‘For that now I’ll make you do two laps of the corridor,’ the physio riposted, handing him his dressing gown.
‘Keep well.’ Jonathan shook hands with him, glad he’d made the effort to visit.
‘I will and keep in touch. And Happy Christmas.’ Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. And Jonathan knew that their encounter in the graveyard had been divinely ordained.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said to Murray who was pulling on his overcoat.
‘And you,’ said the older man. Lovely eyes, thought Jonathan, noting how green, and flecked with hazel, they were. ‘Take care, Father D. I’ll be in touch,’ Murray said, patting him on the shoulder.
‘Thank you, Murray, you’re a good friend,’ the priest said gratefully as the physio helped him out of the bed.
‘He looks marvellous. I’ve never actually seen him look as good. He’s a changed man,’ Murray remarked as they walked along the corridor to the stairs.
‘I honestly didn’t think he’d go to Hannah. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she told me he’d been to see her, and then when he rang me out of the blue. What a shame it took this long for him to get some sort of closure on his past.’ Jonathan shook his head.
‘Dreadful! I suppose I fared somewhat better, I was in my late forties.’ Murray clattered down the stairs beside him.
‘Were you abused too?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Yeah, at school by a teacher.’
‘That’s terrible. Mine was a neighbour!’
‘Imagine that’s the common denominator in our three lives. Dreadful, isn’t it? And there are so many more out there. At least we’ve been helped.’ Murray shook his head. ‘It’s so good to see Derek embracing all these fresh philosophies and new ideas, compliments of your counsellor who seems to be a very unusual person.’
‘Indeed she is and more. If it wasn’t for Hannah I think I would have topped myself long ago,’ Jonathan confided.
‘That bad. Sorry to hear that,’ Murray said sympathetically as they walked down the steps into the chilly night air. ‘It was the Church’s inexcusable and atrocious attitude and response to clerical child abuse that made me leave the priesthood,’ the other man explained. ‘I just couldn’t hack it any more. I was in turmoil, full of anger and frustration. And I also found it hard to accept the way women were treated. I firmly believe there were women apostles. I believe priests should be allowed to get married. I was very out of step with Church teachings.’ He laughed, showing even white teeth. ‘Very,’ he said with added emphasis, jiggling his car keys. ‘This is mine.’ He stopped at a dark blue Passat. ‘So, Jonathan, it was a pleasure to meet you.’ He held out his hand.
‘Likewise,’ said Jonathan, shaking hands. ‘I hope you’re happy in your life now.’
‘Happy enough now that I’m true to myself, but lonely sometimes. Especially around this time of the year.’ He shrugged.
‘Me too! I always find it . . . difficult . . . especially New Year’s Eve.’
‘Are you with someone?’ Murray looked surprised.
‘No! Long story! Are you?’
‘No! No story,’ laughed Murray. ‘I think you need to be a young man to play the dating game.’
‘Fancy a coffee?’ Jonathan heard himself say spontaneously.
‘Ahh! Yeah! Why not? You can tell me your long story and a bit more about this amazing Hannah,’ Murray agreed.
‘Will we go across the road to the Tolka?’
‘Perfect. And there’s a car park behind it. I’m damned if I’m giving this lot another red cent today.’ Murray indicated the parking hut.
‘Something else in common,’ Jonathan remarked lightly, hardly able to believe he had been so proactive. But there was a kindness and maturity about Murray Corry that he knew would not lead to callous, calculating behaviour. It might just be a one-off coffee. It might end up as a friendship, which would be a wonderful bonus. Who knew? But all in all today had been a very good day, Jonathan decided, and the irony was, if he had not stopped at Gus Higgins’s grave none of it would have happened. A divine synchronicity, Hannah would call it, and who was he to argue with that?
‘You look tired, dear.’ Jacqueline O’Mahony kissed her daughter and studied her under the light of the crystal chandelier that hung in the hall of the Holland Park flat.
‘And skinny,’ her father said, frowning. ‘Scrawny even, I’d go so far as to say.’
‘Frank!’ hissed his wife.
‘Well it’s true! What’s wrong with you, girl? And why aren’t Jazzy and Des here for Christmas? And why haven’t you decorated yet?’ Frank was leaning on a cane, his face showing the pain of his arthritis.
‘Come in and sit down and I’ll get us some tea,’ Colette said, pretending not to have heard his questions.
‘Where’s your housekeeper?’ Jacqueline asked, removing her elegant black-woollen coat and burgundy-silk scarf.
‘I have to get a new one. It’s been so long since I’ve been here and the agency didn’t have anyone to send so near to Christmas,’ she fibbed. Housekeepers were a luxury of the past. She would employ a cleaner twice a week, in the new year, who would do housekeeping duties for three hours, but for the last week Colette had been cooking for herself and she hadn’t bothered eating much. She had ordered a prepared dinner for Christmas Day from Fine Dining caterers, and she had stocked up her freezer with ready-made meals for the duration of her parents’ visit.
‘Forget about the tea. I’ll have a brandy if there’s one going,’ Frank announced, handing her his coat and hat and stomping into the lounge.
‘Mum, would you prefer a drink?’ Colette asked, following her mother in.
‘No thank you, dear. I’d love a cup of tea.’ Jacqueline sank down into an armchair. Dublin Airport and Heathrow had been exhausting, packed to the gills with Christmas travellers. They
