Turbulent Priests Part 23

*I mean . . .'

*Rabbits,' he said. *We're coming down with the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, Dan. Just doing my bit to help. I'm surprised n.o.body realised.'

I wasn't absolutely convinced by his story. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. There was a split shotgun in the back seat of his car and, sure, he had four b.l.o.o.d.y carca.s.ses lying on some plastic sheeting in the boot, but I still had my doubts. I supposed great white rabbit hunters (that's the hunters, not the rabbits) could go shooting at night-time, using their car lights to blind the rabbits or guide the shooting, but I had my doubts about how successful such an expedition would have been in the fog. Perhaps he'd managed to bag them before it descended.

I didn't even know if they were rabbits.

But I suppose I was too happy about Little Stevie to split hares.

*They're such a b.l.o.o.d.y hardy lot,' he said, bending back into the vehicle for his keys.

*The rabbits?'

*The people. They seldom have any use for me. I suppose I should have let Mrs McTeague know where I was going, but she's such a dozy old biddy it seemed pretty pointless. Anyway,' he said, abruptly changing the subject, *what about you, lad? Howse the head?'

*Fine.'

*Told you. Okay then, we'll take a look at this kiddie, will we? Told me down home there'd been a bit of a miracle. What do you say?'

*I really couldn't say. I don't see them that often.'

He gave me a thin smile. *Of course,' he said, and walked ahead of me into the cottage. *Moira has my case, has she? Good on her.'

Father Flynn had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs. On the narrow settee Moira and Patricia were chatting animatedly, a pot of tea on a tray balanced precariously on a small stool before them. They both turned and looked at me and for a very brief moment I thought perhaps they'd been discussing me and my propensity for unfaithfulness, but then I realised that Moira's head was still attached to her shoulders and not nailed to the wall, so she mustn't have brought it up.

Christine was tickling Little Stevie on the floor.

*Well!' boomed the doctor, bending down and scooping the baby up. *Let's see the wee man then.'

Flynn bounded suddenly from his chair. *Whoooooah!' he shouted.

We stood in shock for a moment. Then the priest reddened up. *I'm sorry. I was asleep.'

We all nodded sympathetically at him. He sat down again. Dr Finlay took the baby into the bedroom to give him a thorough examination. Flynn tried to follow, but the doctor insisted on privacy. Patricia and Moira returned to their chat. I strolled out into the garden.

I walked round to the side of the cottage and found the box in which Patricia had placed the hedgehog. It was empty save for some leaves and a side plate.

Then Flynn was at my elbow. As I turned, he stifled a yawn. *Sorry,' he said, *I'm not as fit as I used to be.'

*You didn't used to be fit. You had a heart transplant.'

*You know what I mean.'

We looked at the garden for a while. The jungle. I shook my head at it. A jungle it would remain. I had once tried to weed a window box by spraying petrol on it from a soda siphon and setting fire to it. A neighbour had called the Fire Brigade. It wasn't even my house. I was just pa.s.sing by and trying to be helpful.

*You know,' Flynn said, *you've had quite an impact, and you're only here a few days.'

*Aye,' I said.

*First you save Christine's life. Then she saves your son's. I hope you're writing all this down.'

I nodded. I would have to. Once I bought a quill.

*We were hoping a the Parish Council, that is a we were hoping that you'd come along to our meeting tomorrow night.'

*Oh aye, what's up?'

*Just our regular weekly meeting. But there's been so much happening that we have to talk about. And there's a lot would like to meet you properly, and thank you for what you've done. Would you come along?'

*Love to,' I said.

Patricia stood in the hall, cradling Little Stevie. It was the first time we'd been alone since he'd taken ill.

*Happy?' I asked.

She smiled at the baby. *Relieved.'

*Do you think it was a miracle?'

*I don't care, Dan, as long as he's alive.'

*Fevers break,' I said.

*I know.'

*Rashes disappear.'

*I know.'

*It happens.'

*I know.'

*But . . .'

*I know it.'

24.

Of course I was late. Patricia and I bickered the whole way. My driving too fast in the fog, which stubbornly refused to lift. My clothes. My lack of a.s.sistance with the little one. My attempts at a.s.sistance with the little one. The little one cried healthily throughout.

I wore black jeans and a black shirt and my black zip bomber jacket. My wife wore culottes. For fifteen years I thought a culotte was a badly p.r.o.nounced idiot, but then you learn something new every day. She looked lovely.

I dropped Patricia and the baby halfway up the hill at the end of the narrow lane which led to the schoolhouse. She'd accepted an invitation to a gathering of the church mothers. I was surprised that she'd accepted so readily. Before, she'd have laughed heartily at the suggestion that she might get involved with the sort of women who spent their time discussing the social history of linen or how to create flower arrangements depicting a five-point fall in the Dow Jones Index. Maybe giving birth changes you. Maybe having a six-pound ginger bap fighting his way sideways out of your birth ca.n.a.l for eight hours f.u.c.ks up your mental faculties. I don't know. Maybe men and women are just different.

