The church, she saw, peering around the door and inhaling its familiar smell of pungent incense was deserted and she followed the path around to the house, noticing the hydrangeas had been cut back for the winter months. Father Peter, Father Jim and Father Thomas all lived here in the rectory and the pruned flowering shrubs would be down to Father Thomas. It was he who had the green fingers. Father Jim and Father Thomas would be out visiting the housebound of the parish as was their custom on a Thursday, which was why she was hoping to catch Father Peter for a quiet word. She placed her container down on the step before rapping on the door, feeling the tug in her back as she bent to retrieve it.
‘Noreen, are you alright?’ Father Peter swung the door open in time to see her grimacing as she righted herself. ‘Here let me take that for you.’ He relieved her of the Tupperware, his eyes lighting up as he guessed at what might be inside.
‘It’s age, Father Peter, nothing more.’
‘Ah yes, it brings its aches and pains to be sure but how does the saying go?’
‘Do not resent growing old, many are denied the privilege.’
‘Truer words never spoken. Now then, come in out of the cold.’
Noreen did so and followed the priest down the shadowy hallway with its worn runner through to the kitchen where the old Aga was ticking over and keeping the room cheerful. The scent of toast hung on the air along with something else. She spied a jar with sprigs of thyme in it and realised that was the underlying smell. Beyond the back door, Noreen knew, was a well-tended garden with a raised bed of herbs and a fruitful vegetable patch. If she were to pop her head out the door, she knew she’d find parsnips, swedes, leeks and Brussel sprouts – Father Jim’s penchant for the latter was well known and his reputation preceded him in the confessional box. Father Thomas kept his fellow priests well fed from his efforts in the garden. Given the priests looked after themselves, the place was kept very respectably Noreen thought, pulling out a chair and sitting down at Father Peter’s bidding, noting the scrubbed table and clear worktop as she did so. They were house-proud men.
‘I shall make us a cup of tea to have with what I hope I’ll find in here.’ He set the container down on the table at which Noreen sat.
‘It’s one of my Victoria sponges, Father, with fresh cream and homemade jam.’
Father Peter’s eyes gleamed greedily as she’d known they would. ‘Well this is a good day, a good day indeed, but to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘It’s advice I’m after, Father.’
‘Well now, Noreen, it has to be said I give my wisest opinions on a full stomach.’ He retrieved two side plates and a knife. ‘If you could do the honours while I tend to the tea that would be grand.’
‘Certainly, Father.’
He nodded and set about making a pot of tea.
Noreen had placed a sliver of cake in front of herself and a large triangle for Father Jim by the time he’d set the tea things on the table. He poured them both a cup of the steaming brew before murmuring a very quick grace, smacking his lips, and tucking in.
Noreen hadn’t much of an appetite but managed to fork up the best part of her cake so the priest didn’t feel he was eating alone. He made short work of the sponge and in no time was pushing his chair back. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, missing the blob of cream on the tip of his nose. Noreen didn’t like to say anything and fixed her eyes on her china cup and saucer instead.
‘Now then, Noreen, let me tell you, if you were to enter that sponge of yours in a cake competition, I’ve no doubt it would take first place. An unexpected and most enjoyable treat on a cold winter’s afternoon. Thank you.’
Noreen smiled acknowledging his praise.
‘So, why don’t you tell me what it is troubling you.’ He clasped his hands resting them on his lap as he leaned back, satiated, in his chair.
‘I’ve a family wedding to attend in a few weeks in Dublin and my niece who I’ve not spoken to after she wronged myself and my dear departed Malachy thirty years ago will be there. My sister, Rosamunde’s after ringing me and telling me it’s time to put old grievances aside. She wants me to find forgiveness in my heart for what her daughter did to Malachy and myself. Part of me would like very much to do this because she was like a daughter to us and I miss her, but I’m not sure I can.’
‘Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened all those years ago.’
Noreen finished her tea and setting it back in the saucer took a deep breath finding, herself back in 1970.
Chapter 20
1970
‘This came this morning, Noreen. Read it.’ Rosamunde flapped the envelope under her sister’s nose. The shop was blessedly quiet because Noreen had seen from the look on her sister’s face when she burst through the door she was in a state. Malachy was out and she couldn’t very well close up in order to hear whatever it was in this letter that had her sister all worked up. And she certainly didn’t want their customers knowing their family’s private business. She glanced toward the door, willing it to stay shut for
