Chapter Six

.oOo.

Meanwhile, Frankie arrived in the coffee shop to meet Avril as arranged. She scanned the room and saw Avril sitting beside a window at the far end. Frankie made her way over and sat down with a sigh.

“Pheww, hi Avril. I thought I was going to have to cancel. Everything happens at once doesn’t it? How’s it going anyway?”

“Glad you made it. I’m okay I suppose.” They talked for a while about general things, while they ate their lunch. Eventually Avril decided to broach the subject. “Frankie, I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I know that you have a fairly good idea already, I’m an alcoholic.” Avril looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. Frankie wasn’t all that surprised and answered Avril softly.

“I’m glad you told me Avril. I did suspect, but as you’d never said anything, I didn’t want to-”

“Thanks, look - I know I should’ve said something sooner to you.”

“Avril, don’t feel bad. It’s only something you can talk about when you’re ready. Is there anything I can do for you? You know, if you need a friend or-”

“Thanks so much Frankie. Vincent has been great but sometimes it might be a little easier to talk about things with another woman. I can’t have a ‘men’ rant with him, can I?”

“He’d probably try to go along with it if he thought it would help, you know,” smiled Frankie.

“He probably would! How’s the living arrangements working out for you? He seems to be happy enough.”

“Great. It’s nice having someone around really and he’s good company.”

“He is. You’re lucky to be good friends.”

“He’s a good friend of yours too.”

“Yeah, but it’s different. Our similar problems brought us together really. With you he can just be himself without any of the baggage.”

“To a degree, I suppose, but don’t think that we-”

“You know what? The two of you spend so much time denying it, it just not funny!”

“Denying what?”

“Frankie!”

“What?!?”

“You know what! You like him!”

“’Course I like him – I’m not sure what it is you’re-” Frankie’s face was darkening somewhat and Avril knew she’d pushed too far. Typical she supposed, could they be any more alike in that respect?

“I’m sorry, don’t pay any attention to me.”

“I won’t! Anyway, I thought this was supposed to be about you, not me?”

“Me… my favourite topic of conversation!” laughed Avril. “Speaking of things I’m interested in, what’s the name of that new Garda Sergeant in Cilldargan?”

“Oh my God! He’s only been here for four days and you’ve spied him already!”

“The name, Frankie, the name!! Plus any other things I should know.” So, they finished their lunch giggling like two schoolgirls over Sergeant Patrick Meehan. Avril felt much better when they parted company, as it had been too long since she had a girlie chat. However, one subject they didn’t talk about further was Vincent. There was something there between them but Avril didn’t want to hurt either Frankie or Vincent by bringing it up again.

.oOo.

Later that night, Frankie was watching the news on TV when Vincent arrived.

“Hey Frankie!” he said as he sat down, struggling with a shoelace which refused to open.

“Hi! How was the day?”

“Interesting, you could say. I have to take over for Fr. Mac until the new year,” he said glumly. “Drat this lace!”

“Here,” she said, handing him a penknife. “Cut it if it’s too badly knotted. There’s spare ones outside. So, what’s wrong with Fr. Mac?”

“He has an incorrectly set bone in his foot and has to go to hospital to sort it out. I’ve been chosen to fill in for him,” he explained. He managed to cut though the lace at last and kicked off his shoes. “Anything on the news?”

“Not really. Avril told me about her alcoholism today.”

“Poor Avril. I’m glad she could tell you. If enough of her friends know, they can help her. I’ve been worried about her a lot recently.”

“Do you think she’s back drinking again?” she asked, saddened.

“I don’t know, I have no proof but yeah, I suspect it.”

“Well despite the fact that I haven’t seen as much of her as I used too she seemed fine to me.”

“That’s just it. She keeps telling me she’s ‘fine’ too and I think it’s a bad sign.” He told her the story of ‘fine’ as a defence mechanism and how he used it, thinking he was fooling everyone. He also told her about the empty bottle he saw in the rubbish and the other clues that pointed to some serious secret drinking. “The thing about it is, Avril is far too clever for her own good. She’ll hide the evidence, go to the meetings, behave normally and there’s no way we would find out until it’s too late.” He sat back, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, tired. Frankie felt sorry for him as it couldn’t be easy to try and help someone who didn’t want to be helped. On top of everything else, he now had to step into the unfamiliar role of parish priest during one of the biggest events of the Church year.

“Do you want anything to eat? You must be hungry.” She stood up to get something from the kitchen.

“It’s okay Frankie, I’ll go get something in a minute.”

“I’m up anyway and I could use a snack. What’ll you have?”

“I don’t mind, whatever.”

“Okay. Wait here.” She went into the kitchen and looked in the presses, eventually returning with a tray laden with comfort food. Vincent hadn’t moved and she thought he had fallen asleep. She was just about to turn around when he reached out and stopped her.

“I’m not asleep, just resting my eyes,” he smiled and looking at the tray asked her, “What’s this?”

“This is what is known as comfort food. I raided my junk food press and pulled out the good stuff.”

“I don’t think that much chocolate is a good thing late at night.”

“Never did me any harm,” she laughed. “Here, eat this and stop gripping.” She handed him some toast covered with Nutella. “And here’s your tea.” They finished their supper while chatting and watching the TV. Having successfully demolished half a jar of Nutella between them, Vincent decided he needed a glass of water to wash it all down.

“Oh Frankie, I really don’t think that was such a good idea,” he groaned as he stood up.

“Nonsense!” she said, reaching for the jar again. Vincent leaned over and whisked it away before she got it. “Hey! Grotty paws off! Replace - immediately!”

“No way! You’ll thank me tomorrow when you don’t have a headache from eating all of this,” he said, holding the jar well out of reach.

“Vincent, there’s something you’re not understanding here. Women have been doing this for like, centuries or however old chocolate is. We’re impervious to all things related from too much chocolate!”

“Not all things – did I hear you saying you needed another hole in your coat belt?” he asked sweetly, as he made his way out to the kitchen. It took Frankie a second or two to process what he’d just said.

“Why you…” she stood up indignantly and followed him, unable to think of anything to call him quickly enough. Vincent was leaning against the counter laughing at her attempts to think of an appropriate curse. She glowered in his direction and all of a sudden burst out laughing herself.

“What?” he asked.

“Take a look in the mirror, you chocoholic you!” Sure enough, he had the remnants of Nutella spread across one cheek. “And you had the nerve to lecture me!”

“I was merely looking out for your welfare,” he said, wiping it away. “Can’t have you arriving home to your parents suffering from choc withdrawal can I?”

“Whatever!”

“Indeed. By the way, do you know anything about a revolutionary road surface that’ll stop cars from skidding?” He retrieved the tray from the sitting room and was loading plates into the dishwasher as Frankie set the table for the morning.

“Say that again!?!” said Frankie, not expecting the conversation change.

“There was an impromptu town council meeting tonight where Liam and Dónal had an idea to put this “revolutionary non-slip surface” on the roads.”

“It must be that non-skid stuff. What would those two know about that?”

“Seems they have acquired some and would be willing to use it on Ballyk for a reasonable price.”

“Right, ‘acquired’ it did they? Where from, the county council yard? Or my personal favourite – ‘It fell off the back of a lorry Guard – Honest to God!’ Sometimes I really wonder about those two. I don’t think they’re quite right in the head!”

“I was told to tell you that it is perfectly legitimate.”

“And I believe it,” she said in a tone of voice that conveyed the exact opposite. “It’s only the county council who can modify roads here anyway. Not two eejits with dodgy gear!”

“We thought as much,” he said, referring to the meeting. “By the way, I think one of the ‘eejits’ has a crush one someone.” He raised his eyebrows at her with a smile.

“Sometimes I wish Dónal would drop dead!” she replied, giving the game away immediately.

“So it is true! Óonagh filled me in today.”

“I don’t know what she told you but it probably is the exact opposite of what you heard.”

“I don’t think so… some strange story about Dónal tripping over your bags when you arrived and being smitten almost on the spot?”

“It never happened.”

“Well, I think-”

“It NEVER happened,” she said, pretending to be annoyed.

“ ‘Frances Docherty’, it has a nice ring to it, you know.”

“Lookit pal, you better drop this subject and fast.”

“See that?” he said holding out his hand, which didn’t tremble in the slightest. “See how scared I am - look at me shake! The big, bad bossy cop is going to get me!! Ohhh no!!”

“Keep it up, ferret-face! I know secret Garda ways of hurting people.”

“Ferret-face?!?”

.oOo.

The next day Vincent showed up at Fr. Mac’s house to see what he job-to-be entailed. Fr. Mac had already collected the relevant materials and was sitting at his desk waiting. In two hours he explained the various accounts, records and procedures that he expected Vincent to follow. By the end of it, Vincent felt his head was about to split from information overload. Fr. Mac wasn’t what could be described as a patient teacher. However, he dispatched his curate with a carload of books and ledgers.

