On the Edge of the Loch: A Psychological Novel set in Ireland by Joseph Éamon Cummins Read Free Book Online

wet finger under both eyes. Five minutes passed before the room door creaked in.
    She jumped to her feet. The curate, a large, not un-handsome man in his late twenties with a coal-black mane, stood before her, expressionless.
    ‘Hello, Father.’
    The priest’s attention dropped to the child, still lost in play on the buffed linoleum.
    ‘Shh, shh, shhhh!’ His outburst silenced the room. The child ran to her mother, who struggled to lift her.
    ‘Fr Coy,’ the priest announced, yanking a chair away from the table and flopping onto it. ‘So. You’re here about the bingo.’
    ‘Oh no, Father, no. No, I want to get married, Father, here in Aranroe, in June, in St Brigid’s, to an American man.’ Her words poured out as though otherwise they might go unspoken.
    ‘An American?’ He picked a pen and a small black notebook from his inside pocket. ‘How long have you been seeing him, this American?’
    ‘We’ve been going serious since before Christmas, father, but I knew him before then but we didn’t – ’
    ‘The child?’
    ‘The child. She’s my daughter. Leonora Marie.’
    ‘So. You’re Róisín Doyle, widow?’
    ‘Oh no. No, Father, I’m not. I was never married. And the man, he’s not Catholic, Father, not at the minute, but he promised me he’ll convert over for me.’
    ‘This man: name, date of birth?’
    ‘Charles Kenneth Quin, with one n, Father, in the Quin, I mean. He’s a few years older than myself. Can’t remember right now what his date of birth is. I think it’s – ’
    ‘How older? What’s this “a few years”?’
    ‘He’s I think thirty-four now. Thirty-four or thirty-five. His father owns a big ranch, Father, in Texas, in America.
    ‘That’s it? Nothing else you know about him?’
    ‘He’s tall, and he’s nice looking.’ She stalled, almost smiling, as though drifting into her thoughts. ‘He went to college and got letters after his name. And he climbs mountains, Father; that’s why he came here the first time, in ‘58; he wanted to be the first American person to get to the top of Carrantuohill and he nearly got all the way up except that it started lashing rain and he had to come down. And he stuck the American flag up there, and we think it’s still there. He’s got one brother and no – ’
    ‘Your age?’ The priest’s eyes remained in his notebook.
    ‘Age. Twenty-two, nearly twenty-three. Charles is very well-to-do, Father. He’ll give Leonora a good home, and send her to good schools. He’ll do that. He wants to buy a hotel here. He wants to buy Claire Abbey; he has his own big apartment up there now, so we’ll be staying in St Brigid’s parish.’
    ‘Why isn’t this man with you? Or does he not think the Church is important enough?’
    ‘Ah no, no, he does, Father, he does definitely. He’s good like that, except he’s in America at the minute. He goes lots of places on business. But he comes here all the time, to the Abbey. That’s where we met, Father.’
    ‘That a fact now? So. And you believe this is a union God will bless? Meeting in a bar, a public house? Did no one teach you anything at home about the evils of drink?’
    ‘Claire Abbey? It’s a fancy hotel, Father, for rich people from America and places like that, and golfers. I’m there part-time since I was in secondary school and I’m full-time now, ever since I came home from Liverpool. It’s really posh, you should – ’
    ‘Unmarried. Female child born out of wedlock. Hid away in pagan England. And I take it this older, absentee, non-Catholic, millionaire American is the father?’
    Her body tensed.
    ‘I won’t ask again.’
    Still she said nothing.
    The priest slapped the table. ‘I asked you a question, Miss Doyle.’ He lunged his large face at her. ‘Is he, or is he not, the man responsible for this, this individual?’
    ‘Sorry. Sorry, Father, I can’t answer. Sorry.’
    ‘So, so, so. The father could be him. Or maybe any of a number of other men you’ve