The Spirit and the Flesh

3. That's What Friends Are For

Fitzgerald's was as quiet as the grave when Assumpta arrived back at the bar. Padraig was nowhere to be found and Niamh had locked up as the power was still off. She glanced around the old place and wondered how much she would really miss it. The constant repairs and fluctuating business were never going to make her rich, then there were the long hours. But it was her home, and had been all her life, apart from a few years spent at college. It wasn't as if she hadn't contemplated leaving before, and in truth, it was Peter who'd kept her anchored to the place for this long. She could never stay away from him, even after her foolishly hasty marriage to Leo. Assumpta felt a twinge of guilt, despite swearing off it when she stopped going to church. She couldn't help falling in love with Peter, nor he with her, but they had landed themselves in one hell of a mess because of it.

"Ah, you're back," Padraig broke into her reverie as he entered the bar.

"You promised me the power would be back on, I can't run a pub without it," she protested.

"That's what I came to tell you, I'm fixing up a car and I need some parts from Cilldargan. I was going anyway to get your new fuse box, so I might as well kill the two birds with one stone," he explained.

"Ah, Padraig," she grumbled over the delay.

"How's Father Clifford?" He inquired in hopes of diverting her attention and temper.

He's coming to the realisation that a bump on his head is the least of his worries, she thought.

"Sure, he'll be fine."

Padraig nodded and set off back to work, after warning Assumpta not to mess with anything in the cellar.

She glanced over at the hatch, and remembering Peter's bad dream, a shiver ran down her spine. She didn't intend to tempt fate, especially now, when God might welcome an opportunity to strike her down.

"There you are so," Niamh's voice made her start.

"I've just seen dad, and he told me there's a journalist from The Enquirer sniffing around the place. Her car broke down in the village, and it looks like she's been killing the time waiting on it being fixed by doing some snooping. Apparently, she was in the shop and overheard Kathleen talking about Father Clifford's accident, and now she's going from door to door asking people about him," she explained.

"Why in the world would a journalist be interested in a priest bumping his head? Unless she thinks he's been at the altar wine," Assumpta joked to cover her anxiety.

It seemed her and Peter's worst nightmare was coming true, as fate had seen fit to strand a member of the gutter press on their doorstep.

Niamh looked uncomfortable, as if there was something she wanted to say, but wasn't sure how to begin.

"I think Kathleen might have given her the impression that you and Peter were, well, you know?" She said.

"I'll just bet she did," Assumpta was fuming.

"She mentioned how you'd been at his hospital bedside, and that she suspected you weren't there out of religious devotion. She said it wasn't God you'd been getting close to for the last three years," Niamh frowned.

She scrutinised her friend's reaction to the accusations, and couldn't determine if the colour in her cheeks was due to anger, or whether guilt was making her blush.

"The spiteful old cow," Assumpta seethed.

She started to nervously fiddle with things behind the bar, upon realising that the Guard's wife was about to subject her to the third degree.

"So why have you been at the hospital? I know the two of you are friends, but I've eyes in my head, and after Leo…"

Niamh paused, she'd long suspected the truth, if she was honest. It was another thing to hear it spoken aloud though.

The sound of the telephone ringing saved the landlady from answering, and she couldn't help being glad of the temporary reprieve. The call was from Peter, to let her know he was being released from hospital. The walls were closing in on them, and she hoped they were strong enough to withstand the pressure.

Assumpta knew her friend needed an answer, and she deserved one.

"I love him, Niamh, and he loves me. It's not as if we meant for this to happen, and God knows we've both fought against it, but we were only delaying the inevitable," she confessed.

It suddenly felt as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

"I was right, wasn't I, when I said you only wanted the men you couldn't have? Except you don't let little things like him wearing a Roman collar, or the fact you'd a wedding ring on your finger, stand in your way," Niamh raged.

"Now, wait a minute…" Assumpta tried to calm things down, but was quickly cut off.

"How could you? Both of you? Peter's the best priest this village has seen in a long time, and what about Kieran's christening?"

Niamh only paused to draw breath.

"Like I said, I've got eyes, and I'd be lying if I pretended this had come at me out of the blue, but still, poor Leo. How could you have married him when you were in love with another man? You broke his heart."

Assumpta sighed, and she couldn't deny what was true.

"I wished I could've loved Leo, and I wanted to, he had one fatal flaw though; he wasn't Peter. You can't make yourself love somebody any more than you can force yourself to stop loving someone you shouldn't," she said.

They both fell silent, and as Assumpta was expected at the hospital, she decided it might be best to give her friend some space.

"Will I be seeing you then?" She asked as Niamh got up to leave.

"Ballykissangel's a small place, sure I'd see you whether I wanted to or not."


Peter was dressed in his clerical suit, without the dog collar, and in a pensive mood as he walked out of the hospital with Assumpta. She told him about the stranded reporter and of Niamh's reaction to their relationship. He didn't speak a word or give any response and she began to worry he'd had a change of heart.

"Father Mac said some harsh things, but I think I'd better go and see him. He won't want any scandal, if it can be avoided," Peter reasoned.

"What's going on? I thought you'd made your choice and now you're back in that suit fretting about the boss," Assumpta glared at him.

