7.4 The Infidel

by Margaret Pattison

SCENE: Fitzgerald's interior.

Assumpta is behind the bar. Dr. Ryan and Padraig are at the near end of the bar.

Dr. Ryan: Prawn Cracker's really cutting into your lunch business, isn't it Assumpta?

Assumpta looks around the sparsely populated pub, innocently: I don't think so. Who used to come in here that's missing now?

Dr. Ryan: Well, Brendan for one.

He looks at Padraig for confirmation: Father Sheahan, Frankie--

Assumpta, dismissively: Cops and men in frocks. Who needs 'em.

Dr. Ryan chuckles appreciatively: Glad to see it hasn't gotten to you.

Paul pipes up from the other end of the bar: I wouldn't mind giving you some advice on how to spice up the lunch hour around here.

Assumpta, sarcastically: Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose.

Paul, innocently: Sure, I want Oonagh's business to succeed.

Assumpta starts to get riled, walks toward Paul's end of the bar: Don't you mean MY business.

Paul explains: Of course, that's what I mean, your business that Oonagh's keeping afloat.

Behind Paul, a man gets up from his table and walks over toward the lounge area.

Assumpta, to Paul: And what exactly do you mean by that?

She looks behind Paul, frowns: Here, what do you think you're doing?

Paul turns to where she is directing her gaze.

CUT TO: Lounge.

The man has spread a small rug on the floor and is kneeling on it, facing the far corner of the pub. He looks up, holds his hands loosely out on either side of himself, palms up, then looks down and covers his face with his hands. Then he puts his hands down on the ground in front of him and prostrates himself.

ROLL TITLES

SCENE: Night. Fitzgerald's interior.

Assumpta and Oonagh are behind the bar. Peter, Siobhan, Padraig and Dr. Ryan are at the end of the bar.

Peter, amused: So he just hunkered down on the floor and started praying? What did you do?

Assumpta, defensively: Well I didn't know he was praying did I? Thought he was having a fit.

Dr. Ryan chimes in: I was able to set her straight.

Oonagh: But not before she'd thoroughly embarrassed the poor fellow.

Assumpta, hotly: Well what did he expect? This is a bar, not a bloody place of worship!

Peter quips to the others: I can't tell you how often I've heard her say that.

Dr. Ryan remands: I believe they call it a mosque.

Assumpta: I don't care if they call it a plum pudding and sprinkle it with sugar and put a bow on top. The next time he tries that trick I'll give him a bucket and a scrub brush and set him to work on the floorboards.

Siobhan: I'd be careful if I were you. You don't want them setting a price on your head.

Assumpta turns on Siobhan: What are you talking about?

Dr. Ryan picks up his drink, looks at Assumpta, sotto voce: Salman Rushdie.

He takes a sip.

Assumpta scoffs: Yeah right. I'm not picking on any one religion. I'd do the same to anyone who tried to hold a public worship service in here.

Padraig: What about just saying a prayer?

He eyes Assumpta, jokingly: Lord knows I could do with saying one before digging into your stir-about!

Assumpta shakes her head slightly: If I catch you at it, you're out of here.

She nods toward the door.

Peter protests: Hey now, that hardly seems fair. A personal prayer doesn't have to intrude on others' privacy.

Dr. Ryan: That's right. For all you know, Colin over there is saying a prayer right now.

He gestures toward an older man at a side table. The man's head is leaned back against the wall, his eyes are closed, and his mouth is slightly open. He is snoring lightly.

Assumpta: All I'm saying is, what I don't know, can't hurt you.

She moves away toward the other end of the bar to serve another customer.

Peter asks the others: What was he doing here anyway? Doesn't sound much like a tourist.

Oonagh: He said something about a pilgrimage.

Siobhan, impressed: Really. Well it won't be the weeping Madonna or Our Lady of the Heart Light.

The others look thoughtful.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's. Later that same night.

The pub has cleared out somewhat. Siobhan and Peter are the only regulars left at the bar.

Peter: Brendan on duty with Aisling tonight? I was kind of hoping to see him.

Siobhan: No, actually Avril's minding her. She's staying at my place now until she finds a place of her own. I tell you she's a real godsend.

Peter looks toward Assumpta, who is clearing up at the other end of the pub, jokingly: Couldn't stand the landlady anymore?

Siobhan considers: You know, I think she just never warmed up to the idea of living over a bar.

Oonagh shrugs: It isn't everyone's cup of tea.

Assumpta approaches with a tray full of empty glasses: Did someone mention tea?

Peter: Don't mind if I do.

He hops down off the barstool and gestures toward the kitchen, looks from Oonagh to Assumpta: Do you mind?

Oonagh, generously: No, Peter, go on, help yourself. You know where everything is.

Peter heads for the kitchen, glancing at Assumpta as he passes.

Assumpta looks at Oonagh, making it unclear whether she is directing her comment at Oonagh or at Peter, slightly indignantly: Make yourself at home.

Oonagh frowns slightly at that, not sure whether to be insulted, decides to let it go.

Siobhan stands up: I'd best be off, too.

She pushes her empty glass toward Oonagh: See you again.

She looks past Oonagh toward Assumpta: Good night.

Assumpta and Oonagh: Good night, Siobhan.

Siobhan leaves. Oonagh starts clearing up, too. Assumpta goes to the kitchen.

CUT TO: Kitchen.

Peter is standing at the cabinet, considering the tea boxes. He turns as Assumpta enters, holds up two boxes: I can't decide.

He holds out one box: "Cozy Hearth"...

He holds out the other box: Or "Quiet Moments".

Assumpta sighs: I could do with a bit of both.

Peter puts down the tea boxes, steps over to Assumpta, pulls her close to him: Come here. You're looking ragged.

He leans his cheek against the top of her head.

Assumpta leans her head against his chest, closes her eyes, snorts cynically: I'll be sure to mention that to the help.

Peter, tentatively: Are you sure you aren't taking on too much too soon? You're still recovering after all.

Assumpta leans back, tosses her hair out of her face: Big words from a man who's never here.

Peter: Assumpta, that's not fair. I have a responsibility to the youth center. And anyway, what about Oonagh? Doesn't it relieve you somewhat to have her here full-time?

Assumpta pulls away from Peter, paces around the kitchen agitatedly: No! She and Paul are trying to steal this place out from under my feet! I could kill Leo for putting them in charge while I was away!

Peter: Assumpta, I think he really had the best interest of the business at heart--

Assumpta: Oh fine. Defend him. Maybe I should just crawl back into bed and let Leo run my life again!

Peter takes a step toward her, tries to put his arms around her: That's not what I meant--

Assumpta pulls away: Oh no? Well you can get out then, let me run my own place if you will!

She goes to the door, pushes it open, stands in the doorway and yells into the pub: And you, too! Oonagh, Paul, out! This is my pub and I won't have any more of your interference! As of this moment you're barred!

