Turbulent Priests Part 13

Moira shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in a small gla.s.s ashtray. There were five or six others in it. *Yeah, sure, any time. Sure, why don't you walk down the hill with us, and tell me what you'll need?'

*Yeah. Great. If you don't mind.'

*Not at all,' Moira said.

I winked down at Christine.

Christine turned her face up to her mother. *He has a hedgehog,' she said.

Moira lit another cigarette as we left the churchyard and began descending the hill towards the harbour. Christine skipped happily in front of us. Flynn remained at the church.

*You look a little pale,' Moira said.

I felt a little pale. Unexpected references to small spiky animals tend to do that to me. I looked up at the sky. *We writers don't get to see much of the sun. We spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.'

*You must work very hard.'

*No, generally we just spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.' Moira smiled politely. I nodded at Christine. *She seems a very happy wee girl.'

*She is.'

*Of course, she should be, seeing as how she's the daughter of G.o.d.'

Moira stopped. *I thought you might be taking that line.'

*What line?'

*The cynical line.'

*Who mentioned cynical?'

*You don't have to mention it. It's an att.i.tude. It's written all over you.'

I shrugged as nonchalantly as the situation allowed. I would have to do something to combat the cynicism. It wouldn't do my cause any good. I wanted to get on with these people. I might one day want to shamelessly exploit them for large amounts of cash.

*I'm sorry,' I said, *I'm afraid it tends to go with the territory. I'm trying to develop an open mind. Any help you can give me would be much appreciated. And remember, when this gets out, it won't just be one cynic like me you'll have to contend with a there's millions of them out there. And that's just in Belfast.'

Moira flicked her cigarette b.u.t.t out into the road. *We'll see,' she said simply. We started walking again. *So what will you be wanting to know?'

*Everything, I suppose. Everything you're prepared to tell me. Are you prepared to tell me everything?'

*Frank seems to trust you. I don't see why not.'

*Good. Much appreciated. I'm not really that bad. What about your husband, will he . . .?'

*What husband?'

*Oh.'

*Oh . . . what?'

*Oh, nothing. I . . .'

*You just presumed.'

*I just . . .'

*This is the twentieth century, y'know . . .'

*What, on Wrathlin? Are you sure?'

She smiled. *Okay, fair point, but . . .'

I pointed skywards. *You mean He's the only . . .'

*Mr Starkey . . .'

*Dan . . . please.'

*Dan . . . Christine was conceived during a time when I was having a relationship with a man on this island. A single man. That relationship is now over. Somewhere along the line G.o.d got involved, and I bore His child. I don't know the whys or the hows or the biology . . . I didn't feel the earth move . . . the heavens didn't split open and bathe me in angelic light . . . but I know as sure as I'm standing here that Christine is G.o.d's child and I will do everything within my power to protect her, to bring her up properly until the time comes for her to inherit the . . .' She cut herself off, laughed lightly, almost embarra.s.sed.

*The earth,' I said, and gave her a little smile. I tried not to make it seem too cynical. *And when do you think that might be?'

*I have no idea. At the moment she's just a perfectly ordinary little girl . . .'

*Although she's done a few mirkles.'

*. . . just a perfectly ordinary little girl who happens to have performed a few miracles . . . just a perfectly ordinary little girl who has no real idea of her own destiny, of her own potential . . .'

*But when . . .'

*Dan, there's no timetable for things like this. It's only happened once before, and we messed it up then. Frank thinks we might see her coming into her own around about the time of p.u.b.erty. Girls grow up so much more quickly than boys.'

*It could be one h.e.l.l of a first period then.'

*If you wish to reduce it to that level, well, yes, it could.'

Christine was out on the road now, kicking her sandalled feet through the gravel.

*Ma,' she called, *come 'n' play.'

*Get off the road then. What have I told you about playing on the road?'

I stepped off the path and reached a hand out to her. She stepped back and kicked some gravel at me.

*That's not very nice, now, is it?' I said.

She gave a mischievous smile. *Yes,' she said.

