What happened to Peter after he left Ballykissangel

Where now?

This thought was uppermost in Peter Clifford's head as he walked on the top road, out of Ballykissangel. It sat with all those other thoughts, the thoughts which had been revolving round his head for the past few days; Assumpta. The manner in which she died. The priesthood. Religion. Where do I go from here, he thought. This moment has to be one of the most important in my life. He arrived at the top of the hill, where behind him lay BallyK, and before him lay the valley which led into all the other surrounding towns. He kept on walking.

Walking, and walking. Head down, his mind filled with conversations he'd had with people over the past three years…

… you'd come anyway, wouldn't you? Knowing you weren't wanted…

… I never touched a respectable woman in my life…

… Father haven't the clergy suffered enough bad publicity?…

Conversations that made him laugh, and conversations that made him cry. Conversations that made him wish he'd never left, and conversations which made him glad he did. People's faces littered his mind, and at the same time Peter was trying not to forget them. Some he knew he'd never forget… Niamh, Brian, Ambrose. Assumpta.

Assumpta.

Just thinking of her now brought tears to his eyes. The thought of her flawless porcelain face, her deep brown eyes, the way her hair used to blow in the wind, the colour of sunset tinged with dusk, as though each strand was chasing after a butterfly. He knew he'd never see that beautiful countenance again, he knew he'd never get to see her smile again. Why did it have to end the way it did, he thought. We had only just found each other. As it grew darker, and too upset to carry on, Peter set up his tent for the night at the foot of a mountain. Where he was, he did not know.

Safe inside his tent, he opened his rucksack to find a book, which he didn't instantly recognise. But upon further inspection, he knew what it was.

That morning, before the christening, he'd walked round BallyK one last time. Tentatively peeking into Fitzgerald's, he was surprised to find the door open. `Hello?' he shouted, but there was no answer. Closing the door behind him gently, he studied the inside of the pub, trying his best to burn the picture into his mind so he would never forget it. Walking behind the bar, he saw the door which led into the cellar. Pulling his gaze away before he broke down in tears, he glanced into the kitchen, remembering conversations he'd had there with Assumpta…

… well, he'll never get to heaven if he breaks her heart…

… this place drives you mad, you say something you may as well post it on a wall…

… you're still sitting on the fence…

All those lost opportunities, he thought. Why did we leave it so late? Ready to leave, he walked out of the kitchen towards the door. Looking to his right he saw the stairs. Having only ever been up to the living quarters once, Peter was intrigued, and against his better judgement, began to climb them. Reaching the top, he saw a corridor full of doors. More rooms here than I can remember, thought Peter. Knowing he shouldn't, but wanting to anyway, he began to open each door to see which room was Assumpta's. Having opened them all and been unsuccessful, there was only one left. Opening it gently, he had found it. Although he felt somewhat like an intruder, he walked quietly in. White walls, white and yellow flower bedspread, television, wardrobe, bedside table, lamp. He knew it wasn't right, but he reached his hand over to the wardrobe and opened the door. Assumpta's clothes still hung there, expectantly. Suddenly choked with emotion, Peter drew his hand up to his mouth to stop himself from breaking down. Sitting on the bed, he composed himself enough to stand up and take another look inside the wardrobe, seeing her blouses, skirts, jumpers, jeans, and shoes. Tentatively, he touched one of her blouses. In a strange way it felt as though he were touching her, and he felt sudden relief. He drew his gaze away from the wardrobe and sat down again on her bed. That's when he noticed the bedside table drawer was slightly open. Peter, you shouldn't do this, he told himself. But it was no use. Never having been so intrusive before, Peter felt self-conscious, but at the same time he also felt as though he had some kind of right to be in Assumpta's bedroom. Just a look, he thought. Pulling the draw open, he saw Assumpta's jewellery, her rings and earrings. He picked up one of her rings and clasped it in the palm of his hand. He decided quickly that he would keep it, putting it in his trouser pocket as a final physical reminder of Assumpta. Taking one last glance into the drawer, he spotted a book. Strange, thought Peter. Picking it up and opening the first page, he saw written in fine handwriting:

Diary: 1996 to 1998.