“That should keep him out of trouble well into the new year,” thought Fr. Mac to himself, pleased with his mornings work. Vincent had various house calls to make before he made it back to St. Joseph’s where he had to hear evening confessions and organise a Christmas prayer service. He wanted to finish by eight o’clock at the latest as Frankie had already said she wanted to leave by nine. He was in the sacristy when he heard a knock on the door and Brendan looked in.

“G’day Brendan!”

“Hi Vincent. Do you have a minute?” Brendan didn’t look his usual self. He didn’t sound his usual self either.

“Sure mate. Pull up a chair.” He sat at the table and waited until Brendan told him what was on his mind.

“Do you remember I asked you about that vet fella from Cilldargan?”

“Yeah, Gerry Hogan, what about him?”

“Right, Gerard Bloody Hogan.” Brendan stopped talking and fiddled with a book that was on the table.

“Emm, you want to elaborate on that?” asked Vincent, having a pretty good idea of what was coming next.

“I just don’t know what happened Vincent! One minute she’s there and the next I hardly see her anymore!”

“Siobhan?”

“Who else would I be talking about? Anyway, all of a sudden it’s Gerry this and Gerry that. Even Aisling knows him! What am I going to do?”

“Ahh, the dreaded mentionitis.”

“What the hell is that? Some bovine disease? Which I hope he has, by the way!”

“Brendan! No, mentionitis is when someone’s name keeps appearing in conversations. Frankie says Avril has mentionitis about some new cop in Cilldargan.”

“This isn’t helping me!”

“Oh right, sorry. Well, first you need to know what you’re dealing with here. Is he just a friend or is he something more?”

“He better not be ‘something more’!” exclaimed Brendan a bit loudly.

“Shush! I was only asking, take it easy.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just… what do I do? We decided not to get married because we’d drive each other mad but that was a while ago.”

“Are you saying that you’ve changed your mind?”

“I don’t know! All I know is that I don’t like that Hogan and he’s not supposed to make my daughter laugh – I am. And he’s not supposed to be going to Siobhan’s for dinner or taking her out or-”

“You know, it might help if you told Siobhan all of this.”

“She wouldn’t want to hear it and she’d get mad at me for saying these things.”

“I don’t know about that mate. Look, remember when you thought she had cancer?” Brendan nodded his head miserably, how could he forget what was probably one of the worst times in his life. “It was a terrible time but it opened your eyes a bit. It made you see what Siobhan means to you. Someone you thought would always be there suddenly might not have been. If you want things to go back the way they were then you have some serious thinking to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m speaking as I find here, okay? So don’t hit me or anything.”

“I wouldn’t! Go on!” He gestured for Vincent to continue.

“You had it too easy. You had a family when you needed it but at the same time you could walk out the door and go home at the end of the evening. If you wanted to go out with Siobhan, you took her to Fitzgerald’s! A place where the two of you are nearly permanent fixtures! You can’t have it all Brendan. If you want Siobhan and Aisling, you’ve got to make a commitment and stop running scared.”

“So you’re saying we should marry?”

“No! Forget that I should be saying it, as I’m a priest and all. I know enough to recognise that you need time. By commitment, I mean you’ve got to tell her everything you just told me. She’d want to hear it! If you stand by and do nothing Brendan, you’re going to loose it all because Gerry Hogan’s no idiot. He realises what an amazing person Siobhan is. You can’t be a dog in the manger, she’s not going to wait forever.”

“What if it’s not what she wants?”

“Then it’s not what she wants and that will be hard, but you can’t force something if it’s not there. I don’t think that is the case and I don’t think that’s what you fear either. You have to go for it mate – tell her sooner rather than later. Don’t pile on the pressure or you’ll ruin it, give yourself and Siobhan time and see what happens.” Vincent looked at Brendan who was still fiddling with the book but seemed a bit more cheerful.

“I can do this! It’s just… huge…”

“It is, but you’ve gotta do it or you'll never know what you could’ve had.”

“Thanks for the advice and for the listening ear! She’s going home to her mothers for the weekend and I’ve got Aisling, so I should wait until next week. Gives me the weekend to think it over anyway. You want to come for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Ahh, thanks but I’m not here. I’m going to Dublin tonight and won’t be back until early on Sunday morning.”

“Dublin? Will that old banger of yours make the trip?”

“I’m going with Frankie actually, she’s taking Sheelagh’s car.”

“Oh, well in that case you’ll be fine. I reckon at this stage Frankie can drive from here to Dublin blindfolded.”

“I’d rather she didn’t, if it’s all the same to you!”

“Where are you going up there?”

“I don’t know. I need to get a decent coat so her brother knows a good place. As far as I know, I’m going to Dublin – I haven’t given the intricacies of trip much thought.”

“Dublin’s a big place and it’s going to be packed with Christmas shoppers. I don’t envy you.”

“I’ll manage, anyway I have a Garda for a minder. I can’t go wrong.”

“Well, if you get lost, start walking south towards the mountains, we’ll find you eventually.”

“That’s very comforting Brendan. Cheers,” he said dryly.

“It’s the least I can do,” said Brendan, deadpan. “Thanks again Vincent and enjoy the weekend!”

“I will, you too. Say hi to Aisling for me!” he called as Brendan made his way out. He gathered the last of his papers and locked up the church. Father Angus from Ballinaclash was looking after it for Saturday. He barely mentioned it to Fr. Mac that he was going away, after all there was no point in looking for trouble was there? It was mentioned in passing and for once, Fr. Mac was too distracted by explaining his accountancy procedures to give it any further thought, much to Vincent’s relief. As it was getting late he packed up the last remaining bits and pieces. He had to drive to Ballinaclash first to give Angus the keys etc and he didn’t want to stay too long. Once the church was locked, he loaded everything into the boot of the car and drove off. He arrived at Angus’ house and mindful of the notoriously muddy patch that was called a driveway, he skipped over the puddles and rang the doorbell.

“What about ya’ Vinny? ‘Mon in.” said Angus as he opened the door.

“Thanks mate,” said Vincent, used to Angus’ Donegal mannerisms. He was ushered into the comfortable sitting room where he had a nice fire going. “Look at you! Some people have all the luxury!”

“I live down the end of a bog road in Ballinaclash – you want to swap?” Angus looked at his friend quizzically. “I could easy give this up for a nice house in Ballyk. You don’t know how well you have it boy.”

“Good point. Even though the house isn’t mine.”

“You poor man, my heart’s bleeding for you” said Angus. “So anyway, what’s all this about you being the boss ‘round these parts for a while?”

“You’ve heard huh?”

“’Deed I have. Rather you than me.”

“I think he picked me ‘cause he thinks I’m trouble,” said Vincent, looking for a vote of support.

“Well, he’s right there. This’ll keep you on your toes. Do you the world of good, so it will.”

“Oh cheers, thanks Father Perfect!”

“No problem, isn’t that what a curate is for?”

“No, a curate is someone who’ll cover for me while I’m in Dublin as he already agreed to do,” said Vincent, plonking the church keys on the table.

“I can do more than that. Take Sunday as well Vinny, I’ll look after the mass.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to do that Angus, thanks.”

“I know you didn’t ask but consider it a thank you for not roping me into helping with the books. What’s the point in racing back here for Sunday mass? You haven’t been away from the parish for ages ‘n ages. Just go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Vincent, delighted.

“Eye absolutely man! Go on, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Excellent, thanks for that. See you Monday. I’ll let myself out, stay where you are. ‘Bye!”

“Good luck Vinny!” called Angus. Vincent went out to his car, once again negotiating the muddy driveway which was a hard thing to do in the dark. He was looking forward to the trip. Angus was right, before all the administration madness started he needed a break.

.oOo.

.oOo.

He drove back to Ballyk expecting to find an impatient Frankie but much to his relief her car wasn’t there. He figured she was either late or had gone to pick up Sheelagh’s car. However, just as he was sorting out what clothes to bring, his mobile rang.

“Hi Frankie,” he said answering it.

“Hi Vincent, I’m running a bit late, so I’m going directly from Cilldargan to Sheelagh’s. I packed my stuff earlier but I just remembered to take a book I promised my Dad. Will you get it from my room, it’s in a bag from Kathleen’s shop – I think I left it on the table. I’ll just drive by to pick you up okay?”

“Sure, anything else you want?”

“I don’t think so, thanks. Do you want anything from Cilldargan while I’m here?”

“No, I’m fine. By the way, we don’t have to rush off early on Sunday. Angus is going to do the mass and look after the place until Monday. He’s giving me a holiday.”

“Oh that’s great! Mum was on to me earlier and was hoping you’d stay for a bit on Sunday. We can leave that evening then, what do you think?”