"I'm in the suit because that's what I came here in, and as for Father Mac, I don't want to cause him any more trouble than I have to," he explained.

"Why not? The miserable old sod, I bet he's not concerned about sparing us any grief," she argued.

"He won't say anything to that reporter, if that's what you mean, he won't want the bad publicity for the church. I'm telling you this in the strictest confidence, and you're not to repeat it to a soul, but Father Mac recently had a minor heart attack," Peter confided.

"Sure I didn't think he had one, a swinging brick, maybe," Assumpta quipped.

He gave her a glare of disapproval, but she was in no mood for compromise.

"Anyway, you're the one who's just getting out of hospital, and if he wants you, he knows where to find you."

He didn't dare argue, and instead turned his attention to another important matter he'd been considering.

"Me Aunty Barbara lives in Australia, she came over for mum's funeral and she told me I'd be welcome to go and stay with her any time. She went out there in the eighties with her first husband, and she runs a small hotel on the gold coast. What do you say to you and me going down there for a few months, let the dust settle here for a bit, eh?"

The offer took Assumpta by surprise, but in a pleasant way, and she was tempted.

"And what will your Aunty Barbara say when her priest nephew shows up on the doorstep with his female friend in tow? She inquired.

Peter smirked.

"She was brought up in the Catholic faith, same as mum, but she's not exactly what you'd call devout. She's a divorcee herself, and she's no children of her own, so I've always been special to her."

"Living in a land down under, eh?" Assumpta grinned.

"Well, I don't know about that, BallyK is still our home, isn't it?" He shrugged.

"Don't they say, that home is where the heart is? Well, my heart is with you, so I suppose that means as long as I'm with you, I'm home," she smiled.

Peter was touched, and he gazed adoringly at her.

"I know we're not having the easiest of starts, but I'm in this for the long haul, you know. I want to marry you, Assumpta, and have a family, I want us to have lots of kids."

"Define lots?" She asked with mock alarm.

The most surprising thing to her was that she didn't find the idea abhorrent.

"Let's start with half a dozen and take it from there," he grinned.

Motherhood had never been high on her list of priorities, but she knew Peter would make be a fantastic dad. They hadn't done anything more than kiss yet, and the prospect of making babies with him made her tingle with anticipation.

"Sure you'll make a good Catholic of me yet," she laughed.


Carmel Power had been the length and breadth of the village trying to gather information about their curate. The people were friendly and polite enough, but this was a close knit community. The mere suggestion that the priest and the local landlady were anything more than friends was either met with denial or outright derision. She was about to give it up as a bad lot when an aquamarine coloured van came into view. The driver and passenger had to be her persons of interest, and she watched as they drove up to the curate's house. He exited the van alone and then the woman drove back down the hill to park outside the pub.

She decided to seize the moment.

"Would you be the landlady by any chance? My name's Carmel Power, I wonder if you could spare me five minutes for a quick chat?"

Assumpta gave her a suspicious look and decided she'd play along for a while.

"A chat was it? About anything in particular?" She inquired as she unlocked the doors to Fitzgerald's and invited the reporter in.

The place was still in darkness but there were banging sounds emanating from the cellar.

"Will I get you a drink? The electric's off but I'm sure I could rustle something up."

Carmel asked for a diet coke, and not minding it was warm, she got straight to the point.

"I saw you dropping Father Clifford off, it must be a relief to you to have him home safe and sound."

"It's a relief to us all, I'm sure, and especially to those who had to sit through Father MacAnally giving mass," Assumpta jested.

"I'm with The Enquirer, and I'm hoping to write a piece on the stresses faced by young priests in the Catholic Church. I expect you've been a big comfort to Father Clifford in his time of need, he'll have been glad to have a close friend like you to lean on," Carmel smiled as if what she was insinuating was perfectly innocent.

"He's got a lot of friends in this village, it's that kind of place, and there's no shortage of leaning posts," the landlady had dealt with trickier customers than this one.

"Did I hear you'd recently separated from your husband? That must have been a very difficult decision, for a devout Catholic like yourself," the reporter wasn't going to be outfoxed so easily.

Assumpta let out a heavy sigh, and was grateful not to be swearing on the bible, at least.

"Sure isn't faith both a blessing and a curse, at times," she said.

Carmel pursed her lips and decided to fire off one last parting shot.

"You wouldn't be the first woman to fall in love with a priest, you know, I've seen it happen, and best you get your side of the story in before the mud starts flying," she coaxed.

Assumpta's temper was in danger of giving her away, but she was saved by a timely intervention.

"I thought I heard voices," Padraig emerged from the cellar.

"Your car's ready, when you are," he informed the journalist.

Carmel stared intently at the landlady, who had managed to retain her poker face.

"Thank you, Padraig, I think Ms Power was just about to leave, isn't that so?" Assumpta challenged the reporter.

She realised there was nothing to be gained from staying and she placed her card on the bar before heading for the door.

"Call me, if ever you need to talk."

Sure I'd call Father Mac first, and that's saying something.

Assumpta used a candle to set the card alight and dropped it into a nearby ashtray.

"Well, Padraig, you sorted out one of my power problems, anyway," she smiled.