Peter felt decidedly foolish driving the Javelin 100 meters down the road to Fitzgeralds. Still, what Assumpta wants, Assumpta gets. He thought he'd be better off observing this from the outset.
It had been a decidedly full-on day after he left Fiztgerald's. There were books to balance, babies to baptise and a Bridezilla to placate. All in day's work, thought the curate as he naturally took the front door into the pub.
Peter immediately regretted this lapse in judgement.
The pub was rammed – the bar, full up with the usual suspects and every table occupied with a sea of grey hair and unfamiliar faces. A passing tour bus here to see the forty shades of green, no doubt. Assumpta was flustered behind the bar, looking decidedly more aggravated than she had done, eight hours earlier. She was dressed conventionally in her usual free flowing skirt and red button-up cardigan which made Peter feel slightly overdressed in his especially-ironed charcoal shirt and slacks.
"Dressed to impress I see there, Peter." Brendan Kearney beckoned his friend over to the bar stools. "Big Friday night plans?"
"You could say…" he agreed, cryptically. Here was where Peter had a very real difficulty. Brendan, he considered to be a friend – a good friend, and not one he'd ever, in all good conscience, lie to. Which made interludes such as this tricky to navigate. Of course, he couldn't freely announce that he had a hot date with the most eligible woman in the village but, similarly, he couldn't outright lie. Fortunately for him, Niamh appeared from behind the bar to save the day.
"Father, all ready for tonight?"
Peter stared blankly back at the barmaid. Did Assumpta really confide in her about tonight? He decided to hedge his bets. "Yes, I think so" he announced, unsteadily.
"Grand. That's grand." Niamh beamed. "I know we're gate-crashing and all, but I'd hope you forgive the intrusion. Plenty of time to speak about charity auctions another time, eh?"
Now he was really confused. Peter searched for the sea of heads for the raven-haired publican but upon drawing a blank, settled for a "Hmmm-mmm" by way of response.
Ambrose suddenly appeared from nowhere, along with another new and wholly unfamiliar face; Donny – they were soon introduced. As Donny went off to buy drinks, Ambrose led the curate away. "We're bringing him along for Assumpta" he informed him, conspiratorially.
"Oh yes?" Peter tried to quell the unease he felt. What was once a date with the woman he'd adored for years had now become something altogether different. "Does Assumpta know?"
"She's all for it." Ambrose added with a wink. "I mean, you and I are really the only real eligible bachelors in BallyK – and I'm no longer a bachelor and you're not so eligible." The Garda laughed at his own observation – someone had to, at least. "But seriously, my friend Donny – he's a good man, you know? He's my age, single, has a good trade – she could do a lot worse. And we both know she's been known to make a few bad choices more than once be-"
"Well, thanks for that." A soft Irish voice came up from behind them. From out of nowhere, Assumpta appeared alongside Niamh. She shot Peter a feeble look, full to the brim with contrition. Try as she might, Assumpta hadn't managed to escape the bar all afternoon and pre-warn the curate about the change to this evening's plans. It didn't help that Ambrose had seemingly filled him in with the details – "but I'll stick with my bad choices."
At that, Peter smiled at his feet. He liked being a bad choice.
On cue, Donny returned with a dusty bottle of Fitzgerald's finest Champagne and five glasses.
"Donny, this is Father Peter Clifford, the village curate and this is Assumpta."
The Canadian quickly shook the curate's hand before turning his undivided attention to his hot date for the evening. "What an unusual name – Assumpta. As - sumpta. Well, I assume you like Champagne, Assumpta?"
"Well, you know what they say about assumption…" the publican retorted, under her breath.
Peter let out a belly laugh, disguising it quickly as a cough. "A pleasure, Donny" he managed as soon as he'd regained control of his faculties.
The group worked through the bottle of Champagne and as they did so, Peter began to piece together what had happened since he'd left Assumpta earlier that day. Tonight was meant to be his first date with Assumpta – now it had some how materialised into her first date with that guy.
"I'm so sorry" she managed to catch Peter before they set off to the Javelin. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Can't be helped, Assumpta" he managed by way of reply. Realising how pouty that sounded, Peter tried again "I mean, I understand. You did what you had to do."
"You don't have to stay? I mean, we can make an excuse…"
"I'll stay" he asserted, quickly. "Someone needs to make sure your date doesn't get too overfamiliar."
"Overfamiliar? You're not actually jealous, are you? He's a cartoon."
Peter smirked unhappily. "A cartoon that gets to hold you hand tonight."
Assumpta was momentarily stunned by this honest assertion. That's what he actually thought? That her attention could be so easily won by another? She moved to scold him, but instead closed the three steps between them and caught Peter's hand with her own.
"My hand is already full."
If it was at all possible for Peter to love her any more, he would in this instant. It was a risky move – their friends were just a few feet away but somehow she didn't seem to care. He held their joined hands behind his back so as not to draw attention but he basked in every moment, running his thumb along the underside of her wrist as he did so.
