Series 4, Episode 6
"Life Goes On"
FADE IN.
It's night, outside Fitzgerald's. The rain is pouring down, and the street is empty save for a lone figure hunched against the storm. We follow them into the pub where the lights are bright, and soft, popular music is playing in the background. Brendan is sitting at the bar, and he turns and brightens as the figure shakes out of her coat and we see that it's Siobhan, looking very pregnant. She hangs up her coat at the door and gives Paraig, behind the bar, a nod. Then, she awkwardly sits on the stool beside Brendan, who helps her up.
PARAIG
Tea, so?
SIOBHAN
Are you working behind the bar, now?
BRENDAN
She's in a mood.
PARAIG
Easier to do it ourselves.
He holds up two tea tins, and Siobhan chooses the Lady Grey.
SIOBHAN
She's always in a mood these days.
PARAIG
Well, she's in a foul temper tonight. She
shouted at Niamh until she cried. Of course,
Niamh seems to be crying all the time now.
Ambrose says it's because she's carrying again
but I don't remember her so weepy the first time.
BRENDAN
(nodding to Siobhan)
And she's not weepy.
SIOBHAN
(dryly)
Well, thank you very much.
BRENDAN
Breeding women do tend to be emotional.
PARAIG
Good God! You don't think Assumpta's breeding,
do you?
SIOBHAN
She's not a heifer, and neither am I!
Brendan looks at her with a soft smile, and Siobhan seems unsettled.
What?
BRENDAN
Assumpta's not pregnant. She doesn't have
your glow.
SIOBHAN
(delighted)
Oh, come now, Brendan. I don't glow. I'm
fat and ugly.
BRENDAN
You're lovely.
SIOBHAN
Brendan Kearny! What the devil has gotten
into you?
BRENDAN
(shrugging)
Can't a friend pay another friend a compliment?
SIOBHAN
If said friends are you and me, then historically,
no.
Brendan chuckles and then happily sips his pint while Paraig slowly and inconspicuously inches away from then with a smirk on his face.
BRENDAN
Oh, Siobhan, go on.
SIOBHAN
No, you go on. Just what are you up to?
BRENDAN
(leaning in to her)
Nothing. I was just remembering last Tuesday.
SIOBHAN
Oh, are you now?
BRENDAN
I am.
SIOBHAN
(grinning)
I thought you might be.
ASSUMPTA bursts out of the kitchen with a armful of clean ashtrays, and bumps into Paraig, who immediately tries to side-step her. Assumpta steps to the same side, though, and then again, and again. They both stop and Assumpta glares at him.
ASSUMPTA
Get out of my way!
She turns to see Brendan and Siobhan kissing sweetly, and she grabs one of the ashtrays as if to throw it at them, but Paraig stops her, takes the ashtray from her, and shoves her backward into the kitchen.
Let go of me! What the hell is wrong
with you?
PARAIG
I could ask the same of you! Do you have
any idea what it's taken them to get
to that point? That was real, bonafide flirting,
Assumpta.
ASSUMPTA
It looked like a lot more than that
to me.
PARAIG
Look, I know you're miserable right
now, and believe me when I tell you
I have some idea of what you're going
through, but that doesn't mean that the
rest of us have to suffer with you.
Brendan and Siobhan deserve whatever
happiness they have together. They're good
people, and they've been good friends to
you. We all have.
Assumpta steps back, and looks away, stunned and mortified by the reprimand. And hurt. And embarrassed.
PARAIG
(gentler now)
Look, I'm sorry, Assumpta. Honestly.
But, I'm tired of walking on eggshells
around you. Life goes on, Assumpta.
ASSUMPTA
Maybe for you.
PARAIG
For all of us. Life goes on.
ASSUMPTA
It's been more than a month. Not a call,
not even a post card.
PARAIG
Well, he is a priest. What did you
expect? Theygo where they're told.
ASSUMPTA
How dare you? That's it…you're barred!
PARAIG
(backing away)
Come on, Assumpta…
ASSUMPTA
I said get out! You're no longer welcome
here, so you keep your bloody
opinions to yourself, you hear!
