Fandango in the Apse! (10 page)

Basking in the aftermath of Michael’s ferocious passion, stoked to fever
pitch by me, as I divested him slowly, peeling away the Catholic Church and
revealing the red-blooded, totally horny, man beneath – I found there was
something satisfying about that.  I vaguely felt as if I had won a battle,
scored a point, but I didn’t delve into it too deeply, introspection was a no,
no.   Enjoy the moment, was my philosophy and hang the consequences… especially
the moral ones.

I was thinking what a shame we could only ever have brief snatches of
time together.  Moments later, I voiced my thoughts.

‘Funny you should say that.  I had an idea about it… last night actually.’
Michael’s eyes were alight with mischief.  He was grinning at me, so I grinned
back.

‘Go on then, what was your idea?’ 

Michael gathered my hands together on his knee and squeezed. ‘How would
you like to spend a weekend with me?’ He was excited with the idea and stared
intently into my eyes to gauge my reaction.  He wasn’t disappointed.

‘Wow! Michael that would be fantastic, but how could we do it?

‘You know I told you I was going home next weekend?’ I nodded. ‘Well,
what if I don’t go until Monday?  We could have Friday night and all day
Saturday and Sunday together, what do you think?’

I thought it was the most wonderful idea and mentally formed the lies I
would tell Eddie there and then.

As it happened, I needn’t have bothered.  With the boys safely packed off
with Jean and Arthur, I waited until the Thursday to broach the subject.  Eddie
was late home as usual and I hovered in the kitchen as he ate his dinner.  I
was just about to open my mouth when he spoke.

‘Oh, by the way I have to go to Brighton on business at the weekend. 
Typical, isn’t it, the first chance to have some time together without the boys
and I have to be away.’

He made a show of being annoyed, but I knew that’s all it was.  I briefly
wondered which bimbo he was taking.  However, that time…I couldn’t have given a
damn.  I raised my eyes to the heavens to thank God, then given the circumstances
thought better of it.  Just to be mean, I decided to make Eddie wriggle a bit.

‘Brighton, eh? Well I could come with you if you like.  I could do the
shops and we could have the evenings together.’

I watched as Eddie mentally tried to extricate himself from this
unexpected turn of events.  I had said the very last thing he was expecting, it
was a complication he wasn’t prepared for.

‘Aw, Katie… that would have been nice,’ he said, once he had solved the
problem to his satisfaction. ‘But you would be bored and honestly, the meetings
will go on through dinner, so really, it would be a waste of time.’

I did my best to look disappointed.  ‘Oh, I see.  Well, I don’t feel like
spending the weekend alone…’ I mused.  I waited, counting to twenty in my head. 

‘I know!  I’ll go and spend some time with Alison, she’s always asking me
to go up and I rarely do.’

Eddie stood up, almost but not quite, hiding his relief. He gave my arm a
quick squeeze before putting his plate in the dishwasher. 

‘Great idea. You go and enjoy yourself; you’ll have a far better time
than hanging around waiting for me.’  He went off to his study no doubt
congratulating himself on his deviousness, and I went into the lounge
congratulating myself on mine.

Michael and I arranged to meet at the train station on the Friday evening. 
To avoid arousing suspicion he agreed to let Father Gus drop him off, as he
would normally have done. Michael usually caught the train to London and from
there, a plane across to Dublin. I sat in my car in the car park watching
Father Gus make his more than steady way out of the station. 

Butterflies were running riot in my stomach.  This was big.  This was
huge!  We were moving up a notch in the relationship, it was exciting.  That
said; I adamantly refused to look any further than the moment.  I was living in
the now and enjoying it immensely. There was no way I was going to clutter it
up with “what-if’s”.

Michael jumped in the car, grinning from ear to ear.  Dumping his rucksack
on the back seat with a flourish, he squeezed my leg.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this.’  His good humour was infectious, but
I did have a brief thought on how easily he seemed to throw off the shackles of
his ecclesiastical life.  But that was it… a brief thought.  As far as I was
concerned, he could look after his own eternal soul and I would look after
mine. Not that I was looking after my eternal soul.  God no!  I was busy
digging my way to the pit of Hades and enjoying every second of it.

