As if he needed more on his plate, there were numerous complaints and concerns about Assumpta's women's group. Ridiculous concerns, but numerous nonetheless. It came to the point where he had to speak to her about it.

"Can I have a word about your woman's group." He stepped up to the bar, a fabulously solid piece of furniture which also boasted a public setting.

"You don't approve?" She sounded like she fully expected him to rage against feminism but he wouldn't rise to the argument. He had a piece to say. He'd say it and get out of there.

"I know you're not trying to bring the church down."

"What makes you so sure?"

He barely reacted, just delivered his bit: "Other people have different views from you and their ideas deserve as much respect as yours."

"Well, I've had no complaints."

"That's because you're not the one the busy-bodies complain to. I've had an earful."

"Well that's your job, Peter, caring and listening."

He tried, and failed, not to look hurt.

"Hang on a minute, we wouldn't be talking about the busy-body who runs the shop across the road?"

"Ah – lots of people."

"So she's the one who's been destroying my posters?"

"Assumpta, will you just-" this was not the plan.

"I'm right, aren't I?" She started for the end of the bar. "Okay." She was never one to take anything lying down. He should have seen this coming. So much for helping matters.

She returned from the scuffle clearly unsatisfied, glared at Peter, and then busied herself behind the bar. He left before she looked over again. He didn't return till late and went straight to his room.

"Well that's your job, Peter, caring and listening." Her own words reverberated in her head. So much for being a good friend. She couldn't sleep that night. Leo had gone on another of his long walks. She was restless. There was nothing to do but shut up shop. She didn't get ready for bed, just lay on top of the covers, failing to rouse any interest in a book she'd been meaning to read for ages. She was waiting for Leo, she told herself.

There were noises downstairs. It wouldn't be a break-in, she assured herself, just Leo, or Peter. Maybe Peter needed something and couldn't find it.

She went down and found him in the kitchen.

He jumped on hearing her approach, forced a smile, "It's just water."

"No, it's fine. Help yourself to – whatever you need."

"Thanks. I should head up anyway."

"I'm sorry." She jumped at the chance, "For what I said earlier. It's not your problem."

"Yes it is."

"No, I mean -" she sighed, "It's awfully easy to turn everyone around here paranoid."

He half-laughed. "That was the goal?"

"Of course not."

He shook his head. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Not this." She realised she might well be answering a different question – or the same question but on a very different topic.

"Did you even consider-?" He stopped himself short, put down his cup. "I'm sorry. I should go to bed."

"I did, you know." She stood in his way, angling her head, trying to look him in the eye. Then she clarified, "Consider you."

"What?"

"That's what this is, isn't it? You don't look this knackered because Kathleen Hendley's got her knickers in a twist, you-" she faltered when he looked at her, "This is about you and me?"

"Assumpta-" he tried to turn the conversation, assure her it wasn't that, but he couldn't find the words.

"Just say it. Maybe that's the key to putting it all behind us. God, if your being a priest and my being married isn't enough-"

He glanced at the door, as if they were being over heard.

"He's not here." She said.

"Where is he?"

She shrugged, shook her head. "No idea."

"He's gone?" He looked genuinely worried.

"He's walking off writer's block. He's trying to figure out why we all haven't upped and moved to Dublin where it's happening."

Peter swallowed. "I should go to bed."

"Because running off has worked so well for us in the past."

"What do you want me to say?" He snapped.

She was surprised, almost satisfied to have gotten past the veneer, but she couldn't answer his question.

"You want me to be fine with this? Well I'm trying my very best, Assumpta, but I can only fake it for so many hours of the day. I'm sorry if that's inconvenient for you."

She swallowed back tears, recognising the agony he was in – and at her hand. "I thought it would be easier." She stepped toward him. "I thought, if there was a definite line we couldn't cross, then we could go back to what we were – before."

"Good friends."

She couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

She should leave, get out of arm's reach, and fast. But she couldn't quite summon the strength to move.

"Look, I'll find some other place to stay." He said, then stepped around her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe one day."

He was behind her now, he couldn't see the tears spilling onto her cheeks so she let them spill.