She chases him into the bar, and then out on to the street, while he protests, and when he's gone she takes a moment and realizes what she's done.
Damn it!
She turns Brendan and Siobhan are staring at her.
What? You want to be barred, too?
SIOBHAN
Come on, Brendan. I might have a small
bottle of something in the house.
Brendan and Siobhan get up to leave, but as Siobhan puts on her coat, Brendan hangs back. He watches Assumpta with concern for a moment as she angrily clears the glasses from the bar.
BRENDAN
Assumpta-
ASSUMPTA
Oh, get out.
BRENDAN
If you want to talk.
ASSUMPTA
I don't.
BRENDAN
It might do you some good.
ASSUMPTA
No.
BRENDAN
He's coming back you know.
ASSUMPTA
Of course he's coming back!
BRENDAN
He's just got some things to work out.
ASSUMPTA
(in a low whisper)
I know.
BRENDAN
Do you?
ASSUMPTA
He could at least call.
BRENDAN
He could. It's Peter. Don't give up on him.
She gives a small nod.
Good girl. Will you be all right here?
ASSUMPTA
Fine. Go home with your girlfriend.
BRENDAN
Girlfriend, is she?
ASSUMPTA
Have you slept in your bachelor pad at all
this week? Then you've got yourself a
girlfriend.
The both smile, Assumpta's is begrudging and watery, and Brendan's is warm. He gently kisses her forehead.
BRENDAN
Do us a favor, yeah? Don't drink tonight.
ASSUMPTA
(sarcastically)
Oh, how ever will I pass the time?
BRENDAN
(with a light chuckle)
See you soon.
Brendan and Siobhan leave and Assumpta looks around her empty pub.
ASSUMPTA
Another early night.
She turns and looks toward the registration desk, and the phone. Then she braces herself against the bar.
Don't call Leo…don't call Leo...
don't call Leo…don't call Leo…
don't call Leo…
FADE OUT.
FADE IN.
The door to the pub opens and Father Chris looks in. The place is completely empty except for Assumpta sitting at the bar with a book open and a box full of receipts next to it. She's hunched over, head in her hands. He closes the door.
ASSUMPTA
(without looking at him)
We're closed.
FATHER CHRIS
(brightly)
Oh, I'm not here for a pint. I'm organizing
the refreshments for the Church's summer
festival and I was told you might donate some
concessions.
ASSUMPTA
You were told wrong.
FATHER CHRIS
Oh, I don't think so.
ASSUMPTA
I'm not donating.
FATHER CHRIS
(taking the seat next to her)
Doing your taxes? A bit early in the season
for that, isn't it?
ASSUMPTA
I said I'm not donating.
FATHER CHRIS
Oh, I heard you. Not going well, is it?
ASSUMPTA
No, it's not. I'm losing money hand
over fist. But let's get something
straight – even if I had a million pounds
to squander, I do not make donations
to the Church.
FATHER CHRIS
Hmm. Not a Catholic, are you?
ASSUMPTA
Not anymore.
FATHER CHRIS
(with a toothy smile)
That sounds like a challenge.
ASSUMPTA
Get out!
FATHER CHRIS
Is there something you'd like to talk about?
ASSUMPTA
Are you deaf?
FATHER CHRIS
(leaning playfully toward her)
Are you playing with me?
ASSUMPTA
Are you insane?
FATHER CHRIS
Are you a Gemini? I love this game. Now
you ask me a question.
ASSUMPTA
What is wrong with you?
FATHER CHRIS
Hmm…what's your favorite colour?
ASSUMPTA
Get out!
FATHER CHRIS
Not a question. Point one.
He nods to her box of receipts.
How much are you short?
Assumpta slams the book shut, puts the receipt box and calculator on top of it, and carries them in to the kitchen. She slams them all on the table, and then leans heavily against it. The door opens behind her, and when she turns the priest is standing against the door jamb, his face uncharacteristically stern.
ASSUMPTA
I said get out! You can't do this, you know.
