Bless Me Again, Father Read online

  ‘You remember Johnny Downes who left in our first year?’ I said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s a copper living in our parish. He had a spell in the West End and now he’s back with us.’

  ‘He did me a good turn, Johnny did.’ A pause. ‘I’d like to shoot him for it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Forget it, Neil.’

  I shrugged. ‘Okay. At the last count, he had four kids, including twins.’

  Tom emitted a thin, dry laugh. ‘And when Johnny Downes gave up studying for the priesthood,’ we all thought he was crackers.’

  On my return to St Jude’s I felt light-headed. The fresh air, the long walk, the companionship had lifted my spirits.

  Fr Duddleswell was as I had left him, snoozing in his armchair, but now wrapped in his faded dressing-gown.

  Pretending to be tipsy, I started up on Roll Out the Barrel.

  He awoke with a start. ‘Here comes half the town,’ he growled. In an instant, he was on his feet. ‘In the name of the Man Above, where have you been?’

  Tottering from side to side, I replied with slurred speech, ‘To the dogs, Father.’

  ‘I can tell. You look all alive like a bag of fleas.’

  I slumped down in a chair. ‘It’s my day off. You’ve missed me, Father.’

  He tapped his watch. ‘Ten minutes after curfew hour. And where, may I ask, is your collar?’

  I took off my muffler, showing an open-necked shirt.

  ‘Your priestly collar.’

  I pulled my clerical collar and stock out of my raincoat pocket. ‘Oh,’ I said cheerily, ‘you mean my status symbol.’

  ‘What is it doing in your pocket, pray?’

  I winked artfully at him. ‘As a matter of fact, old man, I’ve been on a bit of a pub crawl.’

  ‘You told me you were going out with priest friends.’

  ‘They drove me to it, Father.’ I shook my head as though to shake the cobwebs away. ‘Pint after pint.’

  Fr Duddleswell stood over me, sizing me up. ‘Wine, women and song, by the looks of it.’

  ‘There was a rather amiable land-army girl gave me the glad eye.’

  He jerked his head back as if I had led with my left.

  ‘I give you five shillings to enjoy yourself with and you repay me by riding home on the pig’s back.’

  ‘Things are not what they seem, Father.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Smell my breath.’ I exhaled noisily in his direction. ‘Lemonade.’

  ‘Thank the good God for that,’ he said, making plain that he had been pulling my leg rather than I his. ‘I thought it was ginger beer.’

  I unscrewed the thermos flask of cocoa that Mrs Pring had left for me.

  ‘Before I forget, Father Neil, there was a Molly Dowries here today wanting to see you.’

  ‘Johnny’s wife?’ I was surprised. I had not seen Johnny for more than a few minutes since his return posting to Fairwater. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She seems to think her man is carrying on with another woman.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So,’ he said briskly, ‘go along tomorrow and tell him to stop it.’

  ‘Sorry we’re in such a mess, Father.’

  Molly Downes was as pretty as Johnny had described her. What were his words: ‘Peaches and cream, fair hair, eyes of heavenly blue’? They fitted.

  Taken off her guard by the speed of my visit, she went into the kitchen ahead of me, straightening things out en route.

  ‘I hope this isn’t a bad time, Molly. Father Duddleswell said it was important.’

  ‘The two eldest are with my mother for the day.’ Her voice was soft, feminine, inclined to huskiness. ‘The twins are upstairs’—she crossed fingers—‘asleep.’

  ‘And Johnny?’

  ‘He won’t be off duty for half an hour.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, as if we already understood each other.

  ‘The tea’s made.’ I nodded acceptance as Molly poured for both of us. ‘Was Johnny something of a lad when you first knew him?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, loyally, ‘only eighteen.’

  ‘I meant, something of a lad.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ I hedged.

  ‘I don’t want you to tell tales, Father.’ Evoking no response: ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

  ‘At that time, we were both studying to be priests.’

  ‘I know Johnny went a little wild in the Navy.’

  He had admitted to me when I was in hospital that his naval career hadn’t exactly been monastic.