“That’ll be fine. Can you take the time off?”

“I sort of already did. Just because YOU had to report early for duty on Sunday, didn’t mean I did! I’m not expected back until ” she explained. “Anyway, I’ll be there by about quarter past nine. Will you lock up and set the alarm?”

“Yep. See you then.”

“Okay, be ready!”

“I’m nearly ready now Miss Late. ’Bye.” He hung up the phone with a smile and quickly finished sorting his stuff. After a quick shower and shave he got into his jeans and jumper and left his bag downstairs. He then went in search of the book Frankie wanted. He didn’t see it on the table, or on the bookcase. He searched though each shelf and still didn’t find it. He was just about to ring her when he spied it on her bedside table underneath a film magazine, predictably with Russell Crowe on the cover. Laughing to himself, he went downstairs and put it in her overnight bag, which as Frankie was Frankie, was all packed neatly. He started to lock up when he heard the car pull up outside the house. He opened the door and told her he was just ready as he went back inside to set the alarm. Gathering the bags in his hand, he pulled the front door firmly behind him.

“Will I put these in the back?” he asked lifting the bags.

“Throw them in the back seat there. The boot is full of shopping and stuff from Sheelagh for home.”

Vincent did as instructed and got into the passenger seat. When he was settled, Frankie pulled off and headed out of the village.

“All set for the big smoke?” she asked.

“You bet. God I’m tired,” he yawned. “Sorry.”

“How was accountancy with Fr. Mac?”

“Riveting, absolutely enthralling,” he said sardonically.

“That bad huh?”

“You have no idea. Got any road music?” he asked, pointing at the CD player.

“Nope, but we do have…” she reached over and flicked on the radio “Dublin’s best music mix, 98FM,” she sang, mimicking the irritating radio jingle. The crooning of Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman blared out and he quickly switched it off.

“No bloody way! What else is there?”

“Oh hey, that was The Top Ten Countdown! I’ll bet that’s going to be the Christmas number one!”

“I could care less.”

“Old before your time Vincent. Which version do you prefer?” she asked in reference to the song. “The original with Frank Sinatra and Nancy or the new one?”

Vincent made a ‘bored’ face at her and she smiled back.

“Well fie then, try RTE.” He did so and some country and western song was playing which was quickly voted off the air by both of them. He eventually settled on some relatively innocuous sounding station with Frankie’s approval. Due to the time of night Frankie wasn’t expecting any heavy traffic so she decided the best route would be to drive along the main roads. They talked about what shopping had to be done over the weekend and what Vincent would like to see, now that he had an extra day. When they passed Greystones the road suddenly improved into a motorway and Frankie accelerated past a van that they’d been stuck behind for a few miles.

“Move it, ya’ dirty lookin’ eejit!” she exclaimed as the van driver didn’t seem to care which lane he was in, “I swear, some people shouldn’t be allowed out on the roads.” The final statement was punctuated by a blare of the horn and Frankie continued on her way.

“Look at that, five minutes onto the motorway and already you’re stressed out with road rage,” he joked.

“Trust me, I’m not even mildly annoyed by general road rage standards. I wish I had one of those James Bond type cars that could burst that eejits tyres or something… and have a cow catcher on the front and maybe like, a rocket launcher on the roof so I could blast them to oblivion… and a big retracto-spike-”

She was interrupted by Vincent blessing himself and joining his hands in prayer. “Dear Lord,” he began, “Please help me. She’s most likely a total, raving, psycho. And I’m trapped in the car…Owwww – she hit me!”

“Serves you right! Now where was I in my Car-Of-Death design?” Eventually, after describing the afore mentioned car, in great and meticulous detail, Frankie reached her parent’s home and stopped the car outside the large house. Her mother Bríd had been waiting for them to arrive and opened the door. Frankie walked up to the house with Vincent following her.

“Hiya Mum!” she said happily, giving her a hug.

“Hello Frannie pet, how are ya’?” she said kissing her only daughter. “And Vincent, how nice to meet you at last after all this time. Welcome.”

Vincent had spoken to her on the phone on many occasions and was glad to meet her too. They already felt like friends and she had instructed him on many occasions for him to call her Bríd.

“Hi Bríd, nice to meet you at last too!” he said as she took his hand. He was amazed at how much like Frankie she looked, only older.

“Come on inside the pair of you.” Bríd closed the front door behind them. Frankie opened the door to the sitting room and found her father and brother, watching football highlights on the TV.

“Get up out of that, you useless lumps ye’!” she called.

“Oh Jaysus Da, look who’s home – how’s she cuttin’ Fran?” said Rob getting up from his chair and giving Frankie a tight hug. “

“Grand Robbie,” she replied, avoiding his playful attempt to ruffle her hair. “This is Vincent – Vincent this would be Rob,” she said, introducing them.

“How’zit goin’ head? Good t’see ye ah last, wha’?” Rob shook Vincent’s hand enthusiastically.

“Hi Rob,” said Vincent laughing. He had no idea what Rob just said but he surmised that it was a greeting. He was a young man of twenty-eight and was even taller than Vincent with dark hair. Frankie’s Dad, Charlie, was delighted to see his daughter too and hugged her until she squealed.

“Dad!” she gasped, extricating herself with a laugh. Charlie reached over a shook Vincent’s hand.

“Hello Vincent, great that you could make it. Glad to see you finally,” he said warmly.

“Hi Charlie! At last we meet. I hope we’re not interrupting your game?” he asked, pointing to the TV.

“Not at all, it’s just highlights,” he said turning it off. “Sit yourselves down there.” After assuring Bríd that they didn’t want anything to eat or drink they all sat down and Frankie filled her parents in on their journey and answered general enquires. They were glad to be able to talk to Vincent in the flesh and asked him about Australia and his home. Rob was dispatched to empty the car and Vincent stood up to help him as there was a lot of stuff. Bríd and Charlie were having none of it and made him sit back down again. Rob could be heard trotting in and out from the car but he soon was finished and rejoined them.

“So tell us den head, wha’s de storee wi’ de messagis for t’marrah loike? An’ most impertunt, is der any dosh ‘cause loike, I’m skint ableedingain, wha’?” he said to Vincent, who looked back blankly. All he heard was one long word.

“He wants to know what shopping are we going to do tomorrow and who has money because he’s broke,” translated Frankie.

“Oh Jays, I fergots you can’t understand me, sorry ‘bout that,” said Rob, speaking louder and slower but not necessarily better.

“Ahh – I got that!” he smiled at Rob in understanding. “I’m looking for a good winter coat. Frankie said you know a good place?”

“Sure do, Arnotts in town has de best stuff. We’ll find somethin’ der. You gizun us a lift Fran?” he looked over at his sister.

“Yes, if you’re up early enough, otherwise you can get the bus.”

“’Course we’ll be up. Ehhh… funds anyone?”

“You’ll be fine Rob. Yet again I suppose I’ll rescue you from financial oblivion,” said Frankie, affecting an air of long suffering older sister.

“Great to have ya’ home Fran, I always knowed you were handy to have around!” he said getting up to go to bed.

“What time are you getting up at in the morning?” asked Bríd before he could leave.

“I think we should get up for seven thirty at the latest Mum otherwise we’ll be crowded out of the place,” she suggested, ignoring the groans from Rob.

“Goodnight all, see yiz is the morning.” A chorus of goodnights followed him out the door. Charlie and Bríd followed their son’s example and said goodnight also. Bríd reopened the door and told Frankie that her eldest brother Thomas had left a parcel for her, with strict instructions that she wasn’t to open it until Christmas.

“It’s under the stairs,” she explained. “Goodnight all, Vincent I hope you’ll be warm enough. Frannie will you get some extra blankets for him, just in case?”

“Thanks Bríd,” smiled Vincent. He had mentioned to her in the past about how cold he sometimes found it here. “Goodnight.” Frankie explained to him that Tom wasn't going to be here for Christmas as he, his wife Sarah, their two twin sons and baby daughter were going to Sarah’s family in Sligo. Her other brother Jason or Jay as he was known, was currently in Germany working in a computer software firm and was coming home. Vincent had spoken to Jay but never to Tom, always managing to be out when he rang. She showed him a picture of them all taken last year. All of the boys looked very similar, although Rob was the tallest. Frankie was clearly fond of her brothers and wished that she saw more of them.

“Rob has always said he’s come and visit me but he hasn’t managed it so far. Jay might come when he’s home and Tom… as much as I love my nephews I prefer them well away from anything breakable belonging to me!”

“Oh, you should invite them – the prison cell doesn’t get that much use, does it?” he joked.

