Andrew Hurley - The Loney

‘No, I’m fine as I am, Father.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Mrs Smith?’

Mummer paused and then said, ‘You’ve not told us much about your last parish, Father.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your last parish. What was it like?’

‘The people or the place?’

‘Both.’

‘The people were wonderful, the place was terrible.’

‘And Belfast, Father?’

‘Much the same.’

‘Nevertheless, the bishop said you’d worked wonders in these places.’

‘I’m not sure anyone works wonders in the Ardoyne, Mrs Smith, but I’ll take a pat on the back for trying.’

‘Come on, Father,’ said Mummer. ‘Don’t do yourself a disservice. If the bishop said you’d worked wonders then I believe him. Tell me what you did.’

‘Look,’ he said, laughing quietly. ‘The bishopric goes hoopla about the tiniest victories over apathy these days. It doesn’t take much to get a gold star. Kick a ball about the cinder fields with some wee rogues and get them to church the next Sunday and they’ll consider you for the Vatican.’

‘There,’ said Mummer. ‘You hit the nail on the head, Father.’

‘Did I?’

‘You said you’d played football with some deprived children.’

‘Aye.’

‘And they enjoyed it?’

‘Aye. More than the Mass I swapped it for, I have to say, but one or two of them kept on coming back.’

‘What did they come back for though, Father?’

‘Lots of reasons.’

‘Such as?’

‘What, you want me to pick something out of a hat? They liked the other people there. The singing. The youth club of a Friday. It was better than being out on the street, throwing bricks at the Saracens. I don’t know. Look, is this heading somewhere dark and confined, Mrs Smith? Because I feel like I’m being led into a corner.’

‘I just wanted to prove something to you, Father.’

‘Prove what?’

‘That you were successful in those places because you knew exactly what the congregation needed, what they expected of you.’

‘Mrs Smith …’

‘Wouldn’t you say that was the mark of a good priest, Father? Knowing what your parishioners need?’

‘Of course.’

‘And that a priest ought to respond to those needs?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Rather than trying to change them?’

‘Mrs Smith, if there’s something you want to say to me, I’d rather you had it out. It’s late and I’m very tired.’

‘I want to help you,’ she said. ‘I know it must be difficult to be thrown into a new parish, but what you need to understand, Father, is that there can only be success in a church, when the priest and his congregation are in harmony. If one side wants something different than the other then it all unravels. Father Wilfred knew that.’

Father Bernard sighed and Mummer raised her voice a little.

‘He might have been different to you, Father, but he knew how to be with us. He knew exactly how to make us feel that God was present in our lives.’

‘You mean he told you what you wanted to hear?’

‘Yes, Father. Exactly that. We wanted to hear that the road was going to be difficult. We wanted to be told to pray harder if we wished to be heard. And if we concealed our sins from him, then we wanted to hear that we would be punished.’

‘We’re all going through a very difficult time, Father,’ she went on. ‘And I think it’s best to keep things the way they were. The way they’ve always been. It’s what everyone knows. We all need a rock to cling to in the storm.’

‘Mrs Smith, I’m not trying to change anything.’

‘I think you are, Father. Without realising it, perhaps.’

‘I’m not. I’m here to listen and guide you spiritually, if I can. That’s all. That’s the entirety of my remit. I think you must have misinterpreted my interest in wanting to know what happened to Father Wilfred, Mrs Smith. It’s not out of some lurid voyeurism. I’m of the opinion that talking about things is the best way to heal the wounds and move on.’

‘The wounds are beginning to heal by themselves, Father. All you’re doing is opening them up again.’

‘Is that what you think I’m trying to do, Mrs Smith? That I’m somehow trying to sabotage everything?’

‘Of course not, Father. I just think you can be a little — well — heavy-handed sometimes. It’s your age, perhaps. Foisting your own views upon us. All that about Clement and his mother. It’s not for us to deal with. Not when we have so many other things to consider. If you want to listen, then listen to what I’m telling you. Guide us by letting us go the way we know best. We know how to get through all this.’

‘By standing still?’

‘By sheltering, Father. By being patient.’

‘And waiting for what?’

‘For things to settle again.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘Look, Mr Belderboss is vulnerable at the moment, Father. He’s still confused by everything that’s happened and liable to say things that aren’t entirely accurate. I don’t want you to go back to Saint Jude’s with the wrong impression of Father Wilfred. I know you wouldn’t mean to, but things can often slip out and rumours start to spread. It doesn’t take much for a reputation to be dismantled.’

‘Do you want me to leave, Mrs Smith? Is that it?’

‘No, Father. I want you to be our priest.’

‘So do I.’

‘Then hold onto the rock with us, Father. Until the waters retreat.’

‘Mrs Smith, I understand that Wilfred’s death has been a significant blow to Saint Jude’s, but I think you need to face facts if you want to recover from it. He isn’t coming back. There’s nothing to hold onto anymore.’

‘There is, Father,’ she said. ‘We have Andrew.’

‘And what does Andrew think about that?’

There was silence and after a moment Mummer excused herself curtly and went out of the room. Father Bernard didn’t stir for some time. Then I heard the sound of a bottle opening and its contents going into a glass.

The day of the visit to the shrine came around and Hanny was the centre of attention from the moment we got downstairs, where everyone was drinking tea and helping themselves to the apples that Father Bernard had picked the day before. The men had adopted a strange kind of machismo and clapped Hanny on the shoulder and shook his hand, as though they were pages fitting their knight for battle.

Mummer had a basin of hot water ready and she and Mrs Belderboss washed Hanny’s face and hands slowly and carefully.

‘The Lord will come upon you today,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘I know He will. You’re ready. It’s your time.’

Father Bernard packed a bag with the things that he would need. Some matches. His stole. A small silver chalice that he had brought from Saint Jude’s.

When he had finished he sat at the table with Monro next to him. He said nothing but stroked the dog’s head and watched them attending to Hanny, who lapped up the fuss and smiled as Mummer combed his hair and then took a pair of scissors to his nails. He caught my eyes and kissed his fingers. The poor sod thought all this was for Else. Perhaps he thought he was going to marry her. That this was the day she would give him the child and they would be together.

‘What does that mean?’ said Mummer. ‘Why is he doing that with his hand?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Why don’t you tell him where we’re going,’ she said, nodding at the chair next to her for me to sit down.

I did as I was told and touched Hanny on the arm.

‘Hanny, I said. ‘We’re going to see God.’