from an impoverished childhood in Newport to the heart of the national media. She was 34 years old.