“That’s not a bad plan,” mused Frankie, pretending to ponder it seriously. “Come on, let me show you around so you don’t get lost.” It was a large five-bedroom house, originally it had three but they had built a substantial extension. It suited the family when they were all living there but now it was really too much for her parents to look after. They had been talking about selling for some time but they did not really want to move away from an area they knew so well. Vincent was shown into what was Tom’s old room but had been the guest room for many years. Frankie did as her mother suggested and found some extra blankets but he didn’t think he’d need them as Bríd had already piled some at the bottom of the bed.

“I must complain more about the cold than I realised,” he said, pointing to the blankets.

“You? Complain? Never….” said Frankie smiling.

“See what I have to put up with?” he said, raising his eyes to Heaven.

“I’m sure God is very upset for you, what with you pestering Him all the time,” she said straight-faced. “Anyway, get some sleep. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“Fair enough, goodnight Frances, Frankie, Fran, Frannie!” he said, teasing her about her various names.

“Goodnight Vincent, Vince, Vin, Vinny,” she replied smartly.

“Damn, I forgot about that!”

“You have an awfully short memory Charlie Brown!” and with that, she closed the door behind her laughing, especially over Vincent’s horrified face. Avril had told her about the ongoing ‘Charlie Brown’ saga and Frankie was only waiting for an opportunity to arise to tease him over it. It couldn’t have happened better if she planned it, she thought to herself.

.oOo.

The following day went as planned with the three shoppers leaving early to go to the city. Frankie parked in Arnotts car park, off O’Connell Street and then she left, with instructions to call her later in the day. She didn’t expect to take terribly long as she had most of her shopping done already. The two men decided to get the coat first and Rob swiftly guided Vincent through the large department store to the men’s wear section. Once he had looked through the range, he found what he wanted, a heavy woollen coat for when it wasn’t raining and a waterproof one with a fleece zipped inside it for when it was. Pleased with himself he bought the two, cringing at the price but realising that he couldn’t go on much longer with his own jackets.

Rob had a spare key to the car and in about ten minutes, they had the coats stashed in the boot and were off to enjoy themselves for the rest of the day. Also on their agenda, if it wasn’t too much trouble, they should do some Christmas shopping. Lunchtime passed and Rob brought Vincent to a café where they quickly had something to eat. Just as they were leaving Frankie rang to say she was finished and was going home. Vincent and Rob envied her as they hadn’t even started, so they told her to go and they would get the bus home later.

Vincent was thoroughly enjoying himself and he soon found that Rob really didn’t speak as badly as he pretended. Either that or he was making a special effort with the ‘foreigner’, which Vincent didn’t mind at all. By five, after having looked in what seemed like every shop in Dublin, they were both hungry again and went into a restaurant for dinner. As they were eating Rob looked pensive and asked Vincent a question.

“Hey, Vinny? Can I ask ya’ something?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want this getting back to Fran, mind.”

“No problem Rob, what is it?”

“Have you ever heard of a chap called Derek Maloney?”

“No, I don’t think – oh, wait, I have actually. Isn’t he that bloke that Frankie-”

“Yeah, that’s him. So you know ‘bout the whole story?”

“Only what she told me. Why do you ask?”

“I know about it too. She thinks I don’t but I do ‘cause Jay told me when he was leaving. Just so she’d have someone to watch out for her, ya’ know?” Rob looked at him waiting for an answer.

Vincent however, was in a bit of a dilemma. From what Frankie had said, nobody in her family knew about the undercover operation and he got the impression that they didn’t know about Maloney either, so he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s good that she has her brothers to do that,” he said, neutrally.

“Yeah, but I’m not in Ballykissywhatsit am I?”

“Ballykissangel,” corrected Vincent. “Are you worried that Frankie can’t take care of herself?”

“No, I know she can. It’s just during the time she was with that fecker she changed so much, she didn’t seem like my sister anymore. Dyed her hair an’ all, we never saw her until they broke up an’ then she was all weird like. She even went to Cork – of all places!!” spluttered Rob like it was the greatest betrayal of any Dubliner to do this.

Vincent however, had his answer. It was clear that they didn’t know about what she really was doing and attributed her physical and personality changes to a bad relationship with a “fecker”.

“She mentioned all of this to me some time ago Rob. I still don’t see why you’re worried though.”

“It’s just, she’s down in that place by herself and I knowed that she saw him recently or something ‘cause she came back home a while ago after a night on the town and was wrecked upset. I don’t want the same oul crap to happen all over again an’ I was hopin’ you could let me know if he’s been around, or what’s been going on. Because if he is, I personally will kick his arse into next week for him.”

“I think you can rest easy Rob. I know that she did see him a few months ago but she dealt with him herself and since then there’s been no mention of him. Besides-” Vincent was going to say that if Derek did show up he would be more than happy to fill in for Rob but suddenly realised that might not be an appropriate thing for him to say, never mind do.

“Besides wha’?”

“Besides, I don’t think she’d thank anyone for interfering, brother or not,” he finished lamely.

“Huh, ya’ got that right – not that’d I care,” said Rob not noticing Vincent’s cover up. “Anyway, thanks for the ‘insider info’, glad to hear it. Changin’ the story a bit, how come you did end up living in her place anyway?” So, Vincent told him the whole story and how he should be getting a new house soon.

“I expect it to be ready by March,” he explained.

“That sounds like one weird strange town, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all – in fact I agree! But I like it. I reckon some of the best friends I’ll ever have I’ve met there. You should come down sometime, it’s not that far.”

“I know I should, Fran’s been giving me hassle over it, I will sometime.” With that they got ready to leave and they trudged to the bus stop to wait with other worn out shoppers. They waited in the queue which was getting longer and longer, luckily they were near enough to the top to be assured a seat. Eventually the bus arrived and they found a seat upstairs, it was a tight squeeze with all their bags but they managed. The bus slowly made it’s way out of the city centre, caught in heavy traffic.

Vincent could not believe that they were travelling for so long, after all the journey in this morning had only taken fifteen minutes and they were on the bus for nearly an hour. At last Rob nudged Vincent to get up as their stop was next. How he knew where he was mystified Vincent as the windows were covered with condensation. However, he did as he was told, negotiating the stairs with difficulty as the bus was moving and his hands were full. Once out in the open air he breathed deeply, glad to be out of the warm and stuffy bus.

“How do people go through that everyday?” he asked Rob as they began to walk.

“It’s not too bad once ya’ get used to it. I do it meself.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I work in de post office in Andrew’s Street. Every evening I get that bloody bus so I’m kind of immune to it now.”

“I would go crazy if I had to do it. Does it take you long?”

“Over an hour an’ a half some days. Mad isn’t it? I only live ‘bout seven miles from where I work. I wouldn’t take me bike, too dangerous and I do have nowhere to park me car so the bus is me only option. I’m trying to get a transfer out to a big mail sorting office in Clondalkin. With the new road I could make in ‘bout twenty minutes and I’d have a place to park. I’m fed up with that pox-bottle of an office anyway.” Vincent laughed at this typical Rob way of ending a sentence.

“You should pack it all in mate, move out of the city and down to a place like Ballyk!”

“Are ya’ mad? Jaysus, the traffic might be getting’ me down but at least I don’t live out in the back of beyond! I’d go spare down there. Where would I go of a Friday night?”

“There’s always Fitzgerald’s.”

“Good buzz? What kind of music is there? Dance or wha’?”

“Oh, well… perhaps Fitzgerald’s might not be your scene after all.”

“Here we are,” said Rob opening the gate to the house. They went inside, tired out. Frankie was helping her father to get the Christmas decorations and was currently scrabbling about in the attic, handing down various boxes.

“Rob, you lazy-good-for-nothing-out-all-night ya’, get up here and give me a hand!” she called. “Hi Vincent, did you get all that you wanted?” Before he could answer Rob whined up to her.

“I’m knackered Fran! There’s no way I’m doing that now – giza break!”

“I think we’re both fairly done in Frankie. Rob’s been great all day, took me everywhere and I got all I needed.”

“Oh well in that case, all things considered, I suppose he can have the night off. What do you think Dad?”

“Just this once. Go on lads, take a break. Did you go for some dinner?” They assured him all was well and went into the sitting room to watch the TV. Frankie was soon finished with the boxes (unpacking and assembly could wait, preferably until she was gone) and joined them, sitting beside Vincent on the couch.

“Oh hey, look!” said Rob, reading the television section of the paper. “Yer man is in that film on RTE One, starting in a few minutes. Switch over Fran.”

“What’s on?” she asked.

“LA Confidential with -”

“Eeek – say no more!!” she squealed, flicking the channel.

“Oh no, bloody Russell Crowe – can we change places Rob? The drool…”

“You’re on your own there pal! Fran? Technical Garda question for ya’ - is ‘death by drool’ a common thing?”

“No, but do you know what is?” she said with a glare at both of them.

