Walk the Blue Fields Read Online Free Page B

sits down.
    The groom unfolds a piece of paper and thanks everyone again, in turn, mirroring his father-in-law’s speech. The bride sits quietly, surrounded by all the men making speeches. A waitress comes round with champagne but she wants none of it. As she sits there, with her hand caressing the stem of her glass, the priest remembers something. It is a clear, resurrected memory that makes him wish he was alone.
    Applause rises when the cake comes out. The bride and groom stand and take hold of the knife. The blade is sunk deep into the bottom tier and the obligatory photograph istaken. Soon after, the cake comes back, cut up on tiny plates, dusted with sugar. Tea is poured, coffee.
    Miss Lawlor reaches out and stuffs a serviette into her handbag.
    ‘A souvenir,’ she says. ‘I must have a dozen now.’
    Again, the priest is handed the microphone. He stands up and says grace without feeling any of the words. Lately, when he has prayed, his prayers have not been answered. Where is God? he has asked. Not, what is God? He does not mind not knowing God. His faith has not faltered – that’s what’s strange – but he wishes God would show himself. All he wants is a sign. Some nights he gets down on his knees when the housekeeper is gone and the curtains are pulled tight across the windows and prays to God to show him how to be a priest.
    Everyone is asked to finish so the tables can be pushed back, the space cleared for dancing. People abandon the ballroom for the bar, the toilets, go out to the beer garden to smoke. At this point, the priest could leave. He could go up to those still sober enough to remember he said goodbye , and shake their hands. In his house, he knows a fire is set. All he has to do is go back and set a match to it. Sleep would tug at him and the day would end. But he must stay for the dance. He will stay to see the dance, then he will go.
    The music begins with a slow waltz. ‘Could I Have this Dance for the Rest of My Life?’ As the groom is leading his bride onto the floor, the hem of her dress snags on the heel of her shoe. She stoops to fix it, blushing. She has taken off the veil so the back of her neck is naked, but for the pearls. When she straightens up, Jackson takes her in his arms. Willingly she seems to go. Lights catch the diamond in her engagement ring. The white shoes follow the course her husband makes around the floor. They circle once, andonce again, and then his brother comes out with the maid of honour. He seems light on his feet. The best man may be incapable of speech, but he can dance. The groomsman follows with his bridesmaid. They seem shy, unsure of themselves , of each other. After three waltzes, the music stops and the best man asks his brother if he can dance with the bride. The groom looks at him. Lawlor is standing at the edge of the dance-floor trying to catch the groom’s eye. He will have difficulty, the priest realises, staying out of this, even though he said he must. The groom hesitates but he consents and soon the maid of honour is exchanged for the bride.
    The band picks up the pace, changing to a quickstep. The best man begins the jive. Years back, he won some type of jiving competition, and now he is determined to show his skill. He makes an arch of his arm, and the bride passes under, comes out behind him but she is not moving fast enough for his liking. He pushes the bride into a spin, but when he turns, to spin off her, his hand does not catch hers; instead it catches the string of pearls and when he spins, the string breaks.
    The priest freezes as the pearls slip off the string. He watches how they hop off the polished floor and roll in his direction. One pearl hits the skirting board, rolls back past Miss Dunne’s outstretched hand. She lets out a sigh as it rolls back towards the priest’s chair. He puts his hand down and lifts it. It is warm in his hand, warm from her. This, more than anything else in the day, startles him.
    The priest walks