‘Amongst Friends’ really struck me as being a hasty mumbo-jumbo of scenes with the sole purpose of getting rid of Peter
Clifford.  If they wanted to get rid of him, they should have killed him off as well.  There is a lot of drama left for the character.
Too much to leave in limbo. Needless to say, I like my version better (even if the characters may end up sounding too
American. If so, then adjust).  This was a wonderful way of passing the time on countless airplanes.  Hopefully there are no
effects of long hours at 35,000 feet visible in this tale.

I had written this ten months ago (Oct 99) after I saw series four and it was framed around the story of Ambrose trying to save
his marriage but nothing was working.  He finally decided to find Peter as a last ditch effort since he had brought them back
together before.  Then, they kill off Ambrose so there went that story line…
 

DAY ONE - FRIDAY

Peter leaned against the door.  He was vaguely aware of the smell of his wet woolen suit but didn’t care.  Since leaving
Cilldargen after identifying Assumpta’s body, he just let himself be ruled by grief.  He could hardly see where he was walking
between the rain and his tears. The rain was welcome.  It reflected his mood.  He kept asking himself over and over what he
could have done different.  After all, he himself had seen that bloody fuse box.  He had been down in the cellar even when
Assumpta was working on it last Monday night.  But he hadn’t noticed that she was using pliers without insulation and using
both hands to pry the fuse in or out.  Blast it, he was a priest not an electrician!

Yeah, that’s right…was a priest…past tense.

He thought back to his Mom’s death.  He had wanted go to her as soon as he heard she had taken ill but, no, he had to baby
sit Father Mac instead.  He had to be the good priest. Vocation first, family second.  It was more than a job, after all.  It was
his chosen lifestyle, for all the good that did.  In two weeks, he had lost the two people dearest to his heart.  How would he
ever get over that?

Peter went in to the kitchen and sat at the table.  He sat there for quite a while just staring at the wall.  Eventually, he got up and
put the kettle on for some tea.  He went to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror and saw a face dirty with tracks of
tears.  Although ordinarily a very clean person, he just turned and walked back into the kitchen sitting down once again at the
table.  He soon became aware of a whistling sound and realized it was the kettle.  He got up and turned the burner off but just
stared at the kettle. Going through the motions, he made a cup of tea but couldn’t bring himself to drink it.  He set it in the sink
and left the room.

He went upstairs to bed.  Lying down with his face buried in his pillow, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

Father Mac walked up to the curate’s house.  Even though it was after ten in the morning, there was no obvious sign of life.  He
wasn’t surprised.  Doc Ryan had told him that Father Clifford looked spent.  Who wouldn’t after being out all night in any
circumstances? But, he shouldn’t have been left alone.  Not that Father Mac had any concern that his curate would top
himself.  Still, someone needed to be with him.  He knocked softly at the door and, of course, received no response.  The
house was unlocked.

Closing the door after him, he surveyed the house.  Father Clifford was not downstairs, although it was obvious he had been for
at least a little while.  There was a tea towel crumpled up on the table.  The chair was pushed back at an angle.  A kettle was
on the stove.  Father Mac went over and was surprised to find it still a little warm.  He looked over to the sink and saw a cup
of tea in the sink.  My God, he couldn’t have been awake all this time?  He poured out the water, refilled it, and set it back
on the stove to make himself some tea.

He walked quietly upstairs just to check on the curate.  Peter was lying on the bed partly on his side, partly on his back, still in
his suit but sound asleep.  Father Mac could smell the wet wool from the doorway.  He found a blanket to put over him and
went to the window to pull the drapes closed.  He unplugged the phone on the nightstand so there would be no disturbance.

Pausing in the doorway, he regarded the prone figure, as if seeing him for the first time.  He looked exhausted even in sleep.
He also seemed to have lost some weight.  But the tracks of tears on his face were the most poignant.  Father Mac wondered
idly if he himself would ever care that much for another person as it was obvious Father Clifford did.  Not even Eileen would
have prompted me to that much grief, he thought as he closed the door behind him.