CUT TO: Pub.

The door to the kitchen swings shut. Oonagh, standing behind the bar, a tea towel in her hand, gives Paul an utterly bewildered look. Paul looks blank.

SCENE: Siobhan's kitchen. Morning.

Siobhan is sitting at the table, feeing Aisling, who is in a high chair. Avril is standing against the counter, holding a cup of coffee.

Avril: And she fired her just like that?

Siobhan: I wouldn't say fired her exactly. More like utterly humiliated her and made a damn fool of herself into the bargain.

She wipes Aisling's mouth and takes off her bib.

Avril: I'm glad I got out of there when I did. Before she came after me with a kitchen knife or something!

Siobhan, warningly: Assumpta's not crazy.

She heaves Aisling out of her feeding chair: But she does need a refresher course in tact.

Avril smiles: And you'll be the one to give it to her, will you?

Siobhan: You bet your patootie.

She puts Aisling on her hip: So, my darling. Are we ready to vaccinate some pigs?

SCENE: Ballykissangel street. Morning.

The visitor who prayed in Fitzgerald's the previous day exits a house with a B&B sign out front. He is carrying a big black briefcase. He looks around.

CUT TO: Truck interior.

Liam is driving. Donal is sitting next to him.

Liam sees something ahead, squints, with interest: Oy.

Donal looks at Liam: What.

Liam nods out the front window: That.

Donal looks out the window: What.

Liam points out the window, more urgently: Him.

Donal looks vaguely around: Who.

Liam, fatalistically: Never mind, now we've passed him.

Returns both hands to the wheel, eyes on the road ahead.

Donal pauses, looks at Liam. After a moment: Oh.

Sighs, looks out the other window at the scenery.

CUT TO: Street.

The visitor watches Liam and Donal's truck drive away.

SCENE: Brian's kitchen interior.

Peter is sitting at the kitchen table. Oonagh has just poured him a cup of coffee.

Oonagh: I appreciate your coming, Peter. But after what happened last night, I don't think I can go back there.

She replaces the coffee pot on the stove.

Peter: Oonagh, she didn't mean it. She's been under a lot of stress. She needs you, really.

Oonagh sits down at the table, too: No, it's not just her making a scene like that. If that were all it was, I'd be back there today without a second thought.

Peter: What, then?

Oonagh sighs: In a way, she was right. Paul and I had gotten used to running the place on our own.

Smiles confidentially: Well, mainly I had. I just let Paul think he had a hand in making the decisions. But since she's been back, well... It's been a constant tug of war between the two of us as to who got the say-so.

She quickly assures him: Not that I meant it to be like that, I've done my best to take the back seat and be a team player, be supportive. But I'm afraid she just doesn't see it like that.

Peter: But if you'd just give her a little more time...

Oonagh: Peter, I know you mean well. I'd love nothing more than to keep working at Fitzgerald's. It's grown on me, you know?

She smiles fondly.

Peter: Then why don't you?

Oonagh's smile turns wry: I suppose Assumpta and I are a little too similar. In the long run, we need to be our own women, not take orders from anybody. I'm a threat to her, and she's...

Hesitates, tries to find a tactful way of putting it: Lovely woman that she is...not an easy person to work for. I hope you don't take that the wrong way.

Peter: No, no, I couldn't agree with you more. That's why I'd been hoping you'd reconsider. It won't be easy to find a replacement.

Oonagh: What about you? Won't you be moving back to Ballykay permanently soon?

Peter, grimly: It's beginning to look that way.

Takes a sip of coffee.

SCENE: Country road.

The visitor is walking along the side of the road. He is carrying the briefcase. He stops at a stand of mailboxes and reads the names. He keeps walking.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's exterior.

Assumpta is sweeping out the public area. Across the street, Kathleen is sweeping off her front steps. The two women pause and look at each other. Both look perturbed to be doing the same thing. Kathleen hurries back into her store, her nose in the air. Assumpta tosses her broom down against the bench in front of the pub and goes inside, too.

CUT TO: Fitzgerald's interior.

Assumpta is taking chairs down off tables. A shadow appears in the doorway. Peter enters. He starts taking chairs down, too. Assumpta notices him but says nothing.

Peter takes a deep breath, gamely: Hiya.

Assumpta, grumpily: Hi.

Peter, forced normality: What've you got on the program for today?

Assumpta: What do you mean?

Peter: I'm all yours. Don't need to go to the Centre today.

Assumpta: Bully for you.

She finishes with the chairs and stomps into the kitchen.

Peter follows her.

CUT TO: Kitchen.

Assumpta is standing with her back against the sink, breathing hard. Peter enters.

Peter, slightly upset: Assumpta, what is going on with you? There are people who want to help you, and you're pushing everyone away. You're pushing me away. We -- I -- don't deserve this.

Assumpta, with a short desperate laugh: I know.

Peter, compassionately: Then what gives?

Assumpta looks up, blinks back tears: I don't know, Peter. I just-- I need to be back in control. I feel like I'm losing control.

Peter: No one is trying to control you now.

Assumpta: No? What about Oonagh and Paul?

Peter: Oonagh was trying to help you until you got back on your feet. She's-- she meant well. Paul's...

Trails off, can't find anything good to say about Paul, cajoles: Aw come on, you've handled worse than Paul.

Assumpta laughs through her tears.

Peter smiles: Come here, you.

He goes over to her and hugs her to his chest: No one's going to try to take this place away from you. And no one's going to try to make you do something you don't want to. All right?

Assumpta sniffles: All right.

Peter: Now come on, give me a task. I'm at your command.

Assumpta pulls a tissue out of her pocket, blows her nose. She regains her composure, suggests completely seriously: There is a grease trap that could use looking at.

SCENE: Brian's house interior.

Paul is sitting at the desk in the office space, scribbling things on papers. Oonagh brings him a cup of coffee.

Paul looks up, takes the coffee: Oh cheers love.

Oonagh puts her hand on Paul's back, leans over to see what he's doing, with polite interest: What's this?

Paul riffles through the papers, vaguely: Just some ideas, proposals, outlines... Ah yeah, right there...

He puts the coffee down and leans forward to invite Oonagh to rub his shoulders.

Oonagh kneads Paul's shoulders, sweetly: For what?

Paul, evasively: You know, business plans...

Oonagh, carefully massaging Paul's back: They wouldn't have anything to do with Fitzgerald's, would they?

Paul turns around to look at Oonagh: I can't sit helplessly by and let someone take advantage of my wife like she did of you!

Oonagh, warningly: Paul...

Paul: You've invested so much in that place, it's not fair to kick you out like she did.

Oonagh crosses her arms: Paul, it's her place, and if she wants to run it herself, that's her business.