  ‘So I believe, Molly.’

  ‘He told you.’ She was probing.

  ‘Not in any detail. He did say he went a long way. By ship, I mean.’

  Molly brushed a tear aside. ‘We were so happy. We are happy.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It began when I was carrying the twins.’

  ‘A real handful.’

  ‘Two handfuls,’ Molly said with vigour. ‘Anyway, I noticed Johnny was receiving regular phone calls from a woman.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘When I answered the phone, it went dead. So I knew something was up.’

  ‘You haven’t spoken to Johnny about it?’

  Molly shook her head. ‘He’s very touchy about such things.’

  ‘He’ll think you don’t trust him.’

  ‘I do trust him, of course,’ Molly said quietly. ‘And I don’t. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And no.’

  She smiled. It was like the sun coming out on our walk the day before. ‘You do understand.’

  ‘There may be a very simple explanation.’

  ‘He gets letters, too.’

  ‘Oh, does he?’

  ‘I came across one. It began, “My dear Johnny” and ended, “With fondest love, Bella”.’

  ‘You didn’t read the rest?’

  ‘I couldn’t do that, could I?’

  I lowered my gaze. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Besides, Johnny came in at that moment.’

  We caught each other out, smiling.

  ‘Have you spoken to a priest about this before, Molly?’

  ‘I tried to tell Father Tom Charlton. He’s Johnny’s best friend.’

  This was a jolt. Tom hadn’t mentioned it to me on our walk.

  ‘Does he come here often?’

  ‘Yes. But I can’t talk to him.’

  ‘No?’

  She was reluctant to go into details. ‘He gives me the impression that he has troubles of his own.’

  ‘It could be,’ I said.

  The front door opened.

  ‘Johnny’s back,’ Molly whispered in alarm.

  ‘It’ll be nice to see him again.’

  ‘No, Father, it won’t.’ She snatched my cup from me and poured the contents into the sink. ‘Please go out the back way.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, at a loss to know why I should have to make such a low-key exit.

  I went via the kitchen door into the rear garden with Molly saying softly after me, ‘Come again soon, Father.’

  ‘Glad to.’

  It was to be sooner than either of us expected. I found myself in the narrow, high-walled garden of an old-fashioned terraced house. One glance and I knew the back gate was locked and padlocked, presumably to keep the children from wandering in the street. I would willingly have stood on the dustbin and climbed over the wall. Except that the dustbin had no lid.

  If I walked in now, what explanation could I give for having been in the garden? Unable to think up any plausible pretext, I stood petrified, my head against the kitchen door, praying that Johnny would not come out.

  I heard him call, ‘Hello, darling’, and Molly respond with, ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Johnny said. ‘Is Tom Charlton here?’

  I gulped painfully and pressed myself tighter against the door.

  Molly said, a quiver in her voi
ce, ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘That’s odd. Mrs Nosy Parker next door told me a priest was visiting us.’

  ‘There’s no priest here, Johnny.’

  That did it. Now that Molly had denied my presence, I could not possibly re-enter the kitchen. On the other hand, I had no wish to stay in the yard all day until Johnny went for a walk.

  I was wondering, What have I done to deserve this? when the phone rang. Johnny reached it first.

  ‘Hello,’ he said brusquely. ‘No, this isn’t a convenient moment. I’ll ring you back, sir.’

  With only my hearing to rely on, I could detect that he was more in a panic than I was.

  ‘Yes?’ Molly asked apprehensively, when he had put down the receiver.

  ‘Yes, love. Well.’

  He coughed with embarrassment. He had a lot to hide.

  ‘A police informer again, isn’t it, love?’

  There came the piercing sound of babies crying.

  ‘The twins, love,’ Johnny said. ‘I’ll see to them.’ The relief in his voice was evident.

  Thank God, I said to myself.

  I waited until I heard footsteps on the stairs before stealthily opening the door.

  Molly was standing by the table. The distant look on her face vanished the moment she saw me.

  ‘Father?’