The Church can't go everywhere it
pleases. Not anymore. This is a private
business.
FATHER CHRIS
It's not the Church you're angry at.
ASSUMPTA
Like hell it's not!
FATHER CHRIS
You've been disappointed by one man
after another. I know about your father.
ASSUMPTA
(horrified)
What?
FATHER CHRIS
It wasn't your fault you know.
ASSUMPTA
Of course it wasn't!
FATHER CHRIS
But it wasn't the Church's fault, either.
ASSUMPTA
Exactly what I'd expect a Vatican puppet
to say. Congratulations on spouting the Pontiff's
dogma so capably.
FATHER CHRIS
And now there's Peter. Another man who's
disappointed. You're worried he's not coming
back.
ASSUMPTA
(she hesitates)
Do…do you know anything about…have you
talked to Father Mac? Has he heard-
FATHER CHRIS
No.
ASSUMPTA
He won't talk to me…Father Mac. I've been
to see him about a dozen times and he won't-
FATHER CHRIS
No, he won't. Even if he could, he wouldn't.
ASSUMPTA
And you?
FATHER CHRIS
(he shrugs)
I just spout pontific dogma.
ASSUMPTA
Get out.
FATHER CHRIS
Have you tried praying, Miss Fitzgerald?
ASSUMPTA
What? You are mad.
FATHER CHRIS
You might just give it a go.
ASSUMPTA
Give it a go? You're raving. I can't ask God
to help Peter give up the Church for me.
FATHER CHRIS
You might ask Him to help Peter make
the decision that's right for him.
ASSUMPTA
And what about what's right for me?
FATHER CHRIS
Well, you have that all sorted, don't you?
Assumpta Fitzgerald needs no one's help,
isn't that right? You've got a rigid dogma of
your own, don't you?
Assumpta glares at him, and then he gives her his insane, toothy smile and leaves. She slams her fist on the table, hard enough to scatter the receipts. She cradles her hand against her chest. She looks shell-shocked and worn.
ASSUMPTA
(whispering to herself)
Don't call Leo…don't call Leo…
don't call Leo…don't…
FADE OUT.
She sits in her living room, on her couch, curled around a bottle of whiskey. Her head swims and it's difficult to think, and that's what she wants. The muddle dulls the pain, dulls everything, and she can breathe again. Breathe and drink. Drink and breathe.
She ignores the knock at the door, ignores Niamh calling her name. She'd be lousy company anyway, so she closes her eyes and imagines black velvet. And then she drinks again.
And suddenly Niamh is there, saying something, looking bothered. But Assumpta's not. Now she knows why her mother did it, now it all makes sense. The drink, the nights alone in the dark, the hating of everyone and everything, the wishing they'd all just go away…the soft heaviness that comes when the brain stops, and the feelings stop, and everything is still and cool and easy. All of it.
Niamh asks her if she's all right, and Assumpta laughs. It's odd, really, because she doesn't feel particularly happy or amused. She doesn't really feel anything, but she laughs anyway, and then chokes. Niamh takes her bottle from her. Niamh's a bitch. Assumpta wants to be left alone. She doesn't need friends. She doesn't need anyone. People just leave in the end. Niamh will leave, too. It's just a matter of time.
The kettle goes off, and the sound hurts. The curtains are opened and the light hurts. Coffee and bacon and toast, and Assumpta's stomach revolts. She doesn't make it to the loo in time. The smell on the floor makes her retch again.
Niamh says she's just like her mother, and Assumpta agrees. Niamh says enough is enough, and Assumpta agrees. Niamh says Peter will be back, and when he is, he'll be horrified by what Assumpta's let herself become. She says Peter's not dead, and it's time to stop mourning him. It's time to remember the people who care about her, the people who are still there. It's time to start living again.
