Peter Clifford sat in the bus to Ballykissangel.
He looked out the window over the landscape. The hills were as green as
they always had been. His eye caught the distant glitter of a lake. The
bus shook over the road and made a sharp turn. It was a lovely day. One
of many lovely days in Ireland. Peter was glad it didn't rain. He couldn't
have done this if it was raining. Six years ago he had driven this way
and three years ago he walked it backwards. For three years he had been
the curate of the small town and now he was returning. He didn't tell anybody
he was coming. In fact, he wasn't even sure any of his friends would be
there. Brendan had had plans of moving to Dublin to become head teacher
once. Brian was always busy starting up companies, maybe he had taken his
challenge elsewhere.
The bus made another turn. "Ballykay coming up," the driver called.
Peter picked up his rucksack. He forced himself not to look out the front window. He knew the bridge over the river Angel would be there and behind it Fitzgeralds, the local pub. If it was still called so. As far as he knew the pub didn't belong to Fitzgerald anymore.
The bus stopped and Peter got out. When he put his feet to the ground he was overwhelmed with memories. The village was just as he remembered it. At the end of the bridge across the street Fitzgerald's with its typically yellow walls and blue highlights. Opposite to it the police office and Hendley's, the local store. Up the road surrounded by trees the tower of St. Joseph's and a little further the National School. Under his feet the river Angel brought its water to the sea.
And it was quiet. No, it wasn't. A car came down the road, stopped in front of the pub and a man came out, followed by a young girl. They went into the pub. Peter never knew children were allowed in it. He picked up his rucksack and started walking towards the pub. His first reaction was to glance through the window, but then he saw a man's bike against the bench. It was unmistakable the bike of Brendan. And that yellow truck a few yards up the road, wasn't that Siobhan's car, the local vet?
Peter opened the blue hotel entrance of the pub. He half expected to see Assumpta behind the bar, pouring some drinks or chatting with the costumers, but there was no one. Peter automatically looked at the far end of the bar. Indeed as he was hoping there where some faces he had missed for three years. Siobhan, Brendan, Liam and Donal hung over a newspaper and didn't notice Peter coming in. The rest of the pub was empty. Peter put his rucksack in one of the chairs by the fireplace and took a few steps in direction of the bar.
"Run up the usual suspects," he said. Immediately they all looked up.
"Father Clifford?" Donal said first.
"Are you still propping up the bar? You must be a local monument by now," Peter replied.
"Peter, what are you doing here?" Brendan said while he left his seat and walked over to Peter. He shook his hands. "How are you?"
"I don't know, actually," Peter said. "I guess I got homesick. Siobhan, Liam, Donal."
"Hey," they said.
"Oonagh!" Brendan called. "Customer!"
A woman in her early forties came out of the kitchen. She had half long black hair and a friendly face.
"Oonagh, this is Peter Clifford. An old friend of ours. The usual?" he asked Peter. Peter nodded.
"A pint of lager, please."
Oonagh nodded and poured him his drink. Peter took a seat and Brendan sat down too.
"Peter used to be the local priest three years ago," Siobhan told Oonagh who looked at Peter questionably.
"It's quiet in here," Peter quickly chanced subject. He didn't yet want to tell this stranger what had happened.
"This is all there's left of us," Donal answered.
"Oh?"
"Except for Michael Ryan and Kathleen Hendley."
"Padraig left last year after Kevin moved to live with his mother in Dublin, Ambrose died in an accident after which Niamh married Sean Dillon and moved to Dublin too and Brian Quigley took his own life after he went bankrupt. That was only four months ago," Brendan told him shortly. "The pub has been sold to Oonagh and her husband Paul. They live here with their two children."
"One of them is a girl?"
"Yes."
"Then I saw them go in just before me," Peter explained.
"Yes, that were Paul and our daughter Grainne. We also have a boy, Dermot," Oonagh said.
"Nice names," Peter replied.
"And what have you been doing, Father?" Liam asked.
"Travelling mostly," Peter said. "I first spent a few months with my brother Andrew. Then I went to Scotland, Australia, South Africa, The States, Canada and India. I just went where they needed a priest and when I had enough of it, I moved. Now I'm having a holiday and I decided to come here. To see how you were doing."
"Oh, we're doing fine, Father," Siobhan said. "We've missed you."
"And I missed you," Peter said. His eyes wandered through the pub. It was exactly as he remembered it. He still expected Assumpta to come out the kitchen every moment, or the door to open and Niamh to enter. But they didn't, obviously. Peter took a draught and put his empty glass at the bar. He took a deep breath and then asked Brendan what he had actually came for.
"Brendan, you know what day today is?"
Brendan had seen the look in Peter's eyes when Oonagh came out the kitchen in stead of Assumpta and he nodded.
"Will you show me?"
Peter and Brendan walked up the street to the churchyard.
"You still think about her?" Brendan asked.
Peter nodded. "Every day. That's why I couldn't stay in all those places I've been. I've been avoiding Ireland, but something forced me to go back. I just have to know where she's buried, maybe then I can forget her."
