Galway Confidential

15

New measures had the pubs closing at eight. Totally useless as that was the time people headed to the pubs. The hospitals were fighting for their very survival as the new strain, Omicron, took hold. Despair was the prevalent mood of the country.

Christmas came, a very muted affair. I kept my head down, drank quietly, and tried not to think of all the people I had lost. New Year came in with a whimper and nothing on the horizon inspired any joy.

The Serbian tennis ace Djokovic was not allowed into Australia for the Tennis Open as he was not vaccinated; he claimed special dispensation but couldn’t produce the documentation to prove it.

I was reading about the guilty verdict on Ghislaine Maxwell when my doorbell went. I opened it to Father Pat, did a quick calculation in my head, and yeah, figured he had lasted the rehab course. I said,

“Come in.”

He looked fit and healthy, dressed in casual jeans and trainers.

“Sit down. Can I get you something to, um... maybe coffee or...?”

He gave a broad smile, said,

“No need to be careful about mentioning Jameson, I’m in a whole different space now, but a coffee would be good.”

Got that squared away and said,

“So, the treatment worked.”

Another big smile.

“I won’t lie to you, Jack, it was harsh in the beginning, but after a few weeks, I accepted the fact I’m an alcoholic.”

Do you congratulate someone for this or go,

Uh-huh.

I went with that.

He said,

“If you ever feel the need to change your own life path, Jack, I’m here for you.”

Fuck.

I was saved from answering by a knock on the door, opened it to Sheila Winston and, I shit you not, she was carrying a bottle of Jameson. She said,

“Happy New Year.”

Then she saw Pat, whose eyes were glued to the bottle of hooch. I waved her in.

“Pat, you met Sheila Winston, an ex-nun. I don’t where you guys stand on the whole deserting ship thing, but she seems harmless.”

Pat stood up; as handshakes were no longer used, he tried that awkward elbow greeting, it just looks wrong. I asked,

“So why are you bringing me gifts?”

She placed the bottle on the coffee table, about a millimeter from Pat.

“Jack, I don’t know how you did it but there have been no further attacks.”

I didn’t want to spoil her moment but knew that another attack would surely come.

Pat picked up the bottle and cracked the seal, sniffed deep, said,

“Don’t fret, Jack, I’m only smelling it. Not a chance of me actually drinking it.”

I said,

“Seems like tempting fate.”

He gave a hollow laugh.

“But let me pour you guys a tipple, no reason for ye to go without.”

In unison, we both near screamed,

“No.”

A strange expression crossed his face. He said,

“Well, shame to waste it.”

And—

Drank.

There was a silence in the room, as if someone had just died, and in a fashion, someone just did.

Pat put the cap back on the bottle.

“See, I don’t need any more. I can take it or leave it.”

I moved and swiped the bottle off the table, said,

“You ejit, you’ll be licking it off the floor before the day is done.”

Sheila tried to intervene.

“That’s a little harsh, Jack.”

I rounded on her, snarled,

“Harsh? I’ll tell you what’s harsh, the complete and utter devastation that sip will wreak on his life.”

Pat laughed nervously, said,

“You’re one to talk, you’re still around despite worse drinking than I did.”

I took a deep breath.

“I was raised rough, lived rough, and sometimes I know when to back off the booze; if you live to be fifty, which I doubt, you’ll never survive the mental disintegration coming down the pike.”

He stood up.

“Well, I better be going. I have to meet the Bishop to see if I’m to be reassigned to a parish.”

I said,

“Eat a lot of mints and try not to share your thoughts on alcohol.”

He said goodbye to Sheila and to me.

“You’ll see, Jack, I’ll be fine.”

I said,

“You’ll be a lot of things but fine isn’t going to be one of them.”

After Pat had left, still defiant, and defiance is the outstanding characteristic of the alcoholic, Sheila said,

“Maybe he’ll be all right.”

“He won’t.”

She seemed lost for a way back into the conversation, terse as it was.

“Mother Superior was impressed by you.”

I gave her the long look — you’re kidding, right?

And I asked,

“What impressed her?”

Sheila didn’t have to flounder, came right back with,

“Your honesty.”

That was a first. I’ve been called most things and few of them in the virtue column, so I gave a tight smile, tried,

“I liked her, too, she’s feisty.”

Sheila gave a warm smile.

“You’re welcome in the convent anytime.”

“You have to impress upon the nuns to walk in pairs, this guy is not finished.”

She prepared to leave, touched my arm.

“You be careful, Jack.”

I said,

“I will.”

Then added,

“Honest.”