I Confess

‘Sure, no wonder he smelled,’ said Laura. ‘The child was a mobile sweatshop. And he couldn’t have been more than six. Polishing the church when he should have been out kicking a ball.’

‘I’m sure I saw him with his arm in a sling at one stage,’ said Clare.

‘Still at it?’ said Murph.

Clare nodded.

‘Imagine my two polishing a church,’ said Laura. ‘They’d be up taking a shit in the font.’

‘Laura!’ said Clare.

‘Don’t pretend you’re shocked,’ said Laura.

The doorbell rang. Murph’s eyes widened, then he mouthed, ‘Is that him? I hope he didn’t hear.’ He mimed a shower over his head.

Everyone laughed. Johnny walked over and opened the door. A blast of wind and rain swept in with Patrick. He had his head bowed against it, the hood of his black jacket up. He pushed it back and smiled at everyone.

‘Welcome!’ said Johnny, shaking his hand. ‘Let me take your jacket.’

‘Thank you,’ said Patrick.

Clare flashed a glance at Edie, her eyebrows raised. Laura was less subtle. Edie tried not to laugh. Patrick was six foot two, broad-shouldered and muscular. He was wearing a tight black long-sleeved sweater with three black buttons at the neck, and black trousers. He was fresh-faced, his teeth were perfect, his brown hair cut with a neat side-parting.

Even Murph and Johnny were staring at him.

‘Father Lynch,’ said Murph, extending his hand.

Laura rolled her eyes.

‘Mr Murphy – you haven’t changed a bit,’ said Patrick.

‘I wish I could say the same to you,’ said Murph. ‘You’re showing myself and Johnny up. The ladies can’t know this is possible at our age.’

Edie glanced at Johnny.

Patrick hugged everyone. ‘You smell divine!’ said Clare.

Laura stifled a laugh. Edie’s eyes widened.

‘Right,’ said Johnny. ‘To the bar.’

Murph and Patrick strode after him.

Clare turned to Edie.

‘I did not say that on purpose,’ she said.

‘I know you didn’t,’ said Edie. ‘Your face!’

Laura looked at Helen. ‘You dirty bitch. That’s why you invited him.’

‘Obviously,’ said Helen.

‘What’s his scoop?’ said Clare. ‘Is he married?’

‘We need a bit more time to start getting that info out of him,’ said Laura.

‘He looks single,’ said Clare.

‘“Looks single”,’ said Laura.

‘He doesn’t look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders … that marriage brings,’ said Clare.

The others laughed.

‘What’s he up to, these days?’ said Laura.

‘He’s in hedge funds,’ said Clare.

‘What does that mean?’ said Laura.

‘That he’s rich enough to wear a jumper and hiking boots to a five-star establishment,’ said Helen.

Edie laughed. ‘As if I’d care.’

Clare raised her eyebrows. ‘I saw you giving a frowny look at his jumper.’

‘What?’ said Edie. ‘No, I did not.’

‘So, you’re telling me Patrick Lynch is rolling in it,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Clare.

‘From nothing,’ said Laura. ‘Fair play to him.’

‘Murph made a huge effort,’ said Clare.

‘The navy jacket and shirt,’ said Edie. She nodded her approval.

‘Never thought I’d see the day – Murph in velvet,’ said Laura.

‘It suits him,’ said Helen.

‘God, when I think of him, the poor divel,’ said Clare, ‘going from one house to the next for his dinner, making everyone laugh, and how sad he’d look, heading off. And the worst part of it was it wasn’t like he was going home to some savage who was going to beat him.’

‘Heartbreaking,’ said Edie. ‘And Mum would never let him stay for dinner. It was so awkward. And she would have known what was going on.’

‘That time he was in our house and the packet of ham fell out from under his jumper,’ said Laura. ‘And Mam would have been happy to give it to him.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Helen. ‘I can just picture his little face.’

