“Thank you, Ron, for this.”
Ron makes a “don’t mention it” gesture with his hands.
“Was there a note, Father Mackie?” asks Chris.
“No note. I raised the alarm—quietly, of course; this wasn’t a scene for all to see. I woke Sister Mary, and she told me the story, really.”
“The story?” asks Donna.
Matthew nods to himself, and Elizabeth takes the reins for a moment.
“Maggie was pregnant.”
“Bugger me,” says Ron. Matthew looks up and continues his tale.
“She’d confided in someone, another of the young nuns. I never found out who. Maggie must have trusted her, whoever she was, but that was a mistake. The nun told Sister Mary, and then, about six, after prayers, Sister Mary called Maggie to her room. Sister Mary didn’t tell me what was said, but I can guess, and that was Maggie packed and on her way. She was to stay one last night and be collected in the morning, straight back to Ireland. I’d have lit my candle around seven, I suppose. Maggie went back to the dorms, maybe right here where we’re sitting. She knew how to slip out, of course, so she slipped out. But that night she didn’t come to me. She came to the chapel, and she slipped a noose around her neck. And she took her life, and the life of our child.”
Matthew looks up at the six other people in the room.
“And that’s my story. So you see, it wasn’t fine, was it, now? And nothing was ever fine again.”
“So how is she buried up on the hill?” asks Ron.
“That was the deal I made,” says Mackie. “I was to leave, which I did, not a word to a soul. Back to Ireland; they found me a job in Kildare, at a teaching hospital. All records destroyed, new records made—the Church coulddo what it wanted back then. They wanted me out of the way, no trouble, no scandal. Not a soul but me and Sister Mary saw the body hanging. Whatever story they told in the end, I’ve no idea, but it wasn’t the story of a priest and a baby and a suicide. And in return I asked that they allow her to be buried in the Garden of Eternal Rest. She wouldn’t have wanted to go home, and Saint Michael’s was the only other place Maggie knew.”
“And Sister Mary agreed?” asks Donna.
“It looked better for her too. There would have been questions otherwise. Me leaving suddenly, Maggie sent away for burial, people would have strung two and two together. So we made the deal, and the next morning, the car that was coming to pick up Maggie picked me up instead, and we drove through the day to Holyhead. I went back home, and that’s where I stayed until I heard that Sister Mary had died. She’s up there in the graveyard too, you’ll see the cherubs on her headstone. The day I heard the news, I walked out of my job, I packed a case, and I came back to stay. As near as I could to Maggie.”
“And that’s why you did everything you could to stop the bodies being moved?”
“It was the only thing I could do for her. To find her some final peace. You’ve all been up there, you understand. It was all I had, to say sorry and to say, ‘I still love you.’ Somewhere so beautiful, for the only love I ever knew, and for our baby boy. Or baby girl, but it’s a boy I’ve always carried in my heart. I called him Patrick, which is silly, I know.”
“Without being indelicate, Father,” says Chris, “I would say that gives you an extraordinary motive for killing Ian Ventham.”
“It’s not a day for being delicate. But I didn’t do it. Can you imagine Maggie ever forgiving me if I’d killed Mr. Ventham? You didn’t know her, but she’d a temper on her when she wanted. Every step, I did what Maggie would have wanted, and what would have made Patrick proud. I fought in all the ways I knew how, but one day I’ll see Maggie again, and I’ll meet my little boy, and I intend to do that with a pure heart.”
101.
Do you like Pilates?” asks Ibrahim.
“I couldn’t tell you,” says Gordon Playfair. “What is it?”
His tour of Coopers Chase finished, Gordon is sitting with Ibrahim, Elizabeth, and Joyce on Ibrahim’s balcony. Ibrahim has a brandy, Elizabeth a G&T, and Gordon a beer. Ibrahim keeps them in the fridge for Ron, although Ron seems to be drinking wine these days.
Chris and Donna have returned to Fairhaven. Before they left, Chris had told them a little about Cyprus, and about Johnny’s connections. He was pretty sure they had identified their man.
Donna was clearly still angry at them, but she would get over it. The sun is setting, and the day is winding down.
Matthew Mackie has gone home to Bexhill, and to the two candles he keeps lit at all times. Joyce has promised to come down and visit him; she loves Bexhill.
“It is the art of controlled movement,” says Ibrahim.
“Hmmm,” says Gordon, considering this. “Is there darts?”
“There is snooker,” says Ibrahim.
Gordon nods. “That’s near enough.”
