This is a story about Ballykissangel priest Father Frank MacAnally being reunited with the one true love of his life.

The sun was setting as the bus from Cildargan chugged up to the stop in Ballykissangel. The sky was awash with a rosy golden hue, making the verdant green shades of the Irish countryside seem more striking than ever. The bus stopped and a lone passenger alighted onto the dusty pavement. The bus chugged on, expelling a large cloud of carbon dioxide into the still air.

Sinead O’Brien looked around her. The village seemed deserted. She ran a hand through her mousey hair, which clung to the back of her neck with the damp heat of a summer’s day. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing by coming back. Although it wasn’t her intention to open old wounds she felt sure that he would see it differently. She walked to the bridge and leant on the stone parapet, staring out across the dark, free flowing water.

“Can I help you Madam?” A female voice. Turning, Sinead saw an attractive dark haired woman with piercing blue eyes, clad in an immaculate Gard uniform.

“Just passing through.” Sinead replied. “Beautiful view you have here.”

“I’m usually too busy to notice.” Gard Frankie Sullivan replied.

“I’m looking for someone.” Sinead said.

“If it’s Brian Quigley you’re after you’re wasting your time.” Gard Sullivan tersely replied.

Sinead felt ill at ease with this Gard, felt the keen edge of her icy tone, Gards and priests both had an uncanny knack of reminding you of your worst indiscretions by their mere presence, without needing to breathe a word.

“It isn’t.” Sinead replied. “But say for argument’s sake it was. Why would I be wasting my time?”

“He’s missing, presumed dead.” Gard Sullivan said coldly. “Is there anything else I can help you with? If not I will be on my way.”

“I was looking for your priest.”

“Father Sheahan will be either in the church or the Presbytery.” Gard Sullivan said.

Father Sheahan. A feeling of dread crept over Sinead. Had she come on a wasted journey as well as a fool’s errand? It took a while for her to remember that he was actually the Cildargan parish Priest, that he supervised a curate in BallyKissangel. She coughed to clear her throat.

“Actually Gard, I was looking for Frank. Father MacAnally.”

“I’ve not seen him today.” Gard Sullivan answered.

“Thanks for your help anyway.” Sinead said as Frankie walked back to her Gard Post.

“You’re welcome.” She replied with a brief glance over her shoulder. Sinead was a slim yet robust looking woman with flyaway hair and intense emerald eyes. She was well dressed and Gard Sullivan wondered what such a woman could possibly want with Father MacAnally.

Sinead walked into Fitzgeralds, her shoes making no sound on the polished wooden floor. Oonagh Dooley smiled at her and Sinead asked for a glass of white wine. A kindly looking gentleman with neat dark hair and a pleasant smile introduced himself as Brendan Kearney, the local Headmaster.

“New around here are you?” He asked.

“I’ve not been here for some years.” Sinead admitted. “I live in Dublin but I was Cildargan born and bred.” She smiled. “I’m Sinead by the way. Sinead O'Brien.”

“Nice to meet you Sinead.” Brendan said.

“Bet you a fiver he’s gonna pull, Siobhan.” A dopey looking young man wearing a checked shirt and black woolen hat whispered to a large flame haired woman with a plain but genial face.

“Fiver says he doesn’t.” She replied, looking at Brendan with something akin to disapproval etched on her face.

“You’re on!”

“Alright Donal.” Siobhan replied.

“So what you doing back here then?” Brendan asked.

“What’s this? The Inquisition?” Sinead teased.

“Sorry, I’ll mind my own.” Brendan sipped his pint.

“I was passing through.” Sinead said.

“Lot of people do that and end up settling here.” Brendan replied.

“I can see why? Your scenery is beautiful.”

“What did I tell you?” Donal hissed. “ Your scenery is beautiful. That’s a chat up if ever I heard one.”

“She means the scenery outside you clot!” Siobhan hissed back.

“I’m looking for an old friend.” Sinead said. “Maybe you can help me?”

“I’ll try.” Brendan said. “Who is it you’re after?”

“Frank MacAnally.”

“Oh right.” Like Gard Sullivan, Brendan wondered what Sinead could possibly want with Father Mac.

“Do you know where he is?” Sinead asked.

“I haven’t seen him today.” Brendan replied.

“Not seen who?” Oonagh was back at their end of the bar, timing her arrival to coincide exactly with the last drops of Brendan’s pint.

“Father Mac.” Brendan said without emotion.

“He was here at lunchtime.” Oonagh said. “No doubt he’s not far off.”

