Free An Angel In Australia by Tom Keneally Page A

signalling with eyes and small gestures of her hands that she would soon be well, reached for it and swallowed it at a gulp, right on top of her still active, gasping cough.
    â€˜Thanks, Rossy,’ she said in a choked voice, as serenity re-entered her eyes.
    She smiled, and Trumble gave the briefest grin of gratification.
    â€˜Kind of you, young Father Frank,’ she said at last. ‘But I don’t think it’s come to that yet. I’ve got a fair way to go, I hope. Rossy and Bert look after me well.’ She reached out and gently patted the young man’s bound hand. ‘Sinner I am, but I’m not ready for the big last confession.’
    There was an implicit wink in the way she spoke. She was not vicious, yet Darragh would not have been surprised to see her flutter her eyelids in attentive Ross Trumble’s direction. She managed with ease this company of three men, two of them rendered uneasy by the presence of the third.
    With her polite refusal, what could Darragh do, having chosen the subtle rather than the didactic line? He said gamely, ‘I wasn’t trying to imply that you needed the last rites, Mrs Flood. But every Catholic is supposed to make his Easter duty, to go toconfession and take communion before Easter. Would you like me to visit you before Easter?
    He looked at Bert. Bert must understand that an Easter confession could restore his marriage. You would expect a husband to hang on the wife’s reply to such an idea, but Bert did not seem to hang on anything or see significance in much. He remained a mildly friendly presence, and distractedly smoked his thin cigarette. His mind was not so much elsewhere, but had long moved away from here, from the triangle around the table and the priest who could amend it.
    Mrs Flood seemed to pity him in his bemusement. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you’re a nice young fellow, Father Frank. But neither of these boys here are Tykes. And I think I’m going to have to wait for them to get more used to the idea of you calling in like this. How about if I get them to give you a call if I need anything? Anything along the lines of communion, or eternal salvation. What do you say, eh?’
    She beamed, offering her small concession, having thoroughly won this encounter.
    Darragh could merely utter the official line. As much as he believed it he sounded like a cop reducing some complicated statute to plainest English. ‘I do urge you to think about doing your Easter duty, Mrs Flood. It’s a requisite placed by the Pope on all Catholics.’
    â€˜I’ll certainly think about it, Father Frank,’ she told him, but with a sudden sisterly frown which warned him not to try his luck further; not if he wanted to be welcome.
    Darragh finished his tea. To try to elicit something from the men—he was not sure what—but to try to engage them, he began to talk of the war.
    Mrs Flood explained, with a heightened colour in her cheeksfor which Darragh hoped she might not have to pay later, ‘Rossy here’s a bit of a Red, you see, Father Frank. He thinks the most important thing is the battle in Russia, because if Hitler wins, that’s the end of the revolution. But God, I have to say I’d hate it if the Nips came. I’d have to call on you then for sure, Frank.’
    Frank ?
    â€˜Well, perhaps we could meet a little earlier than that,’ said Darragh.
    He saw Bert rolling a further, conclusive cigarette, and maintaining the composure of those who survive by being beneath notice. A verandah-dweller to a T. Bert and Trumble and Mrs Flood knew it was time for him to go. Supporting his bound hand a little, Ross Trumble stood up. ‘I’ll see him out,’ he insisted.
    â€˜May I give you a blessing before I go?’ asked Frank of Mrs Flood.
    â€˜Don’t see what harm it can do.’
    Trumble averted his eyes during the small rite.
    â€˜ Benedicat vos … ’ He used the