All These Lonely People by Gervase Phinn

Author:Gervase Phinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141919072
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2009-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The housekeeper stood at the door of the priest’s study. Her bony hands were clasped in front of her. She was tight‐lipped.

Father McKenzie looked up from the papers on his desk. He had been reading through the sermon he had spent the morning writing, a sermon that no one would hear. ‘Oh, Miss Evans,’ he said, ‘I didn’t see you there. Was there something you wanted?’

‘It’s that boy,’ she said.

‘Boy?’ repeated the priest.

‘That grubby little urchin. He’s outside. He wants to see you.’

Father McKenzie tidied the papers and removed his glasses. ‘His name is Matthew,’ he told her. ‘You had better show the young man in.’

‘What? In here?’ she asked.

‘Yes, in here, Miss Evans.’

‘You want me to bring him in here, Father? Into your study?’

‘Yes, I do,’ replied the priest calmly. Then he added, ‘If you would be so kind.’

The housekeeper made a loud clucking noise with her tongue and left.

Father McKenzie sighed. He really must have a word with her about her manner, he thought. It had become so sharp of late, and she spoke to him at times like a teacher talking to a naughty schoolboy.

She returned a moment later with the boy.

‘Go on there,’ she told him, ‘and don’t you go touching anything.’

The child had been crying. His eyes were red‐rimmed and his cheeks were streaked with dirty marks where he had wiped away the tears. He looked tense and miserable as he stood in the doorway.

‘Come in, Matthew,’ said the priest.

The boy came into the room looking around, wide‐eyed. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said, sniffing.

‘Sit down, Matthew,’ said the priest gently, pointing to the old sofa.

The boy sat and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. He looked bent, like a broken puppet. ‘You’re the only one I can talk to,’ said the child, on the point of tears.

Father McKenzie came over, sat beside him and put his arm around the child’s shoulder. ‘Now what’s all this?’ he asked.

‘It’s my mam and Craig. I hate them.’

‘Who’s Craig?’ asked the priest.

‘My mam’s new boyfriend. I hate him. He shouts all the time and he throws things. My mam tells me to keep out of his way because I get on his nerves. Nothing I do is ever right. He calls me a useless little bugger. I hate him and I hate my mam as well.’

‘You don’t mean that, Matthew,’ said the priest.

‘I do. I wish she wasn’t my mam. She doesn’t want me around. She never has. She told me once I was a waste of space like my dad and one day I’d end up in prison like him. She told me that she wished she’d never had me. She said she should have had me adopted when I was a baby.’

‘People say things they don’t mean, Matthew,’ said the priest, ‘when they are angry.’

‘Naw, she said it when she wasn’t angry.’ The boy rubbed his eyes. ‘Can I stay here with you for a bit? I don’t want to go back.’

‘No, Matthew,’ said the priest, ‘that wouldn’t be a very good idea.

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