‘And remember,’ said Laura, ‘the time he—’

‘Let’s remember,’ said Helen, ‘that we all had that little face once.’

‘And,’ said Clare, ‘is there not some unspoken agreement that we forget each other’s childhood shame?’

7

MURPH

Castletownbere, 1981

Murph stood outside his mother’s bedroom. He hadn’t seen her for two days. He put his ear to the door. He could hear a man’s voice, but it wasn’t his father, because his father was at work. He could hear the voice coming closer to the door, so he bounced away, and took a few steps back down the hallway. When he heard the door open, he pretended he was walking towards it. Dr Weston appeared with his big leather bag, closing the door gently behind him.

‘Hello, Liam,’ he said. He gave a nod.

‘Can I go in to see Mammy?’ said Murph.

‘Not today,’ he said. ‘She needs to rest.’

Murph frowned. ‘She’s resting the whole time.’

Dr Weston started to walk down the stairs.

Murph came after him. ‘Can I not just go in for a little minute?’

Dr Weston gripped the banister. Murph froze. ‘What’s so important that it can’t wait ’til tomorrow?’

‘You said tomorrow the last time,’ said Murph.

‘Well, I’m saying it again, now.’ He gave a nod, and then he looked up at him. ‘Sure, you’re a big lad, now. Aren’t you able to look after yourself, and not be bothering your mammy?’

Murph’s face flushed. Dr Weston’s three sons were all big lads, rough and tough. Murph knew they were older than he was, but when they were his age they were the same. Johnny, the one who played rugby, was fourteen but he was a bit of a bully, and Murph wasn’t sure being tough was all it was cracked up to be.

Murph stayed where he was on the stairs until Dr Weston left. Then he turned and ran up to his mother’s room. He put his ear to the door again. There was no sound. He let out a sigh, then ran downstairs, and out into the front garden.

Jerry Murphy drove up to the house, and parked the van in the drive. He jumped out, and reached Murph in four strides, sweeping him off the ground, and throwing him up on his shoulders.

‘I’m too big, Daddy!’ said Murph.

Jerry held on to his son’s little calves, and walked him around the side of the house. ‘Do I look like a man who can’t carry a smallie like you on his back? Sure, amn’t I doing it right now?’ He slid his hands down to Murph’s ankles, and lifted them, tilting him back, making him grab for the back of his shirt collar to pull himself up. ‘Daddy!’ he said, tapping him on the head.

Jerry laughed. When they got around the back, he swung Murph down on to the ground beside a small pile of red timber slats. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you and me are going to make a little house.’

‘What kind of a house?’ said Murph.

‘Ah, for one of your little cousins for her dolls. Now – grab me that hammer over there.’

He knelt down, and Murph stood smiling at the top of his head; his father was always helping people, and Murph loved helping him do it. And he loved hearing the things people always said about his father: ‘That’s a man you can rely on,’ ‘That’s a man who’d never let you down,’ ‘You could call Jerry Murphy any time, day or night,’ ‘Jerry Murphy’d give you the shirt off his back.’

When the little house was built, Murph stood back and put his hands on his hips.

‘I don’t know, Daddy, if she’s going to be mad about it.’

‘What?’ said Jerry. ‘What do you mean? After all our hard work.’

‘No – I know,’ said Murph. ‘But … are you going to be cutting holes in it later? For the windows?’

‘Jesus – I hadn’t thought of windows.’

‘And is it not supposed to have a floor in the middle to put furniture on?’ He glanced at his dad. ‘It looks funny.’

‘It looks funny, you think. What does it look like to you, so?’

Murph frowned. ‘I don’t want to be mean. I know you wanted to do a nice job on it. But it looks a bit … like a kennel.’

Jerry stood up, and laughed. He put his hands on his hips. ‘Jesus – you’re right.’ He started rubbing his face. ‘Amn’t I some eejit? Let me see if I have anything at all in the van, so we can sort something out.’ He disappeared around to the front of the house.