So as the darkness fell, Peter lay down in his tent with his torch, opened the first page of Assumpta Fitzgerald's diary, and began to read.

"The entries in this diary are NOT going to be of each day in the week, because I simply don't have the time. Therefore when I read this in the years to come I am able to understand why 13th August follows the 1st. Also some days might not be as interesting as others!

18th June 1996.
Another bright day today. Summer has finally arrived, which means the tourist season, which means endless sandwiches and randy Americans pinching my arse. Oh well, at least I can look forward to a hefty profit, but as usual no holiday again this year, unless I take up that offer of a stay in Sarah's caravan in County Longford… but I don't think so somehow. She's still as generous now as she was at college, sweetheart. So, looks like BallyK all year for me. Again. Good news is that the god-forsaken priest has upped and left us after a holy 3 WEEKS! Good to know they're breeding them with staying power nowadays. Don't know when the next one is arriving, but no doubt Father Mac is on the line to Rome demanding another live one. Damn priests.

26th June 1996
Today was an average sort of day I suppose. The weather dramatically changed in the afternoon for some reason, from beautiful sunshine to thundering rain…that's the last time I watch the RTE weather forecast and believe it. Drove to Cilldargan to do a few things, like go to the bank etc. Mundane things. On the way back managed to give a lift to the new priest, although I didn't know he was the priest. He looked so young, I said to Niamh he seemed about twelve! I don't really know what to think… I can't believe I did, but I actually thought he was good looking when he got in the car… but of course the priest disclosure ruined that. Typical. Will I ever find a man?"

Peter realised he liked not knowing where he was going. This leaves the door of opportunity wide open I suppose, he thought. Christ, don't be so bloody optimistic. I could go anywhere though. But I have to plan. What are my options? Peter sat on a nearby rock and contemplated his situation. I don't want to leave Ireland, he thought. That's the only option worth considering.

Walking further on, and following the worn path which lay before him, Peter suddenly realised he hadn't eaten in two days. God, I'm starved, he thought. Spotting a town at the end of the path and deep into the valley, Peter headed in its direction.

Walking into the centre of the town, Peter was ashamed to admit to himself that he hadn't the faintest idea where he was. Three years in this county and I still don't know where I am, he pondered. Seeing a bar, he instinctively walked in. Seeing people again, admittedly people Peter had never seen before, but still, they were people, was a strange sensation for him. Having been alone with his thoughts for what seemed like an eternity, it was odd to have to interact with others again. Peter approached the bar.

`Pint of stout, please.'

The young woman pulled the pint, and placed it in front of Peter.

`You look like you've travelled miles. Are you a walker?'

`Erm, something like that yeah. Have you got a menu?'

`Sure.'

`Oh well… actually, don't bother, I'll just have a couple of sandwiches. Oh, erm, cheese, I think.'

`OK, not a problem.'

`Thanks. Thanks a lot.'

Peter settled down by the window and opened his rucksack. Assumpta's diary stared at him from where it lay at the top of the bag, willing him to read more. Peter succumbed, and opened it at a random page.

20th September 1996
"I can't believe the surreal quality of today at all. First of all I'm after being roped into performing this play of Padraig's (which, OK, is a good play), then Peter tells me he's the only one left who can play Matthew, then lo and behold the bloody clergy decide that my accommodation isn't up to scratch. The only good thing about that is that Father Mac was left looking stupid, which can only be a good thing!

OK, I can't sleep. I tried, after the last entry, but it's no use. My mind keeps on going round in circles over this part. I'm not usually nervous, but this play has my stomach in knots, and it's only just got like this, only since Enda fell and Peter took over. Oh. OK. Now I don't know what to bloody think. Could it be that I'm nervous about kissing Peter? Diary, I try to be as honest as I can with you about these things, so when I say that, yes, coming close to kissing Peter today on the stage was, hmm, what's the word, almost `electric', that doesn't mean that I've grown attached to him. Not in any sense. Well, I like him, how can I not? Argh this is frustrating. Maybe this is why I can't sleep. I'll try again.

