Peter, April 1998

As he had held Assumpta's hand, Peter had known he was in crisis. He'd been in crisis for some weeks by then, but that moment showed him just how far into crisis he'd gone. Having barely slept that night, again, he'd called Father Mac the next morning before his resolve weakened, before he was able to pretend to himself that everything was fine.

He sat now in the pews of St. Joseph's, in front of God, contemplating his meeting with the Parish Priest which had been brutal but also, in many ways, clarifying and refreshing. It had felt good to be able to be honest with someone for the first time in what felt like a very long time. Father Mac might be many things but he was no fool and he had seen right into Peter's heart with pinpoint accuracy.

This wasn't a crisis of faith. It was a crisis of vocation. The chip fat incident had highlighted all the ways in which he felt that the church was lacking and made him question his own worth as a priest, but, just as Father Mac had said, the deeper issue was not just his disillusionment with the church but his desire for Assumpta; a desire he'd been able to control until his faith in the church and his vocation had been weakened. As he had felt the pull of the church less, so he had felt the pull of his desire, of his love, for Assumpta more. He'd given up pretending that he didn't love her, but until recent events he had thought himself able to keep that love within the bounds of the priesthood, loving her but also being faithful to his vows. That night, at Kilnashee, he'd crossed a line, physically and mentally, and he'd known from then that he was going to have to make a choice, between his vocation and Assumpta.

"Scrub this woman from your mind forever"

That was Father Mac's advice if he wanted to remain a priest; to use this as a way of tempering his mettle, of testing his vocation. He didn't know if he'd be able to do it, but he did know for sure that he wouldn't be able to if he didn't get away from her for a bit and so retreat seemed to be the right first step. Time away from Assumpta, time to pray and reconnect with his vocation and the reasons he always wanted to be a priest.

A song that his mother used to sing him as a young boy found its way into his head at that moment:

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in his wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of his glory and grace"

He looked up at the altar and prayed for the strength to do what he had to do, to turn his eyes back to Jesus and the church.


Assumpta, April 1998

Assumpta felt her composure begin to crack, with tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She looked at Peter and wondered if he'd deliberately chosen to wear his clerical shirt and collar for this conversation; the conversation to tell her that he'd chosen the priesthood over her. For so long it felt like they'd been dancing round this decision, trying to navigate an impossible course that meant the decision didn't have to be made, but clearly they'd both come away from Kilnashee knowing that wasn't working any more. She'd already decided to go away for a bit, to try and drive Peter from her head, and now Peter was here telling her he was going away too, presumably to come back as a better priest.

"So that's it then?"

She needed to hear him end it, whatever it had been. She needed to know that he was not going to leave the priesthood for her, that he choose the church. She knew it would hurt but she needed to hear it.

"Yes. That is it."

Peter said the words slowly, deliberately, finally. No more uncertainty, no more confusion, no more them. Peter was a priest. Damn tears. She didn't want him to see her cry and yet she just couldn't help it; she was just going to miss him so bloody much. Aside from everything else, he was her best friend and she couldn't even begin to contemplate not seeing him every day, not having him looking out for her, not laughing with him. At least she was going away, that would soften the blow anyway.

"Well thank you for telling me. At least I know I've made the right decision."

Peter tried to press her for more details on her decision, but she was in no mood for talking further. It was done. The plaster was ripped off and she had customers to deal with. She rearranged her face into what she hoped passed for normal and headed out to join the regulars at the bar.