Sipping his tea in the kitchen, he thought once again about Eileen.  He had been 30 and St. Joseph’s was his first solo church,
as it had been for Father Clifford.  Unlike his curate though, he was from the area so Ballyk was not a brand new world.  He
had already known some of the people, including Assumpta’s parents.  The church was richer in those days and the curate’s
house came with a housekeeper, Eileen.  He found himself in love with her but, unlike Father Clifford, pursued her and won
her…all in secret, of course.  No one knew.  That is, no one except Kathleen Hendley.  She exposed them to the parish priest
who forced him to choose between Eileen and the priesthood.  It wasn’t going to be Eileen.  If I had known she was
pregnant, would that have made the difference, he mused?  Probably not.  I would have denied that, too.  He never did
confess that affair and, as time passed, it seemed like it never happened.

Until Father Clifford’s crisis started, that is.  It forced him to confront the past he didn’t want to and, so, he had another reason
to be angry with the curate for forcing it up again---not that his curate knew anything about it, however.  He did admire Peter
for having the courage to face the issue and talk about it to his superior.  I couldn’t give him sympathy though.

Father Mac heard a knock.  Answering it, he was as surprised to find Kathleen at the door as she was to find him answering it.

"I saw your car here, Father Mac.  I didn’t want to trouble Father Clifford, but it is eleven o’clock and the church is still locked
up.  There is no sign of him.  Is he here?"

"Yes, worn out and fast asleep, Kathleen.  Here are the keys," he said as he reached into his pocket for them.  "Open the place
up and, if you would, see if Father Clifford’s appointment book is in the sacristy.  I can’t seem to find it here.  Would you bring
it to me?"

"Sure, Father.  It is a good thing you are doing to stay with him.  He shouldn’t be alone after what happened last night."

"Surprisingly charitable of you, Kathleen."  And it was.

"You’re a good man, Father," she said and walked away.  Father Mac watched her go. She didn’t care for Father Clifford any
more than he did.  Ah, well…

When he got the book, he sat down with the phone and started making calls to clear the schedule for the next three or four
days.  He didn’t think Father Clifford would be good for anything at least until then.  Those things he couldn’t change, like
Mass, confession, he worked with the other two priests and got everything covered.  Finally, he made a call to Bishop Costello
to tell him about what had happened.

The Bishop listened.  As with most members of the clergy, he fully understood Father Clifford’s situation.  He went into his
office to the personnel records and pulled out his file.  As he remembered it, there had been nothing but good to excellent
evaluations.  There had been no indication of a "female problem".  It read as the record of a man who was completely at ease
with himself and his chosen vocation.  He wondered what all had happened to him in Ballyk.  He knew Father Mac didn’t care
much for this curate but he trusted Father Mac to still provide the support as needed. Still, it had been quite a while since he
had seen Father Clifford.  He had heard that his mother had recently died as well.  Perhaps it is time to pay him a visit.

Niamh hesitated in front of the door finally deciding to knock.  Father Mac answered.

"How is Father Clifford, Father?"

"Asleep.  Come in, please."

"It’s good there is someone with him. Ambrose said he looked simply awful when he found him up the road."

"Not surprising, is it?"

"No.  I know the feeling well myself.  If I didn’t have Kieran and Ambrose, it would be so much harder.  Now, he has no one
to turn to."

They went to sit down at the kitchen table.  Father Mac served her some tea.  "He cared for Assumpta, didn’t he?"

"He cared for everyone, Father.  Everyone except himself, it seems."

Father Mac nodded in agreement and then asked, "How are you holding up, Niamh?"

"Better than he is, Father…Can I go upstairs to see him?"

"He’s probably asleep, but, yes, go ahead."

Niamh went upstairs and quietly knocked on the door.  She opened it and went in.  As expected, Peter was still asleep.  Niamh
saw his face and felt tears coming down hers.  She walked over to the chair and sat down letting her thoughts wander about
Assumpta.

If she ever had any doubts before that Father Clifford loved Assumpta, they were now gone. Assumpta always wanted what
she couldn’t have.  Now, she’s gone and ruined his life because of it.  Still, she couldn’t really blame her friend.  This man
was one of the handsomest men and certainly the handsomest priest Niamh had ever seen.  All the women in the village would
agree.  Many of them regretted that he was a priest.