OK two hours later and I REALLY don't feel like writing but I haven't been able to stop thinking about that goddamn scene between Peter and I. I could tell he was nervous at rehearsal, as of course he would be, having to kiss a woman. Oh god. Maybe it's his character that I need to focus on more. Forget the man. Yes, I have to believe that. If I don't, then this play is going to be simply awful. I must sleep now.

21st September 1996
So the performance went great, everyone is calling me the next Maureen O'Hara and Padraig is the next Oscar Wilde, or something like that. Of course by that time it was the drink talking, seeing as we had a little celebration afterwards. Oh, and the only reason the show went as well as it did was because Peter was off the case: Enda dosed up on painkillers and had his ankle put in plaster. It was somehow easier with Enda than it was with Peter, less worry for him and me, I suppose. He seemed disappointed though. I felt sorry for him really. He was a good actor, despite what Quigley said. It was a shame not to see him at the party afterwards. Apparently he'd gone off with Father Mac. What is it with these priests that they always have to stick together? Anyway, yeah, it went well. Bittersweet though, I think."

`Are you OK there?' the waiter said, concerned.

`Yeah, fine.' Without realising, Peter was crying. He lay down the diary and began to eat. He smiled to himself when he thought that Assumpta had lost sleep over him, before he had lost sleep over her. `Electric', he thought. Wow. That was certainly something. Remembering the occasion himself, Peter began to recall how embarrassed he had felt at first, but how after everyone had left the hall, it truly was just them, together. Alone. He recalled the surprise he felt inside himself at how good it was to be alone with her. He remembered how she had cupped his face in her hands, how she had insisted they must kiss, and how he had begun to feel those pangs of desire which would become all too familiar in the year following the play. Peter thought that if they had kissed then, they would have realised their love for each other sooner and would have had longer to spend together. If only Father Mac hadn't come in at that moment. Cursing the gods, HIS God, Peter finished his meal, put the diary in his bag, threw some change on the table and left.

Walking round the town to calm himself down, Peter decided it would be best to work out where he actually was. Going into a newsagent and buying a paper, he asked the cashier the name of the town.

`This is Ballydoog.'

`Ballydoog?' Peter thought, but he'd never heard of the place before. `And, just out of interest, how far is Ballykissangel from here?'

`Bally where?'

`Ballykissangel', said Peter, more slowly.

`Sorry, never heard of it.'

Peter couldn't believe it. Could it have been that the last three years were simply a dream, and that Ballykissangel never existed at all? Peter admitted to himself that this was a ridiculous notion, but in his current state, it was not beyond the realms of consideration.

`Oh wait,' said the cashier, `I think I might know it. Tiny place, right? Blink and you'll miss it? Hmm… I'd say a good thirty miles. To the north, so.'

`Thirty miles?' said Peter, disbelievingly.

`That's right. Will you be wanting anything else with that?'

Peter walked out of the newsagent unable to believe how far he'd travelled in such a short space of time. Leaning against a wall and trying to gather his thoughts to read the paper, he was distracted by just how tired he'd become. No wonder, he thought, that's what you get when you walk thirty miles on no food. Looking up from his paper, he was surprised to see the local church in front of him. Funny, I didn't notice it before, he pondered. Against every wish in his mind, he found himself drawn to it. Walking in, Peter felt as though he were a stranger, not only to the town, but also to the whole feeling of belonging to a church. He sat down towards the back, and recalled how he'd let Assumpta into St. Joseph's during the Ballykay festival to do exactly the same thing… to find a bit of peace and quiet.

Peter contemplated, prayed, and argued with himself over the three hours he spent in the church. He saw people come and go. They all looked at Peter questioningly; who was this strange man, in our church? And for the first time, Peter could understand why they would think that, because he no longer felt at home as he had done before in a church. Any church. His love for Assumpta had managed to overshadow his entire faith. He almost felt awe for the power of love, the power of Assumpta, that she could do this to him with the few expressions of love she had shared with him before she was so cruelly taken away. He still knew he had a huge respect for religion, but could no longer see himself as part of it. For the first time, Peter felt truly alone.

