Trauma (30 page)

Jean O'Donnell was not weeping. She stood beside Joe, who looked red eyed and vulnerable but she herself remained quite composed. Lafferty sneaked a look at her and saw that her eyes were cold. She was being sustained by bitterness. At that moment he would have given a lot to see tears run down her cheeks.

'We are gathered here today to give thanks for the life of Mary O'Donnell . . .'

Lafferty operated on auto pilot until the first hymn took the pressure off him for a couple of minutes. When it ended, the sobbing in the church had become widespread. Several of the men were now holding handkerchiefs to their faces. Only Jean O'Donnell remained cool and composed. Lafferty felt himself become mesmerised by her. As the last chord of the organ faded away he decided it was time to throw himself on her mercy.

'As your priest it is my job to explain things to you when they might not be obvious in themselves,' he began. 'Today you look to me to explain why a young life, that of Mary O'Donnell, has been taken away in the manner it was and I have to say to you that I cannot.'

Some of the sobbing died down as surprise took over. A murmur ran round the chapel. Lafferty met Jean O'Donnell's eyes and thought he saw a slight reaction there. 'I have to confess to you that I have no idea why God took Mary's life. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I, like you, will have to hope that there was a reason, a good reason, something perhaps that we might not be able to understand, but a reason nonetheless. The only comforting thought I can offer you is that there are lots of things in the universe that we in this life cannot understand. It would be arrogant of us to pretend otherwise although we constantly do. It seems to be in our nature. Having said that, I feel I have to offer you my apologies for not being able to do better. You must have expected better, I'm sure. I have failed you and I am truly sorry.'

Jean O'Donnell had been looking at the floor while Lafferty spoke. When he stopped she raised her head slowly and met his gaze. Her eyes softened and she gave him a slight smile and a nod. Lafferty felt relief flood through him like a warm glow. He smiled back and continued with the service.

Lafferty travelled in the first car behind the hearse along with the O'Donnells. He and Jean did not say much but he knew that it was all right between them again. Joe had not proved to be the problem he feared he might and had seemed well comforted with his deliberate references to 'Mary's loving father'. He was sobbing slightly as he sat with his arm round Jean but Lafferty thought that was a good sign. Tears were such a wonderful safety valve. It was a pity that men could not use them more often.

As the hearse turned in through the gates of the crematorium, Lafferty turned to Jean and whispered, 'I'll make it as brief as I possibly can.'

Jean nodded and Lafferty got out first to hurry into the chapel to see that everything was ready. It was. There was a faint aura of perfume left by the mourners from previous funeral party but the chapel had been cleared and the pall bearers had positioned Mary's coffin expertly over the hydraulic lift so that it would be clear to sink down through the floor at the right moment without impediment. For the moment it was covered with a purple cloth trimmed with gold. It was worn in places through constant daily use. It was almost worn through where it draped over the corners of the coffin. Its only function was to cover the hole left in the floor when the coffin sank down for disposal in the ovens.

Lafferty said a last few words and raised his hand in blessing. There was a slight whine as an electric motor primed the hoist and the purple cloth started to sink to the floor. Lafferty watched it and paled as an awful thought came into his head.
Was Mary O’Donnell actually in the coffin?

Mary had died in HTU like Simon Main. Lafferty found himself breathing deeply as if on the verge of a panic attack. This was ridiculous, he told himself but it was no use. He couldn't get the idea out of his head. Quite suddenly he snapped shut his prayer book and, without saying anything to anyone, he hurried out of the chapel and looked around for an attendant. He saw one talking to one of the drivers of the official cars and rushed over to ask him where the furnace room was.

The puzzled man stubbed out his cigarette with his foot and pointed him in the right direction saying, 'There's a flight of steps behind these bushes.'

Lafferty gathered up his vestments and broke into a run.

The steps leading down to the furnace area were dangerously worn and wet. Their location in perpetual shade meant that they were covered in green moss and he almost lost his footing as he hurried down them. The experience made him slow down and think ahead. How was he going to handle this? He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, with his hands resting on the old wooden door at the foot of the steps. But there was no time! The coffin must be in the furnace room by now! There was no time to think up some convincing excuse if he was to see for himself that all was well. He turned the handle of the door.

It was warm in the corridor as he hurried towards where he could hear voices. He could also hear the clang of metal and in his mind he saw a furnace door being shut. Was he too late? Had the coffin already been consigned to the fire? He turned into the room to find two startled attendants.

'Has the O'Donnell coffin gone in yet?' he asked.

The two men didn't ask who Lafferty was. They noted his vestments and said, 'Not yet Father, is there a problem?'

'Where is it please?'

One of the men pointed to a small room to Lafferty's left. He looked in and saw this was where the hoist ended up. He could see the trap door in the ceiling leading up to the chapel. On the floor, to one side was Mary O'Donnell's coffin.

'I need to open it,' said Lafferty.

The men looked at each other and looked bemused. 'What's going on?'

Lafferty's head was spinning. He couldn't tell the men that he wanted to check that there was a body inside because of the chain reaction he would set off if there wasn't! He couldn't expect the attendants to keep quiet about it and what this might do to Joe and Jean O'Donnell was beyond imagination. 'I made a promise to this young girl,' he lied.

'A promise Father?' asked one of the men unsurely.

'I promised her that I would see that she had a crucifix in her hand when she was put in her coffin.' Lafferty was not facing the men; he had his back to them; he was staring at the coffin. He screwed his eyes shut at the weakness of his improvised excuse. He could hear the organ playing in the chapel above.

'I thought she was killed outright Father?' said the man who did all the talking.

