The Miracle Man (38 page)

“The Virgin Mary, Father,” Dermot said quickly, before Father Burke could put down the telephone. For a few seconds there was silence on the line and then the priest said,

“What?”

“The Virgin Mary, Father. The one that appeared to Limpy McGhee last night? I’m afraid the newspapers’ll be plastering that across their front pages tomorrow, not to mention the television. You can just imagine it, can’t you? ‘Ex parish priest hoaxed by spoof virgin,’ and ‘Bishop sees cardinal in virgin crisis.’ You have my sympathies, Father, because I know how much you’ve supported the miracle theory from the beginning. Through thick and thin, in fact.”

There was a little choking cough from the parish priest before he said,

“Thank you very much for your concern, Mr McAllister, but I have no wish to discuss the subject with you.”

“Well, if you say so, Father. But it was only because I have a genuinely high regard for your integrity that I thought you deserved to know about the press conference. Get a chance to redress the balance, sort of thing. Give your side of the story, you
know? Still, in the circumstances, I can understand why – ”

“Just a minute. What press conference?”

“The one that’s being held in the hotel this afternoon at four o’clock.” Dermot had a sudden flash of inspiration. “In time to catch the evening television news and tomorrow’s first editions. We’re going to have John McGhee there and those fellas that played that horrible trick on him last night. Something has to be done, Father. I mean, if stories like that get around, it could undermine the credibility of this whole miracle thing – and make us the laughing-stock of the country. So the boys are going to say how sorry they are, that they didn’t mean any harm, and Limpy McGhee’ll forgive them and tell everybody that his vision and the miracle were absolutely genuine.”

“You’re saying – that was only a practical joke last night?”

“Well of course it was, Father. And I said to those fellas, ‘Look, boys, I like a joke as well as the next man, but you’ve gone too far this time.’ I just knew I’d have to do something about it. Somehow I felt a sense of responsibility. I don’t know why.”

“Mr McAllister, I must say, that’s a bit rich coming from a man who charges the faithful to get into the Mass Rock site to worship – not to mention some other aspects of your personal behaviour.”

Dermot gave a heavy sigh.

“Charging to get into the Mass Rock site – perhaps that was a mistake. But I’d just paid out for that field and I had to try and recoup some money from it somehow. I couldn’t put sheep back in there with people crawling all over it. I’ve been giving it some thought and I’ve been considering donating the site to the Church. In fact, it might be a good time for you to tell the Bishop, when he makes his visit. And then maybe by that time I’ll be in a position to make an announcement about Burke Hall, too.”

With a broad smile, Dermot waited in the ensuing short silence.

“Burke – Hall? What d’you mean, Mr McAllister? What is that?”

“Well, we really need a proper chapel hall, Father, especially with all these people visiting Inisbreen. So, I was considering giving a bit of land and a cash donation to start off the fundraising, so that a new hall can be built, and who better to name it after than the man who first recognised John McGhee’s experience as a miracle.”

“Burke – Hall,” the young priest replied. “I – I don’t know what to say. It’s a very nice thought, Mr McAllister. Very nice indeed.”

“A lot of people I’ve talked to say it’s no more than you deserve, Father. Anyway, we can discuss all that later. The main thing is to have a successful press conference this afternoon. But we don’t have the experience to put the religious argument, your kind of ability to get into the cut and thrust of debate with that journalist rabble. We’re only amateurs. They’d wipe the floor with us.” Dermot paused for a moment and then said,

“Inisbreen needs you, Father.”

At the other end of the line Father Burke cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice had a determined edge to it.

“Four o’clock, did you say? That doesn’t give me much time to prepare, but if I was to get onto it right away – I think I should be able to put something together. After all, the Bishop would never forgive me if I failed in my duty to put a good case for the Church and against that grubby materialism of the press.”