We stayed in a small hotel in Dulverton, near the edge of Exmoor National
Park.  Michael had chosen it because it was far enough away from home to be
safe, but not so far that we would have to spend our precious time together
travelling for hours.  We arrived late, stopping on the way to eat and when we
were shown to our room by the hotel owner, I was both surprised and enchanted. 

The hotel had originally been a sixteenth century coaching inn but been
added to periodically over the years and not always sympathetically.  Luckily,
we were in the oldest part and the room looked very much as it would have done
originally.  Decked out in beautiful brocade fabrics, a comfortable looking
four-poster bed dominated the wood panelled room.  A further search revealed a
bathroom hidden behind a fake panel door.

‘Michael, it’s gorgeous!’

‘Hmm… not bad, hope there’s no ghosts though, I’m not really equipped to
do an exorcism,’ he laughed. 

Immediately I was intrigued.  ‘Have you ever done one?’

‘Katie… how about from now until Monday morning we forget I’m a priest? 
Let’s just be you and me and pretend no one else exists.’

His expression was earnest and it struck me that this was probably the
only way he could come to terms with what we were doing.

‘Fine by me… so who shall we be instead?  I know; you can be a marauding
Celt and I will be your concubine.’

With a low growl, Michael picked me up and dumped me on the bed; he then set
about proving exactly how the Celts got their ferocious reputations.  It was a
magical weekend filled with country walks, leisurely meals and long talks.

I learned about Michael’s life before he was ordained, his childhood in
Dublin and his strict schooling at the hands of the Christian Brothers.  His
first girlfriend, his first love, and the two years he spent at Trinity College
studying medicine before he realised his calling.  How his father, a doctor
himself, had been disappointed when he left, and how his mother had been beside
herself with pride to have a son joining the priesthood.  It was a feather in
the cap of any Irish family, apparently.

Learning so much about Michael was a double-edged sword.  On the one
hand, it was great to know the pre-priest Michael, on the other, it changed
things for me.  I think up to that point he was sort of my fantasy.  Forbidden,
not really of my world, if you see what I mean, but hearing about his past made
him more real, more of this world.  I hope this is making sense to you… because
it’s bloody difficult to explain.

On the Sunday, we spent the whole day in our room, except when Michael
sneaked out for supplies for a picnic, which we ate right in the middle of the
four-poster.  We drank wine, we laughed, we had fantastic sex and slowly we let
reality filter back. 

That last night we didn’t sleep much, both of us wanting to hang onto the
dream for as long as possible.  However, it had to end, and I was genuinely
upset when I dropped Michael off at the station late the following morning.
Why-oh-why could things never be the way you wanted?  It was a bittersweet
feeling – getting a glimpse of what might have been and knowing that it could
never be.  Things were never quite the same between us after that weekend.  It
was as if neither of us wanted to sully the memory of it. 

Then one morning Michael called and asked me to meet him in a car park in
town.  He sounded odd on the phone and looked even odder when I knocked on his
car window.  He was deep in thought and hadn’t notice my approach.  He got out
immediately.

            ‘Thanks for coming, Katie.’  He looked dreadful.

            ‘Michael what’s the matter? Why did you want to meet here?’

            ‘Because I don’t trust myself… this is public.  Katie, I’m
going away,’ he said in a rush.

            ‘Away?  Where to?  Why?’  My heart flipped in my chest.

            ‘I’m going on retreat.’ 

He shuffled slightly, refusing to meet my gaze.

            ‘Why, has someone found out, is that what’s happened?’

            ‘I told Father Gus about us – I didn’t mention your name…’ he
added quickly, ‘but I told him I had become… involved.’ 

I gathered my slack jaw back to its rightful position with difficulty and
stood staring at him.  Was he mad?  Finally, he looked at me properly. 

His voice was barely audible. ‘I’m sorry.’

            ‘But why?  What made you tell him?’ I was at a loss to
understand such stupidity.

            ‘I don’t know; it just got to me.  I couldn’t eat, sleep or
concentrate and eventually he noticed.  Oh God, Katie… I don’t know, it just
came out.’ 

He was so distressed I didn’t have the heart to be angry.

