Turbulent Priests by Colin Bateman

Author:Colin Bateman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), General Fiction
ISBN: 9780006498018
Publisher: HarperCollins (UK)
Published: 1998-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

23

Dr Finlay arrived at Snow Cottage a little after noon. For the purposes of the day it might as well have been called Fog Cottage. Or the Wrathlin Convention Centre. The previous three hours had been spent entertaining with steadily diminishing goodwill members of Flynn’s congregation anxious to hear at first hand the miracle of the baby brought back from death’s door by the infant Messiah.

Uhuh.

Patricia seemed to enjoy the attention.

‘Out shooting,’ was the doctor’s explanation for his unavailability.

‘We looked everywhere,’ I said.

‘Not everywhere,’ he said.

‘I mean . . .’

‘Rabbits,’ he said. ‘We’re coming down with the little bastards, Dan. Just doing my bit to help. I’m surprised nobody realised.’

I wasn’t absolutely convinced by his story. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. There was a split shotgun in the back seat of his car and, sure, he had four bloody carcasses lying on some plastic sheeting in the boot, but I still had my doubts. I supposed great white rabbit hunters (that’s the hunters, not the rabbits) could go shooting at night-time, using their car lights to blind the rabbits or guide the shooting, but I had my doubts about how successful such an expedition would have been in the fog. Perhaps he’d managed to bag them before it descended.

I didn’t even know if they were rabbits.

But I suppose I was too happy about Little Stevie to split hares.

‘They’re such a bloody hardy lot,’ he said, bending back into the vehicle for his keys.

‘The rabbits?’

‘The people. They seldom have any use for me. I suppose I should have let Mrs McTeague know where I was going, but she’s such a dozy old biddy it seemed pretty pointless. Anyway,’ he said, abruptly changing the subject, ‘what about you, lad? Howse the head?’

‘Fine.’

‘Told you. Okay then, we’ll take a look at this kiddie, will we? Told me down home there’d been a bit of a miracle. What do you say?’

‘I really couldn’t say. I don’t see them that often.’

He gave me a thin smile. ‘Of course,’ he said, and walked ahead of me into the cottage. ‘Moira has my case, has she? Good on her.’

Father Flynn had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs. On the narrow settee Moira and Patricia were chatting animatedly, a pot of tea on a tray balanced precariously on a small stool before them. They both turned and looked at me and for a very brief moment I thought perhaps they’d been discussing me and my propensity for unfaithfulness, but then I realised that Moira’s head was still attached to her shoulders and not nailed to the wall, so she mustn’t have brought it up.

Christine was tickling Little Stevie on the floor.

‘Well!’ boomed the doctor, bending down and scooping the baby up. ‘Let’s see the wee man then.’

Flynn bounded suddenly from his chair. ‘Whoooooah!’ he shouted.

We stood in shock for a moment. Then the priest reddened up. ‘I’m sorry. I was asleep.’

We all nodded sympathetically at him. He sat down again. Dr Finlay took the baby into the bedroom to give him a thorough examination.

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