“Thanks.” Sinead finished her wine and picked up her bag. “I’ll just take a walk along to the church.”

“You owe me a fiver Donal.” Siobhan said as soon as Sinead had left the bar alone. Donal coughed up reluctantly. Siobhan realised that Sinead had been pretty. She realised she had been jealous watching Brendan chat to her. She thought of their daughter, Aisling, wondering if they were doing the right thing in leading separate lives.

Sinead walked into St Joseph’s church. She hadn’t believed in God for many years, not since an IRA bomb blast had killed her father and brother. Maybe that had been her downfall in a family where two sons had gone into the church. She had seen too much of life and its cruelty to trust so blindly in Someone whom she could not see and the Church had taken the one person to whom she might have made a life long commitment. She stood behind a pillar. Watching. Father Sheahan walked past her and out into the starry twilight without seeing her. After more than thirty years Sinead O”Brien was once again alone on hallowed
ground with Father Frank MacAnally.

Father Mac stood at the Communion rail, his head bowed in silent contemplation as his hand rested lightly on the polished wood. Sinead moved nearer to him, her feet making no sound. She heard him sigh deeply as he prayed.

“Lord, why do you continue to try me with these libertine curates?”

He thought of Peter Clifford, the English priest, who might well have forsaken his vows for love of Assumpta Fitzgerald had she survived the fatality which robbed Father Clifford of love and a community of its publican; of Father Aidan O”Connoll who had been pleasant and caring but basically ineffectual and now there was Father Vincent Sheahan who had followed God’s call from the other side of the world.

Sinead walked close to him, her breath catching in her throat as she realised how much she wanted to touch him.

“There’s no peace for the wicked is there Father?” She said with a smile.

Hearing that voice crossing the years made Father Mac turn, wondering if he was dreaming. For the first time in more than thirty years their eyes met.

“Sinead?” He said, suddenly uncertain. It wasn’t late but it had been a stressful day and he was tired. Maybe he was dreaming after all.

“I’ve come a long way to find you Frank.” She said softly.

“And now you have, what are you going to do?”

Sinead recalled how she had felt about the young Frank MacAnally thirty years before. The other girls in her Catechism class had teased her mercilessly and had “The Thorn Birds” video been available back then comparisons would no doubt have been made. Sinead didn’t care. Frank had treated her like an adult although she had been just fourteen. Awkward with acne and braces on her teeth. When her father, Dermot, and brother, Padraig, were killed by an IRA Bomb blast on a day trip to Belfast she had turned to Frank for comfort, reassurance perhaps, although the act which took their lives had also destroyed her faith.

Sinead had been about seventeen or eighteen when she had realised that what she felt for Frank was no longer a silly little crush or a priest phase. Boys at school were vying for her attention but she had never even given them a second glance, much less agreed to a date. She simply wasn’t interested in them. They were just boys. Frank was a man. A man she could never have. He wasn’t even especially handsome but the strength of his personality, his singlemindedness, the way his hair was swept by the wind.

“Give it up Sinead. It’ll end in tears so it will.” Her friends said. But Sinead would not give up. She had idolised Frank MacAnally for three years.

Frank recalled the day of Sinead’s graduation from Dublin University. It was then that he had realised that she wasn’t a kid anymore. Not a kid but a young woman with great prospects. And an attractive woman at that. She’d been twenty one then. At her graduation party, thrown by her mother Colleeen and new money husband, Paul, he watched her dance with her brothers, Seamus and Conor. Seamus was a priest already and Conor had just completed his first year in seminary. He watched her and, for the first time, wondered why it was so wrong for him to want to hold a woman in his arms, feel her sweet breath on his face, her lips against his. Fearful for his self control he went outside for air. “Father forgive me.” He repeated to himself, over and over again.

Sinead asked her friend, Mary, if she had seen Frank and Mary told her he had gone outside.

“He likes you Sinead.” Mary said.

“I know.”

“No, I mean he really likes you.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Sinead, you’ll burn in hell. He’s a priest.”

Sinead tossed her head. “I don’t care if he’s the lowliest man in Ireland. “ She said defiantly. “I love him.”

She found Frank on the patio where he was taking in the night air. He turned to look at her and smiled.

“Are you alright Father?” Sinead asked.

“I’m fine Sinead. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Sinead said. She looked at him. Normally he seemed so sure of himself and his vocation; he certainly did not suffer fools gladly. Now it seemed almost as though he wasn’t sure, he seemed to be as lost as the souls he sought to save.

