Himself(54)

‘An anonymous member of the community wishes to become your benefactor.’

‘Those frogs are having a great time of it on your rug there, Father.’

Father Quinn peels apart some papers on his desk. ‘This generous individual, who wishes to remain nameless, is offering you a truly wonderful opportunity. The sort of opportunity that a man like you ought to be extremely grateful for.’

‘If those are all St Brigid’s tears she had an awful lot of crying to do, God bless her.’

As if in answer a wave laps gently at the toe of Mahony’s boot.

Father Quinn’s colour begins to rise, starting at the peripheries of his temples and the strip of his neck just above his collar. ‘The benefactor in question would like to fund your passage to America.’

‘The land of opportunities, Father?’

‘Indeed. They are also prepared to furnish you with a modest sum to help you start a new life. Perhaps you will even find some use there for your – various talents.’

Mahony turns and wades towards the spring with his cigarette in his mouth. He holds out his hand and the water twists and gushes affectionately towards him, like a cat rubbing its chin over his fingers.

‘Once you have accepted I’m to furnish you with a ticket and personally escort you to the airport.’

Father Quinn unlocks his desk drawer and extracts a banded pile of banknotes. ‘And just before I see you onto a plane and wave you goodbye I’m to give you this.’ He lays them on the desktop. ‘It is all here for the taking, Mahony. Everything you need to begin your new life without delay.’

Mahony smiles and sculls to the edge of the desk and sits down on it, smoking thoughtfully.

‘That’s a big pile of money there, Father.’

Father Quinn nods. ‘It is.’

‘And this generous benefactor wants me to go to America?’

‘They do.’

‘To make my fortune and then come home a rich man?’

The priest’s smile is unwavering. ‘There would be no coming home, if by home you mean Mulderrig. That’s the only stipulation your benefactor makes.’

Mahony laughs. ‘And why the hell would I come back to Mulderrig if I was living the high life in the U-S-of-A?’

‘Precisely,’ says Father Quinn.

Mahony stubs out his cigarette in Father Quinn’s antique inkpot, leans forward and picks up the money. It’s a lot of money. Closely bound, with perfect edges, neat, clean, new. Someone made a special visit to the bank for this. Mahony smiles at Father Quinn and the priest shows him every single one of his long teeth in return.

‘Father Quinn, I would like to thank this kind benefactor from the bottom of my heart for their generosity. But I can’t leave Mulderrig. Call it unfinished business.’

Father Quinn’s smile drops right off his face. ‘If you’re holding out for more, Mahony—’

‘Not at all.’ Mahony puts the money down on the desk and smiles at the priest. ‘You should know, money isn’t everything, Father.’

Father Quinn’s eyes bulge out of his head. ‘You won’t get another offer, Mahony. I’d advise you to take the money.’

‘And no doubt that would be sound advice. But if it’s all the same I’ll leave it.’ He holds up his empty hands. ‘Well, it’s been grand gassin’ with you, Father. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.’

Mahony walks towards the door and Father Quinn sees, with an unholy variety of rage, that at each step the water ripples back to leave only dry carpet beneath Mahony’s feet.





Chapter 24


May 1976


‘Now I’d say that this was deliberate, wouldn’t you?’ says Bridget, holding up the severed end of the metal flex. The stage is littered with fallen scaffold.

‘Who’s in charge of the lighting, Mahony?’

‘Eddie Callaghan’s nephew.’

‘And has he got it in for you?’

Mahony kicks the shattered casing of a spotlight. ‘Not that I know of.’

Bridget stands up. ‘If you hadn’t jumped out of the way in time—’

‘I did though.’

Bridget looks closely at him. ‘You had your back to it, Mahony. How in God’s name did you see that coming?’

Mahony smiles. Over by the curtain, Johnnie takes a bow.





Chapter 25


May 1944


She told Father Jim she had nothing inside the house to give him and pulled the door to behind her so that he wouldn’t catch sight of the state of Mammy in the chair. Father Jim said not to worry, that it was her he’d come to see. He asked if she’d like to walk with him.

They went down to the cliffs and the priest took off his coat and they sat side by side on it. It had been a fine morning but now full-bellied rainclouds bruised the sky for miles. Over the horizon the sun was breaking through a bank of cloud; it skimmed the sea with mackerel streaks of light.

Father Jim turned to her and asked her if she was still conversing with the dead. Orla refused to meet his gaze.

‘And the notes, Orla? Any more of those?’

She let her fingers run through the grass.

‘The town’s in uproar.’ Father Jim looked out at the sea. ‘When they settle down again they’ll find they mostly don’t believe Benny Ganley. I’ve done what I can to smooth things over but you have to promise me that there’ll be no more.’