Wordlessly, the elder led the younger man in. Thankfully Priests Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum had vacated the breakfast room. Peter didn't relish an audience for what he had to say.

"It's a woman," he announced quietly.

The Bishop leaned back in his chair and responded softly, "It always is."

Peter was grateful for his understanding – with the Bishop, it could go either way. If he liked you, you were in his graces forever; if not, you would ever be the subject of his wrath.

"You're with this woman? The woman that you brought here?"

"In a way, yes."

"Something casual?" the elder curate probed. "Something you'd be looking to end soon?"

Peter stared down at his shoes. Was he really going to do this? "I don't think so." He paused, half waiting for a response from the Bishop, half waiting for a response from himself.

Nothing came immediately, so he decided to just speak from the heart.

"This woman, she's important." Peter began. "This isn't what you think."

"And what to I think, Father Clifford?"

"An affair," Peter began "A fleeting thing." He took an arduous breath, knowing all too well how difficult what came next would be to say. "I'm in love."

The Bishop gave a long sigh which, if Peter were a betting man, seemed to sound like an acceptance of sorts. When they're in love, there really isn't much else to say.

"You're a good Priest, Peter. An asset to your parish – to Ireland" he rocked back in his chair, the same habit that Peter had when faced with a problem. "The young folk, they like you. Your Parish Priest on the other hand…"

Father Mac's grizzled expression flashed in front of the younger curate's eyes. At least he wasn't having to do this with him.

"We've had our differences in the past…" was all Peter could in all good conscience add to this.

"Well, he'll be as disappointed as I am to be losing you."

Peter's ear's pricked up at his. He decided to seize his moment. "So, is there a protocol? Do I just… walk away?"

"There's nothing we can really do to stop you."

"And…" he stuttered over his next words, an old affliction back to haunt him. "Ex-communication? Will the Catholic Church still accept me?"

"I'll put in a word with the Big Man upstairs. Something tells me it'll be fine."

Peter wasn't sure if he meant God or the Vatican, but he'd take it either way.

There was an awkward minute at the end of their conversation, in which neither man knew quite what to do. In a decisive moment, Peter stood up and shook hands with his superior.

"I'm not quite sure where to go from here" he admitted.

"Well, something tells me that you have some bread to break and fences to mend."

"You could be right."

And with that, Peter went out to find Assumpta.

...

If he'd been guided by his head rather than pure, blind panic, Peter would have found Assumpta a far bit sooner than he had. If he'd allowed it, sense would have prevailed and he'd have realised that the only place she could be was, indeed, the only place she was – in the petrol station over the road.

This was a services after all, and what's a services without an obligatory, overpriced petrol station selling – alongside the obvious – coffee in oversized receptacles, roughly the size of your head, and cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes.

It was exactly what Assumpta could do with at this precise moment. Well, her first choice was vodka but it was still morning and this was Ireland, after all.

She managed to hold it together enough in front of the cashier but as soon as she stepped foot outside, the tears began to flow.

A story you can take to the bank.

It was more than just a cheap shot.

That he'd even had this thought in his head was bad enough, but the fact that he used it – so readily, she might add – against her was too much to bear.

Did he really doubt her affections that much? Was he so paranoid to assume this was all some great ruse at his expense?

Assumpta walked over to the picnic tables next to the Burger restaurant and lit her cigarette. It dissolved like acid in her throat but she didn't care – at times like this she wanted to do something reckless, something that was completely out of character. She wanted an escape from herself, even just for a moment.

It didn't even matter that she detested it.

She took a long drag from her cigarette and an even longer drink from her coffee to disguise the taste.

It occurred to her that this all came about after she asked if Peter had an exit strategy. He'd attacked her immediately after this question which spoke volumes about its answer.

He had none. In all honesty, she doubted it had even occurred to Peter that he'd need one.

All in… it was such bull. He was all in as long as he didn't have to make any actual changes to his lifestyle. Sure, he'd kiss her, tell her he loved her – he may have even broken his vows with her eventually, but as far as leaving the Church was concerned, it was never on his radar.

Assumpta knew in that moment that she'd never be happy to be his mistress – that kind of deceit just wasn't in her. It would break her in two.

She knew in that moment that she'd have to end it.

Her heart ached as she formalised this notion in her head.

She couldn't end it… Peter was the only man she'd ever loved in this way. The only man she'd ever been with apart from her college boyfriend.

Leo.

Peter had touched a nerve when he spoke his name.

In all honesty, Leo had been the one thing in her life that she'd never recovered from. Her parent's deaths and Leo.

Leo.

She hated that the pain he'd caused her had been on a par with becoming an 20-year-old orphan. It didn't help that the moment he'd walked out of her life had been the moment that her parent's became sick, one after the other, like fallen dominoes. For her, the pain had always been synonymous.

He wasn't to know, of course, and could hardly be blamed. They hadn't given their relationship a title as such – friends with benefits, she supposed. But they had been doing their dance for more than a year before he decided to call it quits.

She'd had very little to compare it to, that pain. It was probably why she couldn't so easily forgive Peter for his outburst. Assumpta had a hard time imagining how anyone would want to accept her – all of her – for an entire lifetime. How anyone could be all in.

For months after Leo left her for a career in London's Fleet Street, Assumpta imagined she saw him everywhere. In the window of a bus. Sat nursing a pint in the corner of her pub. Even today, she could have sworn he was pumping petrol into that ostentatious Porsche of his…

"Hello Assumpta."

With a start, the publican looked up.

And there he was.

"Leo?"

...

A/N Dun, dun...DUN :) Sorry for the delay with posting. Thanks for all of your lovely reviews. They do give me a much needed kick up the backside when i'm being complacent.