By the time he left the church, it was early evening. Peter didn't want to start walking again, so decided to go back to the pub.

`Glass of whiskey.'

`A bit stronger than earlier, eh?' said the barwoman.

`Yeah, I think you're right.'

She placed the glass in front of Peter, who promptly knocked it back.

`Another,' he said.

`I'd watch it if I were you, if you're gonna go at that pace.'

Peter knew he was being irresponsible, but he no longer cared. She placed the second glass of whiskey in front of him. He decided to take it a bit slower.

`That's more like it,' she said, and smiled. Peter smiled back.

`It's nice to have someone to talk to,' he said.

`A single man are you then?'

Peter was slightly taken aback by this comment, concerned that she might want something from him. He didn't know whether to say he was a priest, or whether he was indeed, a single man. Eventually, he said the first thing that came into his head.

`Erm, well not quite, I'm promised to someone else.' Peter couldn't believe what he'd just said.

`Ah right. She's just somewhere else is she?'

`Yeah, that's it,' said Peter, settling into this new reality, `she's just somewhere else right now.'

`You're in love?'

Peter thought this was quite intrusive, but still answered it anyway.

`Am I in love?' Peter repeated. He knew the answer. `More than I've ever been in my entire life', he said, `and more than I'll ever be, at any time in the future.'

`She's a lucky woman.' At this she went to serve another customer, and Peter did his best to strain a smile. A lucky woman, Peter thought. Where was her `luck' when she was down in that bloody cellar? But Peter had to admit, he liked his new role as fiancé, even though it was, ostensibly, to a ghost. He felt needed, and didn't feel the constraints that the dog collar brought. He downed his whiskey, said goodbye to the barwoman, and left, determined to get back to Assumpta's diary.

Setting up his tent on the banks of a nearby lake, and settling down for the night, Peter opened the diary at another random page.

29th June 1997
"Everyone's worried about these bloody Revenue men lurking around the village, or well at least they're supposed to be Revenue men… nobody really knows. And of course Ambrose isn't talking. Daft eejit. And then there's Kate's offer of helping with the wine bar in Dublin. Ugh, it's all so tempting. I have to get out of this place sooner or later, and this would be the perfect ticket. But, once again, my common sense comes into play, making me stop and think about the risks. But to be quite honest, there aren't that many. But, I don't know, something is stopping me. Keeping me here. And it's strange, because I think I know what it is, then it changes. It seems to… move! From my head, down to my heart, then into my stomach. An inexplicable feeling. Peter said he had heard I was leaving (this town and the gossip drives me mad) and was trying to convince me to stay. He even said he cared about me. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that information? Decide that he's my best friend who gets to know everything first? It's as though he wants me to himself. He's a priest for god's sake. It's getting harder to look at him straight anymore. It's as though every time we look at each other there's some kind of spark. I don't know, but I dare not admit to what it might be. It's too much to comprehend."

Peter woke up late the following day, his head heavy from drink. Moving slowly, he packed his tent up and walked at a slower pace. Again, not sure where he was headed, he simply walked in a direction which took his fancy.

As he walked, he imagined how things would have been if events had turned out differently: if Michael had been able to resuscitate Assumpta, if she and Peter had gotten married, if Assumpta had stayed with Leo, if she'd never gone down to the cellar in the first place. All these `ifs' thought Peter. I hate them. All we ever wanted was to be happy.

`Who the hell is stopping us?' he shouted. His voice echoed around him, compounding his feeling of loneliness. `Assumpta, where are you?' he said, his desperation and pain tingeing every word. He looked around him, as if she was simply hiding behind a tree or nearby hedgerow. He looked towards the heavens, and shouted, `Assumpta!' On the verge of tears and collapsing to his knees, Peter crouched and held his head in his hands, privately cursing the path his life had taken. Suddenly, cutting through the painful silence, he heard a voice.