"I call front seat!" called out Ambrose, an exclamation which snapped their hands apart and put an end to their reverie.
Their moment broken, Assumpta took a seat at the back of the car, sidled up far too close to Donny in the curate's opinion. She caught the Priest's disapproving expression in the rear-view and shot him a regretful look.
This was going to be a long night.
…
Dinner had been a disaster.
To said that Donny was overfamiliar would be an understatement. Peter had to endure countless displays of affection, watching as his hand edged perilously close to Assumpta's knee throughout the course of the evening. On one occasion, it looked as if he was even going to kiss her.
Donny hung off her every word – even the ones telling him to keep to his side of the table. He listened to the publican's stories and laughed in all of the right places. In short, he behaved exactly like someone who was on a date would.
And exactly how Peter couldn't.
The whole evening had put the him in a bad mood – and although Assumpta did nothing to encourage this attention, she bore the brunt of it.
After they dropped the Egan's and Donny back home, Peter drove the rest of the way back to Fitzgerald's in silence. As they parked around the back, Assumpta made an attempt at a conversation – "So, this evening was…"
After he didn't finish her sentence, she tried again. "Peter, I'm sorry about tonight. I've told you this. What else could I do?"
At this the curate pricked up his ears. "You could have been honest, maybe? Told them what tonight really was."
"Now you're being facetious."
"I'm serious" he snapped. "What's wrong with telling them? They're going to find out eventually."
Assumpta wiped an errant curl from her face. She was too tired for this conversation. "It's not the right time, you know this. We know this."
Her companion made an audible tsk and turned his head to stare out of the window, seeming uninterested in where this conversation was heading.
She continued, regardless. "We agreed that this should just be about us for now. No other people."
"Well so far it's only been about other people – Eamon, the Egan's…" and bitterly, he added "Donny."
"As frustrating as this is, we can't do anything about it."
"We can."
"So, tell them? That's your great solution?" Assumpta felt that infamous Fitzgerald temper rise. "You think we'll get privacy if they know? You think they'll all just leave us alone?"
"I'm not saying it won't be hard – "
"It'll be impossible, Peter!" The publican realised this was fast becoming their first fight – one, perhaps, that they couldn't recover from unless she tried to calm down. "Look," she added after a beat. "You didn't grow up in this village – I did. These people, they're like bloody elephants, they never forget. You have one transgression and you'll carry it for the rest of your life."
Something told Peter that this was the voice of experience speaking.
"We need to be sure before we tell them. You – you need to be sure that this is what you want. That I'm what you want." She paused, her next words catching in her throat. "You can't love us both, Peter."
He knew instantly what she meant – her or the Church. It was a fair assessment but that didn't stop it from feeling like a low blow.
"I've made my decision…"
"I know – but I can't be the only reason."
He turned to look at her. "You what?"
"Your decision to leave the priesthood – it would happen anyway even if I weren't here?"
Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Can't you be enough?"
"No." she said quietly. "We can't know what we'll be like together – we have no idea whether this will work out."
"Stop, Assumpta – just stop."
"It's a valid point – we haven't so much as spent the night together. How do we know this will work out?"
"It's called faith" he answered quietly.
Neither said anything after that. Assumpta stayed in the car for a full minute before quietly leaving without looking back.
As first fights go, this was pretty awful. At least they'd had the chance to have it though, she thought. First kiss, first date – both had had its audience. It seemed bittersweet that their first argument should happen alone.
It's called faith. Assumpta shuddered at his words. Faith was the thing that they'd never agree on. He had it in buckets while she was an arid wasteland. When something came down to clear and simple faith, she couldn't count on it. Peter, on the other hand, would put his whole life on the line because of it – he'd give up everything he's ever known, everything he is, all because of a little thing called –
"Assumpta."
His northern baritone broke her train of thought. Assumpta turned to face him, realising for the first time that she'd been crying. She'd made it as far as the pub kitchen but had neglected to close the door behind her and there he stood, staring at her so intently she thought she might dissolve into the ether.
"You have to trust me with this. Trust in my decision."
Above everything, Assumpta wanted to be able to do this. She nodded indeterminately which was enough of a signal for Peter to go in further.
"I know what I'm doing." He reached out his hand to press against her face – that perfectly symmetrical face which Peter couldn't quite believe he was touching. He felt a familiar tug from his pelvis, a side effect from being in such close proximity with the only woman he'd ever loved.
"Peter – "
Her utterance, spoken in warning or something else altogether, fell away into nothing as the Priest closed the gap between them. Catching her hesitations in his mouth, he hoped that this conversation was the last of its kind and their future existed in this moment – this sweet, passion-filled moment that was a bounty of pleasure and hope.
There would be tempestuous skies ahead, this much was certain but for now, they had this – a rich and permissive interlude, a respite from the storm.
And, if they were lucky, just a little bit of privacy.
...
Just a heads up, the rating will change from the next chapter... there be dragons ahead :)