nostrils. Caught in the sun, the smoke had an almost mystical sheen, a lethal kind of mystical which, if inhaled passively, could still line your lungs with poison and allow you to die a horrible, pain-racked death completely free of charge several years down the line.
I reached out and shook the woman’s proffered hand and reminded myself that she was not the mother of God. And that the girl on her knee wasn’t the daughter of said supreme being.
The child was blonde as well. Blue-eyed. Perfectly Aryan. A smiler, too.
‘Hiya,’ she said.
‘Hiya,’ I replied.
‘Dan Starkey,’ said Flynn, ‘Moira McCooey and, of course, Christine.’
‘Hello,’ said the mother, stroking Christine’s hair.
‘Dan’s agreed to write the book about all this, Moira. He’s a brilliant writer.’
I hadn’t, but I was. Modest, too.
I nodded anyway. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’
Moira held her gaze steady on me. ‘I hope you won’t be crucified by the critics,’ she said lazily, her voice drawled out, tobacco-husky. She smiled up at me. ‘Relax,’ she said, ‘we don’t bite.’
I gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll be needing to have a few chats with you, if you don’t mind.’
Moira shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in a small glass ashtray. There were five or six others in it. ‘Yeah, sure, any time. Sure, why don’t you walk down the hill with us, and tell me what you’ll need?’
‘Yeah. Great. If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ Moira said.
I winked down at Christine.
Christine turned her face up to her mother. ‘He has a hedgehog,’ she said.
Moira lit another cigarette as we left the churchyard and began descending the hill towards the harbour. Christine skipped happily in front of us. Flynn remained at the church.
‘You look a little pale,’ Moira said.
I felt a little pale. Unexpected references to small spiky animals tend to do that to me. I looked up at the sky. ‘Wewriters don’t get to see much of the sun. We spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.’
‘You must work very hard.’
‘No, generally we just spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.’ Moira smiled politely. I nodded at Christine. ‘She seems a very happy wee girl.’
‘She is.’
‘Of course, she should be, seeing as how she’s the daughter of God.’
Moira stopped. ‘I thought you might be taking that line.’
‘What line?’
‘The cynical line.’
‘Who mentioned cynical?’
‘You don’t have to mention it. It’s an attitude. It’s written all over you.’
I shrugged as nonchalantly as the situation allowed. I would have to do something to combat the cynicism. It wouldn’t do my cause any good. I wanted to get on with these people. I might one day want to shamelessly exploit them for large amounts of cash.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid it tends to go with the territory. I’m trying to develop an open mind. Any help you can give me would be much appreciated. And remember, when this gets out, it won’t just be one cynic like me you’ll have to contend with – there’s millions of them out there. And that’s just in Belfast.’
Moira flicked her cigarette butt out into the road. ‘We’ll see,’ she said simply. We started walking again. ‘So what will you be wanting to know?’
‘Everything, I suppose. Everything you’re prepared to tell me. Are you prepared to tell me everything?’
‘Frank seems to trust you. I don’t see why not.’
‘Good. Much appreciated. I’m not really that bad. What about your husband, will he . . .?’
‘What husband?’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh . . . what?’
‘Oh, nothing. I . . .’
‘You just presumed.’
‘I just . . .’
‘This is the twentieth century, y’know . . .’
‘What, on Wrathlin? Are you sure?’
She smiled. ‘Okay, fair point, but . . .’
I pointed skywards. ‘You mean He’s the only . . .’
‘Mr Starkey . . .’
‘Dan . . . please.’
‘Dan . . . Christine was conceived during a time when I
I reached out and shook the woman’s proffered hand and reminded myself that she was not the mother of God. And that the girl on her knee wasn’t the daughter of said supreme being.
The child was blonde as well. Blue-eyed. Perfectly Aryan. A smiler, too.
‘Hiya,’ she said.
‘Hiya,’ I replied.
‘Dan Starkey,’ said Flynn, ‘Moira McCooey and, of course, Christine.’
‘Hello,’ said the mother, stroking Christine’s hair.
‘Dan’s agreed to write the book about all this, Moira. He’s a brilliant writer.’
I hadn’t, but I was. Modest, too.
I nodded anyway. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’
Moira held her gaze steady on me. ‘I hope you won’t be crucified by the critics,’ she said lazily, her voice drawled out, tobacco-husky. She smiled up at me. ‘Relax,’ she said, ‘we don’t bite.’
I gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll be needing to have a few chats with you, if you don’t mind.’
Moira shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in a small glass ashtray. There were five or six others in it. ‘Yeah, sure, any time. Sure, why don’t you walk down the hill with us, and tell me what you’ll need?’
‘Yeah. Great. If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ Moira said.
I winked down at Christine.
Christine turned her face up to her mother. ‘He has a hedgehog,’ she said.
Moira lit another cigarette as we left the churchyard and began descending the hill towards the harbour. Christine skipped happily in front of us. Flynn remained at the church.
‘You look a little pale,’ Moira said.
I felt a little pale. Unexpected references to small spiky animals tend to do that to me. I looked up at the sky. ‘Wewriters don’t get to see much of the sun. We spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.’
‘You must work very hard.’
‘No, generally we just spend a lot of time in darkened rooms.’ Moira smiled politely. I nodded at Christine. ‘She seems a very happy wee girl.’
‘She is.’
‘Of course, she should be, seeing as how she’s the daughter of God.’
Moira stopped. ‘I thought you might be taking that line.’
‘What line?’
‘The cynical line.’
‘Who mentioned cynical?’
‘You don’t have to mention it. It’s an attitude. It’s written all over you.’
I shrugged as nonchalantly as the situation allowed. I would have to do something to combat the cynicism. It wouldn’t do my cause any good. I wanted to get on with these people. I might one day want to shamelessly exploit them for large amounts of cash.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid it tends to go with the territory. I’m trying to develop an open mind. Any help you can give me would be much appreciated. And remember, when this gets out, it won’t just be one cynic like me you’ll have to contend with – there’s millions of them out there. And that’s just in Belfast.’
Moira flicked her cigarette butt out into the road. ‘We’ll see,’ she said simply. We started walking again. ‘So what will you be wanting to know?’
‘Everything, I suppose. Everything you’re prepared to tell me. Are you prepared to tell me everything?’
‘Frank seems to trust you. I don’t see why not.’
‘Good. Much appreciated. I’m not really that bad. What about your husband, will he . . .?’
‘What husband?’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh . . . what?’
‘Oh, nothing. I . . .’
‘You just presumed.’
‘I just . . .’
‘This is the twentieth century, y’know . . .’
‘What, on Wrathlin? Are you sure?’
She smiled. ‘Okay, fair point, but . . .’
I pointed skywards. ‘You mean He’s the only . . .’
‘Mr Starkey . . .’
‘Dan . . . please.’
‘Dan . . . Christine was conceived during a time when I
Similar Books
