Father Riordan had always liked young Michael Flynn. He thought of him as a kind-hearted lad. Considering the fact that he had been brought up by that Hannah, a woman who had the face of an angel and the personality of a Doberman pinscher, he thought the lad had turned out very well. He was delighted to be performing the wedding ceremony for young Flynn and his lovely fiancée Josephine Callahan. He thought they made a wonderful pair.
Oh, he had heard the gossip, of course. Michael Flynn worked for the Costellos, both of whom were regular churchgoers and men who were generous to a fault. Father Riordan had only to mention the missions and they were putting their hands into their pockets. He wouldn’t mind a few more like the Costellos in his parish, if he was to be brutally honest, as long as he didn’t know too much about what they got up to. They were like so many of the second-generation Irishmen – they did what they needed to feed their families, and who could blame them? It was a hard world, all right; he knew that himself.
‘So, Michael, are you excited about the big day?’
Michael grinned happily. ‘I can’t wait, Father. It can’t come round quick enough for me.’
Father Riordan was thrilled at the lad’s devotion; so few wanted the church ceremony these days. When he looked around the church on a Sunday he nearly fainted at the sight of the young girls, dressed like whores, with no bras, thick black eyeliner and faces liked a smacked arse because they had been dragged to the service by their parents. Parents who were as bewildered as he was by this new generation. It wasn’t Ireland, that was for sure.
‘Well, not long now, Michael, and Josephine will not only share your name, but she will share the rest of your life with you. The sacrament of marriage is a serious event in anyone’s life. It’s pledging your love and your allegiance to each other in the eyes of the Lord God Himself.’
Michael bowed his head. ‘That’s the plan, Father. She is everything to me.’
As they sat side by side in the church, Michael felt a peace settle over him. He loved the church and the solitude that it afforded him. He had often come here as a child to sit and think. For him there was nowhere else in the world where a body could be so utterly alone as in a Catholic church.
He was a believer, of course, in his own way. He had a deep respect for his religion, and he knew that it was something that would always be a part of his life, even if there were a lot of the teachings he couldn’t help question. That was just part of growing up; all in all, he still needed the stability it afforded him.
Josephine shared his beliefs and it was something they would pass on to their children. It was important that they learn that they were a part of something so big and powerful, that would be with them for their entire lives.
‘You ready to make your confession, Michael?’
‘Yes, Father, of course.’
Michael knew he had to make a good Act of Contrition before his marriage. He wanted to be able to take Communion on his wedding day without any blemish on his soul whatsoever. A Catholic marriage was a blessed sacrament. There would be no divorce; his marriage was for life and for the life thereafter. Michael knew how serious it was.
Father Riordan wished with all his heart that he had more young men like Michael Flynn in his parish. Decent young Catholics were getting rarer by the year.
‘Come on, then.’
Michael followed the priest into the confessional box. He knelt down immediately, appreciating the softness of the leather beneath his knees. It was quite dark inside. He knew that the priest was now his conduit to the Lord Himself, and it was something he had never taken lightly. This was so powerful a thing that even the laws of the land had no authority in the confessional box. Whatever he told the priest could never be repeated and, as long as he was truly repentant, his sins would be forgiven and his soul would be once more without blemish.
He blessed himself quickly, wanting to get this over as soon as possible. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been over two years since my last confession.’