Storm

Epilogue

The bells of St. Joseph’s pealed for early Mass.
Peter and Assumpta lay dozing in the big bed in the
apartment above the bar at Fitzgerald’s. The bright
morning sun streamed through the curtains, and Peter
awoke. For a time he watched Assumpta, until she
squinted her eyes open and caught him. She swatted at
him lazily. “Don’t look at my morning face, would
you?“
Peter leaned over and kissed her chastely, then fell
back on his pillow and stretched luxuriously.
“Let’s have a lie-in this morning. Fitzgerald’s
doesn’t open for another few hours, and I can go to
vigil Mass tonight.“
Assumpta reached over, languidly tousling Peter's
curly hair. “I suppose so. Landlady makes the
rules, right?“
Peter responded with mock petulance. “Who says
you’re in charge? I don’t know why you won’t let
me put my name on the bar. After all, you took it!“
“What, ‘Clifford’s’? Huh! It would cost a
fortune to get the sign redone, and the electrics were
just refurbished!“
Peter nuzzled Assumpta’s neck. “Now that
you’re letting me have the odd look at the accounts
books, I have a fair idea of what we can afford.“
“You’re one to talk about odd-looking!“
Peter didn’t take the bait this time, instead
looking her in the eyes, saying seriously, “It was
the best investment I ever made.“
“What, buying out Oonagh’s share in
Fitzgerald’s with your inheritance from your mother?“
“Yes, that,“ Peter agreed, gently tracing her
face with his fingers, “but I was talking about my
plane ticket from Manchester when Brendan invited me
for that Bank Holiday weekend.“
“It was worth all the dirty looks from certain
villagers, then?“
“Well, we know who are friends are now, and
you’ve gotten good at telling everyone else to go
jump in the Angel.“
Assumpta chuckled softly and touched the tip of
Peter’s nose. “Someone once told me that priests
were all theory and no practice.“
“Priests maybe, but husbands are a different
story--and anyway, you should know! You and I had
our L plates together, and we got a lot of practice in
to become fully licensed at this man-and-wife
stuff.“
Peter smiled mischievously, tickling Assumpta,
kissing her neck as she squealed. She laughed out
loud, taking a swing at him with her pillow, but Peter
caught it mid-throw and easily tossed it to the floor.
He and Assumpta continued to wrestle playfully until
finally he had her pinned by the arms, and his
expression changed. He leaned in, finding her mouth
with his, beginning a slow-burning kiss that looked to
be on its way to developing into something else when
there was a knock on the door.
Grudgingly they pulled away from each other, Peter
propping himself up on his elbows and answering, in a
half-exasperated sing-song voice, “Who is it?“
A small voice answered, “Me, Daddy!“ Peter
groaned good-naturedly, his morning fun over for now.
He and Assumpta shared one last look, then tapped
their wedding rings together, a silent “I love
you”. “Come in then!“
The three-year-old opened the door and launched
herself the few feet to the bed, all curly red hair
and billowing nightdress, welcomed by her parents with
good morning hugs and pecks on the cheek. “You
sleep well, darling?“ Assumpta asked.
“Yes, Mummy, but can I play with Aisling today?“

“Well, we’ll first have to check with Niamh. She
wanted us to go visit her family today. Okay?“
A girl of about six appeared at the door then,
lingering until she was noticed. Peter did first.
“Come on Mary, you too,“ he motioned toward the
bed, and she cheerfully climbed up with the rest.
A moment of silence, then Peter shouted, “All
change!“ and there was a happy scrum as the four
jumped around the bed. This game continued for
several minutes until, exhausted, they took a break.
As the girls nestled between their parents, the
younger one asked with her still-developing grammar,
“Daddy, tell us again the story of how you met
Mummy.“
Peter and Assumpta smiled at each other over their
girls’ heads; they’d come so far from that day, so
long ago.
Peter wrapped the little girl up in his arms and
began. “Well, Rosairie Clifford, I was walking in
the pouring rain on the road into town when a small
green van pulled up alongside me, and the beautiful
woman who was driving it rolled down her window and
asked, “Can I give you a lift? I’m going to Ballykissangel.“