Peter let out a long breath, trying to calm his nerves, as he watched the black Mercedes roll down the street towards them. His stomach was doing somersaults; he was afraid he'd lose what little lunch he had managed to force down.

This is it. If this doesn't work…

Well, You have to make it work.

Sam stood next to him, hands in his pockets. 'I don't know how you stay so calm,' Peter commented.

'Calm?' Sam laughed quietly. 'I think the butterflies in my stomach are having a rave party.'

Peter looked into the hall. There were kids everywhere: girls sitting in a circle talking and laughing, a couple of boys practicing some kind of martial art, a large group of kids practicing some kind of performance in another corner. There was even a few random kids reading around the room. He smiled to himself. The boys had certainly kept their side of the agreement – to bring as many of the local kids as they could to fill the hall. Peter recognised a number of faces, but there were many new ones. When Michael had turned up with nearly 70 kids, Peter asked how he'd managed to get so many. Michael would only say he'd called in a few favours, and spread the word. Peter had not asked any further; he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He looked over at the large group of boys kicking the football around the hall. Michael looked over and gave him a thumbs-up, which Peter returned.

This is it.

Peter smiled and stuck out his hand as William Jones walked up the stairs. 'Mr Jones. William. Thanks for coming.'

Jones shook his hand. 'Father,' he said, shaking Sam's hand as well. 'What can I do you for? I must admit, I was a little intrigued by your phone call.'

'Come inside. Can I get you some tea?' Peter asked innocently.

'Sure, thanks,' Jones replied, surveying the almost full hall, surprise clear on his face. 'You've become quite a hit, Father,' he said.

'Oh, them? That's just a few. It can get quite packed in here of an afternoon,' he replied nonchalantly. Sam turned his head to cover the grin he couldn't help spreading across his face. William just nodded.

'I've been thinking about your offer,' Peter said carefully. 'And I think I've got a better one.' William looked at him, surprised. Peter couldn't help but smile. 'How would you really like to give back to the community, William?'

William Jones sat down on the chair. 'Wow, Father. That's one heck of a proposal,' he said carefully, as Peter handed him a cup of tea.

'I know it's big, but we're in big trouble,' Peter replied. 'Think of the good you could do. Think of the all those kids,' Peter pleaded. 'They have nowhere else to go.' Sam chuckled to himself under his breath. Peter was working Jones, and working him well.

Jones looked up at Peter, his face slightly pained. 'Well, I'm sure Morris would be happy…and I do have a couple of friends in the local government, but it's a big investment…' he trailed off, obviously crunching the numbers in his head.

'You could put advertising wherever you wanted, as long as it was clean. We'd apply for sponsorships from sporting companies to provide the equipment, and we'd form a board to oversee the running of the centre. It's worked before – it's working right now over in Liverpool.'

Jones looked serious.

'Think of the publicity,' Peter said, playing his final trump card. It had worked before on a similar man, and Peter bet Jones was cut from exactly the same mould. ''Local businessman saves community centre' sounds like a pretty good headline, doesn't it?'

William looked up at him, his face hard.

'You'd run it?'

'Yes.'

'Same salary as the church is paying you now?'

'Sure.'

William sat in thought for a few moments, and looked over at Sam. 'What's your part in all of this?'

Sam smiled. 'I'm the local priest. I care about what happens here,' he said innocently. Jones narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He looked over at Peter, his face softening slightly.

'You couldn't work for both of us,' he declared. 'You know you'd have to give up the priesthood.' Peter stood up.

'Yes.' William watched the young curate carefully. 'I know. It's a risk I'm willing to take,' he said gravely. William eyed him.

'Well, I can't fault your dedication.' He looked up. 'No promises. But I'll ask some questions, put out some feelers. See what comes back.'

Peter felt like jumping for joy, but settled for a wide grin. 'Thank you, Mr Jones.'

'William.'

'William.' Jones stood up, and turned to leave.

'No promises.'

'No promises. Uh, the centre goes on sale in three weeks.'

William's eyes widened. 'Geez, you like to cut it fine, don't you?'

Peter grimaced. 'Not my call.'

'Ah, I know.' Jones turned to leave. 'You'd better start rallying the local community. If this is going to work, you're going to need all the support you can get.'

Peter nodded. That was going to be the toughest part.

Alex walked down the main street of Ballyk. The air was cool and fresh, something Alex savoured; the air in Manchester couldn't compare. He wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would willingly leave Ballykissangel…especially a priest. He wasn't stupid; obviously something had happened, but the people of Ballyk were typical small-town folk – not interested in talking to strangers.

He spotted Niamh in the distance, coming out of the Garda's house, pushing Kieran in his pram. He walked quickly to catch up to her.

'Niamh!' Niamh looked up to see Alex walking towards her. She smiled at him.

'Father. Can I do something for you?' she asked, pulling the pram around.

'Well, actually, there is.' He paused and took a breath. 'I know I'm only new here, but I can't help but feel…awkward,' he started. Niamh looked down at the pram and began to walk down the street, Alex following beside. She knew what he was asking, and she didn't know what to say. 'I couldn't help but notice that Ms Fitzgerald…doesn't seem like the church much,' he said carefully. Niamh smiled.

'No, she doesn't.'

'I hope it's not something I've done.' Niamh laughed humourlessly.

'Oh, no, Father. Don't worry yourself about that. She's a long-time devotee.'

'Ah.' They continued in silence.