Eventually Peter stirred and stretched.  He looked around his room and noticed Niamh but did not say anything to her.  Not
getting up, he put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

"Father Clifford?"

"He’s gone…Why are you here, Niamh?"

"I didn’t think you should be alone, Father."

No response.

"Father, I know what you’re going through."

No response.

"She was my friend, too."

Peter tried to hold back the tears.  Will they never stop?  Niamh got up and went over to sit down beside Peter.  "I know you
cared for her.  I know she also cared about you."

Peter turned to face her and rose up to embrace her.  He put his head on her shoulders and just cried.  Niamh held him and
cried with him.  When they finally pulled apart, Niamh got up and asked him if he wanted some tea.  When he said that he
would, she went to get it leaving him sitting on the side of his bed.

He was still there when she came back.  He took the cup of tea and held it for a while.  There were no thoughts, just numbness
inside of him.

Niamh finally broke the silence.  "I know this isn’t the best time to ask, but, are we still having Kieran christened tomorrow?"

Peter stopped mid-sip and slowly lowered the cup. "Niamh…" he began.

"You promised," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "Things change."

"Life goes on."

"Live it."  He stared into the cup.

"Why can’t you do this for Kieran?"

He lifted his head to look at her and answered, "Niamh…do you understand? I don’t know how much of the whole rigmarole I
believe in anymore."

"Catholicism?"

He nodded sadly.

"Why should you be any different?"

Peter looked at her in amazement.

"I mean," she continued, "I prefer a priest that believes in the Creator of all things, but I’m not picky…Did Assumpta make you
lose faith?"

"No, not at all… No, it had nothing to do with Assumpta except that her words to me did bring up a lot of doubts that I
couldn’t resolve."

"Well, you’ll get there, Father, but until you do…"

He didn’t want sympathy or pity.  "Niamh…"

"Until you do, I hope you’ll fight your demons out among your friends."

He considered that but then shook his head and said, "Niamh, to put those robes on after all that has happened…to stand up in
front of everyone as a priest…I’m not sure I can.  It would be dishonest.  I think Father Clifford died last night as well."

"You gave her the Sacrament."

He reacted almost as if she had struck him.  "Don’t remind me of that.  I shouldn’t have.  But I did it for myself, not for her.
She had told me in no uncertain terms that she did not want it."  He fished in his suit pocket.  The Stoll and holy oil was still
there.  He drew them out and stared at them.  His voice became apologetic as he continued, "I couldn’t respect her wishes. I
imposed my own on her and it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry."  He threw the two items down on the bed and got
up to go downstairs.

"Father Mac, why are you here?"

"I took the liberty of clearing out your schedule for the next four days.  Just take the time, Father.  Peace will return."

Sarcasm got the better of him.  "Peace?  Whose peace?  Assumpta now has plenty of it.  Excuse me, I need a bath."

Father Mac and Niamh watched him pass by to the bathroom.

"Father, that poor man is going through hell. He doesn’t deserve it."  Niamh left.

Peter slipped into the bath and felt the water warm him through.  He hadn’t realized how cold he had been.  Not that he cared.
He just lay there ‘til the water went cold before getting around to scrubbing himself.  It did feel better to not smell like a soggy
sheep.  He put on his civvies but didn’t bother with shaving.

He walked out and was greeted by Father Mac.  "You are looking a bit better, Father," Father Mac said.  Not much better,
though.

He sat down at the table still feeling worn out, depleted.  After a bit, he looked up and asked, "What can I do for you, Father?"

"About last night…"

"What part of last night?"  For God’s sake, why are you bothering me?

"The priest part."

That question confused him since it wasn’t at all what he expected to be asked about.  "What about it? Did I perform it?"

Father Mac seemed almost reluctant to continue.  "Eventually.  Father, what if there is a next time?"

Peter just sat there, staring at his hands. He slowly nodded his head from side to side.  Then, he just sat there dejected.
"Father, I have no idea.  I don’t even know what anything means to me anymore."

There was a knock on the door and Kathleen entered with a plate of sandwiches.  "I thought you mind need these,
Father…Father."  She addressed both men.

Father Mac thanked her.

