Finn stayed until, soothed by prayer, his old friend drifted off to sleep.
‘He has lucid moments,’ Jerome told Finn as they walked through the cloisters that evening. ‘But you can never predict them.’ He studied Finn’s face. ‘I’m not sure what we can do for you, though, Finbar. You’re welcome to stay for a few days, but you may be putting off the inevitable.’
Finn shook his head. ‘I feel safe here. I ran away, I guess. Just like last time.’
‘Not just like last time,’ Jerome responded thoughtfully. ‘I can sense that you’re stronger now. How do you account for that?’
‘I’m not sure. I do keep the Silence after my own fashion. That helps.’ His eyes slid away. ‘I also found my daughter— actually, she found me.’
‘Daughter? You’ve never mentioned a daughter.’
Finn smiled wryly. ‘It’s a long story, Father. She turned up on my doorstep a few months ago.’ He chose his next words carefully. ‘I’m not sure I’m . . . father material, but she—she’s a good person.’
Jerome nodded. ‘You’re lucky to have found family, Finn. It must make your life less lonely.’
‘Yes. I guess it does. And I do have a couple of friends in Opportunity.’ Good friends, he thought, surprised. ‘They sort of fill out my life a bit.’
‘What do you expect your friends might do now they know all about your past?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will they turn their backs on you?’
Finn remembered the concerned faces as he stood paralysed in Mrs Pargetter’s front room. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No. They wouldn’t do that.’
‘So why did you leave?’
‘I don’t feel worthy of love or friendship. I don’t want to taint them with my troubles.’
Jerome stopped and turned to him, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘I’d like you to go away and think about what you just said, Finbar. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’
‘Do you mind if I sit in the chapel for a while?’
‘You’re always welcome in God’s house.’
Finn made his way to the chapel and paused to savour the quiet interior. Two monks were kneeling in prayer, and another was sweeping the aisle, his broom whispering rhythmically on the polished floor. Coloured light filtered through the arched windows and gathered in pools on the marble steps of the altar. Carved wooden figures looked out at the worshippers: Saint Benedict on one side, holding his book and crozier, the Virgin Mother on the other, holding the Christ child.
Slipping into a pew, Finn sat, head bowed, hands dangling between his knees. He needed to think things through. He knew that his friends would stand by him. They had already demonstrated that. He had told Jerome that he felt unworthy of love. Was he being disingenuous? He was loved. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he was loved. His daughter had loved him enough to try to help him come to terms with his past. That it had gone disastrously wrong was not her fault. Mrs Pargetter and Sandy were fiercely loyal friends. More than that, he knew they loved him. They all shared a circle of dependence and support; each of them a little broken, but brave. Not fearless, he thought, but brave.
So why would he want to fend for himself? Why would he want to leave his friends to fend for themselves? Finn knew that he’d become a loner. The charming, sociable Michael had been left far behind, and the Finn he’d become was insular and obsessive. When he looked honestly into his heart, he saw that his greatest fear was of commitment. He saw now, with sudden clarity, that he was not just running from the press and from his own shame; he was running from the obligations of love and friendship.
These thoughts led back to his parents, who also loved him. After the accident, he had refused their love and all but disappeared from their lives, returning only for rare visits, when he sat at the dinner table chafing to be gone. His father had died three years ago, and his mother was in a retirement village now, frail but still alert. How long would it be before she, like Boniface, failed to recognise him? He looked up at the statues and then lowered his eyes. Was there accusation on the face of Mary, patron of mothers? He felt like a guilty child as his eyes slid back to the carved face. No accusation there. Just sorrow. Our Lady of Sorrows.
He was suddenly aware that the monks were filing in for Vespers.