The Good Priest by Gillian Galbraith

proper priest …’
    As Father Vincent remained silent, Norman slapped him hard across his cheek and, simultaneously, kicked him on the shin. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground, clutching his injured leg. Instantly, he felt a boot on his spine and then another kick, this time to his jaw. His mouth filled with blood and he almost choked on it, spluttering, finding himself spitting out one of his own teeth.
    â€˜We mean it, Father,’ said Houston, bending over and delivering his message directly into the priest’s ear. ‘There’s no place for you here. Do you understand?’
    Vincent did not answer.
    A kick to his nose followed. ‘Do you understand?’
    â€˜I heard you,’ the priest whispered, and the words were accompanied by the sharp whistling noise of his breath through the gap made by his lost tooth.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    â€˜Is that you, Dominic?’ Father Vincent asked, conscious once more of his new sibilance. In his mind’s eye he could picture the irritation on the Monsignor’s face as he realised the lateness of the hour.
    â€˜It is, yes. To whom am I speaking?’ The voice at the other end sounded blurry with sleep.
    â€˜Vincent Ross.’
    â€˜Very good, Vincent. What do you want with me?’
    â€˜I’m sorry to bother you, particularly so late, but …’ He hesitated, momentarily unable to find the words to describe his ordeal, knowing how sordid it would sound. ‘I know it’s late but … I’m in trouble. In my parish. I’m in trouble …’ The right words would not come.
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜I’ve been accused of … well, actually I’m not sure exactly what I am accused of. Having an affair – no, having sex with – one of my married female parishioners. I think that’s it … something like that.’
    â€˜It is late, yes. Very late, and I was away at a conference in Birmingham all day. I didn’t get back until after nine. Forgive me, but could this not wait until the morning? It doesn’t, to be frank, sound like an emergency.’
    A pulsating pain was building up in his lower jaw. Vincent closed his eyes, forcing himself to continue talking. ‘I’m sorry, Dominic, but it is. I don’t think that it can wait. You see, the woman’s husband, plus one of his pals, aheavy, have just been here, after me, threatening me. With the Bishop still in hospital I thought I ought to speak to someone. To you, as you …’
    â€˜Heavens above! Are you all right, Vincent? Did they hurt you?’ the Monsignor interjected, sounding startled and now fully awake.
    â€˜Yes. Well, no, I’ve lost a tooth … otherwise I’m fine. But they say I have to leave – here, I mean, leave here. And they left me in no doubt that they meant it. So I’ll have to go … for the moment at least. Until everything settles down.’
    â€˜Mother of God! They hit you? When did all of this happen?’
    Father Vincent glanced down at his watch. ‘I’m not sure. Forty minutes ago. Half an hour, maybe? I don’t know. I’ve just washed my mouth out, and then I contacted you. I wasn’t sure who to speak to, with James still being off.’
    â€˜I’ll contact the Dean right away and he’ll be with you within the next hour. Somebody will be with you, to give you some support. Will you be all right on your own until he gets there?’
    â€˜Fine, thanks, Dominic. I’ll be fine.’
    The paper tissue that he had been pressing against his mouth to staunch the bleeding had become soggy with blood. Disgusted, he threw it into the nearby bin and picked up his tumbler. His second mouthful of malt whisky went down more easily than the first, although he still did not enjoy the taste. It was as peaty and smoky as advertised, and therefore disgusting. But it would knock him out, be a good antiseptic, a good anaesthetic too,quite