Turbulent Priests Part 41

*In G.o.d's name how?'

He looked at the ground. Mumbled. *It was dark.'

*Good G.o.d, man. There's devils abroad in the daylight as well. Shoot!'

*These aren't devils.'

White grabbed at the gun. *Let me show you how . . .'

The man held it tight. *No, Father,' he said. *I can't let you.'

White looked desperately from one to the other, right around his protective circle. He saw that none of them would back him up.

The priest swivelled back towards the crowd. His anguished eyes flitted from one to the other desperately looking for support, but there was none. *Don't you see what's happening?' he cried. *In G.o.d's name come to your senses before it's too late.'

There wasn't even sympathy. Just a hard island glare. He wilted under it. He dropped his head into his hands, then slowly slipped to his knees. He began to sob.

Flynn stepped forward and placed a hand on his old colleague's shoulder. *We have come to our senses,' he said softly.

The crowd quieted, stood about him, transfixed by the sight of the priest's shoulders moving up and down as he cried uncontrollably. It lasted for several minutes.

When the tears had run their course he snorted up and down, then spread his fingers and peered through the gap. Like a child checking to see if the monster had gone.

One of Duncan's relatives bent forward and spat with perfect accuracy between index and forefinger into the priest's left eye.

*They're not as dumb as I thought,' I whispered to Patricia.

*They've had their eyes opened, that's all.'

*Just wait till they hear about the radon.'

*The what?'

41.

Patricia peered into the box. *What do you think?' she asked, pus.h.i.+ng a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. She was happy. Her eyes sparkled. She was going home. So was I.

As usual, I shrugged. *Up to you,' I said.

Apparently there's something thrilling about being up and about in a misty dawn. Something to do with the exhilaration of being in at the start of the new day; the cool damp is supposed to be invigorating. Lost on me. My trainers and the bottoms of my jeans were already sopping from standing in the dewed garden for too long. I was tired. We'd spent most of the night packing up our stuff, cramming it back into the car.

*What's that old saying?' Patricia asked. *Home is where the hedgehog is?'

I tutted. She wanted to take the hedgehog home to Belfast. *You agree to take responsibility for the fleas, and I'll go along with it.'

*But we've looked after him for so long.'

*Trish, it's only been a few days and he's slept for most of that. Catch a grip. Anyway, if he wakes up in Belfast he'll probably die of culture shock. All of those sophisticated hedgehog coffee mornings on the Malone Road, they'll give him the spiky shoulder.'

*I suppose I do get attached to things.'

*You could say that.'

*I got attached to you. And I already have a child to look after.'

*There's that.'

*And Stevie.'

*Oh hah-hah.'

Eventually, we reached a compromise. We agreed to transport the hedgehog across to the mainland and place the box in some remote undergrowth where he could sleep away the winter safe from the dangers of radon. He would not be the only evacuee, that was for sure.

The previous evening's town meeting had stretched through to the small hours. The packed hall had not needed much convincing of the existence of the radon, but the que stion of whether to press ahead with a full evacuation had left the small community divided. At first it was agreed that the children should go, then the mothers wanted to go with them, but wouldn't leave their husbands, who didn't want to leave at all, although they didn't mind the children going. Christine, playing at the back, had become almost irrelevant to the proceedings, demoted in a few hours from daughter of G.o.d to bright kid, and who likes a bright kid? She didn't appear to be particularly disturbed by it, though there was some doubt as to how long her good humour would last. The other children seemed to enjoy being able to pull her hair without fear of divine retribution.

Father Flynn, restored by popular acclaim to his seat at the head of the Council, although there was no Council to speak of, spoke eloquently and with authority about what had happened in the preceding months and years, and about the dangers of remaining on the island. *Most of us have been horrified by what has gone on here in the past few days,' he said, his eyes falling on Father White, sitting head bowed in the front row, staring at the floor, *but we shouldn't blame anyone. People have died. But we can hold no one responsible. That, I fear, is the nature of this radon, this gas which has corrupted all of our lives. Just as it seemed to bring us the goodness of Christine, it also brought us the madness of murder. Just as it brought us the bounty of good health, it brought us the unpredictability of insanity.' He clasped his hands before him, giving his words the emphasis of prayer. *I honestly believe that it can only become more dangerous the longer we stay here. We should thank G.o.d for this brief interlude of sanity he has given us, and get off the island before its darkness descends upon us once again.'

One of Duncan's many relatives jumped up. I recognised him as the man who'd so expertly gobbed on Father White. He looked about ready to spit again. He jabbed a finger out in White's direction. *You don't mean to let him go? After killing Duncan?'

White didn't seem to be listening. He didn't twitch.

*I hesitate to say, let he who is without sin cast the first stone, Shane, but it does apply here.'

*I didn't shoot anyone.'

*No, you didn't, but you did follow Christine just as much as anyone. I seem to remember you making a point of setting fire to your television set in your front garden, long before we decided to outlaw them. We've all been affected in our own way, Shane.'

*But I didn't kill anyone!'

*Neither did Father White. Not the Father White we all know and love. This radon has corrupted him as much as the rest of us, just in a different way. Our Council's the same. How can they be blamed for what the radon has done? I started all of this off with my visions of Christine. Blame me if you want to blame anyone.'