“Something’s wrong Father.” She sensed that his usual cool composure was distinctly ruffled even as her touch on his arm sent waves through him.

“What makes you say that?” He was sharp minded as well, perceptive.

“You seem, I don’t know. Different.”

“I’ve a lot on my mind Sinead. Nothing God can’t deal with.” Except that He wouldn’t approve he thought.

Sinead began to cry then, choked by her love for him which nature wanted to express but his vocation forbade him to return. Frank put his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong Sinead?”

“Father, is it a sin to want someone so badly that nothing else matters?”

“Only if you give in and act upon it.”

“Will you hold me Frank?” A pair of intense tear filled blue eyes fixed upon him. “Please.”

He put his arms around her and felt her arms slide around his waist, drawing him near to her. For a moment they held each other tightly, experiencing a myriad of conflicting emotions.

“All the young men in the County are looking at you Sinead.” Frank said. “Why aren’t you interested?”

“Isn’t it obvious Father?”

“Not to me.”

“I love you.” She whispered. “I’ve been crazy about you since I was fourteen years old.”

Her words echoed what was in his own heart, he had felt attracted to her for so long but unable to express himself, afraid of crossing that line. “All I can think about is you Frank.”

“I feel the same way about you Sinead.” Frank said softly, stroking her hair. “But nothing can happen. I am a priest.”

“I know Father.”

She pressed close to him. His hand shook as he gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. It was beginning to rain. Their lips met for the briefest of moments but it was the most exhilarating feeling. For a moment Frank MacAnally felt he’d had a glimpse of Heaven and he realised that he loved her. Desperately.

“I love you Sinead.” He whispered into her soft flyaway hair that had the faintest aroma of camomile.

They left St Joseph’s church and Frank offered to drive her back into Cildargan. Both of their minds were raking over the past.

“I’m surprised you’re not Archbishop or Cardinal by now.” Sinead commented as they drove along. “You were ambitious.”

“I have no time for Vatican State politics.” Frank said wryly. “Lately keeping my curate in line has been a twenty four hour a day job.”

He studied her doe-eyed reflection in his wing mirror. Normally he was rarely lost for words but her presence, so close after so long, had him almost tongue-tied.

“Why did you come?” He asked. “Didn’t we hurt one another enough?”

“I’ve never stopped loving you Frank.” Sinead’s bottom lip trembled.

“Nor I you.” He replied. If any resident of Ballykissangel had been a party to this conversation they would have been astounded to learn that not even their parish priest was above letting a woman get under his skin.

“We could have ended up like the Thorn Birds.” Sinead said.

“I’m hardly Richard Chamberlain. Although Rachel Ward pales into insignificance beside you.”

“No you’re better. He was only an actor. You’re a bona fide priest.”

She reached out her hand and touched his cheek. Frank briefly touched her hand.

They sat uneasily in the Presbytery in Cildargan. Frank made them coffee. All the while he studied her ivory skin, her intense blue eyes, her very feminine shape beneath the cut of her clothes. Tried to deny the fact that he still found her desirable, wanted to hold her in his arms and make love to her. He finally began to understand the conflict that Father Clifford had had between his vocation and his love for Assumpta Fitzgerald. All these years he had felt this slow burning love for Sinead, tried to keep it alive as one would use a hand to shield a candle flame from a freak breeze which threatened to extinguish it. Some people felt that Father Mac had no heart but few really knew him and the God who knew him better than anyone had died for him. Frank did not see this as vindication for his human flaws, rather as a need to recognise existence of such imperfections.

“I never married, Frank.” Sinead said. “I could never have loved anyone like I love you. I hope you know that?”

“Please don’t Sinead.” Frank’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

“I never could compete with God.” She sighed.

“I never asked you to.”

“I know.” She took his hands in hers and looked deep into his eyes. “Do you regret that night we spent together Frank?”

“We never did anything to regret.”

“That’s what I meant.” She replied.

“We did more than was probably advisable.”

“I just wanted to be near you Frank.” She said softly. “That hasn’t changed.”

She remembered the night when they had been driving back from Dublin. It had been stormy and the road was flooded. It had proved near impossible to get assistance. Where were Garda when you needed them? They had realised they were stranded and would have to stay put and shelter until morning or whenever the storm abated, whichever came first. Frank had told Sinead to get into the back seat and get some rest but they had ended up there together, wrapped in each other’s arms for warmth and comfort. They had kissed and she’d been able to taste him, smell his cologne for hours, if not days, afterwards. He’d wrapped a blanket around her and she’d drifted off to sleep with her head resting in his lap.