She gave me a sarcastic smile and slammed the door. I blew her a sarcastic kiss then sped off in a cloud of ironic dust. Yeah.

The church loomed up out of the fog like a big churchy thing in a fog. It was cold and a little creepy. There were two other cars parked at the rear, and three bicycles were propped up against the wall. I locked the car, stepped up to the hall door and knocked. A bolt was pulled back and the same curly-haired man who'd opened the door to me before stuck his head out.

*Yup?'

*Dan Starkey. I was invited . . .'

He smiled. *Of course. Come on in.'

He stepped back, held the door open for me. Inside there were a dozen men grouped around a long table. All eyes were upon me. Flynn's. Father White's. Twenty others. Twenty-two, in fact, for beyond the table, in a single chair, set lower than the rest, sat Constable Murtagh. I hadn't been formally introduced, so I ignored him.

I smiled. *I'm sorry I'm late, I . . .'

Father Flynn, at the head of the table, stood up. *Gentlemen,' he said, *this is Dan Starkey. The saviour of the saviour.'

The councillors stood immediately and turned eager faces towards me. I was enveloped by a spontaneous round of applause.

I put up my hand modestly. *Please,' I said.

The clapping got louder.

*Well done, that man,' said someone.

I did what I do best in difficult situations. I shrugged.

After a century or two it died down. They sat. As they did, I noted that the police officer had not stood at all.

*Please, Dan,' said Father Flynn, *take a chair.' He indicated one at his side. *We're all indebted to you.'

Flynn quickly ran down their names and professions for my benefit: butcher, baker, candlestick maker. I wasn't really taking it in. I wasn't used to being the centre of attention. I nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled.

One, Carl Christie, bearded, solemn-faced, reached laboriously across the table and shook my hand. *Is the baby all well again then?' he enquired sombrely. He ran the Credit Union.

*Seems fine,' I said.

*And the doctor's seen him?'

*He has. Says he's fine.'

*And would he be agreeing it's a miracle?'

*I really couldn't say.'

*What did he say?'

*Just that he couldn't find any trace of anything wrong.'

*But he didn't think it was a miracle?'

*He didn't say.'

He turned to the rest of the table and shook his head slowly. Several others shook too. The curly-haired man, Michael Savage, wrote something in a spiral-bound notebook.

Father Flynn raised his hands. *Before we begin, we'll say a prayer.'

Heads bowed. He began. I watched. Father White watched me. He was the only one with his eyes open. I held his gaze. It wasn't malevolent, exactly, just kind of stern. As they came to the end of the prayer he finally closed his eyes and repeated amen with the rest of them.

Then they launched into half an hour of discussing items on a curiously mundane agenda. A parish fete. Secretary's report. Honorary treasurer's report. Minister's report. Births: none. Marriages: none. Deaths: one.

*Constable Murtagh,' Flynn said, *would you care to address us on this subject? A tragedy, I'm sure we all agree.'

There were nods all around the table. If any of them were feeling guilty it didn't show. Murtagh rose slowly to his feet. *My investigations,' he said lugubriously, *are continuing.' He paused, and for a moment it looked like that was all we were getting. *But at the moment everything points to an accidental death.'

*Was he drunk?' Father White asked.

*Not according to Dr Finlay. It does look as if his caravan broke loose from its, uhm, moorings and toppled over the side. However, I will make my report to my superiors and it will be up to them to decide if it warrants any further investigation. There will also have to be a full post-mortem on the mainland. We will get the body across as soon as we can.'

There were murmurs from around the table, but n.o.body spoke. Murtagh took his seat again and Flynn stood. *And now,' Flynn asked, *is there any other business?'

Several hands went up. Flynn pointed first to Michael Fogerty, the butcher. Rotund, bull-like, he nodded in my direction. *We obviously owe a lot to Mr Starkey, but I was wondering about the dish?'

I furrowed.

So did Flynn. *The . . .?'

*The satellite dish.'

*Ah. Of course. Your dish, Dan. Noticed it myself.'

*What of it?'

*I'm afraid it'll have to go.'

I looked quickly round their nodding heads. *For why?'

*It's against the law,' said Carl Christie.

*What law?'

*Parish law,' said Flynn.

I cleared my throat. *Oh,' I said, *I didn't know.' I looked around the table, rather sheepishly. *And, would that, like, stand up in, y'know . . . court?' I tried not to make it sound too obstreperous.

*Very well, actually.' Flynn laughed. *In our court. And ours is the only one that matters here. With all due respect to Constable Murtagh.' He nodded across at the policeman, who sat impa.s.sively. *The simple thing is, Dan, we're trying to create as near perfect an environment as we can for Christine to grow up in, and we believe that your satellite dish might threaten that environment.'