Murph heard a knock from the upstairs window. He took a few steps backwards so he could see properly. His mam was standing at her bedroom window with a big smile on her slender face, her eyes huge, her dressing gown up high around her neck. She waved at him, and he waved back. She pointed down at the little house, like she wanted to get a better look. Murph went over, and dragged it on to the grass where she could see it. She smiled.

‘I think I have something for that house!’ Jerry shouted.

When Murph looked up, Jerry was standing a distance away. Between his two boots was a little ball of fur that he let go as soon as Murph turned.

Murph jumped as a tiny black-and-white border collie pup shot towards him. By the time Murph crouched down, the dog was flinging himself into his chest, wriggling against him, trying to lick his neck. Murph stood up with him, hugging him tight, and they rubbed the sides of their faces together. Then Murph settled him into his arms, with his front paws up on his shoulders.

‘Daddy!’ said Murph. ‘I love him!’

He held the dog up to show his mam. She beamed down at him from the window.

Jerry laughed, and patted the back of Murph’s head. ‘Sure, you’re best pals already.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ said Murph, and he looked up again, but his mam was gone. ‘And thank Mammy for me.’ He paused. ‘Or could I thank her myself later?’ His eyes were shining.

Jerry squeezed Murph’s shoulder. ‘You can, of course.’

Murph beamed.

‘So,’ said Jerry, ‘what are you going to call your new pal?’

Murph thought about it. ‘Rosco.’

Jerry laughed. ‘From the television? The lads that climb in the car through the window?’

Murph nodded. ‘Rosco P. Coltrane.’

Jerry patted the dog’s head. ‘Rosco P. Murphy, it is so.’

That night, Murph woke up to a terrible choking sound, his heart pounding. He got up, and went to the door, pressing the handle down slowly, and edging the door open. He heard the sound again, and it was coming from downstairs. His chest tightened. He wanted to go into his mammy and daddy’s room, but he wasn’t allowed. This time, he knew they wouldn’t, though, because he was scared. And his mammy always told him to come to her when he was scared. He crossed the hallway, and opened their door gently. He walked in on tiptoes, and up to the bed. His mother was asleep, and even though she was asleep, she looked tired, and he didn’t want to wake her. His daddy wasn’t there, so he thought maybe that was him downstairs.

He sneaked down and stuck his head in to the dining room. He saw his father inside, sitting in the dark, his back against the wall, his legs out in front of him, his chin to his chest. His arms were loose at his side, and he was sobbing and sobbing. A rush of fear swept over Murph. He’d never seen his father cry. He went up to him, then turned his head away for a moment from the smell of whiskey. He looked down and saw an empty bottle by the leg of the table. He had only ever seen his father have one glass, and not even finish it.

‘Daddy!’ he said. ‘Daddy!’ He patted his shoulder. ‘It’s OK … it’s OK. I’ll …’ He tried to think of what his mam would say to him when he was small and he was having a nightmare or he was worried about something and he couldn’t get to sleep.

‘It’s OK, Daddy,’ he said. ‘No one’s coming to get you.’

He knelt down beside him, looking at his shirt, soaked with tears. He was thinking of his mam again, and what she would say.

‘What is it, Daddy? Did someone say something to you?’

His father raised his head, confused. After a moment, he focused. ‘Liam.’ He tried to sit up. ‘Liam …’

‘Yes! Daddy – are you all right?’

Jerry shook his head slowly. ‘No, no … no, no.’ He started to sob again. Murph started crying too, because he didn’t know what was wrong, and that was even scarier. He thought again of what his mam would say. He knelt in close, and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

‘If I find out,’ said Murph, ‘that anyone was being mean to my …’ And his mam would say ‘to my little man’, so Murph said, ‘If I find out that anyone was being mean to my … little dad …’

And his dad, all six foot four of him, with his big head, and his huge hands, and his broad shoulders, started to shake, and then Murph realized it was because he was laughing at the same time as he was crying, and Murph didn’t care what he was laughing at, because he was laughing, and his dad reached out and grabbed his face like it was a football, and he looked at Murph with such love in his eyes that Murph thought his heart would burst.