Paul, bitterly: She's going to run it into the ground, that's what'll come of her business.

Oonagh, know-it-all: And you want to be ready to pick up the pieces, is that it?

Paul protests: Not at all! Action needs to be taken before it gets to that point!

Oonagh: Paul, let it go.

She leans over and puts her arms around his neck, smiles coyly: I've got my own plans...

SCENE: Country road.

The visitor is walking along the road, carrying the briefcase. It is a warm day. He stops, puts the briefcase down, takes a handkerchief out of his back pocket, mops his brow, stuffs the handkerchief back in his pocket, picks up the briefcase, and keeps walking. After a moment, Liam and Donal's blue truck appears, driving toward him. He politely steps off the side to allow the truck to pass.

CUT TO: Truck interior.

Donal is driving. Liam is eating a sandwich. Liam glances out the window, spots the visitor. He stops chewing his sandwich, mouth full.

Liam, pointing (mouth full of food): Airy ith!

Donal frowns, looks at Liam: Hm?

Liam, urgently pointing (mouth full): Iss im!

Donal looks back at the road, alarmed that he's about to hit something. He sees the man now and swerves, although there was plenty of room to pass.

Liam cranes his neck around as they pass. He swallows.

Donal, upset: What are you crazy? You nearly made me hit that fella!

Liam: I tell you, that's the same fella I saw this morning!

Donal: So?

Liam: That's the foreigner!

Donal: What foreigner.

Liam: The one who was praying in Assumpta's place yesterday. Mussulman or what you call em.

Donal: Muslim.

Liam narrows his eyes, calculatingly: That's the ticket. Whattaya reckon he's doing traipsing around the countryside.

Donal considers for a moment, then: Sightseeing?

Liam scoffs and takes another bite of his sandwich. He glares out the window, deep in thought.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's exterior.

Peter is washing the windows with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. It is a bright, sunny afternoon. Brendan cycles down the hill, whistling.

Peter sloshes the sponge into the bucket, waves, greets: Hey Brendan!

Brendan pulls up to Peter, dismounts: Hello there, Peter. Joys of partnership sinking in yet?

He indicates the bucket, eyes twinkling.

Peter, happily: She gives the orders and I carry 'em out.

Brendan: Are you sure it's a husband she's wanting, and not an underling?

Peter looks quickly toward the pub, shushes Brendan.

Brendan: What?

Peter, in a stage whisper: Ixnay on the usbandhay.

Brendan looks startled, leans closer, quietly: Are you telling me the wedding's off?

From inside, Assumpta's voice: Peter...?

Peter: Look, I, erm, can't talk now. Can I ring you?

Brendan, perplexed: Sure.

Peter, on his way in: And why're you such a stranger? We're under new management now! Drop by for a drink or something.

Brendan: OK.

Peter goes inside. Brendan considers for a moment, shakes his head, gets back on his bicycle and pedals off.

SCENE: Garda station office.

Frankie is sitting at her desk, busily filling out paperwork. Liam and Donal are standing before the desk.

Liam: I'm tellin ya, he's up to something.

Frankie does not look up: Has he broken any laws?

Liam: That's what you've got to investigate. There's something fishy going on, I'm sure of it!

Frankie sighs, looks up at Liam and Donal, immediately frowns: Didn't anyone ever tell you it's polite to take off your hat in the presence of a lady?

Donal immediately whips his hat off his head, looks anxiously at Liam's. Liam looks quite put-upon, but also removes his hat.

Frankie, satisfied: That's better. Now as I said, until and unless you bring me evidence of a specific crime having been committed, there is nothing I can do. I've more important things to do than run down every Tom, Dick, and Harry who someone thinks is acting suspiciously. And believe me, if I did do that, you two'd be at the top of my list.

She points her pen at them accusingly.

Liam: Oh come on. We're peanuts compared to this fella.

Frankie, with slightly more interest: And how do you reckon that?

Liam: Let me just say one word. Nine eleven.

SCENE: Siobhan's house exterior.

There is a playpen set up in the garden. Some toys are scattered around on the ground. Brendan rides up on his bike. He hops off and leans the bike against the fence. On his way to the door, he picks up one of the toys and tosses it into the playpen. He knocks at the door. After a moment, the door opens. Siobhan is there.

Siobhan, pleasantly surprised: Brendan! This is a nice surprise. Come in!

CUT TO: Siobhan's house interior.

Brendan enters. Siobhan closes the door behind him.

Siobhan: I'm sorry, Aisling's napping right now. If I'd known you were coming... Why didn't you call?

She goes into the kitchen: Can I get you a cup of tea?

Brendan: Actually, I--

He follows her into the kitchen.

CUT TO: Kitchen.

Siobhan starts to get tea things out.

Brendan, seems slightly embarrassed: Actually, I did call...

Siobhan, surprised: No, you didn't, I--

Avril enters.

Avril smiles: Ah Brendan!

She comes over and kisses him on the cheek.

Brendan clears his throat and looks down, embarrassed.

Siobhan stares at Avril and Brendan, a tin of tea leaves in one hand.

Brendan, sheepishly: I erm... I thought I'd accompany Avril into town. Such a lovely afternoon.

Avril looks uncertainly from Siobhan to Brendan: I'm not interrupting anything, am I? If you two wanted to discuss something...

Looks at Brendan: Only I told Shamie I'd be there at 5.

Brendan raises his eyebrows at Siobhan.

Siobhan slowly snaps out of it: Uh, no. No, you two go on. I'm just going to have some... some tea.

Brendan: Unless you'd like me to stay...

Siobhan brushes off the suggestion: Don't be silly! No, no, you're right, it's a lovely afternoon. No sense being cooped up in this old hen house. Go on, get going!

Avril, cheerfully: I'll be late tonight Siobhan, no need to wait up.

She heads toward the front door.

Siobhan: Right then.

Brendan, awkwardly: I would have loved to stay for tea, but...

Siobhan: Don't worry about me.

Brendan hesitates one more moment, then leans over and kisses Siobhan on the cheek, then follows Avril.

Siobhan is left standing alone in the kitchen, still holding the tea tin. She sits down heavily on a chair, then laughs.

SCENE: Night. Ballykissangel street.

Outside the B&B which the visitor emerged from that morning. A bush rustles. Whispers, then quite a bit more rustling.

CUT TO: Bush.

Liam and Donal, wearing black, are crouched down in the bush. They seem to be jockeying for space.

Liam, whispering loudly, annoyed: Geroff, willya!

Donal scrambles around, shakes the bush violently.

Liam, still whispering loudly: Will you stop making all that ruckus? How do you expect to do undercover surveillance if you blow our cover?

Donal, also whispering: Why can't we just go ask Mrs Rooney who he is?

Liam: He'll be travelling under an assumed name, dummy. Forged papers, fake ID, the whole ten yards.