A little later in the morning Dermot sat leafing through the bundle of cheques from banks in London, Dublin, Belfast, Cork and Limerick and he had every reason to smile. In two weeks he had taken more money than he would in six in his
busiest period at the height of the summer. He put the cheques aside and started on the substantial pile of notes, sorting them into fifties, twenties, tens and fives before beginning to count them. You couldn’t beat cash. Most of the newspapermen had been surprised and annoyed when he told them that he didn’t accept credit cards. They seemed to think that he was under a legal obligation to do so and probably believed that if they were to wave an American Express or visa card at an Amazonian Indian in return for his services as a guide, the native would produce a sales voucher and an endorsing machine from his loincloth. The Miracle Man’s leg had certainly brought a small economic miracle to the Glens Hotel and there was every prospect of more if the crowds kept coming. The bandwagon was rolling now and there would always be enough eejits claiming they had been the subject of miracle cures to keep it on the move. Dermot squeezed the thick wad of bank notes. If the press conference went well – and Father Burke’s presence would make all the difference – if they could pass last night’s incident off as a joke, they would be in with a good chance. He smiled. If that was the case, it couldn’t have turned out better if he’d planned it himself. What was needed now, though, was some proper organisation. If entrepreneurs like himself and Frank Kilbride were to have a chance of bringing some economic prosperity to Inisbreen – and to themselves, of course – there would need to be some changes. A decent road, for a start, and a car park at the miracle site. The commercial possibilities were endless. Already he had spoken to Mrs Standish, the Summer Cook, about an idea he had had for a new dish at the hotel – Lamb McGhee – which would be a leg of lamb marinated in Bushmills whiskey, Limpy’s favourite drink. She had said that she thought it might not be in the best of taste, so to speak, but she would give it a try if that’s what he wanted. And he had thought up a dozen other ideas in the
last week, all of them potential moneyspinners. Dermot leant back in his chair and imagined a steadily growing pile of cash in his bank account.

He was in the middle of adding up a column of figures when the telephone rang. He glanced at it but kept adding. If one more guest rang up to complain about the hardness of the bed or the poor television reception, he would tell him to pack up and get the hell out of it. Who needed them? There were plenty more. He stopped counting and looked at the ringing telephone. No, that wasn’t the way to maintain a steady flow of customers, keep them happy – and relieve them of the maximum amount of cash. Lifting the receiver he said smoothly,

“Good afternoon, the Glens Hotel, how can I help you?”

“Dermot?”

He felt a little shiver of recognition tinged with excitement run down his spine.

“Agnes? Is that you, Agnes?” He found himself smiling. “God, there’s a coincidence. Would you believe it? I was just thinking of ‘phoning you. How’s Patrick and that lovely mother of yours?”

“My mother’s just fine. Look, Dermot, after what you did to me, I shouldn’t ever speak to you again. But – it’s Patrick.”

“What about Patrick? What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing’s happened to him. He’s perfectly all right, except that – well – he’s missing you – although God knows why.”

Dermot settled a little more into his chair and smiled broadly.

“Well, I could come down and see him, I suppose, but I’m run off my feet with the amount of business this miracle thing has generated. I suppose you’ve heard about it?”

“Of course I’ve heard about it. It’s been in all the papers and on tv.”

“You wouldn’t believe it. I’ve taken more money in a week
than I would in six during the summer.” He gave a little laugh. “I’m up to my knees in cheques and banknotes here. Help!”

Agnes was silent for a few moments, possibly calculating the implications of six week’s takings coming in every week.

“Indeed. And what’s this I hear about the bishop coming to the Mass Rock?”

Dermot looked surprised.

“How did you hear about that?”

“Dermot, you’re not the only person I know in Inisbreen. Is it true?”

“So I’m told. And the sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.”

“Since when did you take such an interest in Church affairs?”

Dermot laughed.

“Let’s just say that I’m tackling business with a religious fervour.”

“Oh, I might’ve known you’d have some smart answer.”

“And we’re holding a press conference at the hotel this afternoon.”

“A press conference? Why?”

“Oh, some of these reporters are starting to put the story about that the miracle wasn’t genuine. And you can imagine what that would do for business.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be too busy with that little tramp Quinn to be worrying about business.”

Dermot drew a deep breath. It was just as well he had anticipated a phone call like this. “Agnes, listen, what can I tell you about that? I realise how much it must’ve hurt you and – ”

“Have you any idea of the embarrassment I felt? The disgrace of it – and Father Burke and the others there to see the whole thing! I’ll never be able to show my face up there again.”

