I'm admittedly a little nervous about this chapter - afraid of my own American tendency to think of "us" as the focal point of the whole world. Part of me fears that since that day in 2001, we've only gotten worse about it. I intend for the characters to pause to acknowledge it and move on, but some will be more directly affected in the chapters ahead...
So pleased to see signs of life from Margaux and (if only in reviews thus far) HappyTrottingElf! Welcome home. Let's leave a light on for all the prodigal others...
LIVERPOOL
The bank had been cagey about simply cashing the cheque, though ultimately they relented. The cash-strapped college boy had been surprised to collect his asking price on the weatherbeaten blue-green Ford Mondeo. Fionn had seemed nearly as happy to escape the flat as Assumpta was; every last walk past the bathroom door had him growling again.
The local police had alerted Assumpta that multiple warrants were already out for the arrest of her stalker, and that even outside of her case he was likely to face an extended lockup. That was good enough for her.
The theatre had been all too willing to cut "Maire Mellon"'s character from the script entirely. As it happened, their main concern was now replacing their ingenue, whose unexpected pregnancy had already demoted her to the supporting role, ensuring fewer critical costumes to fit. Caitlin had wept for joy in Assumpta's arms as she broke the news. When she added her delight at the prospect of playing a "character role" for a change, Assumpta only nodded.
Assumpta made sure to tire Fionn out before they boarded the ferry, one eye always on the lookout for any strangers who might take too much interest. A couple days' pet-friendly hotel accommodation had offered a chance to do some research, study the route for pitstops, find addresses of churches and places to buy kibble late at night if the need arose.
Bound for Manchester now, she flicked on the radio. She craved music, but it seemed every station was broadcasting adverts or chaotic talk.
CILLDARGAN
Benny Sneddon removed the transrectal sonography wand from his bovine patient and gave a sympathetic pat. "That's a good sport, now, Pegeen." He turned to face her owner. "Looks normal for this stage. Coming along beautifully, I'd say."
Farmer Denny Quinlan marvelled at the image now frozen on the monitor. "It's a miracle."
The mobile phone in his pocket chimed, and he freed one hand of its glove to answer.
"Did I see your car outside the Quinlan farm just now?" came Siobhan's voice, with an edge of nerves.
Benny smiled. "Yeah, just confirming a pregnancy."
"I'm having lunch at McLogan's, if you're keen to join," she said.
"Love to. Soon as I've sterilised my probe," he answered, regretting it immediately.
She didn't seem to have noticed. "Ah, Benny...something odd's come on the telly. All the staff are gathered round. I'm going to have a look."
BALLYKISSANGEL
Brendan had finally found a moment to prop his feet on his desk at the end of a tiring day when a wide-eyed Kieran Egan sped past his office door, crying for his mother.
"Kieran!" Brendan called after him, springing for the doorway.
The boy skidded to a halt and spun back to face him, gasping.
Brendan glanced back at Niamh's desk. "Your mother's in the loo. What's the matter?"
"Come quick, Mr. Kearney!" he wailed.
"Kieran, what on earth?"
"We're watching the news on TV. They blew up America!"
The boy bolted down the hall and into a classroom. Brendan blinked and made to follow.
MANCHESTER
Kate had arrived just as Father Randall rang to tell Peter to put on News 24. Now the siblings sat limp on the sofa, four round eyes fixed on the picture of a smoking hole in the New York City skyline.
"Surreal," Peter breathed.
"They've done it on purpose."
"We can't know that. Not yet."
"Similar happens all the time in some places," Kate answered.
"Yeah…"
"Think they'll find who did it?"
"Dunno, Kate."
"Don't you wonder how they'll react?"
He swallowed. "Same as any wounded giant."
"Yeah." She drew up the throw blanket around her shoulders. "What'd Father Randall say?"
"To head over when I'm ready. And to pick up some votives; we're running low."
"So he's taken you back, then?"
Peter smiled, not quite all the way up to his eyes.
CILLDARGAN
Siobhan caught a flaxen-haired man settling in beside her at the bar.
"We have to stop meeting like this," he joked through his own haze.
They both moved their gazes to the monitor in the corner. There was no getting a pint right now; all the staff were still congregated underneath.
"An airplane?" Benny asked.
"Two of them, now." She nodded toward the small gaggle of white-shirted, black-trousered young men and women. "Someone said they think the publican was on one. Out of Boston."
"McLogan himself?"
She nodded. "Seeing relatives on holiday."
Benny squeezed her hand. She didn't pull away.
BALLYKISSANGEL
Having finally pulled herself away from the radio, Avril arrived at the pub to find the CLOSED sign hung on the door. She could understand it, she supposed; perhaps everyone was glued to a screen, and no doubt the Dooleys were trying to explain things to Dermot and Grainne, best they could.
Still. One's local. One's gathering place. Port in a storm.
Where else could she go not to be alone on such a day?
The steeple up the hill caught her eye. Resigned, she began walking toward it.
Ambrose watched Aisling through her afternoon kip. Babysitting, he supposed, was not so terribly different from working with actors; staying at Siobhan's until he figured out what was next, no worse a shake than his flat in Cheltenham.
So what was this ache in his gut?
It dawned on him: he had never seen Kieran like this. He could never know how his son was at that age. He had missed a thousand milestones. Someone else had witnessed them instead.
It was harder than the knowledge that Niamh had slept all those years beside another man, harder by a landslide.
His mobile buzzed in his pocket. He closed himself into the next room to answer.
"Hiya, Frankie."
"Ambrose, have you seen the news?"
He frowned. "No."
"Planes are going down everywhere in the States. No one knows where it'll happen next."
"What?"
"Superintendent Foley asked me to invite you down to the station."
MANCHESTER
Father Miles Randall watched as a trickle of parishioners moved up the aisle to drop a coin and light a candle. Some retreated afterward to the pews; others immediately left through the cloister walk. Most of the faces were familiar, though a few had been lapsed for some time. Nearly everyone moved with purpose, with certainty of their surroundings.
Not so for the woman in the long skirt, lingering against the far wall. She looked alienated, unsure; she seemed surprised by the popularity of the church at this hour on a Tuesday. She kept turning something - a coin? - over in her palm. She kept taking a step as if to move up the aisle, then yielding to someone else more surefooted. When her eyes caught sight of Miles - and it took some time - they went wide with alarm. She pocketed the coin now and made for the exit.
Unsure what compelled him, Miles set out after her, not calling "Miss?" until well outside the door.
In the churchyard, the weak drizzle had given way to patches of conflicting yellow and grey. The woman turned to face him, stopping half in sun and half in shade, giving the effect of a dark-eyed brunette on one side and a green-eyed redhead on the other.
"Can I help you, my child?"
"No, no. Thanks. No."
"Many people are deeply troubled today. Our empathy makes us human; nothing to be ashamed of."
She seemed apologetic but wary. "I thought our lack of innocence made us human, Father." He detected a brogue now.
"Equally true."
The woman looked surprised to hear this, but there was still no trust in her eyes. "My dog's waiting." She turned her back.
"Anytime you'd like to talk," Miles offered.
She stopped in her tracks, not turning around.
"Or...Father Clifford should be in shortly," he added, suspicion rising.
Her shoulders slumped.