Donal nods, digesting this information. After a while: How long do we have to wait?

Liam: How should I know? Until he comes back.

Donal: Maybe he won't come back.

Liam: It's our only chance. If he don't come back, heaven help us.

Donal: Do you really think he's here to plant a bomb?

Liam: Why else?

Donal: I mean, it's just that I don't see what the point would be. Blowing up Ballykissangel.

Liam: There doesn't have to be a point. Mayhem and chaos, that's what them fanatics are after.

Donal, wide-eyed: Maybe he's already planted it. Maybe he's already on his way out of the country.

Liam is about to respond, but they hear a sound, maybe a door closing.

Liam: Sh!

They hear footsteps on gravel. They look out through the leaves and see trousers on the path, walking toward the bush. The trousers stop right in front of the bush. Below the trousers are sensible ladies shoes. Liam and Donal give each other alarmed looks. The bush's branches are suddenly parted. A middle-aged woman is looking down at them, a kindly smile on her face.

Donal and Liam, alarmed: Mrs Rooney!

Mrs Rooney holds out a thermos flask: I thought you two might like some coffee. It's getting chilly.

SCENE: Night. Mrs Rooney's living room.

Donal and Liam are sitting on the sofa, looking contrite. Their faces are smudged with dirt. Mrs Rooney is sitting in an armchair, looking hospitable. The thermos, three cups, and a plate of biscuits are on the table between them. Donal furtively grabs a biscuit and nibbles on it.

Liam frowns briefly at Donal, then turns to Mrs Rooney, earnestly: I'm sorry if we scared you, Mrs Rooney, but Guard Sullivan asked us to gather intelligence on the suspect.

Donal looks like this is news to him, but says nothing and chews his biscuit carefully.

Mrs Rooney laughs lightly: Suspect? Mr Rama? There must be some mistake.

Liam, seriously: No Ma'am. He's been seen nosing around, casing the town. He's under suspicion of--

He looks at Donal, shakes his head: I'd better not say any more. Not until the investigation's completed.

Mrs Rooney: But I simply can't imagine-- He's a professor of mathematics, said he was here doing some research.

Liam, triumphantly, to Donal: Ha! You see?

Dismissively: Research and mathematics. There's nothing to research about mathematics. Just a bunch of numbers. What do you need to research with that? Who in their right mind comes to Ballykissangel to do research in mathematics?

Donal considers, takes a breath, stops, almost speaks, then shrugs.

Mrs Rooney, firmly: I'm sure I don't know, but that's what he said. Why would he say that if it weren't true?

Liam, grimly: That's what we aim to find out. Now, what time did you say he'd be back?

Mrs Rooney: Why he didn't. But the door is locked after 10 pm. You're welcome to wait for him so long. But here in the living room, please, not in the garden.

Liam stands up quickly: Ah, no, thank you kindly. I think we've found out all that we can here.

Donal stands up too, looks quizzically from Liam to Mrs Rooney.

Mrs Rooney stands, confused: But surely you'll want to ask him yourself...

Liam: No, that wouldn't be a prudent move at this time. And I'd thank you not to breathe a word of our visit to anyone, especially the suspect.

Mrs Rooney, uncertainly: Well, I don't-- All right, I suppose.

Liam: Good night.

Reaches out and shakes her hand.

Donal: G'night.

Shakes her hand also, grabs a handful of biscuits.

SCENE: Night. Fitzgerald's interior.

The pub is busy. Assumpta is jumping from one table to the next. Peter is swamped with orders at the bar. Siobhan pushes her way to the bar. Peter sees her.

Siobhan shouts to be heard: Pretty busy tonight!

Peter shouts back: Concert!

Siobhan: What?

Peter: Seems there was a concert at the Lough this evening!

Siobhan nods, shouts: Assumpta?

Peter looks over the sea of heads, spots the familiar dark locks, nods in that direction to Siobhan.

Siobhan follows Peter's line of vision, sees Assumpta, indicates her thanks to Peter, makes her way through the crowd towards Assumpta. She meets her as Assumpta gets to the bar with a tray full of empties.

Siobhan: Evening, Assumpta!

Assumpta, frazzled: Hi, Siobhan, nice to see you!

Picks up next tray with ready orders.

Siobhan: And you!

She follows Assumpta into the fray: I wanted to have a word with you!

Assumpta, over her shoulder: What?

Places drinks on the table before the customers.

Siobhan: A word!

Assumpta pushes on to the next table: Sorry, Siobhan, it's not the best time right now. Can it wait?

Siobhan: I can, but it doesn't look like you can!

Assumpta picks up empty glasses, moves to the next table: What do you mean?

Siobhan: Looks like you're short a hand.

Assumpta, gratefully: Ah Siobhan, you're an angel.
Shoves the tray at Siobhan: You sure you don't mind?

Flashes Siobhan a harried smile, disappears before Siobhan can respond.

Siobhan stands there with the tray, shrugs, starts to work.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's, later that night.

Assumpta is behind the bar. Siobhan and Peter are working the room. Things have calmed down somewhat. Siobhan and Peter meet near the far end of the room.

Peter: So she's got you roped into this, too, eh?

Siobhan grins: I'll invoice you.

Peter: I really appreciate it. We both do.

Siobhan: Is Oonagh really not coming back?

Peter shakes his head: Doesn't look like it.

Siobhan: Someone's got to talk to her.

She inclines her head in Assumpta's direction.

Peter: I have talked to her. Just give her some time. She needs our support right now.

Siobhan, ruefully: I think I've given all the support my feet can handle for tonight.

Peter smiles with understanding and is about to take the tray from Siobhan when the pub door opens. Brendan comes in.

Peter, pleasantly surprised: Brendan!

Brendan strolls over: Hello, good evening.

Sees the tray in Siobhan's hand, raises his eyebrows: Moonlighting?

Siobhan shoots back: Slumming?

Brendan: I don't believe I will dignify that with an answer.

Peter looks from one to the other: Don't tell me you're at odds again.

Siobhan: Not in the least. It's just that certain people have become remarkably exclusive about the company they keep.

Hands the tray to Peter: I'm sorry, Peter, I'll have to be getting back. I told the sitter I'd be back by 9.

She heads for the door.

Peter: No problem. And, thanks for all your help.

Siobhan leaves.

Peter: What was that all about?

Brendan shrugs noncommittally.

Peter walks toward the bar: Can I get you a drink?

Brendan follows him: A pint, yes.

Peter puts the tray down on the bar top, goes behind the bar and prepares Brendan's drink. Brendan sits down at the end of the bar near the hotel entrance.

Assumpta comes over: Brendan! Good to see you again, old man!

Brendan: I believe I should be insulted by that. But I will prefer to enjoy my drink. Good man.

He rubs his hands together as Peter brings the drink.

