The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne

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‘Some chance. Kids nowadays don’t care.’

They crossed the street as the light flashed green. He took her arm as they stepped off the pavement. She did not reject his aid.

‘O, children of the present generation are awfully thoughtless. Even here in Ireland. Friends of mine, the O’Neills …’

‘Same thing here,’ he interrupted. ‘Come back to settle down and you can’t even get respect from the likes of Bernie.’

‘So you’re planning to stay here?’

‘Maybe. I got a couple of deals cooking. I might go to the West Indies, I hear there’s a lot of possibilities there. Depends. Or I might go into business in Dublin. If I had a partner.’

I wonder if he’s old? Over fifty certainly. Maybe younger. But big, well-preserved, a man full of life and vigour. Did he retire, I wonder, or was it the accident to his leg? They don’t retire early in the hotel trade, remember Mr Bunting that was the manager of the Arcady hotel in Dublin, seventy, if he was a day.

‘Did you have a lot of running about to do in your job? In hotel work, I mean? It must have been a terrible strain.’

‘No, it was okay.’ He did not elaborate. He did not speak again until they reached the church and then only to ask if she preferred to sit up at the front. They made the Sign of the Cross together and his fingers brushed against hers in the Holy Water font. Then they walked up the aisle and he stood aside to let her pass into the pew before him. The seat he had chosen was directly under the pulpit. Before he knelt down, Mr Madden took a clean white handkerchief out of his trousers pocket and spread it on the dusty board to protect the knees of his trousers. He found his large brown rosary, wrapped it around his knuckles, and placed himself in an attitude of prayer.

But he did not pray. He thought: I wonder would she tell it in confession? When May said she ran off to early Mass this morning, maybe it was to tell the priest on both of us, he could phone back to the house and raise hell, a child, May said, Christ, some child, I should have left her alone, none of my business. Pulled the blanket off her, he said. Ah, the priest couldn’t do a thing like that, secrets of the confessional. And she’s a scared kid, little roundheels, couldn’t have much religion, just ran out because she was scared to face me at breakfast. Ah, don’t worry, you’re okay, here in church with Miss Hearne, a fine woman, a lady, a pleasure to talk to her it is. But if she knew about me, Miss Hearne, if she knew about last night – ahh, I’m no good, drinking like that, pulling at that kid, but she was old enough though, what a build. Christ – I mean, Blessed Jesus Christ – why did I think that right in the church, an impure and filthy thought right in God’s house. O my God I am heartily sorry that I have offended Thee and because Thou are so good, I will not sin again. Not a mortal sin, no, I never, only tried to break it up, teach her a lesson, didn’t do a thing. Act of contrition, that’s absolution, couldn’t go to confession today anyway. Sunday, no confessions heard, if I die tonight, be in the state of grace. Say a rosary now, show my good intentions. Forget all that dirty thoughts stuff.