  ‘The back door’s locked,’ I hissed.

  ‘Oh dear. I forgot. You’d better creep out the front.’

  She opened the door for me and I tiptoed out.

  ‘Lovely having you, Father,’ Molly whispered. ‘You’re always very welcome.’

  ‘You mean to tell me, Father Neil, that you never even asked this Johnny feller what he’s up to?’

  I threw my overcoat on my chair. I felt humiliated at having to leave the Downes’ house in the manner of a fugitive.

  ‘His wife wasn’t keen, Father.’

  ‘Lord above,’ he whistled, ‘women is strange creatures.’

  ‘You can say that again and again and again.’

  ‘Never you mind, lad. You can go back tomorrow.’

  I was still sore. I said, ‘I don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘’Tis your duty as a priest to get involved.’

  ‘You’re obviously good at this sort of thing, Father. You go.’

  ‘I have a bone in me leg,’ he said, more sternly this time. ‘Besides, why keep a dog and bark meself?’

  Seeing humour was completely lost on me, he said, ‘Listen, me great warrior, me sixty-second apprentice. That poor girl has four kiddies. She needs your help. So you go back there as often as it takes. Do you hear me speak to you?’

  For reply, I picked up a newspaper and began reading it while I whistled as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

  I went back to see Molly, all the same. She was a very attractive person and I couldn’t help admiring the warm atmosphere she created in the home, in spite of everything.

  I chose Tuesdays for my visits, when the eldest children were with her mother and I was careful to avoid being around when Johnny came home from work.

  One morning, I went to post a letter and returned almost immediately. Fr Duddleswell and Mrs Pring obviously had heard me go out but not come in because, while I was reading my breviary in my study, I heard them talking in the hall.

  ‘Want to hear the latest parish gossip, Father D?’

  ‘I do not,’ was the reply.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Fr Duddleswell demanded instantly.

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Nor do I, woman. But ’tis me duty to pin me ears back when the jaws around here are not chewing gum.’

  ‘It’s Father Neil.’

  I was enjoying their style of conversation and had been on the point of calling out to tell them so. Too late now. They would think I had been eavesdropping.

  ‘What would Father Neil be doing spreading gossip, woman?’ An afterthought: ‘He has not been talking about me, I trust?’

  ‘The gossip is about Father Neil.’

  That made me jump.

  ‘Tut-tut,’ Fr Duddleswell said, ‘I told the lad not to go on pub crawls or wear an open-necked shirt.’

  ‘Does Father Neil do that?’

  ‘He does. And he lets land-army girls glad-eye him. Whatever that means.’

  ‘No!’ Mrs Pring exclaimed. She obviously knew what it meant.

  ‘I would ask you, naturally,’ Fr Duddleswell said, ‘not to spread it round the parish.’

  ‘As if I would.’

  ‘Now tell me your gossip.’

  Mrs Pring began in a laboured way. ‘Well … It’s … It’s rumoured by nasty tell-tales that he’s visiting Molly Downes.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ A reflective pause. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I said it’s ridiculous myself. But the tongues don’t stop wagging.’

  ‘Let ’em wag,’ Fr Duddleswell retorted, as if he didn’t care how much I was maligned.

  ‘Imagine,’ Mrs Pring went on, as if she could see the headlines in the local paper. ‘Handsome young curate seeing too much of policeman’s wife, mother of four, while the copper’s on the beat.’

  To me, the threat seemed all of a sudden very real.

  ‘What does it mean,’ Fr Duddleswell enquired, ‘“seeing too much of”?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, the folks round here have throats on them like open sepulchres. I trust Father Neil like I trust meself.’

  ‘He’s not as unreliable as that.’ I think Mrs Pring suspected he was blaming her for the nasty rumours.

  ‘To your kitchen, woman, and wash your mouth out with soap and water.’

  ‘Will you have a word with him?’

  ‘Do your own dirty work.’

  ‘So the rumours will go on.’

