The Loney Part 6

'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 G.o.d. A chance to cleanse the soul.'

He held Mummer lightly by the shoulders. 'Mrs Smith,' he said. 'Rest a.s.sured 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 b.u.g.g.e.r 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 pa.s.sed 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 empty 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 gla.s.ses 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.

'h.e.l.lo, 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 m.u.f.fled. 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 c.h.i.n.king 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d's help to be patient with Reg. He'll tell you what's wrong in his own time.'