`If you're looking for me I'm all around you'.

Peter held his position, but opened his eyes, taking his hands from his face.

`You'll never lose me'.

He knew the voice, but thought it was the emotion of the moment, so didn't believe it. But hearing it a second time, he gradually sat upright. In front of his eyes, sat on a nearby wall, was Assumpta. She smiled.

Peter was dumbstruck. Disbelief quickly replaced his speechless state. `This isn't real,' he said, slowly, wanting to believe it, knowing it must have been.

Assumpta stood up, turned around, patted her body, and said, `Erm, no, I don't think so.' She sat back down, and smiled again.

Peter stood up, his hands shaking. He walked gradually over to Assumpta, or at least, what he saw to be Assumpta. His voice trembling, he said, `Is it really you?'

`100%' she said. `Listen, I can't stay. I just thought you ought to know that everything is just fine.'

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. `How…?' he sputtered.

`Don't worry yourself with that. Sweetheart. God I love you, and I miss you. But just listen. Please don't waste your life mourning over me. Get out there and enjoy yourself. Don't forget me, of course, but don't let me stop you doing things either.'

`But, I can't live without you! I love you too much to forget you!'

Peter strode up to Assumpta and attempted to embrace her, but she backed away.

`I know. But remember, I'm always here, I've been with you every day, and I'll be with you every day from now on. I'll never leave your side. I love you. Remember what I said!'

Assumpta backed away from Peter further and returned to sit on the wall. She blew him a kiss, then without fully disappearing, Peter could feel she was no longer there. He blinked, and she had totally gone.

Then he woke up.

Pulling himself up from the makeshift bed he'd made on the ground, his anorak for his pillow, he sat up and looked at the view in front of him… overlooking the lake he'd slept by the night before, the mountains in the distance. The sun beat down. It had all been a dream, he said to himself. He'd laid down after an hour of walking, too tired to carry on.

`Assumpta…' he moaned. For one brief moment he had spoken to her, even though it was all in his head. He had connected with her. And as he remembered more, he realised that she had also advised him. Advised him to mourn, but not to let it stop him from doing anything. His reluctance to do this made him stubborn at first, but as he thought about it more, he knew that it was his future now. One day, he would stop crying. There would be no more tears left. And he'd have to carry on living. He didn't want to live without her, but from now on, he knew that he would have to try and make the best out of the hand life had dealt him. He reached over to his bag and pulled out Assumpta's diary. As the afternoon sun beat down, Peter read on, opening it at another random page.

9th March 1998
"It's strange to be in London again. Of course, the last time I was here I was 14 and visiting the sites, as part of a school trip. But now it's all rather different. There's no point in putting a gloss on things; I'm here to escape Ballykissangel and, well, I can't deny it any longer, Peter. He can't decide what he wants to do, so he goes off on retreat leaving me alone. So this trip should be good for me. Oh and of course I bumped into Leo last night, who hasn't changed a bit, still the same sharp journalist. And still the same guy who fell for me all those years ago. I should have known, going into a bar off Fleet Street. It was great to see him again, I have to admit. And who knows? Something might develop. God knows Peter isn't going to make his mind up about anything any time soon. I can't afford to wait. If Leo wants me, I don't really have a choice. It's the only way out of this problem. In time, he will surely be able to drive Peter out of my head."

He walked and walked, and by the end of the day he estimated he'd covered around fifteen miles. He'd walked until the darkness had fallen. He'd spent the afternoon thinking about what to do next; whether he should stay in Ireland, go back to England, go and live with his brother, live on his own, or go travelling round the world. He realised he had the choice, despite the fact that he didn't want to have to make the decision. Again, putting his tent up by the edge of a field, Peter lay his head down and continued to read from Assumpta's diary. He was glad he'd taken it, though at first he felt guilty. He now understood her thoughts more, most precisely those thoughts she'd had about Peter and their relationship. He was ever grateful for that. It was his connection to her.