The two men decided their lives would not be worth living if they thwarted her now and anyway, it was a good film which soon had all three engrossed. A well-timed commercial break had Bríd and Charlie coming in to say their goodnights and gave Rob enough time to get some snacks. He handed Vincent a plate with some biscuits on it and a glass of milk.

“Sorry there’s nothing else. I guzzled all the 7-Up yesterday.”

“This is fine Rob, thanks.”

“Yuck!!! Rob… Kimberleys! Gross!” said Frankie, grimacing at the ginger biscuits on her plate, the film momentarily forgotten.

“Oh right! Sorry I forgot ‘bout you an’ the oul Kimberleys. Here, swap ya’ for these.” He handed here his plate of Coconut Creams, not minding which ones he ate.

“What’s the story there?” enquired Vincent.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Frankie.

Rob stepped in, explaining, “See, there was one time when we were small when Jay dared her to eat a whole packet of dem Kimberleys. ‘No problem’, says she. Then I added on the bit where she had to skull a pint of ginger ale after. She had to do the whole lot in three minutes too. Talk about SICK! I’ve never seen the like of it since!”

Rob laughed loudly at the memory, ignoring Frankie’s ‘what did I just say?’ gesture.

“Ah sure, I thought you meant YOU didn’t want to talk about it!”

“That must not have been a pretty picture,” laughed Vincent, imaging what young Frankie went through.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked.

“No,” he answered solemnly. But, on catching Rob’s eye, his resolve faded and the two of them collapsed in gales of laughter. She tried to ignore them and focus on the TV but instead she ended up joining in.

“I’ve never been able to eat or drink ginger since. Even the smell of it makes me queasy.”

“What’s it to ‘skull a pint’?” enquired Vincent, referring to Rob’s story.

“It’s to drink it all in one go without taking a breath,” she explained.

“And there’s twenty four of these in a packet,” said Rob, holding up a marshmallow and ginger sandwich biscuit.

“No wonder you were sick!!”

“And she couldn’t tell Ma because she’d already been told not to eat any until after dinner.”

“What age were you?”

“I must’ve been about nine or ten I think. Ugghh, it was rotten!” she answered miserably.

“Poor Frankie. What a mean thing it was to dare you to eat them.”

“That’s kind of the whole point of a dare Vinny!” smiled Rob. “I’ve plenty more stories too-”

“You better watch out or I’ll be forced to go and get the baby pictures!” interrupted Frankie.

“That right is solely reserved by Mam. Who in hell wants to see pictures of me naked and drooling on the rug anyways?”

“Ah yes, last Christmas. Memorable for so many things,” she said dryly.

Vincent spluttered over a mouthful of biscuit. “Wait until I’m not eating before you say stuff like that!” he choked. Frankie was on a roll now and another sprung into her mind.

They spent the rest of the night telling childhood stories but Vincent’s were quite tame compared to the Sullivan’s. As an only child, he didn’t have ritual thumpings and nasty tricks played on him. He would’ve liked to have the good times with brothers and sisters but he wasn’t sure if the suffering would be worth it. By all accounts, Frankie wasn’t spared from various pranks but Tom always came to his little sister’s rescue, which used to annoy Rob exceedingly.

“I was the youngest one, so he should’ve been watchin’ out fer me!!”

“You forget that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I was rescued from stuff that YOU did! You needed no protection at all. Both Jason and I used to live in fear of him!” she explained to Vincent.

“I wasn’t that bad!” exclaimed Rob, trying to think of one episode where he was an angelic little boy.

“Need I mention Kerry?”

“Kerry was an unfortunate casualty of war.”

“Kerry?” asked Vincent.

“My Cabbage Patch Kid whose head got melted,” she said sadly.

“You melted her doll’s head??” he asked, incredulously, turning to Rob.

“I burnt holes in her with a magnifying glass, I didn’t exactly ‘melt’ her head.”

“Why you would even try and defend it is beyond me!” she said. “Poor Kerry… I can still smell that burning plastic and wool.”

“Well, it wasn’t forgotten about. I was on shoe cleaning duty until…last week… and I forget the rest of the punishment,” he said, good-naturedly.

“They were good times all the same. I’m looking forward to Jay coming home for Christmas. Pity Tom and the gang won’t be here though. I’ve only seen little Olibhe once or twice.” Frankie’s niece was ten months old and was supposedly the image of her aunt. She had an early entry into the world, just over two months premature and did not have an easy start.

“They have to go to Sligo. Olibhe is still tiny, so she is. Though how Mam can say she looks like you is beyond me. She has dark hair an’ that’s about it. Tom said they’re going to go an’ see you in the New Year.”

“I hope they do. Maybe the boys can stay here? That way they can learn from the master of skulduggery himself.”

“No bleedin’ way! Eoghan and Naoise are ten times worse than I was!” he cried, in reference to his nephews. “Olibhe better learn her survival techniques from you and fast!”

They continued with general chitchat until the small hours of the morning when they decided to call it a night. The following morning Frankie and Vincent were up and gone sightseeing before Rob even surfaced. They spent the day wondering around the city, visiting various places. They didn’t over do it as they could always come back another day, when it wasn’t so wintery and cold. They arrived back to her parent’s house and took their time over dinner as Frankie preferred to let the traffic go ahead of her. By eight o’clock they were ready to go. Vincent thanked Bríd and Charlie for their hospitality and tried to extract a promise from Rob that he’d come and visit. The closest he got was a hard won ‘maybe’. Frankie said her goodbyes and made arrangements for Christmas. The family waved after them as she drove away, back towards Ballyk.

.oOo.

The traffic was heavier than expected but it moved along and by ten that night they had reached the village. The car was unloaded and all the things put away.

“That was a great weekend Frankie, thanks for taking me along,” he said, joining her in the kitchen.

“Sure, it was no trouble. I’m glad you got yourself a decent coat… two decent coats!” she corrected herself.

“Badly needed. Rob knew where to look for the good ones.”

“He always does. Whatever is left from his wages after bills and stuff, goes on clothes and only the top brands. Rob wouldn’t be caught dead in a bargain shop, he’s a real label junky.”

“He’s a good brother to have, despite his label junkiness.”

“He is really, they all are.” They chatted a bit about her brothers and Frankie was wondering why Vincent was staying in the kitchen, as he usually preferred to go into the warmer sitting room.

“Do you want to go inside?” she asked, nodding towards the room.

“No… all those accounting books and stuff are in there.”

“Ahhh, I see! Can Fr. Angus give you a hand with any of them?”

“Angus? No way, he knows even less about it than I do. I don’t know how I’m going to manage this lot. Surely, there’s an accountant who looks after all this?”

“I’m sure there is but you probably don’t need the accountant to look after petty cash and other minor expenditures?”

“That sounds like fancy financial talk. Are you holding out on me?”

“Hah! You wish! No, I’ve farmed all of the bookwork back out to Cilldargan. I just keep a record of the minor things and they look after the rest. It can’t be that hard, otherwise Fr. Mac wouldn’t have given it to you.”

“Yes, he’s renowned for his generosity of spirit,” he said sarcastically.

Frankie was packing the dishwasher and turned to him with a smile, “If you really get stuck, we’ll figure something out. Hey, even Avril might know how to do it. In the meantime, I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. Enjoy being the boss while you can.”

“I’d forgotten about the boss part. Cool.”

“You never know – this could be a trial run for the real deal.”

“What? Me taking over?”

“Yeah – Fr Mac must be nearing sixty five by this stage. He can’t go on forever.”

“I don’t think they’ll give me the job somehow.”

“Don’t see why not.”

“To quote Louis Dargan, I’m nothing but an ignorant blow-in. They’ll have someone in mind to replace Fr Mac already. Possibly someone who’s already a parish priest somewhere or some curate who’s long overdue for promotion. It definitely won’t be me – I’ve one too many blots on my copybook.”

“Isn’t it more important how you get on with your parishioners? How well you’re liked?”

“That’s important sure, but with my history and the odd run in I’ve had with Fr Mac and the Bishop since I’ve been here… well… ‘nuff said.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“I’m not bothered by it. I wouldn’t like to be a parish priest – too much administration. And speaking of promotions and fairness, why is it that you’ve passed the exams for sergeant but it’s never been made official? Now that’s unfair.”

“Because Cilldargan already has four sergeants. If I wanted it badly enough I’d have to transfer out of the district. If I’d stayed in Dublin then I would’ve been promoted but not down here.”

“But you had to leave the city. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, that was recognised and one of the conditions that Inspector Malone put in place was that as soon as a position becomes available, I’m first in line.”

“Still not really fair though. I’ll bet there aren’t too many women sergeants either.”

“Actually, things have gotten a lot better in recent years. It had to – what with all the anti-discrimination legislation and all.”

“But I haven’t met any.”

