Part 42 (1/2)

I nodded. The six in the field. Bill. Duncan.

*We're an island, we're used to keeping secrets.'

*That big?'

*One day I'll tell you about the others.'

I looked at him. He didn't smile. Patricia pumped the horn. He put out his hand. I shook it. *Good luck,' he said.

*Thanks.'

Patricia waved over. He smiled and turned back into the warmth.

Charlie McMa.n.u.s was busy on the Fitzpatrick as we drove onto the quay. A Land-Rover was waiting to board. I pulled up behind it. As we stopped, the driver's door opened and Father Flynn climbed out. A head turned from his pa.s.senger seat. Moira. She waved back and got out as well. Christine's face appeared suddenly in the back window, smiling and waving. Then she followed her mother.

I rolled the window down and Flynn bent in. Moira went round the other side to speak to Patricia. Christine beat her to it, reaching in immediately to pet Little Stevie.

*I didn't think you'd be first in the queue,' I said.

The priest shook his head. *I'm just seeing Moira and Christine across. I've people in Ballycastle they can stay with. Then I'll be back over. They don't get rid of me that easily.'

*They nearly did,' I said.

*Nearly's a big word,' he said.

It wasn't. But I nodded. I knew what he meant.

Charlie McMa.n.u.s stuck his head above the quay. *Yees can bring them on now, if you want,' he shouted. He pulled a rope back, secured it, then waved us on.

Father Flynn, Moira and Christine hurried back to their vehicle. He started the engine and carefully negotiated the ramp. I followed on. There was just about enough room for the two vehicles. Charlie secured the gate behind us. As he pa.s.sed us on the way to the wheel I said: *You'll be busy today.'

*Aye,' he said.

*How many runs do you reckon?'

*I don't know,' he said sourly.

He walked on. *Expansive as ever,' I said. Patricia smiled. *What was out of Moira?'

She shrugged again. It was fast becoming a family trait. If Little Stevie came off with one before his first birthday I'd be prepared to acknowledge some minor contribution to his genes. *I think she's just relieved it's all over.'

*Yeah,' I said, *I imagine she is. It must be difficult thinking you're the centre of the universe one day and just a single unemployed mother the next.'

*I don't think I could cope with it. I have enough trouble coping with you.'

*Seeing Duncan like that can't have helped. Did she ever say anything to you about him?'

*Not a peep.'

*Strange.'

*We're not all gossips, you know. Some women never talk about who they've slept with.'

*Really?'

A throbbing of the engines.

In a couple of minutes we were underway. In a couple more we were out of the shelter of the harbour. Grey sky merged with the grey sea ahead of us. The mainland was only thirty miles away, but it might as well have been three hundred for all that we could see of it. We gathered instead to the rear of the vessel, the six of us, watching the island slowly fade. Some people had arrived on the quay and were waving to us. We waved back. All their shattered hopes and dreams were on board. In fact she was sucking one thumb and had plunged the other into her left ear.

*There's coffee and stuff back there,' Charlie McMa.n.u.s hollered from the wheel, signalling behind him with his thumb, *'less those 'uns have scoffed it!'

Just about hidden from view was a small galley, four steps down. Half a dozen of the non-car-owning cla.s.ses had already made it their home.

I was feeling unusually good. Perhaps it was the prospect of being able to open a cool beer without being buried under a cascade of dead bodies. *Do you want me to get them?' I asked.

Patricia turned surprised eyes upon me. *That would be nice.' She turned to Moira. *He doesn't even drink coffee, you know.'

*I know,' Moira said, and smiled warmly at me.

I hurried away. Coffee for three.

As I approached the galley a short, rotund figure in a priest's garb emerged.

*Oh look,' I said, *it's Napoleon going into exile. I didn't realise you were on board.'

*Yes,' said Father White, perfectly pleasantly, and raised a gun, *it's my final journey.'

42.

A rogue wave crashed against the Fitzpatrick, throwing us, instantly drenched, to one side. If I'd bothered enrolling for the Alcoholic Front training I might have taken advantage of the sudden s.h.i.+ft to overpower Father White, but as it was we just looked at each other helplessly for a few moments until the vessel settled. Then we shook ourselves like a pair of enthusiastic Labradors.

*Isn't it strange,' White said, holding the dripping gun steady on me, *that all of the protagonists in this little drama should find themselves together right at the end?' With his free hand he wrung sea water out of his trousers.

*I'm not a protagonist,' I corrected. *I'm an observer.'

The sneer didn't help his looks. Mad-jittery eyes did nothing for him either.

He indicated the direction I should move in with his pistol. A new pistol, of course. I'd picked up his old one the previous afternoon just after his transformation from front runner to beaten docket. It was now resting, between murders, in the boot of my car. I'd intended to chuck it overboard once we got underway.

I glanced behind him. Three figures were hunched around a Calor Gas single-ring cooker in the galley, taking a little heat from it while they waited for water to boil and paying us no attention at all. White followed my glance.

*The faithful?' I asked.

He shook his head. *No. There's only me.'

*Aw,' I said.