Chapter Two
Outside the door, Assumpta shifted her weight from foot to foot, and shook her hands nervously. Suddenly aware of what a ridiculous spectacle she'd make for any passersby, she decided to face the music. She knocked loudly, and, after a noisy struggle to get the stroller out of the way, Niamh answered.
'Assumpta, hi!' she said brightly, standing aside to let her friend in.
'Hi,' Assumpta replied. 'And hello, wee fella,' she added, reaching out to take Kieran from Niamh, who willingly gave him up.
'We're off to Mass in twenty minutes, but I s'pose that's time enough for a cup of tea.'
They moved into the kitchen, where Assumpta sat down with Kieran while Niamh made the tea. Trying to work out where to begin, Assumpta gave Kieran an exaggerated look of despair, to which he giggled loudly. Niamh looked over from the kettle and smiled.
'God only knows why, but that baby just adores you. I think the only person he likes more is Father Clifford.'
And there it was – the opening. Did it have to come so soon in the conversation? Couldn't they have just made small talk for a while? Assumpta sighed in resignation.
'Actually, Niamh, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.'
'What is?' Niamh asked absently, bringing the teas over and sitting down across from Assumpta.
'Father Clifford...'
'Oh? What about him?'
Looking at Niamh's innocent and curious expression, Assumpta wondered whether she was really oblivious to it all. Assumpta had never mentioned anything to her... and Niamh had had a lot on her mind lately. Peter had said that dogs on the street knew how he felt about Assumpta, but maybe new mothers were an entirely different thing...
'I wanted to tell you now... so you could hear it from me, rather than hear it at Mass tonight with everyone else.'
'Hear what?'
'Well, Father Clifford... I mean, Peter... the thing is... he and I... well, we're... together.'
There. It was said. Awkwardly and disjointedly, yes, but it was said. Although, Niamh was evidently not comprehending.
'How do you mean 'together'?'
'You know, Niamh. Together'
Niamh blinked.
'What? Like... going out? Boyfriend and girlfriend?'
Assumpta laughed weakly. 'God, Niamh, you make it sound like we're twelve.'
Niamh just stared at her. Assumpta shifted Kieran awkwardly from one knee to the other.
When finally Niamh spoke, Assumpta wished she hadn't.
'What about Leo?'
Assumpta rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing red with exasperation.
'Niamh, if you like Leo so much, why don't you marry him?' she spat.
'He loves you, Assumpta.'
'So does Peter.'
'He's a priest.'
'Is he really? Well, that's a tad inconvenient, isn't it? Never mind, I'll be off home.'
Assumpta stood, plonked Kieran onto Niamh's lap, and headed for the door.
'Wait,' Niamh called.
Assumpta paused. She heard Niamh sigh.
'Are you happy, Assumpta?'
'Yes,' she stated emphatically.
Resigned, Niamh gave a half smile. 'Won't you sit back down then?'
Assumpta complied, and waited for her friend to make the next move. Niamh looked at her watch, then spoke, now in excited, girlish tones.
'Right, you've got ten minutes. Tell me everything.'
Assumpta grinned.
'Well, it all started when I picked him up on his way to Ballyk...'
And so, Assumpta told Niamh the story of how she had come to fall in love with the most unlikely man in the world. Niamh listened intently, with occasional interjections of 'Oh my' and 'He didn't!' and 'What? Here? In my kitchen?'.
When Niamh eventually did leave for Mass, she did so with a much more positive attitude toward Ballykissangel's new development, and Assumpta was very glad to know that she and Peter had at least one friend on their side.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Assumpta tried to read. She must not look at the clock again, she told herself, until she finished the chapter. Two seconds later, she tossed the book away in frustration, glanced at the clock, and collapsed back onto the pillows.
She contemplated packing for Manchester, but, in this state of mind, she'd most likely end up packing ten scarves and no shoes. She imagined what conversations were taking place below in Fitzgerald's, and felt a wave of gratitude to Niamh for agreeing to man the bar after evening Mass.
Everyone would know by now. Even those who didn't attend the Mass would surely have had a scandalised phone call from a friend. Assumpta didn't know why, but the thought made her feel afraid, guilty... But she hadn't don't anything wrong! Nor had Peter. All they had done was fall in love... And wasn't love a beautiful and sacred thing? She feared that many in the community would not quite see it that way.
Where the heck was Peter? What was he doing? Was he bailed up, being lectured by Kathleen Hendley? Assumpta wished he'd at least call, just so she'd know that everything was okay... Besides, they were supposed to be leaving the country tomorrow, and she had not had evidence of even a hint of a plan. She was just about to pick up the phone to call him herself when Niamh rapped on the open door.
'Peter's downstairs.'
'What? In the bar?'
Niamh shook her head.
'In the kitchen. He sort of snuck in through the back door.'
'Oh right. Thanks.'
Assumpta jumped up, and moved quickly towards the stairs. She paused, about to ask Niamh how everything was going in the pub, when she decided she'd rather not know, and continued downstairs into the kitchen.
Peter was standing by the table, nervously drumming his fingers on the back of a chair.
'Well, look at you, sneaking around dark alleyways in the night just to see me,' Assumpta said playfully, hoping to keep the conversation light for just a little while.
Peter smiled.
'Sorry I waited so long to come; I didn't want to risk running into anybody on the street.'
'Ah, you big baby.'
'Says she who spent the evening hiding in her room,' he said, raising his eyebrows.
'Shut up.'
Assumpta moved closer to him, and took both his hands in hers. It was the first time, Peter noted with joy, that she had been the one to instigate contact between them.
'How did it go?' she asked tentatively.
Peter let out a long, exhausted breath.
'It went well, I think... I hope... It's hard to say.'
Assumpta nodded. She wanted to know more, but she knew she shouldn't press him too much tonight. Still, she couldn't help but ask, 'You're not... having second thoughts, though?'
He squeezed her hands tighter, and looked her intensely in the eyes.
'Never. I should have done this long ago, Assumpta. It would have saved us all a lot of hurt, I think. I'm sorry I ran away from you... It's just that the strength of my feelings for you scared me to death. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing in fleeing from them... Do you understand?'
He looked pleadingly down at her, willing her to understand, to forgive him.
'I do understand, Peter,' Assumpta assured him. 'Still,' she added after a pause, 'you kind of broke my heart...'
Once again, Peter wondered how something could sound at the same time exhilarating and depressing. The thought that he had enough of her heart to break it filled him with elation, but the thought that he had failed to take proper care of it filled him with remorse and sorrow.
He let go of one of her hands, freeing his to brush the hair away from her face.
'I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'But I am going to spend the rest of forever mending it for you.'
Assumpta had never thought that any mere mortal would be capable of making her knees weak. Apparently, she was wrong. She looked up at Peter in amazement.
'Oh, you are very good at this, aren't you?'
'Am I?' Peter grinned triumphantly.
'You are,' Assumpta confirmed.
Encouraged, Peter released Assumpta's other hand in favour of putting his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him. He leaned in to kiss her, but paused a millimetre from her lips to murmur, 'I love you'. When they finally did kiss, it was with all the feelings, memories, hopes and longings of the past three years. It was with all the gratitude for the present, and the dreams for the future. It was with all the pure love that neither of them had ever thought they'd have.
You can forget weak knees; the only thing keeping Assumpta's body from collapsing onto the ground was Peter's strong grip on her waist.