Lafferty screwed his eyes shut tighter. 'No,' he lied. 'She came round briefly at the hospital. I spoke to her.' It was always the way, he thought. You tell one lie and before you know it you're in real trouble.

'I see,' said the man. 'Well, in that case . . . I suppose . . .'

'Thank you,' said Lafferty taking a breath and turning round. 'It won't take long. Do you have a screwdriver?'

The attendant who had not said anything fetched one and handed it to Lafferty. He seemed as if he was about to watch the proceedings as did the other man. Lafferty said, 'I wonder if I could do this in private, gentlemen, out of respect for the poor girl?'

The men mumbled their agreement and withdrew from the room. Lafferty closed the door slightly so that they couldn't see in easily from outside and started to undo the screws securing the lid. Even when all of them were removed the lid remained securely in place. Lafferty whose pulse rate was now topping one hundred and thirty, cursed under his breath. He could see that the problem lay in the varnish acting as glue. It must have been soft when the lid had been screwed down. He inserted the flat blade of the screwdriver between the lid and the casket and rammed it in with the palm of his hand. He had to repeat this at intervals along the side until he felt the lid become free. He paused for a moment, whispering, 'Forgive me Mary,' under his breath before pushing the lid aside. There was no body inside.

Despite his suspicion that this might be the case, it still came as a shock. He stared at what did lie inside, several plastic bags filled with some kind of fluid to provide weight. He picked up one and held it in the palms of his hands while he wondered what to do next. One of the men coughing outside reminded him that he didn't have much time. He had to make a decision and he made it.

Lafferty replaced the plastic weight and positioned the lid back on the coffin. He replaced the screws quickly and stood up to compose himself for a moment before stepping outside and saying to the attendants, 'All done chaps. Thank you.'

'Right Father, we'll get on with it then.'

Lafferty watched as the two men brought Mary O'Donnell's coffin out of the side room and placed it on a roller topped trolley in front of the oven door. He drew back a little when it was opened and a blast of hot air swept past him. The coffin was manoeuvred into position and slid inside. The gas was turned up and the door closed.

'Thank you gentlemen,' said Lafferty. 'I'm obliged to you.'

Most of the mourners from the O'Donnell funeral had already left when Lafferty returned to the parking area outside the chapel. The next funeral was already under way and he could hear the sound of the twenty third psalm drifting out into the cold damp air yet again. Jean and Joe had not yet left. It was clear that Jean had been holding up matters to wait for him. The driver of the car was looking at his watch.

'Sorry about that Jean,' said Lafferty as he joined the O'Donnells.

'Is something the matter Father?' asked Jean.

Lafferty looked her in the eye and said, 'No Jean, nothing at all, just a technicality.' Lying was getting easier by the minute, he noted.

Jean O'Donnell looked doubtful but the moment passed and she said, 'You'll come back to the house?'

'Of course,' said Lafferty, ushering Jean into the car.

It was two in the afternoon when Lafferty got back to St Xavier's. Mrs Grogan asked him if he had had his lunch.

Lafferty said that he had, comforting himself with the thought that it wasn't another lie. He felt that boiled ham sandwiches at the O'Donnell's flat could technically qualify as 'lunch'.

'You made your own bed this morning Father. Is there something wrong with the way I do it?' asked Mrs Grogan.

'I didn't make it Mrs Grogan,' replied Lafferty. 'I didn't go to bed last night.' He said it flatly and without further explanation. He had too much on his mind to concern himself at the moment with Mrs Grogan's paranoia.

'I see Father,' said Mrs Grogan primly.

Lafferty looked at her without smiling and said, 'No you don't, Mrs Grogan. You most definitely don't.'

Lafferty shut himself away in his study and poured himself a drink. He felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights of some heavy on-coming vehicle. He desperately wanted to go to the police and hand everything over to them. God! that would be so good. He could be free of the whole nightmare in one fell swoop. But he couldn't. He had to think of what it would do to John Main and the O'Donnells. Neither Main nor the O'Donnell family could cope with the stress of his awful secret being made public. Besides, by allowing Mary O'Donnell's coffin to be burned he had destroyed the evidence that it was empty. He picked up the phone and called the hospital; he asked to speak to Sarah Lasseter. He was told that Sarah was not on duty.

'When will she be on duty?'

Dr Lasseter is due on at six. May I say who's calling?'

'Father Lafferty.'

'Very good Father, I'll tell her.'

More waiting, thought Lafferty as he drained his glass. He couldn't face being trapped indoors until six. He had to seek distraction in doing something, something that demanded physical effort, something that would make him hurt, take his mind off the 'problem'. It had been at least two years since he had last gone for a run. It had been at a time when running for charity had been much in vogue and he had felt obliged to join a group of younger members of the local churches in running for 'the world'. As it turned out, he had enjoyed the training runs and even taking part in the final event - a half marathon. He had hoped to keep up his running but like so many other things, the notion had faded as other matters made demands on his time. He tried to think where the kit he had bought at the time might be. In the end, he asked Mrs Grogan.

'Track suit?' she exclaimed as if it had been 'suspender belt'.

'A Navy blue one with a green flash down the trousers as I remember,' said Lafferty, slightly irked that the notion of him going for a run should provoke such astonishment.

Mrs Grogan shook her head slowly then her face lit up as she remembered. 'Oh yes, I know,' she said. 'I'll get it.'

'Just tell me,' said Lafferty but it was too late. Mrs Grogan had rushed off. He shook his head. Was it his imagination or was Mrs Grogan getting on his nerves more than usual? He concluded that she probably was but this was a more a reflection of his own state of mind rather than any change in her. His nerves were strung to breaking point.