"It hasn't been easy for us either. First losing Assumpta and then you. Maybe that hurt us even worse. But we managed. Quigley bought Fitzgerald's and Niamh ran it for two years. Then she fell in love with Sean Dillon. I think they would have had a divorce if Ambrose hadn't fallen off the rock. He died in the crash. And a few months ago Brian Quigley disappeared. Liam and Donal found his clothes on the beach. We believe he took his life after he had gone bankrupt, but his body is never found. Guard Sullivan is still searching."
"Guard Sullivan?"
"Yes, she came after Ambrose. Her first name is Frankie. A handful! But she's well respected in town."
"Who's the curate now?"
"Vincent Sheedan. He's from Australia. Nice fellow, but I liked Fr Aiden better. He was more like you."
Peter smiled. It was strange to be back in a town that he knew and yet not knew.
"I'd like to meet him later today," he said referring to Fr Sheedan. They reached the church.
"You want to go in?" Brendan asked.
"Not yet. Maybe later. There are too many memories in it."
Brendan nodded and they moved along to the churchyard. Peter felt nervous. He had never seen Assumpta's grave before. He didn't even knew she had been buried. It wouldn't had surprised him if Brendan had told him she had been cremated. But he was glad that she wasn't. Now there was a place to go to. It was quiet at the yard. Most of the graves had flowers on it. Brendan walked over to a grave under a fir-tree.
"This is Ambrose's grave," he said quietly.
Peter looked at the stone. It hadn't much on it. Just Ambrose's name, his date of birth and the date of his death. It was the simply phrase that stroke Peter. "Bye Daddy".
"He didn't die a happy man, did he?" Peter said.
Brendan shook his head. He sighed and glanced at the cloudless sky.
Peter stared at the grave for a few moments.
"May you rest in peace, Ambrose." Then he looked at Brendan. His face said enough and Brendan led him to a colourful grave in the corner of the graveyard.
"Here it is," he said. Lots of flowers lay on the sand. A heart shaped tomb stone stood at the head of the grave. It showed a picture of Assumpta and the words: Assumpta Fitzgerald 1972-1998. It all came back to him for the hundredth time. The talk they had in Niamh's kitchen, the fight later that night, the talk by the lake and the moment he found her death at the bottom of the ladder, executed by a stupid fusebox. Peter clenched his fist and fought the tears. But they came. All those years the had travelled, away from this place, away from the confrontation with the truth. It was true. She was dead and here she lay, buried underneath lots of flowers of the people who had loved her all her life. And most importantly, buried next to her parents. Peter sank to his knees and put a hand on the ground. It felt warm in the burning sun. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Peter didn't feel them. He only felt the love for Assumpta run through his body.
"I still love you," he whispered. "I never stopped and I now know I never can stop loving you. I'll stay here so I can be close to you. Where ever you are, help me get through this pain. We'll make it. I'll make it."
Brendan has put his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter now raised his hand and put it over Brendan's. With his other hand he first wiped his tears and then turned to face Brendan. "Let's go inside," he said.
St Joseph's hadn't changed a bit. The familiar red altar, the statue of the Virgin with the burning candles in front of it and the confessionals, they were all still there. There was no-one inside. Peter walked up to the front and automatically kneeled down and made a cross. When he realised what he was doing he grinned at Brendan. "Sorry, old habit."
In the back of the church sounded footsteps. "Don't see you often here on weekdays, Brendan," a voice called.
The men turned their heads and saw the curate approach.
"Father Sheedan, this is Peter Clifford," Brendan introduced him.
"He was the curate here three years ago. Peter, this is Vincent Sheedan, our new priest."
"Father," Peter said while they shook hands.
"Nice to meet you," Vincent said. "You are visiting old friends?"
"That's right."
"I was getting something from the sacristy so I won't keep you," Vincent said. "It was a pleasure." He nodded goodbye and left them.
"So, what's next?" Brendan asked.
After they left the church they walked back to Fitzgerald's.
Just before they wanted to enter the pub they heard a voice calling.
"Father Clifford, is it you?"
They turned around and saw Kathleen Hendley came out of her shop. She was smiling all over her face when she approached them.
"Father Cliiford, what an honour to see you again."
"Kathleen, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine father. Perfect. And you?"
"Fine too."
"Are you visiting Ballykay?"
"I'm looking up some old friends, yeah."
"Well, I have customers inside. Nice speaking to you father." Kathleen smiled at him again and then went back in.
More cars had arrived at the pub and when they entered there were a lot of people in. Siobhan was still at the bar.
"Nice spot, isn't it?" She asked when they had taken their seats.
Peter nodded.
"It was good to see it," he said. He beckoned Oonagh.
"What can I get you?" he asked Brendan and Siobhan.
"Three pints of stout, please Oonagh," Siobhan ordered for them.
"And a room for me please," Peter added. Brendan looked at Peter.
"You're staying here? I have a spare room left, if you like."
"No," Peter said. "I think it's best that I spent tonight here. As a sort of finale."
"You're not staying?"
Peter laughed and raised his glass.
"Never say never!"
FINIS