A Swift Pure Cry by Siobhan Dowd Page B

He's a lost dog without her.'
    'When did she die?'
    'A year ago last autumn. A lovely woman, was Moira. There was a kindness to her and a voice to charm an angel. He's like a car with no juice without her.' Father Carroll must have walked down the aisle, for his voice grew louder. 'Will I lock the church now?' he mused, more to himself than Father Rose. He was right below Shell. She froze, imagining being locked in the whole day with Jimmy and Trix alone at home.
    'I've met the eldest girl,' Father Rose was saying.
    'No, I won't,' Father Carroll muttered. 'There might be some poor soul needs a prayer on this holy day...What did you say?'
    'Shell. The older Talent girl. I've had a couple of chats with her. She brought the collection over for her father one day last week. She admitted she was mitching school.'
    Father Carroll sighed. 'Don't I know. Miss Donoghue over at the national school's been onto me about the younger ones. What can you or I do, but pray?'
    'I rang the school.'
    'You what ?'
    'I rang the school. And they rang the father.'
    So that was why Dad had insisted they go back to school the last week of term. Father Carroll said nothing but Shell just heard a tctch . He moved away again. She risked sneaking another peak over the edge of the balcony from her hiding place in the gallery. Father Carroll's two hands were clasping the communion rails. His knuckles gleamed white.
    'I wonder...' Father Rose added. 'I mean-the cut of them-should we not do something?'
    Father Carroll's hands dropped to his sides. Father Rose was looking at the crucified Jesus as he spoke. Shell held her breath. There was a current going between them, back and forth, hot and tight, filling the whole church.
    'Joe collects for charity most days,' Father Carroll said. 'He sends me in small, regular sums. I'd say he keeps a good bit back.'
    Shell bit her thumb to stop herself from making a sound. Dad's thieving was known?
    'And I say, let him have it,' Father Carroll continued. 'He collects for the poor and that's who he is. There's nothing wrong with begging, Gabriel. Beggars have always been close to God. Talent's just a beggar of the prouder kind. Good luck to him. That's what I do for the Talents. Before God.'
    Father Rose didn't reply. He folded his arms and examined the floor.
    Father Carroll continued. 'He spends the money on drink: is that what you're thinking? How should we know or judge if he does? A drop never did any harm.'
    'They're not a happy family,' said Father Rose.
    'How would you know?'
    'I feel it. In my bones.'
    'You've only been here a few weeks. You can't know.'
    'I do know. From the way Shell is. I'm sure--'
    'Sure of what?'
    Father Rose shrugged. 'Sure something's not right. I'd have the social services onto them.'
    'Shush!' Father Carroll pounded the communion rail. 'You're from a big town. That kind of talk may go down all right where you come from, but not here. In Coolbar we look after our own.'
    There was a long silence. A cloud must have passed over the sun because the light in the church dimmed. Then Father Carroll put an arm on Father Rose's shoulder. 'Interfering in such cases may be sinful, Gabriel,' he suggested. 'You were seen giving that young one a lift-I'd advise you not to in future. With the scandal the church has had, we've no cause to be driving around unaccompanied females.'
    Father Rose jerked away on the word 'scandal'. He in his turn grasped the altar rail so his knuckles showed. The tables of the moneylenders were about to go over. There was a hissing in Shell's ears. Father Carroll walked slowly back towards the vestry. Father Rose did not follow. At the vestry door Father Carroll turned. 'I mean the warning kindly, Gabriel,' he relented. 'You're still young in your vocation.' He drew an arc in the air. 'Leaving well alone is often wise. Mouthing off to the authorities may be no better than what Judas Iscariot did. Reflect on that. Today of all days.'
    Father Carroll left. Father Rose's grip