'I also noticed that there's a little tension around the previous priest,' he added, studying Niamh for her reaction. Her face tightened, and the smile dropped. 'I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.'

Niamh shook her head quickly. 'No, Father, I doubt there is.'

'I don't want to pry, Niamh, but can I ask what happened?' Niamh looked at him, her eyes wide with sadness. 'I just want to help,' Alex added carefully.

Niamh looked down the road. 'He left without saying goodbye.' Alex studied her.

'He was close with the community?' Niamh glanced at him quickly, before diverting her attention back to the road ahead.

'Yes, he was.'

'I'm sorry,' Alex said.

'Don't be, Father. It's not your fault. Anyway, he's not coming back,' she said with a sense of finality tinged with sadness.

'I'm sure he had his reasons,' Alex said gently, trying to defend a man he didn't even know. He realised he didn't even know his name.

'I'm sure he did,' Niamh said roughly.

'What can I do, Niamh? I want to help, but I feel like I'm being shut out. I don't expect people to trust me straight away,' he added quickly. 'But…'

Niamh smiled. 'It's been a rough few months, Father, with Assumpta's accident and Peter leaving…' she trailed off. 'Just give it time. Don't give up.'

Alex nodded. 'I don't intend to.'

Niamh walked into Fitzgerald's to see Assumpta trying to lift a box into the kitchen.

'Assumpta! What do you think you're doing? You know you can't do that!' she cried, racing around the take the box off her. Assumpta willingly gave it up and threw her hands in the air.

'I'm not an invalid, Niamh!' she cried.

'You will be if you don't stop this,' Niamh retorted. Assumpta grunted and stalked into the kitchen, breathless. She leant against the counter, trying to get her breath back.

'Assumpta, please. It's just a few more weeks.'

'I'm sick of this, Niamh. I can't even run my own pub!' she yelled.

'We know, Assumpta.'

'I can't drive, I can't unpack boxes, I can't do anything!' she yelled, throwing the towel she'd been holding into the sink.

'Assumpta!' Niamh shouted. Assumpta turned to look at her. 'Calm down. You're acting like Kieran,' she chided. Assumpta slumped into one of the chairs, defeated.

'I just feel so…angry,' she admitted.

'We know.' Assumpta looked up at Niamh. 'You haven't exactly been hiding it. The poor priest is wondering what he did wrong.'

Assumpta's head shot up. 'I don't care about the priest.'

'That's not his fault!' Assumpta sighed, still frustrated. 'You have to calm down, Assumpta. You're spinning out, and the whole town is your audience.'

Assumpta put her head on the table. 'I think I'm losing my mind.'

Niamh sat down next to her, putting a hand on her back. 'I know.'

Peter studied the paper in front of him. Only 120 names and signatures. He sighed. It had been great to see so many people come to the centre to sign the sheet – he'd met so many parents who seemed pleased with what he was doing – but he knew he was going to need a lot more than that to convince Jones and the Council to invest in the centre. It was only twenty-four hours before he had to have the signatures at the local councillor's desk.

He shook his head. This was never going to work.

Peter walked into the large church building and sat on one of the pews at the front. He knew what he had to do – he couldn't serve two masters – but something was still holding him back.

'Am I doing the right thing?' he asked quietly. 'I know I made a deal, but maybe Sam's right. Maybe I can devote my life to You without being in the church. But I guess it's Your call,' he sighed. He looked up at the beautiful stained-glass windows at the back of the church, the sun streaming through them and painting a pattern on the floor. 'It's all in Your hands. If You want this centre to stay open, You have to do it,' he said. He put his head in his hands.

I don't think I can do this.

I'm trusting You. Don't let me down, please.

The pew beside him creaked, and he looked up to see Sam. 'Hi.'

'Hi.'

They sat in silence for a while.

'Peter, talk to me.' Sam looked at the young curate. The bags under his eyes were a permanent feature. He was still losing weight; Sam had noticed his robes had practically hung off him when he'd taken Mass earlier in the week.

'I don't know what to do, Sam.'

'What do you want to do?' Sam asked quietly.

'It's not that simple. I can't have what I want, Sam,' Peter replied, frustrated.

'Really?' Peter turned to look at him, a gaze Sam returned intently. 'Let me tell you a story. A young boy was standing in a shop, unable to decide what to do. He had several options before him, but he was afraid. What happened if he was rejected by the girl he liked?' Peter sighed, knowing this story all too well. 'He stood there, struggling, till a friend came along. The friend enquired about his problem, and the boy explained his situation. The friend gave the young boy some excellent advice, advice the young boy followed. Do you remember that advice, Peter?'

Peter smiled humourlessly. 'Follow your heart. It usually knows what to do,' he repeated. Sam nodded.

'If it's good enough for Jack, then why isn't it good enough for you?'

'But I made a deal, Sam. I can't – I won't – dishonour that.' Sam nodded.

'No one is asking you to, Peter.' Peter sighed. 'But the church is not an escape route, Peter. It is not a place to hide, even from yourself. Especially not yourself.'

Peter looked over at the grey-haired priest. He knew Sam was right; he was using the church to hide, and not just from his past. He was trying to hide from himself.

His discussion with Bishop O'Connell played in his mind. You don't necessarily need the church to devote your life to God, Father.

Peter rubbed his face with his good hand. He had already made the decision, he knew. He just needed the strength to walk it through.

'I want to run the community centre,' he declared. Sam nodded.

'Then you know what to do, Peter.'

Any and all feedback much appreciated.