But, Niamh doesn't understand. None of them do. She doesn't understand the want to call Leo – and Assumpta wants it so badly she thinks she can taste it…or, maybe that's just the bile. Where's her whiskey? Why is Niamh crying? How is she going to clean up the mess? Leo would know. Leo held her hand at her mother's funeral. Leo told her she was gorgeous while they were standing in front of the Mona Lisa. Leo helped her buy her first car and saw every performance of every play she performed at school. Leo would hold her now and brush the hair back from her hot face and tell her that everything was going to be all right, and even though she wouldn't believe him it would make her feel better. It always did.
"Don't call Leo…don't call Leo…don't call Leo…don't…"
She knows she shouldn't call him, but she can't remember why. Thinking hurts, she needs more whiskey. She needs to sleep.
Niamh says that maybe she should call Leo. And then she leaves.
Assumpta knew she would.
It was the oil pan. It was always the oil pan. Paraig unscrewed the last of the bolts and pull the pan from its slots. Yeah, there was the hole as big as his finger. Well, at least that would be an easy fix. He pushed himself out from under the car, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and calculated cost in parts and labor.
"I'm sorry."
The voice startled him, even though it was all too familiar. Paraig turned to see Assumpta standing at the end of the car, arms crossed, wearing loose jeans and a jumper that was far too large for her. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and she looked pale and tired and very hung-over.
"You were only telling the truth," she said, "and…I'm sorry."
"Erm…well…" Paraig was momentarily speechless. Assumpta Fitzgerald simply didn't apologize – and she certainly didn't apologize and mean it. Only, he was fairly sure that she just had. "It's all right. I shouldn't have opened my big-"
"No. You were right, and I was wrong. Brendan and Siobhan do deserve to be happy."
"Yeah…so. Then. I'm not barred anymore?"
"No…I'm sorry about that, too."
"Assumpta, are you…are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, and then she stepped away, turned and headed back up the street to the pub.
Paraig looked down at the oil on his hands, and then back to the woman walking away, still not sure what to make of her.
FADE IN.
A sunny afternoon. The church festival is in full swing, with kiosks and venders set up around the fair grounds, and fiddle music and children running about, parentless, and laughing and the sounds of bleating sheep. Brian, the Master of Ceremonies is on the stage announcing something or other as we PAN in on Niamh and Ambrose walking happily together, hand in hand, with little Kieran strapped to his father's back. Something catches Niamh's eye and she nudges Ambrose to look. Siobhan and Brendan are sitting on a bench under a tree eating ice cream and sharing a laugh. They look incredibly happy. Father Mac and Father Chris walk by, and nod to Niamh and Ambrose as they pass.
NIAMH
Fancy a bite?
Ambrose nods, and we CUT TO:
Interior of Fitzgerald's. The place is packed and bustling, and people are enjoying their drinks and burgers with some lively contemporary music. Assumpta is serving a table an arm load of sandwiches and chips, while Liam, behind the bar, pours drinks. Kevin comes out of the kitchen wearing an apron, and carrying a couple of plates of fish and chips, and we see through the swinging door, Donal frying up orders and looking harried.
Niamh and Ambrose work their way through the room to the bar and take seats next to Pariag, who's just finishing up his lunch and pint.
NIAMH
A couple of burgers, there, Assumpta.
Assumpta nods and disappears into the kitchen. Liam places a soda down in front of Niamh and a pint for Ambrose. Niamh nods toward the kitchen.
How's she doing?
LIAM
Hard to know. She hasn't said but two
words all day.
Paraig nods his agreement to Liam's assessment.
PARAIG
That's all I've gotten.
Assumpta comes out for a plate for Niamh and Ambrose.
NIAMH
This place is really hopping.
Everything all right, Assumpta?
ASSUMPTA
(distracted)
I'm fine.
She leaves, disappearing back into the kitchen.
LIAM
And those would be the two words.
FADE OUT.
The festival was still in full-swing, though the sun was starting to sink, and the shadows were cool and deep. Assumpta walked up the hill to the church feeling lost and cold. It stood just as it had her whole life, behind the iron bars of the fence that held it in. As a child she'd thought it beautiful, now it just reminded her of him.
She crossed her arms tighter, and told herself she was just going to sit in there for five minutes. Five minutes should be enough to exorcise him for one evening surely.