The next morning, nothing was mentioned at breakfast about what had happened. When Murph came home after school, he went out to play with Rosco in the garden. When his dad came home from work, he ran to him, and gave him the tightest hug.

‘Come on a way over with me,’ said Jerry, ‘and we’ll sit on the wall.’

His father turned to him when they sat down. ‘Liam,’ he said, ‘you know, now, the way Mammy’s not well …’

Murph nodded.

‘Not well at all.’

Murph nodded again.

Jerry put a hand to his chin. ‘Do you know something?’ he said. ‘I think that woman would hug you every minute of the day if she could.’

Murph smiled, and his shoulders went up to his ears.

‘But you know that’s a small bit harder for her, now she’s not well.’ He paused. ‘And that’s all that is. She’s a bit weak.’ He patted Murph on the head. ‘But you’ll always be her little man … no matter what.’

8

Johnny waited outside the bar until everyone had caught up. He pushed open the door and guided everyone through with a sweep of his arm. The room had a mix of mahogany panelling and slate-grey walls, thick carpet in charcoal grey, and small round tables with green leather chairs. A log fire burned and crackled drawing everyone’s attention until Murph boomed, ‘No way,’ and crossed to the opposite wall. Johnny, Edie, and Helen laughed.

Murph looked back at Johnny and Edie, his eyes gleaming. ‘Is that … is your drinks cabinet an actual confession box?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Johnny.

Murph shook his head, smiling.

‘It’s a little kitsch,’ said Edie, ‘but we couldn’t resist.’

‘I love honesty bars,’ said Murph. ‘But I prefer lying, filthy, cheating bars.’

‘It’s superb,’ said Clare. ‘Is it from the chapel?’

Johnny nodded. ‘There were four of them, which was a bit much when you think of the size of it. We kept one where it was, ripped the other three out, and had this one restored.’

‘Look,’ said Murph. ‘It actually accepts sins.’ He pointed to a slot, and pulled out the drawer underneath. There were folded-up notes inside. He picked out three. ‘“Stole a bathrobe”, “Filled my purse with croissants at breakfast”, and “Had impure thoughts. Followed through.” Fair play to them. I hope the purse one was an American or she wouldn’t have got far.’

‘Is anyone weird about it?’ said Clare. ‘The sacrilege of it all.’

‘No one’s complained yet,’ said Edie. She put her hand on the small of Johnny’s back. ‘Well done, by the way.’ She gestured around the room. ‘He set this all up.’

‘He’s got the fire on, the candles, everything,’ said Laura. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’

‘I do this all the time,’ said Johnny, frowning. ‘Why is everyone so surprised?’

‘Jesus – I don’t know,’ said Murph. ‘Maybe because of this.’ He pointed to the wall beside the confession box. ‘Johnny’s glory wall under a picture light, in case we might miss it.’ There were framed newspaper cuttings, Munster team photos, shots of Johnny on the pitch, at award ceremonies, with celebrities. Murph pointed to one: ‘New Zealand, 1989. You played some game.’

‘How you didn’t end up playing for Ireland is beyond me,’ said Clare.

‘I agree,’ said Edie.

‘Thank you, ladies,’ said Johnny. He walked over to the drinks. ‘Right – what are you having?’

‘The time of our lives,’ said Murph.

Everyone put in their orders, and Johnny started to make the drinks.

‘Speaking of time,’ said Clare, ‘this is very early for pre-dinner drinks. This could go horribly wrong.’

Johnny handed her a gin and tonic. ‘Starting now.’

‘That’s my fault,’ said Helen. ‘I can’t last very long in the evenings these days. So apologies to all of you for tomorrow’s hangovers.’

