Kathleen Hendley sat on her usual stool behind the till while her nephew, David and his wife conducted the stocktake.
"I've 14 cans of beans, Dave. How many are we meant to have?"
"Baked or Kidney?" came the stifled reply.
"Baked."
There was a pause. "14"
"Right you are, love."
And so went the morning. Ever since Kathleen had semi-retired, David and his family had moved back to Ballykissangel to takeover the family business. Her nephew was set on using his years of managerial experience in a leading supermarket to 'revolutionise' the corner shop. Regular stocktakes, were just one of the hare-brained schemes that Kathleen deemed unnecessary.
But she minded her tongue and instead, sat next to the window with her book of crossword puzzles and large cup of Earl Grey tea.
"Twelve across. Seven letter word to describe Something prohibited; an affair perhaps?"
Glancing over at the pub, she saw the Macgarvey woman struggling to keep hold of a beer barrel. From nowhere Father Clifford appeared to lend a hand. The old woman sneered and looking down at her paper, scrawled the word 'ILLICIT' in the space provided.
"Hey, thanks for that." Assumpta remarked at the neatly aligned beer barrels, trying desperately to keep her gaze off her perspiring friend.
"Don't mention it," he gasped, rubbing his sweaty brow with his forearm.
Each held their tongue for a moment. It'd been two days since they'd last seen each other – seen so much of each other – and neither knew what else to say.
In the absence of anything meaningful, Peter asked "Are you still okay to bring over the beer barrels to the Slave Auction tomorrow?"
"Oh, yes," she remembered. "Sorry, with everything, it had slipped my mind."
"And you… still on to work the bar?" Peter tried to keep from emphasising the words 'work' and 'bar' but his mind wandered nonetheless.
"Can't I'm afraid."
Peter tried to hide his disappointment. Was she avoiding him now?
"I have an appointment," she clarified, picking up on his uneasiness.
"Oh?"
Assumpta tempered him "Just a check up. Nothing exciting."
"Oh, okay."
"I'd tell you if there was… anything exciting."
"Fine. Good."
They stood there, uneasy, like shy teenagers until Peter managed to muster up the courage to exit their awkward interview. "Have to be off now, I guess."
Assumpta looked disappointed. "Will you be in later? For your 2pm sandwich, I mean?"
The Priest's eyes narrowed over her meaning. Was she being euphemistic? God, he hoped she was being euphemistic. "Erm… do you want me to?" he asked, cagily.
"Of course! I mean the bread's fresh… and the meat's – " she trailed off, her mind digressing. "I'd like to see you." she added honestly.
Peter smiled and promised, "I'll be there."
A 2pm sandwich turned out to be exactly that, a 2pm sandwich, but not that Peter was complaining. It was a relief just to see the publican again, to chat easily in spite of the numerous scenarios that kept flying through his head.
Assumpta on this table… Assumpta against the bar. Assumpta feeding me this sandwich – naked – using her body as a plate.
Peter held a hand to his mouth. He needed to get over this. He needed to get out of here. As he got up to leave, Brendan bustled in through the door – "Not leaving, are you Father?"
"Yeah, was about t –"
"Nonsense, it's been an age since we've had a beer together. I'll even let you hear my confession."
Would you say that if you heard mine? Peter wondered, feeling himself being led to a seat beside his friend.
"So, how's the teaching game?"
"Tiring. More so now Aisling is taking her Highers. She thinks just because her Da is the Headmaster, she doesn't have to do any work for them!"
And so the evening wore on, with Brendan becoming steadily drunker and more vocal with Peter unable – or unwilling – to leave his side.
When the pub had become livelier, Assumpta had left the bar to change into her evening clothes. When she returned, the curate's eyes were out on stalks at her chosen attire.
She was wearing a thin cotton dress – the thin cotton dress, with the spaghetti straps that she'd chosen to wear to the hotel that day. Was this an oversight? Was she testing him?
Peter was now openly ignoring everything Brendan was saying and followed Assumpta with his eyes, mentally undressing her as he had done at the hotel that day.
She never once looked over toward his direction. Instead she laughed easily with Siobhan and the rest of the locals. It was only when she bent down suggestively, to retrieve a fallen bottle stop in front of him that the Priest crouched down beside her, picking up the stopper before she could.
"Are you trying to drive me mad?" he whispered, heavily.
Assumpta smiled, feeling vindicated. "Excuse me?"
"Your dress – this dress – are you angry at me for something?"
"A dress is just a dress, Peter," she assured him. "And what have I got to be angry with you about?"
Assumpta attempted to take hold of the bottle cap but Peter kept his grip firmly around it. When their fingers touched, he ran an errant thumb along the inside of her hand, watching as her lower lip dropped in expectation.
"Got lost down there?" a booming Irish voice cajoled – probably belonging to Padraig.
Peter relented in surprise and the landlady seized her chance to snatch back the implement.
"Found it!" she announced, triumphantly.
Peter skulked back to his chair, biding his time until last orders. He'd have it out with her eventually. Oh, yes. He'd have his way with her soon enough.
Little did he know that the publican had other ideas.
Discreetly pushing the lager pump, allowing its contents to spill from the drips tray and onto the floor, Assumpta mulled over this evening's events. Peter had all but ignored her since he'd come to the pub but still he refused to leave.
Despite the special care she'd put into making his 2pm sandwich, he'd eyed it as if it were a consolation prize and had barely finished half.
One thing was certain: sex had irrevocably changed their relationship. She could no longer look at her friend with the same eye again. Once Peter, now he was Peter, the man whose touch she craved like no other – the man who rendered her senseless by a single glance.
With a sigh, Assumpta emptied the same drips tray – her fifth visit to the sink in the course of the evening. She'd selected the barrel she'd suspected had the least to go. She needed to go to the outbuilding to change the beer over eventually – why not now? Why not this evening?
Replacing the tray beneath the lager pump, Assumpta was delighted to hear that familiar hissing from the tap once the barrel became empty. Finally.
Now all she had to do was wait for Niamh to notice…
She moved to the opposite end of the bar and stared soberly at Peter. He returned her gaze, equally seriously. God, she wanted him.
"Aw, dammit. 'Sumpta the lager's out."
The publican smiled at Peter. Suddenly he understood.
Assessing the tap, the publican declared, "Oh, this is the tough one. It might take some time."
"It doesn't matter, I've got it under control here."
With a pang of guilt, Assumpta left her heavily pregnant friend to mind the bar alone but not before sharing a lingering look with the Priest.
"Well, I'd best be off then I suppose." Peter announced after Assumpta had left.
"Can't tempt you Father?" asked Siobhan, gesturing to a fresh pint of stout. He smiled, widely. Someone had got there first.
"Nah" he returned "Lots to prepare for the Slave Auction tomorrow"
"Will you be standing in yourself?" Brendan asked, cheekily.
"I think I could be persuaded," he laughed with his foot already out of the door.
So, any guesses what's going to go down at the Slave Auction? Or the Beer Cellar, for that matter...
A little concerned people might not be digging the M-rated content from a few chapters ago... a lot of views but very few comments (apart from my lovely cheerleaders!). Should I continue with the abject filth? Is it too gratuitous, do you think?
Feedback really, really helps the writing process. Tell me what you want, people!