The weeks passed like months. Each day within them, long and relentless, like swimming underwater. Peter's departure had shaken the village for all of a week and a half. By the following Thursday, the gossip had quietened, the parishioners occupied instead by the impending arrival of the new Parish curate.
"Think they'll send us another Englishman?"
"If they do, he'll not be as good as Father Peter."
Assumpta flinched at Brendan's pronouncement of his name. It was as if someone had doused her in ice water. Her ears pricked in anticipation of hearing his name again, but to no avail. The conversation had moved on. Everyone had moved on. Everyone except her.
Their goodbye had been among the most painful moments of the publican's life – akin to the loss of both of her parents, she was ashamed to admit. They'd made love repeatedly through out the night – honing their art to a perfection. Learning and discovering what made eachother's toes curl in delight, a skill that seemed all but futile now.
When she awoke, Peter was already up and dressed, his oversized frame perched awkwardly on the small occasional chair that had only ever had clothes placed on it.
His face was a picture. Elation coupled with abject sadness – the kind that the publican knew only all too well. They didn't speak; they didn't have to. Wordlessly, Peter wandered over to the bed, squeezed her shoulder once and kissed her quickly on the forehead and then he was gone. Gone. Out of her life forever.
The memory of it was enough to burn fresh tears into the back of Assumpta's eyes. Stop it, she chided to her masochistic brain. You need to stop thinking about him.
But it wasn't easy. Peter was everywhere. From the unwashed whisky glass that lingered surreptitiously by the sink to the relentless ache in her own heart, Peter's presence was like a guest who refused to leave.
Michael Ryan's entrance to the pub was a welcome distraction from her musings.
"Hey doc, anymore war wounds?" she asked jovially, remembering to keep her voice light.
Michael face was grave as he pronounced, "I got a call from Peter."
"Oh yeah?" she answered warily. The look on the doctor's face told her everything that she needed to know. "Oh no."
"I'm afraid so. His Mum died yesterday."
Assumpta's heart fell into her stomach. Peter's mother had died? She was meant to be getting better.
"Poor thing." Niamh's well-meaning lament snatched her back to the here and now.
"We should send him some flowers or something."
"How's he taking it?" Assumpta immediately interjected, trying desperately to keep her voice neutral.
"Well, he's keeping busy with odds and ends." Michael approached the bar cautiously, unsure if he should deliver the message that he'd promised he would. In a low voice he offered, "I told him you'd call, Assumpta." Discreetly he placed a small rectangle of paper on the bar in front of her. "Here's his number."
She glanced down at the torn notepaper without picking it up, recognizing the number immediately. "Thanks." Her voice betrayed the trepidation that she felt.
For a while, the piece of paper remained there, curled awkwardly next to the empty tankards and overflowing ashtrays. Through a chorus of well-meaning toasts to the former Priest's mother – as well as all mothers in general – and until last orders were called, the publican did nothing with the number, perhaps hoping that a gust of wind would take it away.
Eventually the torn parchment did disappear, mistakenly tidied away by Niamh as she helped clear the remnants of the pub but it didn't matter. Assumpta already knew the area code that it carried – she already knew the place.
0-1-5-3-9-4
Windermere. Peter was at the Lake house.
It was suspiciously easy to leave Ballykissangel mere weeks after she'd already been away.
All it took was a lie, a bus, a plane and a rental car for Assumpta to arrive, 24 hours later, at the steps of the house that she and Peter had once shared as if it were their own.
It was decidedly less easy to leave the car. What if the entire Clifford family were staying at the house? What if it was only Angela? Mourning or no mourning, the publican didn't relish another strained encounter with the 'Ice Queen'.
On the approach, Assumpta saw just one car parked in the driveway – a rental from the same budget airport company that supplied her own. A good sign? Peter's sister only used Hertz. There was a solitary light on through the bay window downstairs.
He's here, she told herself. He needs you.
Assumpta winced, realising that she knew neither statement to be true. Peter had passed on his number to her, sure, but that didn't mean that he expected anything more than a conversation with the publican. But why, she had asked herself, if all he wanted was to hear the sound of her voice did he call Michael and not Fitzgerald's?
No, this was a silent request – an outreach, of sorts. A message in a bottle. He'd wanted Assumpta to know exactly where he was. He'd wanted her to come. Now she had, what more was there to do?
The rain had been falling hard on the journey up and as she opened the car door, a wave of saline-mingled moisture infused her senses. Assumpta ascended the steps up to the house but immediately saw that he was already there, waiting for her against the jamb of the open door.
"You came?" Peter uttered incredulously, as if not entirely believing it. "It's actually you."
"Of course I did," she returned his smile easily, feeling the lightness of her heart carry her effortless up the steps. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."
At this final pronouncement, Assumpta found herself pulled towards the man who occupied so much of her heart. Peter's arms snaked around her shoulders, her waist, as she buried her head deep into the crook of his neck, needing him just as much as he currently needed her.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered into the curate's ear. "What can I do?"
Peter held his arms firmly around her and with a squeeze uttered, "You're already doing it."
She smiled sadly and held onto him even tighter and for even longer than either of them intended.
A/N We're winding down now, I think. Good job as you're probably sick of me by now! :) Just one more chapter before our happily ever after. Thanks to everyone who has been following this story and to my lovely reviewers - you're all so impossibly kind and motivational. Love to hear what you think about this, rather difficult-to-write chapter. :)