“I love you Frank.” Sinead had whispered as she’d fallen asleep.

“I love you too Sinead.” He’d replied. “May God forgive me for the very sins I think of committing with you.”

“Wouldn’t He forgive you if we..” Sinead began.

“God’s forgiveness isn’t license to go ahead and sin for the sake of it.” Frank replied.

“If we’d met before you became a priest would you still have taken your final vows?” She asked him, her voice trembling.

He was quiet for a moment before answering “Yes.”

In the dim light she studied him intently. He was still the same Frank MacAnally.; older, yes, wiser, definitely and more devout than ever. Possibly more cynical but her love for him had not diminished.

“Will you hold me Frank?” She asked. “For old time’s sake.”

“Of course.” He refrained from adding “My love.” He held her tightly, feeling her body press against him. Not in a provocative, sexual way but in a way which sought comfort, reassurance.

“It was a hard decision Sinead.” Frank said. “But I maintain that I did the right thing.”

“It hurt us both Frank.”

“That was even before Kathleen Hendley interfered.”

Kathleen Hendley had observed certain signs passing between Father Mac and Sinead. He’d been only a curate then but Kathleen had hinted to his superior what was going on. Kathleen was of a suspicious nature and considered herself very much the community’s moral guardian. Frank & Sinead were both summoned and both gave account that, yes, there was undeniably some chemistry between them but that nothing untoward had happened. Sinead, a virgin, even got herself examined by Dr Ryan who confirmed to the Parish Priest’s satisfaction that she had never had sexual relations with any man. Father O’Kelly wanted to send Frank away but Frank knew that he could never leave Ballykissangel and the Cildargan parish so Sinead decided to leave instead. She assured him it was for the best and they had had a tearful farewell where he had pleaded with her not to go but she’d said. “You would never have been wholly mine, Father. God would always have been number one. I can’t compete with that.” She’d kissed him fondly before driving off into the sunset.

Although she was an interfering busybody, Kathleen Hendley never dared to ask Father Mac about Sinead but her presence, her sharp features and acidic tongue, served as a constant rebuke to him. Kathleen believed she had done the right thing and would have argued that black was white if he had let her. But  she’d kept it to herself that she knew that Father Mac was more than capable of loving a woman other than the Holy Mother.

Frank held Sinead tightly to him. He wanted her but his resolve was still strong as he gently kissed her.

“I came to see if you still loved me.” Sinead said.

“I do.” He confessed. “For all the good it’s ever done me.”

“You’re a good man, Frank.” She said. “And an excellent priest.”

“You’re a beautiful, special lady. You would have made some man far luckier than me a devoted wife.”

“If I could have stopped loving a man who was already married to the Church.” She said, somewhat bitterly.

“Don’t expect me to apologise for that!”

“I’m not. I fell in love with you Frank. Not your vocation.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.”

“Just be what you are Frank.” She kissed him gently. “That’s good enough for me.”

She kissed him and he held her still more tightly.

Sinead lay awake, long into the night. She was wrapped in Frank’s duvet and decided that this was the closest she would ever get. She sighed. Of all the years she’d dreamt of what his bedroom would be like and now she was in it and he was sleeping downstairs on the couch. It was a plain, austere room with whitewashed walls and a crucifix opposite the bed. Sinead tried to avoid looking at the suffering Christ. It felt like she would burn in hell for being in a priest’s bed although he wasn’t actually sharing it with her. Finally she fell asleep, dreaming of waking up with Frank’s arms around her.

“You could always stay a while.” Frank suggested,

“I think we both know that that’s a bad idea.” Sinead said. “To quote Oscar Wilde I can resist everything except temptation.” She kissed his cheek. “I wasn’t even sure you would see me or talk to me.” She admitted. “I was driven by emotions rather than rational thought.”

“I would never turn anyone away.” Frank replied. “Least of all you.”

He watched her walk out of his life for the second and final time. At one point she turned and blew a kiss in his direction. Her short visit had stirred up dormant feelings he would rather not have disturbed. He’d always love her, but he knew he could never have loved her enough to choose her above his vocation and for the most part he had never regretted his decision.

In his car, driving into BallyK for an appointment with Father Sheahan, Frank turned on the radio to a local Dublin based independent station Shamrock FM where he caught the end of a Joan Baez song “I need some of that vagueness now it’s all come back too clearly/Yes I loved you dearly/And if you’re offering me diamonds and rust, I’ve already paid.”

“Yes Lord.” Father Mac mused as he drove past Kathleen Hendley’s shop, “I believe I have.”