Peter places the pint in front of Brendan: Cheers.

Brendan picks it up and takes a draught.

Assumpta, eagerly: So what's the scoop?

Brendan, mouth full of drink: Hm?

He swallows.

Assumpta: What's been keeping you away? Don't tell me you're going dry on us?

Brendan, with dignity: Can't a man have a life outside of this pub without being suspected of teetotalling?

Assumpta: You tell me. Come on, I know you've been eating lunch at Brian's place. But you've been scarcer than that.

Brendan: It isn't everyone who finds a public house the best place to spend an evening.

Assumpta: Since when?

Brendan: Some cultures find pleasure in the simpler things.

Assumpta, to Peter: Right, I'm leaving him to you to sort out. I've got customers.

She leaves.

Peter leans on the bar top: So what is going on?

Brendan, looks surprised: I thought you were the one who wanted to talk to me?

Peter looks over to make sure Assumpta is out of ear shot: Seems she's getting cold feet.

Brendan raises his eyebrows: So it's really off, then?

Peter: Postponed. She's getting spooked about losing control of her life, that's why the Dooleys are gone.

Brendan: I heard about that. Shame. Oonagh's a wizard with the food.

Peter: So I can't very well spring a marriage on her.

Brendan: Not if she'd see it as a loss of control.

Peter: Well, admittedly, there has to be a give-and-take in a marriage.

Brendan: You're the expert.

Peter: It's not like I'd expect her to obey me or anything.

Brendan: Did they strike that part of the vows?

Peter: Just whose side are you on, here?

Brendan: I wasn't aware that they wanted choosing.

Peter: Sometimes I get so--

Looks around, making sure nobody is near, continues in a low but emotional tone: So frustrated, you know? I mean, with the accident and Leo and everything, we've lost so much time. And now we aren't even back where we were on the day of the accident. It's like I'm having to build everything up from scratch.

Brendan: Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams...

Peter: Sorry?

Brendan smiles slightly: Just something I remember reading. What are your dreams, Peter?

Peter: My dreams? I don't know, I suppose that none of the bad stuff had happened. That we could get married tomorrow and live happily ever after.

Brendan: What's stopping you?

Peter: Circumstances.

Brendan: What circumstances are those? You're a free man, she's a free woman, there's nothing standing in your way.

Peter admits: I suppose I'm putting on the brakes. I'm so afraid of losing her, Brendan.

Brendan: Talk to her. You need to lay your cards on the table.

Peter: I will.

SCENE: Hendley's interior. Morning.

Kathleen is humming an Irish tune as she dusts off her shelves. She turns around as the door chimes sound.

Kathleen simpers: Good morning, Oonagh.

Oonagh, cheerfully: Good morning, Kathleen.

She walks over to the counter.

Kathleen, confidentially: I just wanted to let you know, I think it's terrible what that Fitzgerald-- McGarvey-- whatever she's calling herself these days, what she did to you.

Oonagh downplays the importance: Och, what had to come, had to come.

Kathleen, primly: If it had been me, mind you, I wouldn't have stood for it. Not that I would have been working in a public house in the first place.

She nods and presses her lips together severely.

Oonagh, amused: I wouldn't have thought so.

Kathleen turns to business: Well, what can I get for you?

Oonagh: Actually, I was hoping we might talk business.

Kathleen raises her eyebrows.

SCENE: Ballykissangel street. Morning.

Outside Mrs Rooney's B&B. Liam's blue truck is parked a little ways down the road. It appears to be empty. The visitor emerges from the house, carrying his black briefcase. He consults a piece of paper in his hand, then walks down the path and turns into the road. After a moment, a figure pops up in the cab of the truck, then another. It is Liam and Donal. They slip out of the truck. They are dressed like American tourists, with loud Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, white socks pulled up to their knees, and black loafers, and are armed with cameras. They saunter very obviously after the visitor.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's kitchen. Morning.

Peter is standing at the stove, making French toast. He is wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Assumpta enters, yawning. She is dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.

Assumpta: I thought I heard someone rattling around down here. That smells wonderful.

Peter, hopefully: I have to be up in Cilldargan by noon, but I thought we could at least have breakfast together.

He turns the toast in the pan.

Assumpta goes to the stove and picks up the coffee pot, pours herself a cup, sighs: I'll call Peggy and see if she can spare a few hours today.

Peter, casually: Assumpta, I'd like for us to try to find a permanent solution.

Assumpta warns: Don't start.

She leans against the sink and takes a sip of coffee.

Peter gives a nervous little laugh: No, I'm not, I mean I'm not after you about your hiring. Although that's tied up with it, too.

Assumpta, curiously: What do you mean?

Peter pushes the pan off the fire, walks over to Assumpta and stands close in front of her. Assumpta looks like she'd like to take a step back, but there's the sink behind her.

Peter, teasing: Not crowding you, am I?

Assumpta: No...

Peter: I know your space is very important to you.

He caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

Assumpta, with a smile playing on her lips: What are you playing at?

Peter: Your space is very important to me, too.

He crowds her a little closer.

Assumpta: Don't lose sight of the fact that I'm holding a cup of steaming hot liquid here.

Peter: In fact, it's so important to me that after breakfast, I'd like to show you another space that might tie it all together...your space, my space, this space...

He indicates the small space between them.

Assumpta, curiously amused: What do you--?

Peter leans over and kisses her. She relaxes her grip on the coffee cup. It tilts, spilling onto their feet. They spring apart, yelping.

SCENE: Mountain path.

A path leads across rocky ground to a cottage. There are some cows grazing nearby. The place looks ramshackle and old. The visitor is walking up the path, carrying his briefcase. After a minute or so, Liam and Donal appear, following him. They exchange a look, then speed up their pace.

CUT TO: Cottage.

The visitor looks the cottage over. He looks around. We see Liam and Donal dive behind a large rock to avoid being seen. The visitor walks around to the other side of the cottage and disappears. Liam and Donal peek over the rock. They exchange a look. They wait a moment. Nothing happens.

Liam, in a loud whisper: Well go on, that's Louis's house.

Donal, also in a loud whisper: I know that's Louis's house.

Liam: So go knock on the door, see what our man's doing there.

Donal: You go.

There is a bit of a tussle as Liam tries to push Donal toward the house and Donal pushes Liam back. They stop, seemingly at an impasse. Then, as one: We'll both go.

They creep up to the cottage, sneaking along next to the wall. Around the corner is the door. Both try to make the other one be the first. Finally, Liam leans around and peeks in the window.

CUT TO: Window.

Inside, the visitor is visible sitting at a table strewn with papers. He has removed his jacket and is hunched over the table, typing furiously into a laptop computer. Diagrams with geometric figures and Greek letters are hanging all over the walls.

CUT TO: Liam and Donal.

