Алекс Баркли - I Confess

‘And we won’t be long,’ said Edie. ‘We’re not going to keep Helen up if she’s wrecked. And it’s not like we did much to the library. I mean — we spruced it up, but we didn’t want to be the owners who—’

‘Turned it into a casino,’ said Murph.

‘Not that I had any great attachment to it,’ said Edie. ‘I think the viewing was the first time I’d been in it.’

Murph nodded at Patrick. ‘You were a big reader. You used to go up there too, didn’t you?’

‘Did you?’ said Clare.

Patrick looked at her. ‘Yes.’

‘“Why are you so surprised?” said Murph, mimicking her.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Clare. ‘All I’m saying is I didn’t know that.’

‘Well, you were hardly in the place morning, noon, and night,’ said Murph.

‘No,’ said Clare. ‘Wednesday afternoons. And maybe during a few free classes. And the odd Saturday. And mid-term breaks. And—’ She paused. ‘It’s amazing I had any friends.’

‘We needed you for the table quiz,’ said Murph. ‘To win a prize sponsored by your dad. Covered in boats.’

‘“Covered in boats”,’ said Clare. ‘One boat. Tastefully ironed on to an anorak.’

‘That everyone’s mams would iron over by mistake,’ said Laura.

‘Ooh — Clare’s fierce proud of Daddy,’ said Murph.

‘I’m “fierce proud” of his logo... designed by his daughter,’ said Clare, pointing to herself. ‘I drew the boat part. I was ten, so don’t judge. Daddy got them to add the gold around it.’

‘And then he cut loose in a merchandising shop up in Cork and slapped it on everything,’ said Murph.

‘My dad definitely had a polo shirt,’ said Edie, nodding.

‘And I’m sure I saw Laura with a g-er,’ said Murph.

Patrick looked at him. ‘What’s a g-er?’

‘Ah, Patrick,’ said Murph. ‘A g-string — the things women stop wearing when they catch sight of their arses properly in those changing rooms with the three mirrors.’

Clare, Laura, and Helen nodded.

‘Except Clare,’ said Murph. ‘She still wears them. “Eyes ahead”.’

Edie looked across the table at Patrick. He was staring off into space.

‘Patrick,’ said Edie.

He looked over at her and she smiled. ‘Could I ask you to do me a favour, please?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

‘While we’re gone — would you mind going down to the cellar and grabbing a couple of bottles of Prosecco? I asked Johnny, but he probably got distracted.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Murph. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ said Patrick, standing up. ‘Stay where you are.’

Patrick walked across the hall, his black hiking boots silent on the tiles. He went down the stairs and was guided by emergency lights to the wine cellar. A soft light glowed from inside. He walked in. Ahead of him, was a tall wooden table with a metal worktop. Johnny was leaning over at one end, his nose buried in the tail end of a fat line of coke. He looked up, saw Patrick, and jumped.

Patrick raised his hands, palms out.

A flash of anger crossed Johnny’s face. He glanced down at Patrick’s boots. ‘Did you wear them especially?’

‘Especially what?’

‘To be a sneaky prick.’ He smiled. ‘So... what has you down here?’

‘Edie asked me to bring up two bottles of Prosecco.’

Johnny turned around, and scanned the shelves. He pulled out two bottles, and put them on the table. ‘You didn’t see this, by the way.’ He gestured to the coke.

Patrick nodded. ‘I didn’t see anything. But... she doesn’t know?’

‘Why do you give a shit?’ said Johnny.

‘I don’t,’ said Patrick. He reached out and took the bottles. He was about to turn away, but he stopped. ‘Why the hostility, as a matter of interest?’

‘Hospitality, surely,’ said Johnny. He flashed a smile.

Patrick sucked in a breath. He eyed the coke. ‘I’m not sure that agrees with you.’

‘And I’m sure’ said Johnny, ‘That I don’t really give a fuck.’

Dylan and Mally ran across the front gardens of the inn, staying close to the hedges that bordered the car park. Rain was pouring down, and they both slipped in the same waterlogged hollow, crying out, grabbing for each other, then righting themselves. They laughed, then shushed each other.

‘This is insane,’ said Dylan.

‘I know — I love it!’ said Mally.

‘If we get caught, we’re dead.’

‘You’re always saying that,’ said Mally. ‘We did get caught! And we’re aliiiive.’ She spread out her arms.

‘Yeah, but I’m already in trouble,’ said Dylan.

‘Don’t be a wuss!’ said Mally. ‘And stop making me talk — I’m getting rain in my mouth. I literally have puddles in my mouth. Ducks will literally fly in. That’s how I’m going to die.’

‘I am not a wuss,’ said Dylan. ‘You’re the one who’s all “No — I can’t drink, my mom will kill me”.’

‘Mam can literally smell blood,’ said Mally.

‘Stop saying “literally”.’

‘But she LITERALLY can,’ said Mally.

‘I know!’ said Dylan. ‘It’s your favourite excuse to risk... nothing. All the danger in our lives happens entirely on my property.’

‘Danger,’ said Mally.

‘Trespass is danger!’ said Dylan.

‘ Your property,’ said Mally, mimicking his voice. ‘Cut to: your parents lying dead in the kitchen and you, clutching their will in your fist and shaking it in the air in triumph.’

‘“Literally I’m going to choke to death on ducks,”’ said Dylan, mimicking Mally’s voice.

They both laughed.

They kept running until they came to the trees that curved around the chapel.

‘Do you have the key?’ said Mally.

‘Yes!’ said Dylan. ‘See? Theft is also dangerous.’

‘Forgive us our trespasses,’ said Mally, joining her hands and looking up.

Dylan turned the key in the door.

‘I love that you have a chapel,’ said Mally.

Dylan glanced back at her. ‘You love that we have a confession box.’

‘Terry totally thought we were having sex in there,’ said Mally.

‘He was probably all “is nothing sacred anymore?”.’ Said Dylan.

Mally held her hand to her heart. ‘The truth,’ she said. ‘The truth is always sacred.’

‘Well, I confess,’ said Dylan, ‘that recently, I’ve been lying quite a lot to my parents.’

They high-fived each other. ‘Anxiety,’ said Mally, ‘the Get Out of Jail Card that keeps on giving.’

‘Oh my God — you’re so mean!’ said Dylan. ‘I do have anxiety!’

‘I know, I know,’ said Mally, ‘but some of it is fake news. You’re lucky your mom is so nice.’ She paused. ‘But I do think your dad is onto you. I try to frighten him away with my glare when he gets too close to the truth.’

Pilgrim Point

17 November 2018

Dylan was kneeling in the confession box, shifting his weight from side to side before finally settling.

‘You wouldn’t want to have had a lot of sins,’ he said.

‘No, my child,’ said Mally, looking up from the opposite side. She slid back the grille, and made a sign of the cross.

Dylan passed an XLR cable through to her. She took it, and plugged it into a large diaphragm microphone, set on a small stand in front of her.

‘Ready?’ said Dylan.

‘Yes,’ said Mally, pulling her long, dirty-blond hair back, twisting a red elastic band around it. ‘Yes, I am. The fashion-backward ponytail is in place. Which means business.’

Dylan pulled on a pair of Bose headphones, and checked his laptop screen. ‘Say something,’ he said.

‘Sinnah!’ boomed Mally. ‘I cast out—’