‘Will you be forced to leave the priesthood?’  I really hoped not, I
couldn’t have lived with the guilt.

            ‘Father Gus asked me to go on retreat.  I suppose to evaluate
my faith and future in the church.  He isn’t going to mention anything to the
Bishop until I return.’

            ‘I’m so sorry, Michael.’

            ‘No, don’t be.’  He put his hand on my shoulder and then
removed it as if I’d burnt him.  ‘It happened – we can’t change that – but please
don’t be sorry, I’m not.’  His eyes were defiant as he pleaded with me; he
really meant it.

            ‘When are you going?’ I asked.

            ‘I’m on my way now, but I had to see you first.’

            ‘So… this is it?’ I asked. 

He cleared his throat and seemed to force himself to speak, ‘I’m afraid
so.’ 

We spoke for another few minutes before I returned to my car.  The spot
where Michael had parked was empty when I drove past it a moment later.

I felt chastened on the drive home.  Guilt nudged anxiously.  It was
clear what had happened between Michael and me, had and would affect his life
far more than mine.  This seems a callous thing to say, but although I felt
sorry for my part in his fall from grace, I was also angry.  Michael’s parting
words had been that he had fallen in love with me, which is why what happened,
happened.  Did I believe him?  Did I hell. 

Men are always saying women are spectacularly good at not being able
separate sex from emotion.   I’m sorry, but that’s bollocks!  Michael needed to
put a label on it, find a reason for going against his faith and the vows he
had taken.  Lust filled sex with a woman he’d only known a few months, didn’t cut
it.  As far as I was concerned love didn’t cut it either.  He fancied me; he
wanted sex – that was it.  And quite honestly – so what?  Celibacy is an
unnatural state in human beings.  Who decided celibacy would make a man a
better priest?  It couldn’t have been Jesus – he had Mary Magdalene hanging
around.’

That’s it – I’m definitely going to hell now.

As I’ve said,
introspection isn’t my thing, so I didn’t let my nefarious “doings” get me down
for long.  I missed Michael, but deep down I had always known what we had was
temporary.  If he had given up being a priest so we could be together, would it
have worked?  I didn’t think so.  Not least, as I’ve already said, his being a
priest was part of his allure.  So, it was best all round if I put him out of
my mind and got on with the business of living my real life, and I fervently hoped
Michael was doing the same.  I hope you are appreciating my honesty here.

We had moved into our house the previous winter, but were only on a nodding
acquaintance with the neighbours so far.  As the summer got into full swing,
their rounds of barbecues accelerated and we found ourselves included in the
small clique made up of our closest neighbours.  Sunday afternoons found us in
either our own, or one of the neighbour’s gardens. 

Eddie was in his element, he was a “joiner”, he liked to be included. 
For the most part, I could take it or leave it.  OK, it was good for the
children to have playmates, but sitting around listening to the “Stepford Wives”
discussing how well little Jimmy was doing at school, or which washer did the best
job, was my idea of hell. 

My salvation came in the form of Stacey Bond.  I was gearing up for
another afternoon of mind-numbing boredom around the “women’s” table, (the men
sat at their own, discussing football, politics and the like), when Stacey took
me to one side.

‘You look as fed up as I feel,’ she whispered. 

Sensing a kindred spirit, I almost shouted hurrah!

‘Can you believe these women?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, m’dear,’ she said, in a comically plummy accent, ‘the pursuit of
perfection in these fine ladies is legendary in these here parts.’

 I almost managed to stifle a giggle, but failed, causing a few turned
heads from the women in question.

‘Oops!’ said Stacey, as she turned to the artfully laden table and
grabbed a bottle of Merlot, which she poured in large measure into two
obviously expensive crystal glasses.

‘I mean this says it all, don’t you think?’ she whispered, while holding
up the glasses for inspection.  ‘Who the hell uses crystal for a barbecue?’

‘Shush! They’ll hear you.’ I laughed.

 Then, as if on cue, Marion, our host for the afternoon, called out.

‘Are you two all right over there?  Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Just the hell out of here,’ Stacey mumbled, as we bowed to the
inevitable and made our way over the weed-less lawn to the quartet already
seated at the table.