Liam slides down and sits on the ground, looking dumbfounded. Donal looks worriedly at him, then peeks in the window himself. He sees the same thing.

SCENE: Ballykissangel street.

Frankie is putting a ticket behind the wiper blade of a car parked at the side of the road. Liam and Donal pull up in their truck, screech to a halt next to Frankie. Liam leans out the window to talk to her. He and Donal are still wearing their tourist get-ups.

Liam, excitedly: Frankie, you have to--

Frankie fixes Liam with a glare from beneath the brim of her hat: Guard Sullivan.

Liam rolls his eyes: Guard Sullivan. Only it won't matter what no one calls you when you're in bits floating down the River Angel.

Frankie screws up her face, exasperated: What in the name of St. Bridget are you talking about?

Liam: We know where he's building the bomb. You've got to go stop him before it's too late!

Frankie: What-- Who--?

An inkling of their meaning dawns on her: Are you still on about that poor man?

Liam: Poor man my foot! His story's got more holes than Swiss cheese! And when was the last time you saw Louis?

Frankie: Louis?

Liam: Dargan. Mountainy man. We've been asking around. Seems no one's seen him since this mysterious stranger came to town. Right?

He looks to Donal on the seat next to him for confirmation.

Donal nods.

Liam: And get this: we tailed him from Mrs Rooney's up to Louis's place, and there he sits, pretty as you please, surrounded by plans for making a bomb! Now, he says he's here doing maths, but that's obviously a load of blarney--

Frankie interrupts: You've been following him?

Donal interjects, proudly: Surveillance.

Frankie, exasperated: I don't believe--

Liam: Now, now, hear us out. Ever heard of the Unabomber?

Frankie: Theodore Kazinsky.

Liam, obviously thrown for a loop: Who? No, the Unabomber.

Donal clarifies: Had a cabin in the woods. Built bombs.

Frankie, pointing out the hole in their theory: But they caught him.

Donal, quickly: Copycat.

Frankie: Let me get this straight. You think this innocent tourist, whom you have been stalking for the duration of his visit, is building bombs in Louis's cabin, and has somehow done away with Louis into the bargain.

Liam, appreciatively: Now you're talking!

Frankie: But why would he-- Oh never mind. I can see the only way to put you two at ease will be to straighten this whole thing out once and for all. Meet me at the station at 2.

Liam: This can't wait until 2! He's there now!

Frankie adjusts her hat and stands up straighter, if that is possible: I said two o'clock, fellas. Take it or leave it.

She nods curtly, turns, and marches on up the street.

SCENE: Baltinglass Abbey (see 7.3 Dearly Beloved Departed)

Panoramic shot of the grounds and Abbey. It is a beautiful day, the Abbey most impressive.

CUT TO: Driveway.

Peter and Assumpta have just gotten out of his car and are closing the doors.

Assumpta teases: You're not trying to trick me into a nunnery now, are you?

Peter laughs: Quite the opposite!

Gravel crunches under their feet as they join hands and walk toward the building complex.

CUT TO: Garden.

Peter and Assumpta are strolling through an herb-and-wildflower garden.

Assumpta, leaning happily on Peter's shoulder: Mmm, thanks for suggesting this. I've really been working too hard. Haven't gotten out since... well, since I've been back.

Peter: I agree. I've probably been just as guilty of it.

After a moment, suggests: I'd like it if we could plan some regular time just for the two of us, when we can do things like this.

Assumpta: I'd like that.

They walk on in silence for a few steps.

Peter, as if it's just occurred to him: You know, there's something else here I'd like to show you.

SCENE: Ballykissangel street.

Siobhan is pushing Aisling's pram along the sidewalk. Brendan is cycling toward them from the opposite direction. He sees them and pulls over.

Brendan, friendly: Hey Siobhan!

Siobhan sees Brendan, says to Aisling: There's your Daddy. Likely he'll be wanting his elevenses now.

Brendan pushes his bike to walk next to Siobhan. To Aisling: Hello darling!

Reaches down to tickle Aisling's cheek but Siobhan speeds up so that he cannot.

Brendan hurries to catch up: Don't tell me you're still mad, now.

Siobhan: Who me?

She keeps walking at a good clip.

Brendan: Would you stand still for a moment? You cannot punish me by keeping Aisling away from me!

Siobhan stops: Oh so now I'm the one who's keeping her from you? As if you ever come round long enough to do more than pick up your dates.

Brendan, triumphantly: I knew it. I knew it! You -- are -- jealous.

Siobhan walks away again: That's ridiculous.

Brendan: You are! You are jealous of Avril.

Siobhan: What's there to be jealous of? It's not like you and I had anything going.

Brendan, soberly: No, we didn't.

Siobhan stops, accusingly: Nothing more than a child together!

Brendan: Whom I am making every effort to be a good father to. And I would have married you, too, in case you've forgotten. You were the one who pulled out at the last minute.

Siobhan: You never wanted to get married!

Brendan: Who was it sitting next to you during those classes with Father Aiden?

Siobhan: You know perfectly well what I mean!

Brendan, reasonably: No, I'm not sure that I do. You didn't want me to have any part of this child at first. You didn't even want to tell me you were pregnant. But once I knew what was going on, I offered you every possible support, including that of a husband. Nevertheless, you prefer to remain independent. Which I respect. But as such, you in return cannot expect that I don't continue to lead my life. Which might include seeing other women socially.

Siobhan, coolly: Well that's fine then. Now that I know where I stand.

She walks away again.

Brendan does not follow, calls after her: I'm still taking Aisling after school today, yes?

Siobhan calls back over her shoulder: Yes!

She plows on down the street to Hendley's. She parks the pram outside the shop and takes Aisling out, goes up the steps to the shop.

CUT TO: Hendley's interior.

Siobhan enters. She looks around, doesn't see Kathleen, goes to the shelves and takes something down, reads the label. Kathleen comes in from the back.

Kathleen, smiling: Top of the morning to you, Siobhan. And little Aisling.

She beams at the baby.

Siobhan: Ah, Kathleen, grand.

Kathleen: Can I help you find anything in particular?

Siobhan: I'm looking for something for Aisling to nibble on. Something natural, not with all these additives and chemicals.

She indicates the label on the box in her hand.

-- Can you recommend anything?

Kathleen: As a matter of fact, I can. I've got a new item, just in.

She goes around behind the counter and pushes an attractive basket filled with baked goods wrapped in cellophane toward Siobhan: All natural, one hundred percent organic, made with all local ingredients.

Siobhan picks one up, looks at it through the wrapper: Is Patrick's branching out then? Didn't think they did fancy things like this.

Kathleen, happily: Oh no, they're not from Patrick's. They're from Oonagh Dooley.

SCENE: Prawn Cracker restaurant interior.