She turned directly to Father Clifford and said, "We are praying for Assumpta, Father."

He looked at her and managed a faint smile and an even fainter reply.  "Thank you."

"Take care, Father," she said to Father Clifford who would have been a bit surprised by that if he were in any condition to
notice. He wasn’t.  She left.  He stared at the sandwiches.

Father Mac was bothered by the defeat evident in his contentious curate.  He knew the extent of Peter’s feelings for the
deceased but was still shocked at his demeanor.  But the depth of loss Peter was obviously feeling also genuinely touched him.
"Father, you need to feed the physical body even if the spiritual one isn’t hungry."

"Father, the spiritual body is dead."

"Perhaps, but the physical one isn’t."

He pushed the plate over to Peter.  Reluctantly, Peter took one and ate it.  He had no idea what kind it was.  Father Mac
insisted he take another, so he did.  Tea was placed in front of him.  He drank it.  At least the tears were silent for a while.  He
got up and wandered into the living room.  After staring out the window for a long time, he went to the door.

‘Where are you going, Father?"

"I need some air, Father," Peter replied as he left his house.

Father Mac got up and watched him go.  He locked the place up and went to St. Joseph’s.  It was now about one o’clock.

Peter ended up on a ridge overlooking the lake where Assumpta and he had finally shared their feelings towards each other.
He sat wearily on a rock outcropping.

Was it only yesterday morning that we were here?  Feels like it’s been a lifetime ago.

The time I had wasted.  The life that should have been ours.

Oh, God, why did this have to happen to her?  Why did You do this?  What is the point?

He thought about what he should do now that everything had changed. Should he continue his life trying to do God’s work
when he no longer felt His love?

Continue serving God?  Why in hell should I?  I tried to be the good priest and just look at what’s happened…Where is
God now?  Or does He only come to those who don’t need Him?  I try to pray and there is nothing only silence…What is
the point of all this? What is the lesson here?… Is there in fact no God?  Or is this in fact what God is really like?
Abandoning His servants in times of their greatest need?

He no longer felt a need to serve his community.  To be honest, he no longer felt a need to do anything at all. But what could
he do if he didn’t stay in the priesthood?  He was only trained to perform rituals.  What a waste of time my life has been.  He
was handy to a point.  He could teach but that didn’t seem attractive at the moment.  He knew he had to have that figured out
before he left the church because, otherwise, he had no money and no means of support.  He did not want to touch his Mom’s
inheritance money because he wanted to save that for something special…like our wedding was supposed to be.

If he thought his life was messed up before then, surely, this was the bottom.  He had never felt so lonely.  What is left for me
here?  What is left for me anywhere?… Who cares anything about me? … I can’t stay here anymore.

With a start, he got up and walked purposefully back into town.  He was resolved to go home to England immediately.  He
didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking.  The thought of being with those who had seen him with Assumpta and seeing
their looks of pity directed towards him was too much for him to take.  He needed his brothers, Andrew especially.  Ireland
was no longer home.

It really felt good just to be moving.  He got back to his house around five o’clock.

Brendan was waiting for him.  "How are you, Peter?"

Peter just shrugged his shoulders and walked by.

"We’re worried about you."  There was that tone of pity in his voice.  At least that’s what it sounded like to Peter.

"Oh, I know, everybody is," he replied sarcastically not realizing he was sounding just like Assumpta at her worst.

"Then give something back."

Peter stopped and turned to look at him. "What?" You must be kidding.

"People need…"

"Religion?" Peter scoffed.

"Comfort."

Anger at God turned into anger at his fellow man.  "Well, I can’t give them comfort.  What am I, a shrink?  What do you want
me to say?  ‘Jesus wanted her for a sunbeam’?  I can’t bring her back, Brendan.  I can’t even say that her life had meaning
because, right now, I not so sure it did."

"You can do better than that."

Peter got right up into his face and yelled. "No, I can’t.  I have no strength and, for once, I don’t care about how anyone else
feels.  No one but Assumpta cared about what I’ve been going through these last six months and then, just when we start to get
things sorted, the bottom drops out."

