Free Collected Short Stories by Michael McLaverty Page B

hand cupped to one ear, because he was discreetly deaf, the bishop listened with controlled amusement.
    â€˜Well, my Lord,’ Father O’Loan concluded, ‘that’s the cleft stick I’m wedged in.’
    â€˜Well, well,’ the bishop said slowly. ‘Most unusual circumstances. But lift up your heart. For the good of Father Doyle’s health and for your peace of mind a change is clearly indicated. You’ll be pleased to hear that I am appointing Father Doyle chaplain to the Poor Clare Convent here in the city. He can live with his mother until his health is built up.’
    â€˜But Mary Carroll, my lord?’
    â€˜She comes into the picture too. I am transferring Father Brannigan from Lower Mourne to take his place. He has a faithful housekeeper by all accounts; she is a native, I believe, of your own parish and I’m sure she’ll be glad to be amongst her own people again.’
    â€˜But my lord, that Mary Carroll one is still in residence.’
    â€˜Mary Carroll’s services, as far as we are concerned, are terminated. You’ll find she’ll plague you no longer.’ He looked at Father O’Loan with a knowing smile. ‘Where you have two women quarrelling at the one sink and quarrelling over the one bed things should end in our favour.’
    The following morning early Father Doyle’s furniture was on the move again – this time to be put in storage in the city. In the afternoon Father Doyle left for his mother’s house in the city. He didn’t see Mary before he left for she had suddenly turned religious and was up in the chapel saying her prayers. He had already paid her a fortnight’s wages in advance and so he could set off with a free heart and leave her to Liza, the new housekeeper to deal with.
    They had their first meeting in the kitchen when Mary was seated at the table taking tea and a boiled egg. Without a word Liza took command. She raked the stove vigorously, filled the kettle, and in a firm quick voice told Mary to hurry or she’d miss her bus.
    â€˜I like it here and I’m not going on no bus,’ Mary said.
    â€˜I like it here also for I was born and bred here and I’m glad to be back as Father Brannigan’s housekeeper. Your duties are ended here and it would be better for you to go to Nazareth House in the city and stay there till work turns up.’
    â€˜I’m going to no Nazareth House. I’m independent.’
    â€˜I’m glad to hear it and would dearly like to believe it.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘You’ve exactly fifteen minutes to get ready. Your case is in my room and I’ll fetch it for you.’
    â€˜You’ll lay no hand on my case.’
    â€˜I’ll stand no more of your oul guff! Take yourself off quietly before I ring for the police.’
    â€˜This is Father Doyle’s kitchen.’
    â€˜It was Father Doyle’s but he has gone off to live with his mother and sister. The kitchen is now Father Brannigan’s and mine, and I must hurry and get the place in order for his arrival.’ She folded her arms and looked out the window at three people standing at the bus stop. ‘The bus will be along any minute now. If you miss it you’ll have to hoof it – them’s my last words to you,’ and lifting the brush she began to sweep the kitchen, watching Mary out of the corner of her eye.
    Suddenly Mary pushed back her chair from the table, squeezed the eggshell in her fist and threw the bits into the fire. She left the kitchen, and in a few minutes Liza heard her pounding across the room above her head.
    Liza looked out of the window again. The three people had increased to five.
    â€˜Miss Carroll, Miss Carroll,’ she shouted up the stairs, ‘hurry like a good woman, the bus will be along any time now.’
    Mary came downstairs with her case tied with loops of string. She sniffed as if she had a cold, and without a