At the door she hesitated again. What was she doing? Sitting in a church to think about her never-was boyfriend? It was insane. It was sick. He had most certainly moved on with his life, and that's what she was supposed to be doing, too. Only she wasn't. She got up every morning, showered and dressed. She cleaned the pub, and then opened for lunch, and tried to answer questions put to her. It was difficult not to scare the customers, but Niamh was helpful with that. Niamh and Ambrose, really. They were manning the bar while Assumpta slipped away for a bit so that she didn't yell at the patrons for being so stupidly shallow and petty. Who the bloody hell cared if their pint didn't have a head on it? Or their chips didn't have enough salt? Or if the vinegar was off? It was vinegar. When was it ever on?
She took a deep breath and told herself to get it over with. Five minutes, and then she'd be able to sleep that night. Maybe.
The door was heavy, and she grunted as she pushed it open. It seemed to get heavier every time she visited. Everything inside was just as she remembered it. The altar, the windows and candles and holy water. She circumvented that and scurried to the back pew, careful not to look at the life-sized crucifix in the apse. The last time, for some inexplicable reason, it had reduced her to tears. Seated, she sighed. He had been there. At one point in time, he sat where she was sitting. He breathed the air she was breathing. God, she missed him so…
"Has Hell frozen over?"
Father Mac, behind her, startled her enough to gasp. He stood in his collar, staring condemningly down at her, managing a scowl at the same time.
"You're not supposed to be here," she grumbled, and then she turned her back to him. Father Chris was never in the Church in the evenings, and she usually had a couple of moments privacy. No one was supposed to know about her Churchly excursions. Especially not Father Mac.
"I've divided my duties for the time being," Father Mac said, almost conversationally. "For some reason Father O'Neill is getting a fair number of complaints. Oh, why can't we make priests like we used to?"
"Why make priests at all?"
"Why? For women like you, apparently," Father Mac bit out.
"I…I didn't ask him to love me," Assumpta shot back.
"But you didn't ask him not to, did you?"
"Have you never been in love? Do you really have no idea what it feels like?"
Father Mac purses his lips, narrows his eyes. "You find the strength to move on."
"I have."
"You'd lie to me? Here?" Father Mac challenged. "Miss Fitzgerald, I will remind you in whose house you now sit."
But he didn't need to remind her. She was painfully aware of where she was, and why. She served meals and drinks at the pub, and when everyone went home she locked the doors and went to bed and tried not to think that she'd have to go through it all in the morning again. Day after day of pretending, of moving through space, of doing what people expected of her. If she didn't brush her hair, Niamh commented. If she didn't bother with eating, Michael Ryan always seemed to know and she had to listen to yet another lecture. If a bottle was missing from her inventory, Brendan watched her with concerned eyes – and she couldn't take the concern anymore. She couldn't take the eyes.
"Everywhere I go, people stare at me. Some are curious, I suppose, but mostly they hate me. I took their priest from them. He's gone because of me. He's gone, and I just thought to sit here for five minutes of peace before I have to face them all again."
She felt Father Mac shift beside her, and she thought for one horrifying moment that he was going to take a seat next to her.
"I do know," he said. "What it feels like, I mean. It's as if a part of you dies. You're never the same person afterward. The ache eventually goes away, but the hole in your center never does." His revelation startled her all over again, sickened her. She didn't want to empathize with him – not him – but she felt the tears prickle anyway.
"You gave her up, did you? Just like a good man of the cloth."
"She gave me up. And I found the strength to move on. Just as you will."
"What if I don't want to?"
He then whispered, "I'll leave you to your peace."
She stands in her bedroom window letting the night's chill envelope her. The season's changing and the nights are getting longer, the rains have come and they threaten to drown what's left of the sun. People are drinking more, but not at her place. Brendan and Siobhan left at about seven, and Paraig shortly after, and there wasn't much point in staying open past that. Actually, there wasn't much point to opening at all, but if she hadn't Niamh would've said something and Assumpta's tired of Niamh saying something.