He started walking away, but then turned around and continued.  "You don’t know what it has been like, do you?  Do you
really know me, Peter, the man inside the priest’s suit?  Do you know what I’ve had to live with?  Look behind the goddamn
suit, Brendan.  I have lost every single thing I’ve loved in this life now…my Mother… my vocation…my faith and now
Assumpta.  You want me to give comfort?  Well, who in hell will comfort me, Brendan?  Who?  Oh, I know. Priests are
supposed to find all their strength in prayer.  It’s a prayer I don’t know anymore. Maybe Father Clifford could give you what
you want, but he’s gone.  Peter is all that’s left." Peter walked past him to go inside his house.  Brendan followed.

"Peter, you’re among friends, but you are the one shutting yourself off from us.  I know how you felt about Assumpta.  But
she’s gone.  You made her last days very happy ones.  I had never in my life seen her so happy.  I know that was your doing.
You gave her a great gift, Peter.  You must remember that."

Peter stopped at the kitchen table.  "Brendan, we were going to get married."

"I was wondering if that was what made her so happy."

Peter softened a little and sat down.  "Made me happy, too.  I can’t believe it’s not even been 24 hours since we decided to
marry.  Those few hours were the happiest ones of my life."  Tears again welled in his eyes.  (Would they ever stop?)  "But,
now…what do I do?  I don’t want to stay here anymore, do you understand?  I want to leave.  How can I face anyone?"

"You can’t run away from what happened.  It won’t change anything," Brendan reminded Peter.

"I know.  But there is no family left here for me, Brendan."  Peter watched his fidgeting fingers.

Brendan tried another approach.  "Peter, don’t run away from your friends.  Assumpta’s memory deserves better than that."

"No, sorry, I think I’ve worn out my welcome.  How can I face these people as their priest?  I can’t put those robes on
anymore and stand up there in front of them.  They deserve so much better than I can give them… And I just don’t give a
damn, you know? … I just can’t do this anymore."  He looked off into the distance and fought to control his emotions.   He
added, "Besides, Father Mac has a new curate coming, one he will like much better than me…he’s Irish."

That was news to Brendan  "He’s already told you that you have to go?"

"Well, actually, I told him a few days ago that I was either leaving the priesthood for Assumpta or leaving Ballyk."

"But now?"

"I’m leaving Ballyk.  He’s already found a replacement.  You know how glad he’ll be to get rid of me.  So, home I go."

"And that’s it?"

"Yeah."

"When are you going?"

"Now."

"No.  At least stay for a few days.  We need you.  We want you to stay."

"Why should I?"

"Because, you stubborn, pigheaded priest, we do care about you.  Peter.  You know him?  The one inside the suit?"

Peter smiled slightly and nodded his head.  "Ok, ok. I’ll stay and do the Christening, though, after that, no promises.  OK?"

Brendan concurred.  "We will miss you, if you do decide to go."

That got no response.

"Right. See ya."  Brendan let himself out.

Peter remained seated at his kitchen table.

Why didn’t it feel this way when my mom died?… I feel so lost now… Why me? Is this another ‘test’?… What is the
bleeding point of all this? …Why did I tell Brendan that I’d stay for a few more days? God, I’m spineless.

Peter went to the phone to call his brother, Andrew.  No answer.  He had not talked with any of his brothers since after
Mother’s funeral.  A few months before that, he did talk with Andrew about some of the doubts he had been having.
Andrew’s response was, "So you’ve fallen in love again, big brother? I’ve never known a priest to be so lucky."  Peter knew it
was said in jest but only he also knew how true it was in fact.  Every one of his brothers had been saying this all along that, if he
wanted to be a priest, he’d best be an Anglican one.  He’d never make it celibate, they said.  He had not dared to mention a
word about Assumpta to anyone but his mom.  She understood him better than anyone and tried to comfort him.  Things
change, she said.  We have to adapt and if that means reevaluating our lives up to that point, then that is what we must
do.  No one will condemn you for changing your mind or for not changing it.  You must do what you need to.

What was so clear only yesterday (yesterday!) was back in the mud now.

 That night he spent in his house alone.  The phone rang several times but he made no move to answer it.  There were knocks
at his door.  His only response was to turn off the lights and go upstairs.  The night passed somehow.