Several diners are having lunch, among them Vincent. Avril is waiting tables. Frankie enters in uniform, takes off her hat, looks around, spots Vincent, walks over to him.

Frankie: Afternoon, Father.

Vincent stands: G'day, Frankie! Pull up a chair.

Frankie does so. Both sit.

Frankie: Knew I'd find you here.

Vincent: Oh yeah?

Frankie: Well you're never at the church. But you wouldn't miss lunch.

Vincent: That's not entirely fair, Frankie. I'm at the church as often as I need to be.

Frankie: Granted. Only this can't wait til Sunday morning.

Vincent: What gives?

Frankie, grimly: Another Liam and Donal affair.

Vincent grins: Another exorcism?

Frankie: A terrorist.

SCENE: Baltinglass Abbey chapel interior.

Peter and Assumpta are sitting in a pew in the chapel. (see 7.3 for description)

Peter: Well?

Assumpta, warily agreeable: It is lovely.

Peter: Nothing offensive?

Assumpta: You mean other than the spectre of the centuries of indoctrination that has taken place here?

Peter, tightly: Yeah, other than that.

Assumpta takes one more look around, shrugs: No, nothing.

Peter: Why can't you just see the beauty of the place?

Assumpta: I said, it's beautiful.

Peter looks up toward the windows, seems to be deciding whether to say something or not, then, shaking his head, with a touch of bitterness: No. I was wrong. This is all wrong.

Assumpta, slightly taken aback: What? I think it's a very nice place.

Peter: No. Not this. Not this place.

Assumpta: What then?

Peter stands up, walks a few steps, turns, voice trembling with emotion: This. Me and you. This is wrong.

Assumpta, confused and put off by his sudden change of mood: What do you...?

Peter: I don't know what I've been doing. Waiting,...hoping. But it doesn't matter how long I wait, does it. You will never change. You'll never be ready.

Assumpta, getting defensive: Ready for what?

Peter: I know I told you I'd be patient, that I'd wait until you were ready, that it didn't matter how we were together, as long as we were together. But that was wrong. It does matter to me. I can't go on just being your help, or your shoulder to cry on, or your protector, or whatever else it is that you see me as. Because you're never going to see me as anything else. To you, I'm still the priest, and you just can't handle having a priest in your life.

Shouts: Well guess what! I'm not a priest! Maybe I never was!

Assumpta, standing as well, venomously: Oh I see. You think you've left the church for me and now you want what's coming to you. Well come on then! Take me here, in this sacred place!

She throws her arms back and stands there as if offering her body to him.

Peter, disgusted: How dare you. How dare you turn my love for you into something so base and vile. I wasn't talking about lust, Assumpta. I was talking about marriage. I found this place, and brought you here today, because it touched me as the perfect place for us to get married. I picked it out especially on the basis of your sensibilities, and hoping that perhaps, just perhaps you loved me enough to compromise a little. But now I've realized that that will never happen. You are too wrapped up in your own misery to realize how much goodness there is all around you. Including in the Catholic church!

He pulls a key ring out of his pocket and tosses it onto the pew, snaps: You can take the car.

He leaves.

Assumpta stands there, stunned.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's interior.

Brendan and Padraig are sitting at the bar, both with a half-finished drink before them. Peggy is behind the bar. There are only one or two other customers.

Brendan mutters: Women.

Padraig grunts morosely: Mm.

Brendan: Who'll ever figure them out.

Padraig: Not me, that's for sure.

Brendan turns to Padraig, raises his glass: To bachelorhood.

Padraig: Bachelorhood.

They drink.

The front door opens. Assumpta enters. She looks very pale and drawn. She walks directly to the kitchen without a word.

Padraig greets her: Hey Assumpta.

She ignores him and goes into the kitchen. The door bangs shut.

Padraig and Brendan look at each other again with a knowing nod, then down their drinks.

SCENE: Police car interior.

The car is parked somewhere in the country. Frankie is sitting in the driver's seat. Vincent is in the front passenger seat. Donal and Liam are in the back seat, behind a metal grille.

Frankie, briskly: Right. This is the plan then. I will approach the premises and gain entry. Father Sheahan here will be my back-up. You two--

She turns around and points meaningfully at Liam and Donal

--will remain in the vehicle until such time as I summon you. If after five minutes no summons is forthcoming, or if you perceive activity which would indicate that a crime is either in progress or imminent, you should bring yourselves and the vehicle to a safe locality and radio for back-up. Is that clear?

Liam and Donal look at each other with expressions of wonderment.

Vincent: She means you let us go in first, mates. If we don't come out or you hear gunfire, get the hell out of here and call the coppers.

Liam and Donal's faces brighten.

Liam, eagerly: You'd better leave us the keys then.

He holds out his hand.

Frankie rolls her eyes, carefully removes one key from her bundle, and pushes it through the grille at Liam. She and Vincent get out of the car.

Frankie leans back in: And no playing with the siren!

CUT TO: Louis's cottage exterior.

Frankie and Vincent walk up the path to the house. It is a serene afternoon. As they get to the first corner of the house, Frankie indicates that Vincent should stay behind her. She pulls out her sidepiece and holds it with both hands near her head, nozzle pointing up. She quickly advances to the next corner of the house and peers around it. She waves Vincent forward. He leaps over to her position. She edges around the corner and peeks in the same window that Liam and Donal had peeked in before.

CUT TO: Window.

The visitor is sitting at the table. There is some electronic equipment on the table in addition to all the papers, and he is using a small screwdriver on something.

CUT TO: Frankie and Vincent.

Frankie nods to Vincent with a determined expression and indicates that she's going in. Vincent nods his understanding. Frankie jumps to the door and kicks it open.

Frankie: Police! Freeze!

She takes a stance in the doorway, legs apart and gun held steady in both extended hands, covering the room.

CUT TO: Cottage interior.

The visitor drops his screwdriver and puts his hands up, mouth open in horror. Louis, now visible, is standing by the wall, pointing at one of the papers pinned up there with a pencil in his hand.

Louis blabbers indignantly: Guard Sullivan! Wha wha what izza meaning of dis?

Frankie, to the visitor, sternly: Move away from there, sir.

She waggles her gun at him.

Visitor, totally confused: What is this about? I have done nothing wrong!

Frankie, steadily: Keep your hands where I can see them and move away, sir.

Visitor stands hesitantly, hands still up.

Louis walks toward Frankie, indignantly: Na see here, Guard. Why're you bustin inta me home like dis?

Frankie, not taking her eyes off the visitor: You all right, Louis?

Louis: Well I was indeed until yous come a-bustin in here! I just been a-splainin to Professor Rama here about the Eschelmann coefficient when alluvasudin it's Miami Vice time!

Frankie: The Eschelmann what?

She screws up her face in confusion, looks to Vincent as if to confirm whether she heard that correctly.

