No reviews on the last chapter. Did you not like it? That's cool; I'd love to know why, though. Maybe I can improve it :) Anyway, here's the next bit!
Chapter Three
Four o'clock in the morning. Assumpta at four o'clock in the morning... It sounded like an extraordinarily bad idea to Peter, but, when you leave booking flights until the day before, what can you expect?
One look at her when she opened the door confirmed Peter's suspicions that he was already skating on thin ice for no other reason than that it was, well, four o'clock in the morning. He decided it was best not to attempt to engage her in any conversation beyond 'Good morning' and 'Let me take your bags'.
Assumpta slept in the passenger seat of Peter's car all the way to Dublin. Peter found it very difficult to keep his eyes on the road rather than on her face, and he smiled when, every now and then, she gave a small, contented sigh. The past couple of days had gone by in such a blur that he had never been entirely sure that it was all real. But, now, in the peaceful quiet of the morning, it was beginning to sink in. She was really there; she was really his; and he was taking her home.
At the airport, Assumpta sat wishing she could go back to sleep, but the damn lights were too bright, there were too many people, and that stupid woman kept announcing things over the sound system in an inappropriately chirpy voice. Meanwhile, Peter was reading to her from pieces of paper, trying to solicit her help in working out which trains and buses to catch once they reached Heathrow. His words sounded more like buzzing, or like that teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoon. Suddenly, they stopped. He was looking at her expectantly... Had he asked her a question?
'What?' she blurted. 'Look, Peter, it's not yet six o'clock. Do you really think I want to discuss logistics right now?'
Peter looked dejected, but, before he could reply, that stupid woman announced that their flight would be delayed another fifteen minutes.
Frustrated, Assumpta slumped back into her seat, folding her arms across her chest.
'Remind me again why I agreed to this?'
Without a word, Peter set his papers on the chair beside him, stood up and walked away.
Assumpta groaned, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands. When she looked up, she saw that an old lady seated across from her was staring reproachfully over her knitting. Assumpta stared stonily back at her.
'That's a good man you've got there,' said the old lady quietly.
'I know that,' spat Assumpta defensively.
After a few seconds, the lady curtly replied, 'Yes, dear, but does he know you know that?'
Assumpta rolled her eyes, and looked off in the other direction. Silly old bat should mind her own business.
When Peter hadn't returned ten minutes later, Assumpta began to worry. Taking her home to meet his family was a big deal for him, and she'd given the impression that she didn't want to go. She must have really hurt him... She was about to get up and go search for him when he appeared. He did not look hurt, however.
He strode over to her, clutching a takeaway coffee cup and a white paper bag. Sitting down beside her, he handed over the cup. Then, he looked tentatively at the bag, then at her face, and said, 'I wasn't sure if you liked chocolate or banana muffins, so I got you both.'
Assumpta's heart flooded with warmth, and she felt strangely as though she might cry. After the way she spoke to him... He wasn't even upset. He understood exactly what she needed. He understood her so perfectly, like no one else had ever done.
'Well, I like banana muffins.'
'Terrific,' Peter grinned, opening the bag eagerly, 'I'll have the chocolate one, then.'
Smiling a smile that was obviously caused by more than muffins and coffee, Assumpta leaned over and kissed Peter tenderly on the cheek.
'Thank you, Peter.'
In the seat opposite, the old lady smiled triumphantly at her knitting.
The rest of the trip passed more smoothly once Assumpta had had her coffee. On the plane, they played two-handed Patience with a deck of cards Peter had brought; on the train, they read their respective books, Assumpta resting her head on Peter's shoulder; but, in the taxi, Peter watched Assumpta wring her hands nervously.
'Will your brothers be at the house when we arrive?' she asked.
'No, we'll all meet up for dinner at Mark's place at seven... If that's okay with you.'
Assumpta looked at her watch. It was almost six already.
'Sure,' she said, with a little too much false confidence.
A horrified expression came across her face as something occurred to her.
'Peter, do they know about me?'
Peter laughed.
'Of course they know about you.'
Assumpta nodded.
'Right... yeah, of course.'
Peter took her hand.
'Stop worrying; they'll love you.'
When they arrived, Peter paid the cab driver, while Assumpta stood surveying the house. It was a small, sweet house, which looked more like a cottage. Noticing red Middlesbrough curtains through an upstairs window, she smiled. No prizes for guessing whose room that was.
She helped Peter in with the bags, which they dumped on the sitting room floor.
'Well,' Peter said, gesturing grandly to their surroundings, 'This is it. It's not much, but it's home.'
Looking around, Assumpta nodded.
'Yeah. It looks like a home.'
The sitting room was warm and inviting, with large dark wooden bookcases, comfy chairs and a huge fireplace. Walking over to the fireplace, Assumpta tentatively inspected the three model aeroplanes on the mantle. The first two were clearly made from the same kit, though they were not identical. One was almost flawlessly made, painted and polished, with 'Mark' printed neatly on the wing. The second plane was sloppier, and looked as though it had spent more time being played with outside than displayed on the mantle. Hastily scrawled on its wing was 'Peter'. The third plane had obviously been made by a younger child, as it was a much simpler construction. It was messily painted all the colours of the rainbow, and written on its wing, in what Assumpta could only assume was Peter's mother's flowing hand, was 'Joey'.
On either side of the fireplace stood the two bookcases. One was filled with a rather impressive collection of volumes, mostly classics, except for the lowest shelf, which was stocked with brightly coloured children's books. The other bookcase held photographs and other memories. Taking pride of place was a large picture of Peter and his mother at his ordination. Assumpta felt a surge of sympathy for Peter, thinking of how very recently it was that he lost his mum.
Peter came over to stand beside Assumpta, pointed at the picture, and announced, 'That's her – me old mum.'
They studied the picture together in silence for a few moments, before Assumpta quietly spoke.
'I know how hard it must be for you, now that she's gone...'
'Yeah,' Peter solemnly replied, 'it is hard. But I know she's gone home, and that makes me happy.'
Assumpta smiled. She admired Peter's faith; she didn't always understand it, but she admired it all the same. Looking back at the photo, she said, 'She must have been very proud of you.'
'She was,' Peter grinned.
An awful, sinking feeling entered Assumpta's stomach as she wondered what Peter's mum, so proud of her son the priest, would think of her leading him to give it up.
'Come on,' Peter said cheerfully, 'I'll show you to your room.'
He picked up Assumpta's bags, and headed for the staircase. Assumpta followed. When they reached the top, he stopped outside a closed door.
'You'll be sleeping in my room,' he informed her.
Assumpta raised her eyebrows.
'Will I just?'
'And,' Peter continued, 'I'll be sleeping in Mark's old room.'
'Ah.'
Assumpta wasn't quite sure whether she was relieved or disappointed...
While Peter went to bring his own bags upstairs, Assumpta arranged her things, and inspected Peter's childhood bedroom. It was what she expected, really – Middlesbrough bed sheets, curtains, posters and figurines, his own football boots thrown carelessly into the corner by the closet, a Bible and some Rosary Beads on his bedside table...
Peter called out to ask if she wanted a cup of tea, which, of course, she did. They drank their tea from his mother's china cups while they sat together on the sofa going through a book of Peter's baby photos which Assumpta had – to Peter's dismay – quickly located on the bookcase. Assumpta was so busy laughing hysterically at the photos, and telling Peter how cute he was ('What do you mean was?' he cried, trying to sound deeply offended) that she forgot to worry about their dinner with Peter's brothers until it was time to go...