“Well, between myself and Cilldargan there are only five female Guards compared with twenty five male. We’ll get there soon enough. They’ve made plenty of changes in recent years. Thank God they got rid of the title ‘Ban Garda’ and the skirt we used to wear!”

“I’d say you weren’t sorry to see that go.”

“I hated the skirt. How you were supposed to run in it, I don’t know,” she smiled at the memory. “Men always have it so much easier.”

“You want to trade jobs?” he asked playfully.

“You’re forgetting – I’m not allowed to be a priest. You on the other hand, could be a cop no problem. They’d love you! Probably have you on traffic duty in Dublin to scare the life out of unruly motorists.”

“I’m not scary!”

“Vincent, you’re 6ft-4! If you were all kitted out with the motorbike and everything you’d be scary. I’m convinced that the traffic guys have some sort of stretchy uniform ‘cause they all seem to tower over everyone else.”

“Hummm – at least I know where to go if I want a career change,” he joked.

“Ah no, sorry. I was just giving you a hypothetical situation. You can’t join up.”

“Oh right, ‘cause I’m an Aussie?”

“Nooo.”

“’Cause I don’t speak Irish?”

“Nooo.”

“Well, what then?”

“You’re cough-too old-cough,” she said, standing up and smothering the reason between coughs.

“TOO OLD!”

“Do you want some warm milk before you go to bed?” she asked sweetly, fusing around near the cooker.

“Frankie – I’m not too old!”

“Hum? What?”

“I’m thirty four!”

“Five” she corrected.

“I’m thirty five - I’m not too old,” he paused for a moment and considered what he’d just said. “Oh Christ… I’m thirty five…”

Frankie took a softer line in her teasing. “’Course you’re not old! It’s just you have to be twenty six or under to join the Guards. That’s what I meant.”

“I’m thirty five!” he lamented.

“Vincent, in September when it was your birthday; didn’t you pay any attention?”

“Well – yes! But it’s just hit me now. I’m getting older.”

“So’s everybody. I’ll be thirty soon.”

“Thirty one” he corrected gleefully, knowing her real age thanks to Rob.

“That little swine!” Her brother’s hand in this was obvious.

“Oh come on Frankie! You think people wouldn’t notice that this’ll be your second time to turn thirty? And beside you told me ages ago you were born in 1970,” he laughed. “At least I don’t feel too bad now. It seems as if I’m not the only one worried about the years catching up.”

“Ohhh, I don’t want to talk about it!” she cried. “Where does the time go? When I joined up, I had all these plans for when I was thirty and now look – not one of them has worked out!”

“What plans?”

“I was supposed to be a sergeant, married with at least one if not two children and living in a nice house.”

“But didn’t you just tell me that there are only five-”

“Yes, I know what I just said but still, I figured I’d have plenty of time in ten years. Now, it’s twelve years later!”

“Bet you’re wishing now you didn’t tease me over my age, huh?”

“Ah, go ‘way from me!” she said, pretending to be annoyed.

He knew she was only joking so he snickered as he stood up and stretched. “I’m off to bed now. Us older folk need our rest.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some warm milk?”

“Definitely. I don’t know how you drink it, it tastes absolutely vile.”

“Well, duh! I add drinking chocolate. I would’ve offered you some but what with your old age digestive system and all, I didn’t want to tempt you.”

“Right! Come here you!” he made a lunge for her but she shrieked and dodged out of his way. She retreated to the other side of the table from him and with every step he took, she took one the opposite way. “I swear Frankie, when I catch you, you’re going to be tickled without mercy.” He waggled his fingers at her to emphasise his point.

“I really am going to kill Rob – he’s told all my secrets,” she responded. Frankie was extremely ticklish and to date, had kept her secret well.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” he teased as he suddenly ran to his left. She raced around the table again so he never even got near her. Seeing an opportunity for a getaway, she made a dive for the door. Vincent was quicker and just managed to grab one arm as she passed. “Gotcha,” he said, smiling dangerously.

Frankie pulled in the opposite direction, trying to escape. “Vincent, don’t! I won’t mention is again! I’m a bad person. I’m a bad OLD person!”

He ignored her and tickled her side once she was within reach. “What were you saying?” he asked as she shrieked with laughter.

“STOP!”

“Were you saying you’re the one who’s old and that you’d stop teasing me?”

She managed to gasp out, “Yes! Yes I was!”

“You have to say it before I stop,” he said, joking.

“I’m old an’ mean and I’ll never tease again. Vincent stop! Go ‘WAY!” she squealed.

He deftly caught her other arm with was reaching to tickle him at that stage. “Think I wouldn’t notice?”

She paused to catch her breath before answering him. “Well, you need to hold my two arms and therefore you can’t tickle me. So how’s about we just call a truce?”

“I don’t know about that,” he said bringing her two hands together. “I reckon I can hold you with one hand.”

“Go ahead and try it,” she dared.

With a bit of a struggle he managed to hold both of her wrists securely in one of his hands, and waved his free arm in front of her. “Oh, look what I have here! One free arm…”

“Ah crap!” she said, trying to pull one arm free.

“It’s not going to happen Frankie. Give up.” Both of her arms were raised above her head. “Now – left side or right side. Which is more ticklish?”

“Before you start, can I give you some advice, a word of warning even?” she asked looking up at him.

“I’ll consider it.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with my knee,” she said with a knowing look.

“What?…. Whoa!” he said, letting go suddenly as he got what she meant and jumped back out of harms way.

“It’s almost too easy.”

“Frances Sullivan! I’m appalled to think that you would do such a thing! To me - a man of the cloth no less!”

She grinned wickedly at him. “Well Vin, unless that cloth was well padded, it wasn’t going to save you!”

“Frankie!”

“What? I grew up with three brothers, not to mention the fact I’m a Guard – do you think I didn’t know a thing or two about self-defence? Learn fast Vincent, tickling me has been known to have … consequences.”

“Geez! Seems Rob has very selective memory when it comes to this stuff.”

“Really? What else did he tell you?” she asked, advancing slowly.

“Keep away from me!” he backed up against the wall.

“What’s the matter? Scared of little old me?”

“Actually-” He was interrupted by a sizzling noise from the kitchen.

“Cripes! The milk!” she cried as she ran inside to see the last of it bubble away in the saucepan, the vast majority having boiled over and burnt onto the top of the cooker. She exclaimed as she saw the mess, “Oh crud!”

“Oops!”

“Count yourself lucky – saved by boiling milk,” she said dismally, as she dropped the saucepan into the sink.

“I always knew there was someone watching over me,” he replied, wiping the top of the cooker. “Is this stuff supposed to stick like this?”

“Well it must be there for five minutes at least. It’s all your fault for distracting me,” she said humorously.

“Not my fault at all. You could’ve just used the microwave you know.”

“It heats the milk up too quickly. I prefer it-”

“Don’t even try to tell me you notice the difference!”

She looked away, knowing full well she didn’t. The real reason was she had managed to make a total mess inside the microwave on more than one occasion and the old fashioned way, had to date, required less cleaning.

“Have you not cleaned that yet?” she asked, indicating the cooker.

“Be my guest,” he replied, handing her the cloth with a smile. “And watch that cooker, those rings are-”

“Owwww!”

“- hot.”

.oOo.

On Friday night Frankie was getting ready for the Guards Christmas party in Cilldargan. Vincent was working late and he had to go to Father Mac’s so he didn’t see her before she left. She did however, leave a note for him on he kitchen table.

“Am going to be v late, but don’t set alarm. Avril rang for you. See you tomorrow. F.”

Smiling he picked up the phone to ring Avril back.

“Hello?” came her voice.

“Hi Avril.”

“Vincent! Look, I’m sorry I missed you again last night in Cilldargan.” Avril hadn’t shown up again to her AA meeting.

“This makes six weeks straight Avril.”

“I know, I know! I’ll make a special effort in the New Year.”

“Do,” he said, not wanting to sound as if he was pressurising her. “So, how are things going?”

“Great. The Cat’s going to run in Leopardstown on St. Stephen’s Day. Siobhan says she’s fighting fit.”

“Should I put money on her?”

“Of course you should! I appalled to think you wouldn’t!”

They chatted for a while about the horses and what the Christmas plans were. Avril said that she’d see him over the coming few days, although she was likely to be very busy as was Vincent. In case they didn’t see each other they said happy Christmas. When they hung up, Vincent was left with the distinct impression that Avril was avoiding him but he couldn’t figure out why. By eleven, he was tired out having once more wrestled with some accounting and went to bed. He was sleeping soundly when the front doorbell woke him. He wasn’t sure if he heard it or not when it suddenly rang again. He looked at the clock and saw that it was four thirty in the morning. He waited to hear of Frankie was back but there was no sound from her room. The doorbell was rung for a third time and he had no option but to go down to open it.