*I'll give you a good slappin', girl,' said Moira, wagging a finger.

*Are you allowed to do that?' I asked.

*Of course I am.' She gave a wink. *The good thing is, Christine then has to turn the other cheek.'

*And does she?'

*Of course not.' Moira laughed. *She doesn't know who she is yet.'

Christine reached out and took my hand. *Will you play with me?' she asked.

*Of course,' I said, and kicked some gravel over her sandals. She squealed with pleasure and pulled away.

*You're asking for trouble,' Moira warned.

I took a step towards Christine. She took a step back, then raised her foot ready to aim some more gravel at me.

I took another step forward, stopped, raised my foot to attack.

We faced each other, smiling, mock-frowning, eyes locked. Moira walked ahead. The only sound was the gentle breeze, the far-off cry of a gull and . . . and something . . . whooshy . . . whooshy . . . which for a second confused me, something familiar yet strange, like blowing through a comb . . . getting closer . . . closer . . . and then I twigged . . . a sound I remembered best from childhood games and I looked quickly behind me, back up the hill, and in that moment it was already too late to do anything about it.

The woman from outside the church was racing down the incline on her bike, her legs firing like mighty pistons, her fat form raised off the saddle, her head and chest bent down over the handlebars, her hair flying behind her, mouth gaping, eyes fixed horribly wide behind her gla.s.ses. She was screaming.

She was not out of control.

She was in control, and coming straight for me.

Only at the very last moment did she veer away, but before I could even think Thank Christ I knew that her change of direction was no accident.

She was aiming for Christine. Dead centre.

The little girl stared at her, transfixed.

Moira turned, already screaming, but she was too late, she was too far away.

14.

A whiff of alcohol, a sniff, a pale imitation of the real thing, a hint of booze consumed, attacked by the stomach's natural acids and belched back up as an unattractive, stale, harrowing gas. But alcohol, nevertheless. A suggestion of barley. Of Scottish Highland streams. Of smoky back bars. Of chat and crack. I opened my eyes. Fluttered them in the harsh fluorescent light. A pain in my head. A dryness in my mouth. A shadow to my left, moving closer. I tried to focus.

*h.e.l.lo,' the face said. Jocular. A swollen, deep-jowelled, crusty-eyed face. And a white coat. *I'm Dr Finlay.'

I croaked.

I was lying on a black leather couch. There were various certificates on the wall. A bookcase. Dr Finlay's bookcase.

*How are you feeling?' he asked.

*Sore,' I whispered.

*That's understandable.'

*How . . . ahm . . . where . . . uuuh . . . how long have . . .?'

The doctor shook his head kindly. *You've been unconscious for about six hours. I sent a message to your wife a told her you were okay and not to worry. Can I get you a wee whiskey?'

The room was too bright for my sore head. *You must be able to read minds,' I said.

He shook his head. *I read lips.'

I scrunched my brow. *I didn't ask for . . .'

*No, but I saw you licking your lips, the cla.s.sic sign of an alcoholic.'

*I'm no alcoholic.'

*Oh, no offence.' He had been perched on the side of the couch. Now he stood up and crossed to a mirrored wall cabinet. He opened the door and examined the rows of bottles within. Little brown medicine bottles. Unencouraging little brown medicine bottles. *You won't want a drink then?'

*On the contrary. I'd love one.'

A memory stirred in me suddenly. The enormous woman. Her screaming face. The rush of the wind through the spokes of her bike. The squeal of pain that came from one of us. Or both of us. *I think I was run over.'

He gave a throaty laugh. *You were. By a whale on a bicycle.'

He turned. He had a small bottle in his hands. A pill bottle.

*About that drink . . .' I said.

*What drink?'

*The whiskey.'

*What whiskey?'

*You offered me . . .'

*I was only checking if you were concussed. But you seem quite capable of reasoned conversation. You're fine. You'll have a sore head. But I'll give you some of these. They'll do you rightly. Then you're free to leave.'

*So there's no drink?'

*No. Only medicine.'