‘What was that, Father?’
‘He said, “In time to come, each of you will thank the man who gave you your mind.” Then he got up and left. And he was right. I mean he was hard as nails, O’Flannery, and I hated him at the time, but I feel kind of grateful to him now, you know? There aren’t many lessons of his that I don’t remember.’
‘What did it mean, Father?’
‘What did what mean?’
‘The Latin.’
He laughed. ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law. Then there was, let’s see, Ex fructu arbor agnoscitur and Veritas vos liberabit.’
‘What does that one mean, Father?’
‘The truth will set you free,’ he said and played his card.
‘John,’ I said, automatically.
Father Bernard raised his eyebrows and then looked at me thoughtfully.
‘Father Wilfred taught you a lot, didn’t he?’
I nodded and was about to show Hanny which card to lay down when I realised that he had won.
‘Show,’ I said and bent the cards towards Father Bernard.
Hanny pulled them back to his chest.
‘It’s alright, Hanny,’ I said. ‘You’ve won. You’re the winner.’
‘Aye, he is that,’ said Father Bernard looking at Hanny’s hand, and then throwing in his own cards.
He sat back and looked at me as I scooped the cards into a pile to deal them again.
‘There was something I wanted to ask you actually, Tonto,’ he said.
‘Yes, Father?’
‘On behalf of Mr Belderboss.’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘When Father Wilfred passed away,’ he said. ‘There was something of his that went missing. A book. You’ve not seen it knocking about have you?’
‘A book?’
‘Aye, you know, a diary, a notebook, that kind of thing. It was quite important. To the family. Mr Belderboss is pretty keen on getting it back.’
‘No, Father.’
‘Not in the vestry? Or the presbytery?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Do you think any of the other lads might know?’
‘I don’t know, Father.’
‘Would it be worth me asking them?’
‘I’m not sure, Father. Maybe.’
He looked at me and I started dealing.
‘You know, Tonto, confession is bound by a seal of secrecy. I can’t tell a soul what you say to me,’ he said, pausing for a moment. ‘Even with a gun to my head.’
I looked up at him sharply, thinking that he had somehow seen the rifle, but he was gathering his cards together and spreading them in his hands.
‘But I’m not in confession, Father,’ I said.
He laughed and then outside on the landing I heard Mummer calling for him.
‘You have a think about it, Tonto,’ he said and got up to open the door. ‘If anything comes to you, let me know.’
Mummer came in. ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said. ‘I hope these two weren’t keeping you up, Father.’
‘No, no, not at all, Mrs Smith,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to see if they’d got any better at cards.’
‘Oh,’ said Mummer, confused as to whether Father Bernard had set up some elaborate test to see if we were secret gamblers. ‘Have they?’
‘No,’ he said, winking at me. ‘They’re still terrible cheats.’
‘Oh,’ said Mummer. ‘Well, if I could borrow you for a moment, Father, there are a few things I wanted to speak to you about.’
‘By all means, Mrs Smith,’ he said.
He got up and went past Mummer who held the door open for him. When he had gone down the landing Mummer snapped at me.
‘Why isn’t Andrew asleep? You know he’ll be no good if he’s tired.’
‘I know.’
‘Well if you know, stop messing around up here and get him settled.’
‘Yes, mother.’
She looked at us both and then walked away. I waited for a moment and then went to the door and onto the landing.
‘I don’t know if you realised, Father,’ said Mummer as they went down the stairs. ‘But Father Wilfred made himself available for confession when we came here.’
They had stopped in the hallway outside Father Bernard’s room. Mummer had her arms folded in the way she had started doing since he had arrived at Saint Jude’s.
‘I see,’ said Father Bernard. He nodded at the door of the under-stairs cupboard. ‘Not in here surely?’
Mummer gave him an indulgent smile.
‘No, we used Father Wilfred’s room. The room you’re in. It has the little curtain around the wash stand you see.’
‘Ah.’
‘He was very accommodating.’
‘I’m sure.’
Mummer moved closer to him. ‘I don’t ask for myself particularly, Father,’ she said. ‘It’s the others. Mr and Mrs Belderboss really. They find this place, this time of year, well it encourages an openness with God. A chance to cleanse the soul.’
He held Mummer lightly by the shoulders. ‘Mrs Smith,’ he said. ‘Rest assured that I will listen to whatever you wish to tell me.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Mummer. ‘Now about Andrew.’
‘Aye?’
‘It’s very important that he fasts like the rest of us over the weekend. I’m sure you’ll agree that he must be properly prepared.’
‘Aye, of course.’
‘Then I’ll need your help, Father.’
‘Naturally, Mrs Smith.’
‘Now, when we get to the shrine itself …’
They moved off into the kitchen but I knew what Mummer was saying to him. What she wanted him to do. How they would get Hanny to drink the water. How the power of Jesus would cleanse his body and drive out the sickness that had kept him silent since the day he was born.
