Slowly, he genuflected with his back to the congregation before taking his place at the altar.
Opening his arms out wide, he began:
‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. The grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.‘
‘And also with you,‘ the congregation echoed. - P77
During the sermon, his gaze followed the Stations of the Cross: Jesus taking up his cross and falling, meeting his mother, the women of Jerusalem, falling twice more before being stripped of his garments, being nailed to the crossand dying, being laid in the tomb. When the consecration was over and it came time to go up and receive Communion, Furlong stayed contrarily where he was, with his back against the wall. - P78
With a type of relief, Furlong put on his overcoat and walked down to the yard. How sweet it felt to be out, to see the river, and his breath on the air. - P81
A part of him wished it was a Monday morning, that he could just put his head down and drive on out the roads and lose himself in the mechanics of the ordinary, working week. Sundays could feel very threadbare, and raw. Why could he not relax and enjoy them like other men who took a pint or two after Mass before falling asleep at the fire with the newspaper, having eaten a plate of dinner? - P81
‘She never once regretted it,‘ he said, or said a cheap word about ye or took advantage of your mother. The wage was small but hadn‘t we a decent roof over our heads here, and never once did we go to bed hungry. I‘ve nothing only a small room here but never did I go into it to find so much as a matchbox out of place. The room I live in is as good as what I‘d own- and can‘t I get up in the middle of the night and eat my fill, if I care to. And how many can say that? - P82
They used to hire a boat and go fishing for salmon on the Barrow. So who knew whose arms his mother had fallen into? - P83
‘Ah, I‘ll not,‘ he said. ‘I‘ll head on, but thanks anyhow. Won‘t you tell them that Bill Furlong called, and wish them a happy Christmas?‘
‘I will, of course,‘ she said. ‘Many happy returns.‘
‘Many happy returns.‘ - P86
For a good half hour or more he must have sat there, going over what the woman inside had said, about the likeness, letting it stoke his mind. It took a stranger to come out with things. - P86
What most tormented him was not so much how she‘d been left in the coal shed or the stance of the Mother Superior; the worst was how the girl had been handled while he was present and how he‘d allowed that and had not asked about her baby - the one thing she had asked him to do- and how he had taken the money and left her there at the table with nothing before her and the breast milk leaking under the little cardigan and staining her blouse, and how he‘d gone, like a hypocrite, to Mass. - P87
Furlong stayed on late that night and drank two small bottles of stout and wound up asking Ned if he knew who his father was. Ned told him that his mother never did say but that many a visitor had come to the house that summer before Furlong was born; big relations of the Wilsons and friends of theirs, over from England, fine-looking people. They used to hire a boat and go fishing for salmon on the Barrow. So who knew whose arms his mother had fallen into?
‘God only knows,‘ he‘d said. ‘But didn‘t it turn out all right in the end? Didn‘t you have a decent start here, and aren‘t you getting on rightly.‘ - P83
On Christmas Eve, Furlong never felt more like not going in. For days, something hard had been gathering on his chest but he dressed, as usual, and drank a hot Beechams Powder before walking on down, to the yard. - P89
To get the best out of people, you must always treat them well, Mrs Wilson used to say. He was glad, now, that he alway stook his girls to both graveyards over Christmas, tolay a wreath against her headstone as well as his mother‘s, that he‘d taught them that much. - P89
People could be good, Furlong reminded himself, as he drove back to town; it was a matter of learning how to manage and balance the give-and-take in a way that let you get on with others as wellas your own. But as soon as the thought came to him, he knew the thought itself was privileged andwondered why he hadn‘t given the sweets and otherthings he‘d been gifted at some of the houses to theless well-off he had met in others. Always, Christmas brought out the best and the worst in people. - P91
‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown.‘ She laughed.
She was reconstituting leftovers, emptying gravy from the little steel boats into a saucepan and scraping out the mash. - P93
‘Tis no affair of mine, you understand, but you know you‘d want to watch over what you‘d say about what‘s there? Keep the enemy close, the bad dog with you and the good dog will not bite. You know yourself.‘
He looked down at the pattern of black, inter-locking rings on the brown carpet.
‘Take no offence, Bill,‘ she said, touching his sleeve. ‘Tis no business of mine, as I‘ve said, but surely you must know these nuns have a finger in every pie.‘
He stood back then and faced her. ‘Surely they‘ve only as much power as we give them, Mrs Kehoe?‘ - P94
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