22nd April 1998
"Leo left today. I don't really know what to think. I don't know whether to be sad, because I am genuinely fond of him, or happy, because I'll never love him the way he loves me. Also it can't be denied that this leaves the road wide open for something to develop between Peter and I. I never really loved Leo, I just used him. I do feel guilty, but I think Leo always knew the truth anyway. He was kidding himself as much as I was. He knew that Peter was the only thing I thought about, and I could tell that that was the case when Peter was holding Kieran in the kitchen and Leo had spoken to him about me. I knew instantly by the look on Peter's face. That look of helplessness. Leo had to go. And if I'm to be honest, I'm glad. Now, it's time for Peter to decide what he wants. But god knows I'm not waiting forever. "

Waking up early the next morning, Peter hadn't had the best night's sleep. I'm getting fed up of this tent, he thought. Maybe it is time for me to go somewhere. But setting off early meant Peter could get a good start and make decent headway.

By the afternoon, Peter had walked what he thought was about another fifteen miles. He had always been a good walker, but the distance he was covering was surprising even him. The sun was streaming through the clouds, and Peter was walking up towards what he saw to be some kind of precipice, beyond which, he presumed, would lie a lake. He looked around him, and began to feel as though he was in a familiar environment. He walked up to the precipice, and had intended to sit down and read another part of Assumpta's diary. But when he arrived at the edge, he couldn't believe his eyes. `I don't believe this' he said, with a slight groan. It was the spot where he and his friends from Ballykay had held Assumpta's wake, around a week before. He looked around and recognised everything; the rock where he had sat, the view of the lake and the surrounding area. I must have come in a complete circle from Ballydoog, he thought. Although part of him felt like kicking himself, the other part felt somewhat glad he was in a place he could recognise. He sat down on the rock and surveyed the scene. In a week, thought Peter, the time I've spent alone has been invaluable. I'm managing to deal with Assumpta's passing. I've not gotten over it, not by a long shot. But I'm learning how to deal with it. My mind is in a slightly different place, and that's worth a lot.

He looked down, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted what seemed like a headstone. He walked up to the stone, and read the inscription:

Peter was moved to tears. He sat by the stone, crying as he did so, lightly touching the small bunches of flowers, still fresh, which lay nearby. He read the notes attached, from Michael, Siobhan, Brendan, Padraig, Brian, Niamh and Ambrose. He also noticed a single red rose from Leo. Nothing here from me, he thought. At that moment, he reached over to his bag and pulled out a pen and paper, and began to write.

Darling Assumpta,

When I first met you, as everybody knows, we weren't destined to get along! But fate intervened, and I fell totally, utterly and dramatically in love with you. How could I not? Your beautiful hair, dancing eyes, flawless complexion, not forgetting your fiery personality, absolutely captured me. I was not expecting to fall for you in such a way, but my feelings were too strong to ignore. How I love you. How I will always love you. Sweet Assumpta! When I kissed you that night, all the heavens and the stars seemed to collide… the earth stopped revolving round the Sun, and I knew that what had happened would change our lives forever. Who knew that the next day would be the best day and the worst day of my life. The best, because I told you I loved you, and of course, the worst, because you were snatched away from me. Snatched. We deserved more, you and I. But even though we only had those few precious hours together, I would have rather had them and lost you, than not have had them and seen you married to someone else. Someone I now know you didn't love. But, my sweet love, my precious Assumpta, I will always remember you. I will never, ever forget you. I will wear your ring for the rest of my life, and it can be a symbol of our unspoken promise, the promise that we had already made to each other in our hearts, to marry. I am always yours, Assumpta. And you will always be mine, my beautiful sweetheart.

I am reluctant to end this letter, because it seems to represent a kind of goodbye. This will never be goodbye. I will never say goodbye to you, because even though you aren't here with me, I know you are here in spirit. And you are here in my heart. I will take your advice, the advice you gave only to me, and I will try to carry on. But life will never compare to the moments I had with you before you died. Assumpta.