*You mean to just let him go?'

Flynn nodded. *We're all guilty. We're all innocent.'

A skinny old man at the back of the hall rose unsteadily to his feet. *The name's Gerry Mulrooney,' he rasped.

*Yes, we all know you well, Gerry.'

*The name's Gerry Mulrooney, and I've farmed here for the best part of sixty-five years, and there's not no one's going to throw me off of my land.' He sat down.

*Of course not, Gerry,' placated Flynn.

Mulrooney struggled to his feet again. *And I don't know what the h.e.l.l this radon stuff is, but I've not noticed it doing any harm.'

*Aye,' someone shouted from across the hall, *you've not noticed half a dozen bodies in your garden either.'

Laughter. Mulrooney glared across the rows in front of him. *What's that?' he growled.

*He has a point though,' said a man close to the door. *I can't leave the farm the way it is. Not now. I've been there all my life, Frank. Can we not just forget about all this madness? We got caught up in it, that's all. Now we know what to watch for, won't we be okay?'

Flynn shook his head. *My point is, Francis, that we just don't know how it's going to affect us next.'

Moira, about six seats up from White in the front row, stood up. *Father, everything you say is right. But it could also be wrong.' She nodded round the audience. *What I think he's saying is that we just don't know what's going on because everything we say and do is affected by this gas. We could all be talking nonsense now. Christine could still be the Messiah. We'll only really be in a position to know if we get off the island, away from its influence.'

Flynn nodded enthusiastically. *Exactly, Moira. We need to get our people off, and those who do know something about radon on. Then maybe one day we can come back. When it's safe.'

Jack McGettigan, to Flynn's left at the Council table, shook his head. *You know as well as I do that once people leave they'll never come back. It has always been like that.'

*Didn't I come back, Jack?'

*Aye. And look what happened. Maybe it was that Protestant heart.'

*Now, Jack,' said Flynn, and waved a finger in jovial admonishment, *don't be saying that.'

As I stood in the garden, I flashed back to Duncan's head exploding. To the taste of him on my lips. The stench of piled bodies remained trapped in my nose. Flynn was right. There was madness in the air.

It was still before seven when we locked Snow Cottage up. There were no goodbyes. It had never felt like home. I'd written three words of a novel, and two of them I wasn't sure about. I'd come within a moment of having my head blown off and once again been saved by a woman. Women, in fact. It almost hurt to think it. Patricia, Moira, the women of the parish, had all along been more on the ball than their menfolk, had all along expressed their misgivings to each other but agreed to stand by their men until things got really out of hand. Oh, they'd believed in Christine okay, but they'd preserved a certain detachment. They'd allowed their menfolk free range on the decisions, and in the process proved that they were the real decision-makers. Moira and Patricia had spread word of the bodies, and the revulsion had inspired insurrection and suddenly the McCooeys were no more. It was a triumph for womankind.

Mind you, they'd needed Dr Finlay to start the tractor.

Patricia hummed gently as we drove. She didn't look back. Little Stevie was happy in her lap. The hedgehog box was wedged into the boot.

When we reached town I asked Patricia if she would miss the old place.

*Of course. Like a hole in the head.'

*We thought it might be a little paradise.'

*You thought it might be a little paradise.'

*I thought it might bring us closer together.'

*And do you think it did?'

I shrugged. *I suppose so. What do you think?'

She shrugged too. Little Stevie opened his eyes briefly. *I don't know if we were ever that far apart,' Patricia said.

I drove up the Main Street and stopped outside Dr Finlay's house.

*What now?' Patricia said.

*We should say goodbye.'

*We'll miss the ferry.'

*There's no shortage of ferries today, love,' I said.

*You don't understand. I want on the first one.'

*We'll get on the first one.'

I rattled the door. Dr Finlay's housekeeper was already up. She kept me waiting at the door. Several minutes later Finlay arrived, yawning, still tying his dressing gown.

*We're off,' I said.

He didn't look especially heartbroken. *Oh. Right. Good luck, then.'

*You're staying?'

*Of course. I'm a doctor.'

*And doctors don't get sick.'

*Something like that.'

*Most people will leave, though, won't they?'

He nodded solemnly. *They've been looking for an excuse for years. Christine stopped the rot. But now she's gone . . . not gone a what would you say a diminished?' I shrugged. *Well, there'll be no stopping them.'

*Will I send you some whiskey across?'

He cracked a smile. *That would be nice. I can't see Jackie opening the pub again.'

*I wonder if he ever did bury that drink.'

He yawned again. *It would have aged better than what did get buried.'

*What about Duncan? There'll need to be a funeral.'

*Aye. I suppose. Same for the others. Don't worry about it. Go on home. You're well out of it.'

*And Willie Nutt? Did he ever show up?'

Finlay shook his head. *Probably still running. Nah, he'll turn up. Bad pennies always do.'

For several moments we looked silently back down the hill to the harbour, and then on across the sea. The mainland was hidden by cloud and mist. *All these deaths,' I said, *do you think . . .?'

*We'll get away with it?'