“Ah God no, Agnes, no. Sure, weren’t you the injured party? It’s me they’re down on. And I deserve it, God knows I do – for being naive, if nothing else. Listen, can you imagine the turmoil I’ve been through since? I swear to God, if I hadn’t had those few drinks – well, more than a few, I suppose – nothing would’ve happened. Not that anything did happen, mind you, but I tell you what, Agnes, it’s the last time I offer to help anybody with their personal problems. The little bitch. And you know what, at the heels of the hunt, it was money she was after! Wanted me to buy her a car, for God’s sake! A Porsche! Could you believe that? Jasus, the woman’s got a slate loose. And the best of it is, Agnes, it turns out – she’s as bent as a wooden half-crown! A lesbian! Mrs Megarrity found her in one of the rooms here – in bed with a female reporter! Absolutely abloodymazing. It shook me, I can tell you. So, Miss Quinn got fired out the door sharpish.” He gave a little pause, both to catch his breath and to give Agnes time to digest the facts. And then in a plaintive tone he added, “Agnes, why didn’t you ever tell me I could be such an eejit?” There was no answer from Wexford. “Look, to hell with my pride, I’ve got to say it. I need you and Patrick here to look after me, stop me making a damned fool of myself.”

“Hmph, those are probably the truest words you’ve ever spoken in your life. But you never listened to me before. Why should you start now?”

“Oh I did, Agnes. God, I did, believe me. Many’s the time I said to myself ‘Dermot, that woman’s got the wisdom of two, so she has.’ But I just didn’t let on I was listening to you. Around here a man’s got to have at least the illusion of independence. No, I need you here, Agnes, I need you here to keep me on the straight and narrow, I need you to work here beside me, I need you to – well, count the money. If business carries on like this, I won’t be able to handle it on my own. And once the extension is built, well – ”

“What extension?”

Dermot smiled to himself.

“Oh, didn’t I mention it? I’m planning on having an extension built to handle the extra business. I’m beginning to think we’re sitting on a goldmine here.” Dermot paused and then said in his huskiest voice, “I’ll make it all up to you, Agnes, if you’ll just tell me you’ll come back home.”

The line fell silent. Dermot thought he caught the sound of a sigh from the Wexford end, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I – don’t know. I’ll have to consider it. If you think I’m just walking back in there to start up where I left off – ”

“Anything you want, Agnes. Just you name it. It’s no more than you deserve. Can’t you just picture it, though? You and me in business together. Boy, would we make some team.”

“Well – just supposing I was to come back and help with the hotel – no bar work, mind you, I wouldn’t lower myself to do that – I would need to be a partner. A full partner, Dermot, with an equal say in the running of the business – and that means the whole business.”

“Agreed, Agnes. Fifty-fifty, right down the line.”

“And the place would need to be redecorated to my specification.”

There was a slight pause from Dermot.

“Done, Agnes, done. I always said you had better taste than me.”

“And that Mrs Megarrity. I want her out.”

“Well, we could certainly discuss that.” Dermot was getting the distinct feeling that he was no longer in the driving seat, or at the very least he had acquired a co-driver. Yet in some curious way he rather liked this unusual sensation.

“Not discuss it, Dermot, do it. I don’t want her on the premises.”

“Okay, it’s done, Agnes. She’s as good as gone.”

“Well, I’ll consider it.”

“Good. That’s good. So, when will you call me?”

“When I’ve considered it.”

“Fair enough. Well then, I suppose I’d better start preparing for this press conference this afternoon. Because I’ll tell you what, unless these reporters go away convinced that the miracle was genuine, you needn’t bother coming back here, because I won’t be here myself.”

The two small boys stopped at the telephone box outside the Inisbreen Stores and pressed their noses against the glass to look at the funny man inside who was waving his hands and talking to himself. Seeing them stare at him, Fergus Keane stopped in mid oration, pulled a face and shouted,

“Clear off, you little buggers!” and although they could not hear what he said, they got the message and ran off down the street waving their arms and silently acting out Fergus’s conversation with himself. In the telephone box, the ace reporter sighed and tried again.