I love you; I will never leave you or forget you. We are bound together forever my sweetheart, my beautiful Assumpta.

All my undying love, Peter.

2nd May 1998
"My god the day I've had today! The pub was fairly quiet, but I've been busy preparing for this Food Fair. Oh and the stupid court appearance tomorrow is another hassle. Not to mention the lights, which I'm really going to have to sort out soon. But that's not the amazing bit. Yes, this does merit an `amazing'… Peter and I accidentally turned up together to baby-sit Kieran, and he went on to tell me how basically he wasn't born to be a priest. He put it in a very cute way, comparing himself to a baby polar bear who hated being in the sea because it was so cold! I embraced him, and then he ever so gently began to kiss my neck. My heart was in my mouth. He moved upwards, towards my cheek, when I just had to stop him (though it felt so good). I told him it wasn't right. What was wrong with me? This moment, which I'd wanted for so long, was here. But when it manifested itself, I was just so taken aback that I had to tell him to stop. I ran out, ran back to the pub and went into the kitchen. I'm ashamed to say I was crying. Brendan saw me and asked me if I was ok. What could I say? I think he might have some idea of what's going on. Oh god. Anyway I went over to Peter's and shouted at him, telling him he needs to decide what he wants. He just needs to make up his mind, and then we can move forward, both of us. I hope he makes the right decision.

3rd May 1998
OK this isn't the usual time I write my diary, but I think I might be whacked tonight after the Food Fair, so I may as well write this now. Today has been even more amazing than yesterday! Unbelievable! The court case was easily dismissed (thank god) so we got away with that one. I'll have to be more careful next time (even though it WAS a private party). Anyway, Peter caught me after the appearance in court, and we went a wonderful walk by Lough Tay. It was wonderful because Peter and I FINALLY told each other how we felt. He said he wanted to do the right thing by me and by the church, but I told him that wasn't possible. He said he thought about me all the time. It was amazing. We went back into Ballykay and this afternoon I've been preparing for the Food Fair for tonight. Peter rang me about an hour ago, and he told me he loved me! Wow! I said did we have to go to church… I'm sure I could hear him laugh. We've just met by the river… he wants to work in the pub, and that will be OK for the short-term, but longer-term plans we'll have to discuss. We're surely going to get married, too. I'm breathless just writing this! I can't believe he's leaving the priesthood for me! This is the way everything should have been anyway. I knew the moment he first arrived and I picked him up in the van that he was different. We're going to be together. And he's happier than I've seen him in such a long time. Our future together… it's going to be amazing. There's that word again! Anyway, I'll have to go and organise this Food Fair. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?! I can't wait. There's a lot to be done, but we'll manage it together. I think I can safely say it now… I love him. I love the priest!"

A week later, Peter felt the tears sting his eyes as he saw Dublin disappear on the horizon. He was going back to England on the ferry. It'll be a while before I can call it `home' again, he thought. But this is the only thing I can think of doing right now. It's the only thing that seems to make sense. Get back to my family. They can help me through this. I hope. As he saw Ireland fade away into the distance, Peter remembered the lament Siobhan sang at Assumpta's wake. The words seemed most poignant at that moment.

A stor mo chroi when you're far away, from the home that you'll soon be leaving,
`Tis many a time, by night and by day, that your heart will be sorely grieving.
For the strangers land may be bright and fair, and rich in its treasures golden,
You'll pine I know, for the long ago, and the love that is never olden.

A stor mo chroi in the strangers land, there is plenty of wealth and wailing,
Though gems adorn the great and the grand, there are faces with hunger paling.
The road is dreary and hard to tread, and the lights of their cities blind you,
Won't you turn, a stor, to Erin's shore, and the love that you left behind you.

A stor mo chroi when the evening sun, over mountain and meadows is falling,
Won't you turn away from the throng and mist, and maybe you'll hear me calling.
For the sound of a voice that is sorely missed, for somebody speedy returning,
Aroon, aroon, won't you come back soon, to the one that will always love you.