“And Bobby’s still working away,” continued the priest. “Two jobs still hasn’t he?”
“No Father. He was paid off last year from the building and Jimmy Heffron told him he doesn’t need him in the pub anymore.”
“Oh dear.” Father Swindell’s indifferent eyes blinked and stared ahead. “Well I’m sure you’ll be all right. God will provide, my dear, God will provide.”
He was a little taken aback when Susan began to sniffle but sharp enough to lay a comforting hand on her arm. “Now now Susan, don’t you be worrying now. You’ll see.”
But the floodgates were well and truly open. She took a large grey handkerchief from her overcoat pocket and proceeded to weep buckets into it. The priest seemed at a loss as to how to stem the flow but Miriam McBride rode to the rescue.
“Maud went sudden, didn’t she Father?” she said.
He looked across at her and smiled, composure restored. “The ways of God are not our ways,” he said softly. The blubbering went on unabated to the side of him but he was on familiar ground now and raring to go. “Sure none of us knows,” he said, fixing his full attention on Miriam, “not one of us knows the day nor the hour. When I hear about a sudden death I always think of that parable Our Lord told about the wedding. You know the one I’m sure.”
Miriam nodded knowingly, not knowing the one I’m sure but hoping he’d think she knew. Miriam is what we call in these parts a good-living girl. This doesn’t mean she grows her own vegetables or even that she lives it up. No, it means that she never lies out of the chapel, never has a bad word to say about anybody and would never let a man near her.
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The Wake - Table of contents
HumorTHE YEAR is 1968 and the Swinging Sixties are still swinging - though not in Ireland. But wait! An old woman dies in a northern Irish town and her wake becomes a rendezvous for lesbians, bisexuals and political revolutionaries. And in there among t...
