Niamh Egan replaced the cordless receiver back into its nook on the wall. In two decades of friendship, Assumpta had not once lied to her. But now, clear as day, it appeared that the publican's excuse for a holiday had been nothing more than a complete fabrication.
The Irishwoman slumped heavily on the kitchen chair. She'd messed things up royally for Leo and Assumpta, that much was certain.
When Leo rang expecting to reach to publican, or at the very least leave a message for her, Niamh could so easily have made an excuse; told him that Assumpta was out running an errand. Instead, she made him privy to her friend's lie – shared her outrage at the deception with the only other person who had been affected.
He was sad, sure. Worried too by the sound of it. Had something happened to Assumpta en route to London? Should they call around the hospitals? But Niamh assured him that she knew. She knew all too well that Assumpta was okay and having the time of her life probably. And although she didn't share her suspicions with the voice on the other end of the line, Niamh had a good idea who she was currently with.
Peter.
And Assumpta?
It didn't bear thinking about. There had always been something between them, that much was certain. But would they really have run off together? Niamh gasped loudly as another question entered her head. Were they even coming back?
Right on cue, the baby monitor began to sound just as Padraig Kelley demanded a refill of his pint.
"In a minute," she shouted distractedly, knowing all too well that her mind would be otherwise occupied for the remainder of the day.
The journey back to Manchester was decidedly less exhilarating than the journey from it on the previous day. First and foremost, Peter had to endure the erratic driving of his sister who always allowed her emotions to influence the hand movements required for driving stick.
With a jolt, the car went from third to fourth and gradually picked up speed. Without signalling, Angela weaved through the traffic on the dual carriageway, muttering inaudibly under her breath. "I don't know what you're thinking…"
At first Peter assumed his sister's mumblings were directed at the other drivers in her lane, until she added. "I mean, honestly Peter. What is it that you think you were doing back there?"
"Excuse me?"
"You've been a Priest, for what… three years –" she guessed incorrectly. "How can you be falling off the wagon so spectacularly already?"
"It's five years and I haven't fallen off the wagon," he corrected with the after thought. "Yet…"
Angela narrowly avoided driving them into oncoming traffic as she completely ignored a stop sign. "And you were going to use my house as the venue for your little tryst no doubt. How lovely. I hope your little lady friend finds everything she needs back there. Goodness knows, she'll be needing some clothes if your old bricklaying shirt is all she has to wear."
Peter allowed his sister to rant, keeping his attention fixed firmly on the illuminated street ahead until his ears pricked up at her next statement.
"You and I made a promise, Peter. Or had you forgotten?"
The younger Clifford shook his head reticently, which led Angela to continue. "You and I were meant to lead better lives for this family – for Mum. I promised to secure us financially, you promised to secure us – "
"Spiritually" he remembered.
Angela allowed the silence to linger before she whispered again, "It would break Mum's heart if you were no longer a Priest."
"I know." Peter looked mournfully into his hands. "I know it would."
"Then you'll stop this?"
As conflicted as he was, Peter refused to show it. "Let's just get to the hospital, eh?"
Angela's lips tightened as the car picked up speed and the siblings spent the remainder of their journey in silence.
Peter walked past his mother's room several times before he realised that the frail apparition lying on the bed was Mary-Louise Clifford.
Usually the spitting image of Angela, Peter doubted that today their mother would even pass for human. Her hair, once a shock of bottled-platinum blonde was now ash-grey and sticking up in damp peaks around her crown.
Had he really been gone that long?
"Mum…" he whispered gently, his tone making his statement seem like a question.
Upon receiving no response, Peter placed the palm of his hand on the patient's brow. "Mum…"
"She can't hear you." Angela's clipped northern accent filled the room. "Or maybe she can. At any rate, she won't answer."
"How come?"
Peter watched as his sister began to unbutton the acid-green hospital nightgown that enveloped their mother's tiny frame.
"They sedated her so the doctors could run some tests. You know Ma, never one for being poked and prodded." Angela smirked knowingly. "Here, help me dress her, won't you."
As uncomfortable as he was by the prospect of dressing his elderly mother into one of Angela's Calvin Klein night-shirts, Peter stepped up to the challenge, trying desperately not to allow his mind to wander to the last and only time he'd ever helped a woman out of her clothes.
When they were finished, Angela sat silently on the foot of their mother's bed while Peter took the only chair in the room.
"Has anyone told Mark?" The question came out of Peter's mouth before he had a chance to prevent it.
Angela's face thundered. "I don't think Her Royal Majesty's has phones."
"Angie, c'mon. She's his mother too. He has a right to know."
"Then you tell him."
Peter considered the options. The eldest Clifford son was currently serving a twelve-year sentence for just about every non-violent, blue-collar crime a boy from Manchester could commit.
Drug trafficking with intent to sell coupled with attempted armed robbery and a large dose of benefit fraud had kept Mark Clifford behind bars for most of Peter's adult life. Apparently now, it would keep him there for the remainder of their mothers.
It had broken Mary's heart when the judge read out the decidedly lenient sentence. Despite the fact that her eldest son had got off fairly lightly for the crimes he'd committed, his incarceration had brought shame to the family. It had brought shame to her.
It was on that day that the remaining siblings made a vow to lead better lives than their brother had; to bring their mother out of the desperate fug she'd fallen into with the promise of making her proud. Angela did what came naturally to her with her strong will and head for numbers and made a small fortune on the stock market. Peter became a Priest.
Yes, Mark Clifford had a right to know that their mother had taken ill but try as he might, Peter couldn't bring himself to make the short trip over to the hospital payphone.
"I'll speak to him tomorrow," he vowed instead, trying hard to keep the emptiness he was feeling from his words.
The pair remained where they sat until the clock on the wall chimed 9pm. Visiting hours were over.
With a quick kiss on her forehead and a silent prayer on his lips, Peter headed out to his sister's hire car at speed.
"Oh don't wait for me, will you," his sister called after him. "I only have the keys."
When she caught up with him, the tears were freely flowing from Peter's eyes.
"This isn't good, is it?"
Angela considered the question for a moment, before answering a muted. "No."
"Do you think she'll even wake up?"
"Don't be daft, of course she will. It's only anaesthetic."
Peter didn't say anything else. Instead, he clamoured wordlessly into the car. His sister followed soon after, her mouth poised to speak as she did so. Realising the anguish still pained on her little brother's face, Angela quickly swallowed her words and attempted another tact.
"All this," she began, making a concerted effort to keep her voice gentle. "It's not just about Mum. Is it?"
By way of response, the curate shrugged and looked vacantly at his wrung hands.
"So, are you going to tell me who that woman is back at the house?"
With a laboured breath, Peter turned to face his sister and began. "Her name is Assumpta."
A/N Three updates for three stories (nod to Bridget's and Aquitaine85's rather excellent fics!) - and it's not even the weekend! Thanks to my lovely band of reviewers, you truly make writing this a real pleasure. I'm never any good at writing other characters, but I hope Peter's backstory is at least somewhat plausible! Something needs to drive a wedge (temporarily, at least!) between the priest and the publican and so I went with this... What do you think?