When they had closed the door, I went back to the bedroom. Hanny was standing by the window. He had taken the rifle out from under the blanket. He saluted me, fiddled with the firing pin, twisted the sight and before I could tell him to put it down, he pointed the rifle at me and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Six
For a moment I thought I was dead. I was dead and it was alright. I was strangely relieved that it was all over and that it had been as quick and painless as I’d always hoped it would be. But Hanny was still there, I was still in the room, we were still at Moorings. I realised that I’d been holding my breath and now I let it out and went over to him.
‘Give,’ I said.
Hanny refused and turned away from me, clutching the rifle to his chest. They were forever taking his stuff off him at Pinelands and the bugger had learnt to fight his corner. I was proud of him for that but I couldn’t have him thinking that he could parade around Moorings with a rifle. Mummer would have had a fit, I would have got the blame, and that would have been the end of that.
‘I said give it to me.’
I held out my hands and sensing that I was serious Hanny passed me the rifle. I wound the strap around the stock, slotted it under the floorboards and laid the rug back over the top.
Hanny sat down on his bed and then folded up his legs the way a child might do, grasping his ankles and shuffling his feet under his backside. He picked up the book Father Bernard had removed from the bedside table and opened it. He wanted me to read to him.
‘You need to go to sleep, Hanny,’ I said. ‘You heard Mummer. She’ll only get cross.’
He flipped through a few pages until he found the story that he wanted.
‘Alright, Hanny. But afterwards you’ve got to go to sleep or I’ll get it in the neck.’
***
We had barely got half way through the story before Hanny was snoring. I turned off the lamp but I couldn’t sleep at all and lay there in the darkness for a while before I fetched a torch out of my bag, took up the loose floorboard and brought out the rifle to look at it again. I felt around the metalwork and found the bolt that opened the receiver. It was em
pty of course. I closed it up again with a quiet click and then slipped it back under the floorboards.
I lay down on my bed once more and tried to sleep but I was too restless, and rather than staring at the dark, I went out to look at the photographs of the taxidermist and his wife that had been placed at intervals up the stairs.
He was a diminutive man and looked to have owned only one shirt in all the years he had lived at Moorings. He wore bottle-end glasses and slicked his hair back over his head. He looked a little like Charles Hawtrey, I thought. Or Himmler.
In each shot, he and his wife posed with a stuffed animal between them. A lioness. A beaver up on its back legs. A kangaroo wearing boxing gloves. The date neatly written in the corner.
The poor sod. Apparently he lost it when his wife died. Ended up sectioned in some hospital near Preston, where I always imagined him painting those seascapes over and over again. The boats getting a little smaller and the clouds a little bigger each time, until there was nothing but tempest.
As I was looking at the photographs, someone came out of the sitting room and knocked softly at Father Bernard’s door. From the sniffing I knew it was Mrs Belderboss.
‘Hello, Father,’ she said, when the door opened.
‘Mrs Belderboss.’
‘Did Esther mention confession to you?’
‘She did.’
‘Could I come in, Father?
‘Aye, of course,’ said Father Bernard. ‘But are you sure you want to? It’s getting late.’
Mrs Belderboss’s voice went down to a whisper. ‘I know, but Reg is asleep on the sofa,’ she said. ‘And I thought while I’ve the opportunity. There’s been something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for a while now.’
She went into Father Bernard’s room and closed the door. I stayed very still to try and hear what was going on but there were only mumbles. Even at the foot of the stairs, their voices were muffled. I checked that no one else was around and slipped into the broom cupboard. Settling in next to the brushes and mops I could hear them both clearly. The wall between the cupboard and Father Bernard’s room was only made out of plywood and where the damp had warped the wood there were gaps that let in little skewers of light.
I didn’t mean to stay. As an ethical crime, it fell off the end of the scale. Listening to Mrs Belderboss’s confession was like watching her take off her clothes. But now that I was ensconced, it would have been difficult to get out again without making a racket, and I reasoned that it was better to stay put and wait until they had finished. I couldn’t imagine that Mrs Belderboss had very much to confess anyway.
I heard the chinking of the metal rings as Father Bernard yanked the curtain around the wash basin.
Mrs Belderboss rhymed off the Act of Contrition and Father Bernard said, ‘What is it you want to tell me?’
‘It’s Reg, Father,’ said Mrs Belderboss.
‘Aye.’
‘I’m worried about him.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He won’t sleep, Father. At home, I mean. He just lies there, staring at the ceiling until he gets up and goes out.’
‘Where does he go?’
‘Well, this is it. I’ve asked him but he won’t answer me, not properly. He just says he can’t sleep and walks around to take his mind off things. Off what things? I ask him, but he just changes the subject, or gets cross with me.’
‘Is it his brother, do you think?’
‘Wilfred? No. I don’t think so. He would have said if that was bothering him. If anything, he’s been remarkably philosophical since he passed away.’
‘You know, Mrs Belderboss,’ said Father Bernard. ‘It’s often hard to explain how we feel when someone close to us dies. Even to those we love. People can put on a bit of brave front. Wilfred did pass away very unexpectedly. Maybe Mr Belderboss hasn’t quite come to terms with it yet. Grief is a peculiar business anyway and when it’s compounded with shock, it can take a wee while longer to get over it.’
‘A month he’s been at it now. Lord alone knows what the neighbours must think.’