‘Who says I’m going to have a hangover?’ said Clare.

‘As Johnny hands everyone a massive drink,’ said Helen. ‘You’ll all be dying in the morning.’

‘Not me,’ said Patrick, pointing to his 7UP.

‘Do you not drink?’ said Laura.

‘No,’ said Patrick. ‘I gave up years ago.’

‘Why’s that?’ said Laura. ‘Health reasons?’

Patrick nodded. ‘I guess so. Stopped one January and never looked back.’

‘Hey – that’s Clare’s line,’ said Johnny. ‘“Never look back”.’

‘“Eyes ahead” is my line!’ said Clare.

‘It’s “eyes ahead”,’ said Murph at the same time.

‘Relax, the pair of you,’ said Johnny.

Clare looked around the room. ‘You’re all an appalling influence and I know I’m going to end end up in some “District Court Judge in Drinking Shame” situation.’

‘We’re well tucked away here,’ said Johnny. ‘What happens in Pilgrim Point stays in Pilgrim Point.’

‘I’d say any fart I crack off tonight after a rake of pints will go well beyond the boundaries,’ said Murph.

‘Any development on the spa?’ said Clare.

‘Well, the plans are drawn up,’ said Edie, ‘but before we can put in for planning, we have to get an archaeological survey done. And there’s no point getting it done at this time of year, so we’re looking at March for that. And on and on.’

‘Ooh,’ said Murph, sucking in a breath, ‘Johnny fucked up there.’

‘What?’ said Edie. She flashed warning eyes at Murph. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘Sorry,’ said Murph. ‘He just looked a little—’

‘Bored,’ said Edie.

Johnny frowned. ‘I’m not bored, I’m—’

‘I’m teasing,’ said Edie. ‘The chapel is Johnny’s thing.’

‘The chapel’s not “my thing”,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s—’

‘Jesus, lads,’ said Murph. ‘You’ve got visitors. Did your mammies not teach you anything?’

‘So, what are the plans for the chapel?’ said Patrick.

‘Well …’ said Johnny.

‘Well …’ said Edie.

‘What I think we should be doing,’ said Johnny, ‘is corporate events or yoga retreats or conferences or gigs or whatever. We’re in the perfect spot – away from it all, no mobile coverage unless you want to use WhatsApp, no distractions—’

‘And the views,’ said Clare. ‘And the Wild Atlantic Way.’

Murph turned to Edie. ‘And what do you think you should be doing with it?’

‘Not talking about it tonight,’ said Edie, giving him a bright smile.

‘And on and on it goes,’ said Edie. ‘That’s why it’s sort of … in limbo.’

‘Or “under renovation”, as I like to call it,’ said Johnny.

They fell into silence.

‘So,’ said Johnny, turning to Laura, ‘how are you? How are the kid … s?’

‘Good one,’ said Laura. ‘Yes, I’ve more than one. And they’re alive. After that … well, Mammy’s on the lash, isn’t she?’ She took a long sip of her drink.

Murph laughed. ‘Johnny’s like “thank fuck we got that out of the way”.’

‘I hate people banging on about their kids on a night out,’ said Laura.

‘It was a genuine question,’ said Johnny.

‘And have you any more question … s?’ said Murph.

‘Ah, give him a break,’ said Laura. ‘He’s had a fair few knocks to the head over the years. Children: Séamus, seven, Paddy, five: healthy, happy, and tapped.’

‘And the father?’ said Johnny. ‘Both Frank’s?’ He smiled.

‘Johnny!’ said Edie.

‘I see a lot of Brad Pitt in Séamus,’ said Laura.

Johnny turned to Clare. ‘What about your lot?’

Clare smiled. ‘Children: Ava, nineteen, Lucas, fourteen, Marco, twelve. Husband: Alan, forty-eight. Cuddly toy. Toaster. Microwave oven.’