“Who is it?” he asked before unlocking it.

“Taxi!”

“I didn’t order a taxi.”

“Would you open up Guard? I have your wife here for Christ’s sake!”

“What the hell?” he asked, opening the door.

A young man stood there with an impatient look on his face. “The missus had a good night out anyway,” he said, pointing to Frankie who was sitting, smiling merrily in the back seat.

“Oh God… Umm how much do I owe you?” asked Vincent, reaching in to get her.

“Twenty five quid.”

“Twenty five!”

“It’s all the way from Wicklow, Guard! An’ you didn’t have to put up with her singing!”

Vincent didn’t bother correcting the man, it was too complicated. “Right, right. Watch her for a minute,” he said as he went inside and retrieved the money from his coat pocket. “Here you go. Thanks for bringing her back.”

“No problem. Good luck,” said the man, handing Vincent a receipt and driving away once Frankie was out of the car.

“V-Vin-cent! Hi!” she grinned, absolutely hammered.

“Hi Frankie. Good night?” He guided her indoors.

“Oh wow, the bestest, hic, best nightest ev… ever.”

“That’s good,” he said trying not to laugh. He never thought he’d see Frankie in this state. She hardly ever drank, the most might be an occasional glass of wine and he beginning to see why. It seemed that alcohol and Frankie did not go well together. He helped her out of her coat and propped her up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh! Guess what?” she said, her face changing to one of sorrow.

“Emm… what?” he asked in trepidation. He hoped she wasn’t about to be sick.

“Puff the Magic Dragon… he’s LEFT ALONE… forever ‘n ever, Amen!”

“That’s terrible,” he said with a snort of laughter.

“Don’t be mean! Poor Puff!!” she practically sobbed.

“I’m sorry to hear about Puff. Now, walk with me here and we’ll have you sitting down before you know it,” he said leading her towards the sitting room.

“That little… ungrateful bastard… Jackie… Paper.” She carefully placed one foot in front of the other.

“Yes, very ungrateful.” There was no point in questioning her or asking what she meant.

“He played with Puff and then… grow… grew up an’ forgot all about him!” She stopped and looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’d never not do that … if…if I had a Magic Dragon. Never.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Come on, just a few more steps.”

“Poor Puff… I’d visit always… I wouldn’t in leave him… leave him in… his c-cave…”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“I really w-wouldn’t. Poor little Puff…”

“Here we are. I’ll just get the door,” he said as he opened it, while keeping his other hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t fall over. He led her into the room to the couch and switched on the light.

She sat unsteadily near the edge of the seat and looked around here, totally out of focus. “Vin?”

“Yep?”

“Where am I?”

“At home. Come on, try and lie down,” he said, lifting her feet onto the couch.

“This isn’t … isn’t where I live.”

“Sure it is. You’re back at home in Ballykissangel.”

“Oh,” she answered sadly. “Why’s my room different then?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at this. “This isn’t your room Frankie, this is the sitting room.” He took off her shoes and tossed a blanket over her. “Okay? Try and close your eyes, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Everything’s all spinnin’ an’ dark,” she said, not sounding too great.

Vincent switched on a small table light and figuring that she might be sick went to the scullery and retrieved a basin, just in case. When he came back to the room, Frankie was sitting up holding her head.

“I feel like I’m… I’m fallin’…”

“You’re not falling. You’ll be okay,” he said in his most reassuring voice.

“Am I sick?”

“No, just a bit tipsy.”

“No way I amn’t! Why won’t… won’t the room stop movin’?”

“Poor Frankie. What a state, huh?”

“I can’t… can’t stay.” She pushed the blanket down and tried to stand up.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“You can’t go out. It’s too cold. Come on, sit here and take it easy,” he persuaded.

“No. Have to go out…” She managed to stand up and walked a few unsteady steps towards the door.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, deciding that he should just go along with her. “Okay, if you want to go out, that’s fine, but I’m going with you. Just wait five minutes. Sit here.” He directed her to a chair, where she flopped willingly. Once he put her shoes back on he said, “I’ll be back for you. Now, don’t move!”

“’Kay.”

He hurriedly went to his room and got dressed in the warmest clothes he could find. Returning to Frankie, he found her sitting exactly as he’d left her. “Right, let’s go, if you still want to.”

“Can I m-move now?”

“Right… I told you not to move…” he smiled to himself. “Yes, up you get.”

“Have to go out!”

“We’re going, we’re going! Carefully now,” he guided her into the hall and once he put on his coat he helped her into her uniform’s woollen overcoat, as it was the warmest. Then her led her through to the back of the house. He figured that if she wanted fresh air it would be better to walk around her own garden than up and down the main street of Ballykissangel at five in the morning.

When they were outside he was surprised that she didn’t say anything. She walked shakily beside him, supported by his arm across her shoulders. She kept trying to sing, “Puff the Magic Dragon” but he was able to hush her each time. After about the tenth lap of the garden she stopped.

“My feet are f-frozen.”

“Mine too,” he said relieved to have an excuse to get out of the cold air. “Let’s go inside.” He led her into the kitchen and filled a large glass of cold water for her. “Here you go - drink up!”

“Cheers,” and the water was gulped down. “That’s vunny fodka…”she said, getting her words in a tangle.

“It’s a special kind,” he said dryly. “Do you want some more?”

“Vinchent… I’ll be plastered!”

“You won’t be on this. Take one more glass,” he handed her another.

“’If you say… say so,” and the second glass was drained. “Very s-sleepy...”

Vincent again led her into the sitting room and she stretched out on the couch. By the time he placed the blanket over her she was fast asleep. He left the door open with the light on and crept out of the room. In case she woke and decided to go out again, he locked the front and back doors, taking the keys with him as he went upstairs to bed. All too soon, the alarm rang for eight, waking him out of a peaceful sleep. With a groan, he turned the alarm off and went downstairs to check on her. He looked into the room but she wasn’t there and then he heard noises from the kitchen.

“Where in Jesus is that feckin’ key!!!” came her annoyed voice.

“Good morning to you too,” he said from the doorway.

“Oh! Morning! Vincent, where are the keys?” she said, looking up from rummaging in a drawer while keeping one had pressed against the side of her head.

“I have them.”

“Why?”

“In case you decided to leave again last night,” he said smiling at her and amazed that she wasn’t too badly hung over.

Obviously, she wasn’t 100% as her face had a slight tinge of green. She sat down at the table and rested her head in her arms. “What did I do? My head is killed.”

“What did you need the keys for?”

“I couldn’t find any aspirin so I was going out to the shop.”

“I have some upstairs. Why don’t you get some coffee going and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. Cautiously she stood up and switched on the kettle. However, in getting the coffee mugs out of the press she accidentally knocked a spoon onto the floor with a clatter. Not knowing if she should grab her head or her ears first she tried to do both, covering her head with her arms and laying it on the counter.

Vincent returned to the kitchen and took pity on her. He gave her the much longed for aspirin without teasing, as was his intention. “Always best to take this with water first,” he explained.

Frankie couldn’t even nod her head to agree but she closed her eyes and gave a small smile. He filled up another glass of water for her and she took it gratefully, swallowing two of the tablets with it. After about a minute she was able to speak again.

“I’m so sorry to be such an eejit.”

“It’s okay.”

“Hope I didn’t do anything too… too…” she struggled to find the right word.

“You’re not a bad singer.”

“Oh God – Tell me I didn’t.”

“I’m only joking. You didn’t – but you did practically start crying about Puff the Magic Dragon and how he gets left alone in his cave.”

“The Magic Dragon? What the hell…?” she asked, mortified.

“Not to mention going for a walk at five a.m.,” he finished, smiling at her.

“I’m such a fool!”

“Ah, don’t worry. It was a Christmas party and it must’ve been a good one. In fact I think your exact words were ‘the bestest everest’… or something…”

“Oh no!” she said, even more embarrassed. A sudden thought struck her, “Emm – how did I get home?”

“Someone must’ve called a taxi for you. The driver wasn’t too happy by the time he got here. Not a fan of your singing apparently.” He had just finished speaking when the phone rang, sending sharp knives of pain shooting through Frankie’s head. She clutched at her head as Vincent hurriedly grabbed the phone.

“Hello?” he asked softly.

“Fr. Vincent?”

“Yes?”

“This is Garda Clare Sweeney, Frankie’s friend,” came a hoarse voice. “We met about two weeks ago?”

“Oh Clare, right! How are you?”

“A bit iffy this morning actually. I’m ringing-”

“She’s worse than iffy.”

“Ahh – thought she might be. We had to get a taxi for her as none of us were fit to drive but Frankie was the worst. She mustn’t have eaten or something because she didn’t have that much to drink but boy, was she hammered!”

“I’ll say,” he laughed. “Do you want a word with her?”