There was a pause and then Father Bernard said, ‘What is it you want to confess exactly, Mrs Belderboss?’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I was so worried about him, Father, wandering around at all hours, what with his heart and his hip. You hear such dreadful things, don’t you? There are all sorts of odd folk about at night who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of someone vulnerable like Reg.’
‘Aye, go on.’
‘Well, I went to the chemist to see if there was anything they could give me.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you, Mrs Belderboss.’
‘For Reg. To take. To help him sleep.’
‘And did they?’
‘Yes. Only he wouldn’t take them, would he? You know what he’s like.’
‘Aye.’
‘So I crushed up one of the pills and put it into his Horlicks.’
Father Bernard cleared his throat.
‘I feel awful, Father, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’m frightened he’s going, you know. It happens, doesn’t it? It always starts with little things like this. They say you’ve got to watch out for the warning signs, don’t they?’
‘And did it work?’ Father Bernard asked. ‘The medicine?’
‘It was the first decent night he’d had for weeks, but the guilt of it’s been playing on my mind and now I can’t sleep. It was wicked, wasn’t it Father?’
‘I wouldn’t call it that, Mrs Belderboss.’
‘But drugging my own husband.’
‘Mrs Belderboss,’ said Father Bernard. ‘When I look at you and your husband I see the love that God would wish us all to have if it were possible. There is no malice in your heart. The worst you’re guilty of is a little desperation and that puts you in the company of a good many others, believe me. Go and say your rosary and pray for God’s help to be patient with Reg. He’ll tell you what’s wrong in his own time.’
‘Are you sure that’s all I need to do, Father?’
‘Quite sure.’
There was a pause and then Father Bernard spoke again.
‘You seem a little disappointed, Mrs Belderboss.’
‘No, Father.’
‘Were you expecting me to say something else?’
‘No.’
There was a moment of silence and then Mrs Belderboss sighed.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’re right about Wilfred, Father. It’s only been a few months after all. And the way he went was, well, sudden, as you say.’
‘Aye.’
‘He’ll get tired of all this gadding about, won’t he, Father? Once he’s stopped feeling so upset.’
‘I’m sure that’ll be the case, Mrs Belderboss,’ said Father Bernard. ‘It’s still raw in his mind. It’s going to take time. I don’t think you ever stop feeling for people that have died, but the feelings themselves do change if you give them time. I missed my mammy and daddy terrible when they went, so much that I didn’t even want to think about them. It took a while but when I talk about them now it’s a joy; it’s when I feel closest to them and I know that they haven’t really gone anywhere. It’s not unlike our relationship with God, Mrs Belderboss. How’s your Joshua?’
‘Sorry, Father?’
‘Joshua, verse one. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord, your God, will be with you wherever you go.”’
Father Bernard laughed quietly.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I can be an awful show-off with that one. They made me learn it by heart at school.’
‘And you’re right, of course, Father,’ Mrs Belderboss said. ‘I know in my heart of hearts that Wilfred’s looking down on us and keeping us safe, it’s just he seems so—absent.’
‘And I think grief comes from that very contradiction,’ Father Bernard replied.
‘Yes, perhaps it does, Father.’
‘Try and have a good night’s sleep,
Mrs Belderboss, and I’m sure in the morning things won’t seem quite so bad.’
‘I’ll try, Father. Goodnight.’
I listened to her going past me and up the stairs. When it was quiet, I crept out and went back to my own room and held the rifle once more before I went to sleep.
Chapter Seven
Late in the night, I heard far off voices. Shouting. Whooping. Like a war dance. It only lasted for a few seconds and I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, but in the morning everyone was talking about it around the breakfast table where the smell of toast mingled with the stew Mummer had been making since first light.
‘I didn’t sleep a wink afterwards,’ said Mrs Belderboss.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ said Father Bernard. ‘It was probably just farmers calling in their dogs, eh Monro?’
He reached down and rubbed at Monro’s neck.
‘At three in the morning?’ Mrs Belderboss said.
‘Farmers do keep odd hours, Mary,’ said Mummer.
‘Well I wish they wouldn’t.’
‘I thought it sounded as if it was coming up from the sea,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘Didn’t you?’
Everyone shrugged and finished drinking their tea. Only Miss Bunce passed any more comment.
‘At Glasfynydd, it’s totally silent at night,’ she said.
Mummer looked at her and took the dirty plates and bowls out to wash.
I didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t be certain that the wind blustering around the house in the early hours hadn’t tricked my ears, but as I’d lain there in dark, I was convinced that the voices were coming from the woods.
I wondered if I ought to catch Father Bernard as everyone was leaving the dining room and tell him, but there was a crash from the kitchen and we could hear Mummer shouting.
When I went to see what had happened, she had Hanny tipped back over the sink, her fingers inside his mouth. Hanny was gripping the edge of the basin. The dish of stew that was to be eaten later that evening lay in pieces on the floor in a slick of beef and gravy.
‘Spit it out,’ Mummer said. ‘Get rid of it.’
Hanny swallowed whatever was in his mouth and Mummer gave a sigh of exasperation and let go of him.
The Loney Page 6