‘Not a child to my name,’ said Murph. ‘Until the knocks on the door start.’

‘Not a child to my name, either,’ said Patrick.

‘Any woman on the scene?’ said Laura.

Patrick shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Man?’ said Clare.

Patrick smiled. ‘Also, no.’

‘And would you like to meet someone?’ said Clare.

‘I would, I suppose,’ said Patrick, ‘but it’s hard enough, these days. And I wouldn’t be one for internet dating.’

‘Multiple women on the go, here,’ said Murph. ‘No apologies.’

‘I hate to stop you mid-candid admission,’ said Clare, ‘but do you mind if we sit down?’

‘Of course,’ said Edie. ‘Sorry.’

‘No,’ said Clare, ‘it’s my shoes.’

‘Remember “don’t puke on my shoes”, “take off my shoes”,’ said Murph.

‘Oh, God,’ said Laura.

‘And the gas part was you were talking to yourself,’ said Murph. ‘Laura, pasted, forehead down on a white plastic table—’

‘That I had to climb under,’ said Helen, ‘so I could take off the shoes.’

‘Well, of course you did,’ said Murph.

There was a chorus from the others, ‘“I couldn’t say no!”’

‘Do I say that a lot?’ said Helen.

They all laughed. ‘Yes,’ said Edie.

‘Yes!’ said Murph. ‘It’s why we all love you.’ He turned to Laura. ‘There’s not many who’d risk climbing under a table when you’re gearing up.’

‘And she managed to have the wherewithal to tell me make sure the shoes were “out of splashing distance”,’ said Helen.

‘Ah, lads,’ said Laura. ‘Clare – you were right. We need to be allowed to forget this shit.’

‘Sure, that’s no craic,’ said Murph.

‘Right, everyone,’ said Johnny. ‘Go – sit. I have a few things to check on and I’ll be back.’

Helen let Johnny pass, and pulled Edie to one side as everyone else sat down.

‘Am I sensing tension?’ said Helen.

‘Where?’ said Edie.

‘Johnny and Patrick?’ said Helen.

Edie’s eyes widened. ‘What? Why do you say that?’

‘Do you really think Johnny believes I randomly bumped into Patrick last week, and just said, “Come on down for my birthday dinner”, given that the last time I laid eyes on him was when he came to say his goodbyes to Sister Consolata in the hospital – and she’s dead – what? Ten years?’

‘Why would Johnny not believe you?’ said Edie.

‘Apart from him or his wife usually being the people who drive me to Cork?’ said Helen. ‘For which I am eternally grateful, obviously.’

Edie smiled. ‘Pleasure. But – you could have been up there with anyone.’

‘I know – I told him I was with one of my nurse pals, but I’m just … questioning the wisdom of your plan. And I was wondering if you were too. Johnny looks on edge.’

‘Johnny always looks on edge,’ said Edie. She caught Helen’s expression. ‘Sorry – that’s awful. Just … you’re making it sound like I’m doing something terrible, when all I wanted was for Patrick to see the inn. That way, if the investment thing becomes a real issue, and Patrick is interested, it won’t be a bolt from the blue – he’ll have been here, seen what we’re doing.’

‘You don’t feel bad, lying to Johnny?’ said Helen.

‘No,’ said Edie. ‘No. The inn is … we need investment, Patrick has the means, he’s our friend.’

‘But the last time you saw him was three years ago. And that was because you needed a favour.’

‘Yes – about the inn,’ said Edie. ‘Because I knew he was in hedge funds, I knew how successful he was, and unlike anyone else I could have asked, he knows Beara. This was a big investment – you know that. Johnny and I were in the States at the time. Patrick was in New York. All I asked him to do was meet me for a chat. And he could have said “No” if he didn’t want to help. I’d have done the same for him. And he was the one who offered to view the place, so …’ She shrugged. ‘Look – he’s a nice guy.’