This picks up from the conversation between Peter and Assumpta just after she's married Leo...
"Aren't you going to stay at our place?" She knew, even as she asked the question, that he wouldn't. The way he'd looked at her just moments ago – no. They needed time. Space.
"Actually, no, I've already made other arrangements."
"Well you're not going to stay in that thing are you?"
"Why not? Sacraments on wheels, twenty four hours a day, christenings, confessions, instant weddings."
"Right." She turned to go. She could hardly blame him. "If you change your mind."
"Yeah. Bye."
He didn't go in for a drink that evening. And it wasn't as if he was actually sleeping in the sacristy, just lying on the floor when the place was broken in to.
The next night was the pub tournament. Niamh stepped up and offered her spare room, thank heaven, but then her father arrived at the last minute, homeless and worse-off for it than Peter. And Brian was family. So Father Clifford was out, back to the sacristy.
Father Mac was furious when he found out - sleeping in the sacristy, drawing attention to himself. Nothing brings home fury like a heart attack. Peter vowed to find more suitable accommodation. There was nothing for it but Fitzgerald's. He almost relished it, being bullied into proving, to himself and anyone else who cared to notice, that he wasn't in the least bit shaken by the landlady's recent nuptials.
"Of course." Assumpta looked shaken when he asked. "Erm, give me a minute to get it sorted, yeah?"
He nodded. "I'll bring my things over later."
"You're moving in?"
"For the meantime. Don't worry, it all fits in one bag. I'll clean up after myself."
"Ah, well then, you'd better have a discounted rate."
"That's a relief."
She looked like she wanted to say something else but forced a closed-lipped smile and went to serve a customer.
Given the opportunity she escaped into the kitchen for a breather, a chance to react. Peter was going to stay under the same roof while time Leo was staying in her room – gah! She needed to stop thinking of it as her room. Of course Leo was staying in the same room. He was her husband.
And what was Peter? Her priest? No, he was a friend. And a homeless one at that. She'd get over this – whatever this was. She had to. For everyone's sake.
Peter avoided the pub, and it was easily done, doing Father Mac's work as well as his own. Leo was ever-present anyway – a helpful reminder, unpleasant though it may be.
The only challenge came in the evening. The bar was busy and hiding away in his room would only draw attention – something he was apparently quite adept at. He could stay up at the church for some of the evening at least. There he might escape curiosity. A priest never needed to answer for spending too many hours in a church.
But Assumpta spotted him coming in and noticed his absence from then on. How was it possible the man was living under the same roof and she saw him even less than before? The next evening he had a beer with Michael Ryan in the distant corner and then disappeared. It wasn't busy. Even Leo could handle this crowd.
"I need some air. Won't be long." She took off before anyone could question her.
She made a deal with herself. She'd do two laps. If she spotted Peter she'd approach him, she'd try. He was clearly having a hard time of it and perhaps he needed a friend. They had been good friends once.
She didn't see him, but she saw the church was open. She knew he'd be in there. On the second lap she went in, feeling like a traitor to her deal, even if it had only been struck with herself.
She stopped at the threshold, spotting him on his knees near the front. She didn't want to interrupt so she took a seat near the back.
She'd been in that church so many times as a child. And then, for a long time, not at all. In the past two years it had become a small part of her life again, in a strange way, and mostly because of the man near-keeled over at the front.
He let out a groan, frustration or pain. It got her right in the gut. She should leave. He'd be humiliated if she alerted him to her presence now.
Before she got a chance, he stood. She glimpsed his face for just a moment before he saw her; exhaustion, confusion, fear.
"Assumpta-"
"Sorry."
He looked away.
She stood. "I should have said something when I came in."
"No, no it's fine. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah." She wondered for a moment why he'd ask, but then realised that her being in a church at all was something of a marvel. "Oh, I just – ah, I noticed you seemed a little – I don't know." She stepped out into the aisle. He wasn't moving closer to her but she couldn't have this conversation from the other side of a room. "I just wanted to be sure you were okay."
"I'm fine." He said.
She watched him.
"I'll be fine." He insisted.
She nodded. He didn't want to confide in her, clearly. It hurt, but she should leave it alone. "We were good friends once." She said quietly, wistful.
His eyes drilled into her. "There's nothing to say now that will change anything."
"No?"
He shook his head.
She steeled herself. "Fine."
He spoke earnestly at last. "I'm sorry. I just can't." His voice wavered.
She ached for him, desperate to help, desperate to offer any small thing. "It's okay, Peter. You don't have to explain. But you don't have to be alone."
"Yes, I do."
Again, she couldn't help but be hurt. He saw it in her features and stepped toward her, then jerked to a stop. "Don't ask me."
"Don't ask you what?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. You'd better get back."