Niamh's right, of course. They're all right, whether they understand or not. Two month gone and not a word. He's changed his mind, moved on. He just got caught up in the moment, she thinks, just like she did. But now he's come to his senses, and it's time she did, too. She's too tired to want him anymore, and too tired to hope. She's even too tired to hate him for it. He's gone and life goes on. If only he'd not come back after that first retreat, or if only she hadn't come back after marrying Leo. They might've been happy enough in London if she hadn't seen him again. And, she might've opened that wine bar there if he'd never said he loved her, if he'd never kissed her, if he'd never talked about marriage she might've had another life with her best friend.
No. These are just the fantasies she tells herself. There never would've been a happy life with Leo in London, just like there wouldn't have been with…
She can't even think his name, and it makes her sick. She's let him do this to her. She's let herself hurt, and for what? A man? And a priest. And a liar.
Niamh rubbed her belly to sooth the kicking inside, and then she took another chip. She and Siobhan shared a plate at the bar while Brendan and Paraig shared a laugh in their usual seats. They'd both finished three pints, but Siobhan didn't seem to mind. "I'm driving," she'd said with a shrug. The chips were far more interesting.
Assumpta leaned against the wall, nursing a cup of tea, lost in thought. She didn't seem at all troubled, so Niamh let her be while she and Siobhan talked baby cots and bottles.
Assumpta looked up, though, when the door behind Niamh opened, and Niamh turned to see Enda Sullivan, complete in his alligator boots and felt hat, saunter in. And he did saunter. Niamh had been taken by that saunter once upon a time, but now he met Niamh's gaze, nodded a hello, and then turned his attention on Assumpta.
"Whisky, so," he said with a lazy smile.
She nodded and poured.
Niamh hadn't heard from Enda in a year or so, though she did occasionally see Fergal on his way to or from school. "How have things been?" she asked him.
"Oh, just so, you know?" Then he noticed Niamh's belly, and Siobhan's beside him, and his eyes rounded. "I won't ask the same."
Assumpta placed his drink in front of him and then went back to her tea.
"You're looking well," he said to Assumpta, and then he raised his glass to her before he sipped.
"Am I?"
"That you are. I was thinking of getting a spot to eat later. Care to join?"
For a moment Assumpta didn't react, and Niamh held her breath, waiting for the storm to hit. Had Enda been living under a rock for the past few months? Did he really not know what Assumpta had been going through?
"There's a Thai place in Cildargen that opened a couple of weeks ago. Reviews are so-so. Thought I'd make up my own mind. You do like Thai, don't you?"
"I like Thai," Assumpta said. "I'm not sure I like you."
"I'm not seeing anyone. Not even casually," he told her quite plainly. "It didn't work out with Aileen."
"Mm," Assumpta said, a truly non-committal grunt.
"So, how about it? We'll eat some Thai and I'll try to coax a full sentence out of you, and then I'll bring you back here where you can stand with your tea cup and watch your friends get drunk." He glanced at Niamh. "Or eat chips. Whatever. What do you say?"
Niamh smirked. He didn't have a prayer.
Assumpta sighed. "Niamh, you'll watch the bar for me, yeah?"
"What?" Niamh gasped, but Assumpta was already on her way to the coat rack and her jacket. She turned when Enda didn't follow. "You're buying. I'm not taking my purse."
"Right!" he said, hurrying over to her.
"And I won't talk if I don't feel like it, so don't get your hopes up on a fabulous conversation."
Niamh gaped as they left, and when the door shut she turned to Siobhan, who was looking just as shocked.
"Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?" Siobhan asked.
"She's going to sleep with him," Paraig said grimly. Did you see the look on her face?"
"No, she's not. It's Assumpta!" Niamh insisted.
Brendan stared at the door thoughtfully in a way that made Niamh nervous.
"She's not, is she?" she asked him.
"She's a big girl," he said. "She can make her own decisions."
"She'll be self-destructing all over the place next," Siobhan said. "Reckon we aught to do something, do you?"
Niamh nodded.
"Let her be," Brendan said. He took a long swallow of his pint. And then they sat there for a while without talking.