“My dear girl,” exclaims Father Bob.
Curate McKenzie replaces the original cup with a full cup, without anybody appearing to notice.
“The body of Christ…”
“Nya.” Amy waves it away.
The line snakes around and up both isles to the back of the church, communion takes some time.
Amy is unsteady on her feet after the huge chug of communion wine that she had taken.
“Steady on there girl,” exclaims Lillian. She grabs Amy by the hand.
The line to the confessional was long, so Amy and Lillian drank some tea and ate biscuits at the back of the church.
“So you just tell him the sin?”
“He listens and then absolves you,” purrs Amy. “The system has an inbuilt cleansing mechanism. Everybody is happy.”
“Does it matter the depth of the depravity?”
“No, you’re always absolved, can’t leave anyone behind,” says Amy. “So the worst the better, is the general rule of thumb, you don’t want to take any chances with a bus on the high road.”
The line has nearly finished by the time Amy and Lillian return from a spliff down the back of the car park. The last person went in. Amy and Lillian waited and then squeezed into a confessional together.
The wooden door slid open. “Yes my child?”
“Bless us…” says Lillian.
“For we have sinned,” says Amy.
“My children,” questions Father Bob.
“It’s a two for one deal,” says Amy.
“The line was long,” purrs Lillian.
“Well I never,” says Father Bob.
“Do you have any sins to confess, my child, children?”
“No, none I can think of,” says Amy.
“Lorne, 1985,” Lillian whispers.
“We said we’d never speak of that.”
“It is still a sin,” says Lillian.
“And?” says Amy impatiently.
“Well, you have to confess it,” says Lillian. “Have you ever confessed it before?”
“I was drunk, we were all drunk,” says Amy, “I thought Carl was Denis, it was dark.”
“It is still a sin you should confess to your priest,” says Lillian. “You fornicated with my husband.”
There is an audible gasp from the priest on the other side of the mesh.
“We were drunk, it was a mistake,” Amy whispers.
“Confess.”
“My child…” Monsignor looks questioningly close to the mesh on his side. “Anything to confess,” he said in a, hesitant, sing-song tone.
“She screwed my Carl,” says Lillian.
Father Brown inhales audibly. “Well, how many times did you sin, my chid?”
“Just the once,” says Lillian. “With my husband.”
“Yes… okay… I’ll go with that,” says Amy.
“Well, how many times was it?” demands Lillian.
“Just the once,” Amy says meekly.
“Clearly not by your tone,” booms Lillian. “I demand to know how many times?”
“More than once,” says Amy.
“How many more times than once,” says Lillian. “I always thought it was just the once.”
“It wasn’t once.”
“My children, my children,” the Monsignor pleads.
“How many times?”
“How many times?” repeats Amy.
“Yes, how many times?” says Lillian.
“Well… it was once a week, while you did your yoga…”
“What do you mean?” demanded Lillian. “I do yoga all year round?”
“That’s about how many times it was.”
“Please! Please,” Monsignor demands.
“Fifteen hail Mary’s, for you, my child,” says Monsignor. “It seems an aberration, admittedly a repeated aberration, but it can count as the one mistake.” A small, square door opens, he hands his own set of rosaries to Amy. “All the help,” he whispers. “And you, keep a better eye on your husband.”
The sliding panel slides shut. He can be heard existing his side of the confessional quickly.
“Do you feel better?” questions Amy.
“You and Denis,” says Lillian. “Not just drunk.”
Amy exhales exasperated. “And he is no good to you now,” she says. “There is nothing he can give you now.”
“What am I to think?”
“You had a good life, you and Denis,” says Amy. “Why do you have to think about it any differently? It is all true…”
“WHAT!”
“It is all true, it all happened,” says Amy. “We humans are complicated beings.”
“That is true,” says Lillian.
“And now you have only got me,” says Amy. “Better than some deluded old bugger who doesn’t know your name.”
Lillian hesitates, she was shocked, to be sure, but where would that get her now? “Pals for life, no matter what, who’d have thought?”
“And the children,” says Amy.
“What?” says Lillian.
“We’ve got our children,” says Amy.
“Oh the joy,” says Lillian. “Ones swindling me with figures, the other is giving it a go with the law and my baby is well, he is fucking your baby.”
“Happy days,” says Amy. She takes Lillian’s arm in hers.
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