Vincent shrugs helplessly.

Frankie, frowning and looking at the table: And what's all this equipment for? What were you doing with that screwdriver?

Visitor, nervously, hands still in the air: Please, madam, I have been doing very many calculations and I needed to change my computer's battery.

SCENE: Brendan's house exterior.

Siobhan, holding Aisling, rings the bell. After a moment, Brendan opens the door.

Brendan smiles: My two favorite ladies. Come in!

Siobhan hands Aisling to Brendan, curtly: She's already had her nap. There are two bottles in the bag, only give her the second one if she cries.

She hands Brendan the nappy bag which was over her shoulder: If I'm later than seven I'll call.

She turns to go.

Brendan cajoles: Hey, Siobhan, come on, I've made tea.

Siobhan stops.

Brendan: I'd really like it if you'd stay for a few minutes.

CUT TO: Brendan's living room interior.

Siobhan and Brendan are sitting on chairs. There is a tea service on the coffee table in front of them. Aisling is sitting on a blanket on the floor, chewing on a toy.

Brendan, looking at Aisling, admiringly: She's gorgeous, Siobhan. Have I told you that?

Siobhan, proudly: She does have the looks, doesn't she.

Brendan: She takes after you.

Siobhan, embarrassed: I can't see it.

Brendan: She does.

They both watch Aisling in silence for a few moments.

Brendan, suddenly: If you told me to stop seeing Avril, I would.

Siobhan shakes her head, smiles wryly: No you wouldn't.

Brendan protests: I would. If it was that important to you, I would. You and Aisling are the most important things in the world to me. I would never want to jeopardize that or hurt you. But I thought we were both squared with the way things were.

Siobhan sighs: So you really like Avril, do you?

Brendan: I enjoy the pleasure of her company. But as the mother of my child, I feel in all fairness that you have a say in the matter.

Siobhan: Potential step-mother material?

Brendan: Well I wouldn't go quite that far.

SCENE: Fitzgerald's interior. Evening.

Padraig, Dr. Ryan, and Siobhan are sitting at the bar.

Siobhan: The poor man.

Dr. Ryan: It must have been quite a shock.

Siobhan: Sometimes the idiocy around here just goes too far.

Dr. Ryan: I'm surprised he doesn't file charges.

Padraig: I'll be surprised if he doesn't start a jihad.

Siobhan rounds on Padraig: See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. What makes you think he'd turn violent?

Padraig shrugs: Don't they all?

Siobhan: What a terrible thing to say.

Padraig: I only mean to say, look at the news. Who is it that's sending out suicide bombers and terrorists?

Dr. Ryan: If you're looking for terrorists, you can start a whole lot closer to home than that.

The door opens. They all turn to see who it is. It is Peter. They all greet him in a friendly manner.

Peter: Evening, Michael, Siobhan, Padraig. Anyone seen Assumpta?

Dr. Ryan: She's just stepped down into the cellar to change the tap.

Peter nods: Ah.

He takes a seat to wait.

Padraig tries to engage Peter for his side of the discussion: Peter, you must agree that we can't be too lax about letting foreigners into country.

Peter: I beg your pardon?

Siobhan: He doesn't mean you, we were talking about an unfortunate incident with a visitor who happens also to be a Muslim.

Peter: Ah yeah, you mean the chap who started praying over in the--

He indicates the far corner of the room.

Dr. Ryan leans across the bar toward Peter: This afternoon, Frankie nearly had him in under suspicion of terrorist acts.

Peter: You're kidding?

Siobhan nods: Only after Liam and Donal stalked him for days, then concocted some crazy story out of bits and pieces.

Peter: So he wasn't?

Dr. Ryan: Not at all, he's a mathematician. Came to discuss some theories with Louis.

Peter frowns: Louis? Dargan?

Dr. Ryan: Seems he won the Field Medal a few years back. Mathematics' equivalent of the Nobel Prize.

Peter, in a state of disbelief: Louis Dargan? Our Louis?

Siobhan: Still waters run deep.

Assumpta emerges from down below. All heads turn toward her.

Assumpta: That should do for another--

She sees Peter and stops.

Peter, a little nervously: Hiya.

Assumpta closes the trap door, breathlessly: Hi.

Awkward silence.

Assumpta: Erm...Can I get you anything?

Peter: Could we er...have a word?
He raises his eyebrows.

Assumpta, forcedly normal: Sure thing, come on.

She heads for the kitchen.

Peter slides off the stool, to the other three: If you'll excuse us...

He follows her.

CUT TO: Kitchen.

Assumpta is standing against the sink with her arms crossed over her chest. Peter is standing a few steps away from her.

Peter: Assumpta, I'm...sorry for the way I behaved this afternoon.

Assumpta, shakily: You scared me.

Peter, with a nervous laugh: I think I scared myself! Look I... I shouldn't have blown up like that. It was out of line.

Assumpta shakes her head, looks down: You were right, though.

Peter waits.

Assumpta looks at Peter: I have been too wrapped up in my own problems. You've been brilliant. You all have--

She nods toward the door, indicating everyone else out in the pub.

--and I haven't been showing any appreciation.

Peter, earnestly: It's not thanks we're looking for. Everyone just wanted to help. Including Oonagh.

Assumpta: I know.

Shakes her head, looks down again: But there's something else.

Looks at Peter again: What you said about me still seeing you as a priest. I think you're right about that, too.

Peter looks down.

Assumpta: But I love that priest.

Her voice breaks.

Peter looks up. There are suddenly tears in his eyes.

Assumpta: Being a priest will always be a part of you, even if you can't stand up in the pulpit anymore. I can't change that about you, and I wouldn't want to. It's not the priest part that's getting in the way. It's me. I guess I'm just so scared of what will happen if something goes wrong. What if we argue, what if you decide you regret having left the church--

Peter reaches out to her, takes her hand: Assumpta, I told you before, there aren't any guarantees.

Smiles lopsidedly: And we've had our fair share of arguments already!

Assumpta smiles, wryly: Yeah, more often than not on my account.

Peter exhales: Well, this is going better than I expected. I'm not sure if I should push my luck, but...well, here goes.

He gets down on his knees, takes her hands in his: It may not have come out right this morning, but I think what I wanted to say was... Assumpta Fitzgerald, will you marry me?

Assumpta, voice shaking: Oh God.

Peter, quickly: Not right away of course. There's still your divorce, and I'm still willing to wait until you're ready...as long as it isn't too long. But I just want it to be official. Will you marry me?

Assumpta takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then, breathlessly: Yes!

CUT TO: Pub interior.

Siobhan, Dr. Ryan and Padraig are still sitting at the bar, discussing among themselves.

From the kitchen, we hear Peter: WHOO-HOO!

The three of them look at each other, smile, and clink their glasses together.

ROLL CREDITS