  I heard Fr Duddleswell stamp his foot in irritation. ‘Is it not clear to you yet, Mata Hari. I never pay heed to parish gossip.’

  As he withdrew into his study, I said fondly to myself: Good for you, you old snake in the grass.

  I continued my visits to Molly’s place. How did I justify this to myself?

  I simply refused to yield to malice. Anyway, wasn’t it Fr Duddleswell himself who insisted that I get involved?

  I had cause to regret my obstinacy one Sunday afternoon when I chanced to be in Fr Duddleswell’s study.

  ‘Mother Stephen,’ Mrs Pring announced.

  Muttering to himself, ‘The Big Black Beetle,’ Fr Duddleswell sprang to his feet. ‘Charming of you to visit us on a Sunday without warning, Mother.’

  Mother Stephen refused the offer of a seat.

  ‘I will not beat about the bush,’ she said, in her clipped tones.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I am pleased that your curate is here because it is about him that I have come.’

  She was referring to me as if I were not there.

  I gazed fiercely at the flour-white face peering out of her hood, with those thick eyebrows and pencil-thin lips. Lately, I had grown in my admiration of the old battle-axe but this was too much.

  Out of the folds of her habit she drew a batch of correspondence.

  ‘I have received three anonymous letters.’

  Fr Duddleswell snorted with annoyance. ‘From Mrs Jones, Rollings and O’Hare.’

  Mother Stephen, who had a secret service of her own, was not unimpressed. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘’Tis common knowledge they are the only ones in the parish who write anonymous letters.’

  ‘Father Boyd is visiting Mrs Downes alone and he often creeps out the back door.’

  I crept out the back door once, I felt like saying. But it would only have made things worse.

  ‘I would remind you,’ Fr Duddleswell said gallantly, ‘that I am parish priest of St Jude’s.’

  Mother Stephen drew herself up to her full height. ‘And I would remind you that rumours about the clergy, whether true or false, affect th
e whole Catholic community. Including the Sisters.’

  ‘What are you intending to do about it?’

  ‘Take the matter up with the Bishop, of course.’

  I was about to give Mother Stephen a piece of my mind when Mrs Pring returned and beckoned me to the door.

  ‘What is it, Mrs P?’ I asked, angry at the interruption.

  ‘There’s a visitor in your room.’

  ‘Later,’ I grunted, and prepared to do battle with Mother Stephen. If Bishop O’Reilly himself called, he would have to wait his turn.

  Just loud enough for me to hear, Mrs Pring said, ‘It’s Police Constable Downes.’

  ‘Excuse me, Father,’ I said, and shot out of the room.

  At the foot of the stairs, I hesitated. The supposedly cuckolded husband had been the last to hear the rumours.

  I was a big chap but Johnny was bigger. In addition, I was a softy, whereas he had led a rough outdoor life, first in the Navy and now in the police force.

  What if he hit me? Feverishly, I recalled canon 119 in the Code of Canon Law. ‘The faithful should show respect for their clergy and they commit sacrilege if they injure them.’

  I suspected Johnny was not familiar with canon 119 and could knock me unconscious with one blow before I managed to tell him.

  ‘What sort of a mood is he in, Mrs P?’

  ‘Wild,’ she said.

  Putting on a brave face, I knocked on my study door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Johnny was wearing a mackintosh over his uniform. Holding up my hands, I said, ‘Not guilty, Officer. I do have a license for my dog collar.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  I motioned Johnny to be seated. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘You have managed to avoid me nicely, haven’t you?’

  Not a bad beginning, I thought. He hasn’t blacked my eye yet.

  ‘I thought you’d run a mile,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘The rumours are all over the bloody place.’

  ‘Not started by me, Johnny.’

  ‘That I can believe.’

  ‘Look, Johnny,’ I said, ‘I realize you must think I’ve been taking advantage of Molly’s good nature.’

  ‘You keep coming round when my big kids are with Molly’s mum and never when I’m there.’ He clenched his fists. ‘Why?’

  I had promised Molly I would not tell him she suspected he was being unfaithful. I was unable to answer his question.