When I got back to the house, Father Bernard was there, carefully rolling apples out of the bib he had made with the bottom of his coat onto the table. He looked up as I came in and underarmed one of them to me. I quickly took my hands out of my pockets and caught it.
‘Where did you get these from?’ I asked.
‘Outside.’
‘Outside here?’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Every tree’s full of fruit.’
‘How can they be?’
‘Perhaps they’re a type that comes early, I don’t know. Aren’t you going to eat it?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said and took a bite from the one that he had been buffing on his sleeve. Juice ran down his chin and he made a cup with his other hand to catch it.
‘Was Clement alright?’ I asked.
‘Aye, I think so,’ replied Father Bernard, flicking out a handkerchief. ‘He didn’t say much, to be honest.’
‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’ I said.
‘What? About witches and lucky charms?’ he replied, giving me a half smile as he wiped his chin. ‘Come on, Tonto.’
‘He seemed frightened all the same,’ I said.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with Clement and those other fellers. Probably nothing. I can’t imagine why on earth they’d want to intimidate him, or us for that matter. But it’s obvious that they’re keeping a close eye on what we’re doing and I think your mother and Mr Belderboss may be right. It’s probably best if we don’t get involved. If I were you, I’d stay away from them and from Coldbarrow.’
‘Maybe we ought to leave, Father,’ I said, taking the opportunity to plant the idea into his head, hoping it might germinate before Parkinson had a chance to pay us another visit. Once we were back in London, they could do what they liked to Moorings. Burn the place to the ground for all I cared.
‘You know what, Tonto,’ said Father Bernard. ‘Between you and me, I’m so exhausted I’d be away back home tonight if I could, but I might very well find myself out of a job tomorrow. And anyway, don’t you want to take Andrew to the shrine?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘There you are then,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to do the full stretch.’
The door to the dining room opened and Mummer was there.
‘Father,’ she said. ‘I’d like a word with you.’
‘Alright.’
‘In private.’
‘Now?’
‘If that’s convenient.’
‘Is that alright with you, Tonto?’ he said, catching Mummer’s eye as he spoke and I nodded, feeling a little awkward that I was caught in the middle.
Father Bernard left with Mummer and they went down the hallway to his room. After a moment I took up my place in the understairs cupboard and waited for them to speak. Neither of them said anything until Father Bernard started to draw the curtain around the washbasin.
‘There’s no need for that, Father,’ said Mummer. ‘I’ve not come for confession.’
‘Oh, well would you like to sit down anyway?’ I heard Father Bernard say.
‘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.’