“No, you’re fine. I just wanted to be sure she got home safe.”

“She did indeed. I’ll tell her you called.”

“That’s great. Thanks Father, bye now.”

“Bye Clare.” He hung up the phone and looked over a Frankie who still had her head buried in her arms.

“That was Clare, just making sure you were alright.”

“If you can call this alright, then I guess I am…” she trailed off.

“Give those tablets a chance to work, plus I used to find a long shower was useful.”

“I was just about to take one. You go ahead with breakfast, don’t get me anything. I don’t think I could consider eating yet.”

He smiled and assured he wasn’t even going to mention food. Frankie then left to try and regain a more human like state. She reappeared later, looking much better and dressed for work.

“Oh thanks, you were right. I feel heaps better now. I'm going to go out for a walk around to clear my head. I might come back and… eat something… later.”

“You do that. See you later.”

“’Bye!” she called and pulling on her overcoat and gloves, closed the door very gently behind her. She did one lap of the village and was coming back through the town when she saw Liam and Dónal unloading the truck.

“Hello. What are you doing?” she asked.

“Selling Christmas trees, Guard,” ventured Liam as Dónal stared at the ground.

Frankie immediately smelled a rat. Ballyk was on the boarder of a national park full of trees exactly like the ones for sale in front of her. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if these two had spent the weekend busily hacking away up in the woods.

“Do you have a licence?”

“You don’t need one to uh, sell trees… do you?” asked Dónal, praying they weren’t in trouble, again.

Frankie gave him a look and said slowly with an edge to her voice, “Why else would I ask Dónal?” She was not in form for dealing with stupidity.

“Oh… I, uh, erm, ah… Liam??”

“Yes, we do have a license as it happens,” said Liam pulling papers from his pocket.

Frankie read through the papers and was amazed to see they were all in order, plus Liam had included the papers from the tree nursery where he bought the trees. She handed them back silently to him.

Liam asked with an air of superiority, “All okay then Guard?”

“Fine Liam. Goodbye.” She nodded to the two men and continued on her way.

“Well, you could have told me we had a licence!” exploded Dónal, once she was out of hearing.

“No way – it was much more fun watching you squirm,” smiled Liam.

“What! Why would you do that to me? She must think I’m a right eejit!”

“Jaysus Dónal! Newsflash – she thinks that about half of this town, you included.”

“No she doesn’t!”

“Yes. She. Does.”

“No. She. Doesn’t.”

“Would you cop onto yourself!” Liam paused here for a moment. “Hahaha! I just got that… ‘cop’ onto yourself… hahahah!!”

“Well, I glad you think it’s so funny. How would you like it if I made a fool out of you in front of some girl?”

“Look, you haven’t a prayer alright? Not a snowball’s chance in hell. I mean, we are looking at the same woman here? That was Garda, and I emphasise Garda, Frankie Sullivan you were swooning over?”

“What about it? She’s-”

“A GUARD!” hollered Liam.

“Sushhhh! Keep it down, would ya’? She’s not gone that far!” cringed Dónal, hushing him.

“She would sooner be caught dead than even consider going out with the likes of you. And besides, she’s only got eyes for one person around here.”

Dónal didn’t know what hurt him the most. What was wrong with the ‘likes of him’ and who was the ‘one person’? Liam relented and took pity on his friend.

“Look Dónal, there’s no way she’s ever going to see you or me as anything other than trouble. We’re the two who’ll always be there when something goes wrong. I don’t know if it’s bad luck or what, but that’s the way it is. Think about it. If she’s in Fitzgerald’s who does she sit with? You, me, Edso and Paul?”

“Well, sometimes at the bar-”

“Forget ‘at the bar’! You know she doesn’t. She might sit with Siobhan or Brendan or some friends of hers from Cilldargan. Avril too, if she’s there and usually your man,” said Liam, inclining his head towards the station.

“Father Sheahan?”

“Duh, of course! She never associates with us. She’s nice and all but that’s as far as it goes. As it will ever go. Get over it.”

Dónal was crestfallen and sat forlornly beside a pile of trees. “Who did you mean?”

“Wha’?” asked Liam, pulling over a small chair to sit on.

“When you said she only has eyes for one person?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Sheahan,” he said between gritted teeth.

Dónal was shocked. “Nooooo!” he breathed.

“Hello? Where have you been these past few months?”

“He’s a priest, she wouldn’t-”

“It isn’t unheard of, you know. Especially around here.”

“Well, I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what you like. From what I can see, the feeling is mutual where he’s concerned.”

“No, no way! No – I don’t believe it!” stammered Dónal, incredulous.

Liam smiled at this. “So you’ve said.”

“Who told you about them?”

“Nobody. But I’m not blind. I can see it for myself, can’t I?”

“And you think I’m mad? You’d want to watch it Liam – saying stuff like that when you’ve no proof.”

Liam answered angrily, “You don’t want to hear it ‘cause it’s about your precious Frankie!”

“I’m not havin’ this conversation with you. I’m off,” said Dónal, getting up and heading towards Kathleen’s’ shop.

“Hey! What am I supposed to do with these bloody trees?” called Liam after him.

“Do you really want me to tell you?” he shouted back over his shoulder and walked on in a huff.

.oOo.

Siobhan and Brendan were out in Cilldargan doing some last minute Christmas shopping. By the time they left the supermarket the traffic was at a standstill and it took them half an hour just to get out of the car park.

“Do you see a Guard anywhere?” asked Siobhan, once they got onto the road.

“What? Why?”

“This damn traffic. I'm going to turn left here.”

“You can’t. It says no left turn Siobhan!”

“I know that but the coast is clear so who’s to know?” Siobhan looked around and couldn’t see any sign of a Guard so she quickly zoomed up on the left of the traffic and turned into the lane. However, half way down the lane a clever Guard had caught about three or four other traffic dodging drivers.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” said Brendan. “Get ready to part with fifty quid.”

“No, I’ll make it!” she said, doing a swift u-turn.

“You won’t make it… you won’t…” said Brendan putting his hands on the dashboard thinking the car couldn’t possibly turn on the narrow road.

With just inches to spare she managed it but she couldn’t just pull out into the traffic and she prayed some kind soul would give her an escape. A firm knock on the passenger window stopped her.

“Ohhh dear,” said Brendan looking over at her.

Siobhan saw the Guard glaring in and pointing to reverse back a bit into the lane. “Shit!” she murmured. A pedestrian walked behind the car as she was reversing casing her to brake hard. The Guard wasn’t amused and stood unwavering at the drivers window, having walked around in front of the car. Stopping, she rolled down the window.

“Hello Guard.”

“Do you know you nearly caused an accident there, trying to turn that car? The driver behind you had to jam on his brakes.”

“Err… emmm…” she winced. She never saw any driver behind her as she was so focused on turning the car.

“At least have the decency to admit you were caught rather than trying to escape.”

“I’m sorry Guard, I’m just so used to that sign has only just been put back in use in the past few days…”

“That sign has been put right and faced the correct way for this past week.”

“Well I haven’t actually been here recently, I mean err… I…”

“You just said the sign has been put back in the last few days.”

“Oh… well I meant before that like.”

The Guard took out his notebook and Siobhan felt her heart sink, knowing she’d been caught out. He walked around to the front of the car and checked the car tax and insurance. She had no qualms there as all was in order. It had to be with Frankie constantly checking in Ballyk. Returning to her side of car, he took out his pen.

“Where are you headed?”

“Ballykissangel.”

“There is no left turn onto this road.”

“I know Guard. I apologise. I am sorry.”

“You also need to be more observant.”

“I will be, again what can I say accept I’m sorry.”

“Right, on your way then. And stay out of the bus lane as you pull out.”

“I will Guard. Thank you.”

The Guard nodded and walked away. Another car was just about to turn left and Siobhan shook her head at the driver but Brendan hissed at her, looking around for the Guard.

“Sushh! Don’t antagonise the man! You got away, now get the hell out of here.”

The other driver didn’t see her hint and she saw him getting caught in her rear-view mirror. Another driver waved her onto the road ahead of him and Siobhan gratefully pulled away.

“You are SO lucky!” cried Brendan. “If that was me you can bet I’d have a fine.”

“You probably would,” she smiled at him. “What a nice young man that was.”

“Huh!” snorted Brendan and looked out the window, mimicking her. “Yes Guard. No Guard. I think you’re just wonderful Guard! Thank God she doesn’t understand what a suck up her mother is,” he said inclining his head towards Aisling.

“Why is that man wearing Garda Snuffalin’s clothies?” came her voice from the back seat.

Trying not to laugh, Brendan yet again explained the concept of other Gardaí to Aisling, who found it incomprehensible that Frankie alone wasn’t responsible for policing the entire country.

.oOo.

Continue to Chapter Seven