Turbulent Priests (Dan Starkey 3) by Bateman

posted.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Could be years.’
    ‘You won’t be able to resist me that long. I’m banking on days.’
    She snorted, which wasn’t very encouraging, let alone pleasant. I changed the subject. I told her about the remote possibility that the daughter of God was living half a mile down the road.
    It took me ten minutes to convince her that it wasn’t a wind-up. That Flynn, deranged or not, was perfectly serious.
    ‘He seems so normal,’ she said eventually.
    ‘I know,’ I said, stroking her brow. ‘Generally they’re the ones you have to watch. The question is, has he really been entrusted by God to look after His daughter, or has his head been invaded by little pink marshmallows? Your immediate reaction is what?’
    ‘You knew about it before you came here.’
    ‘I did not. Next reaction?’
    ‘You’re lying.’
    I tutted. ‘Exactly what sort of a man do you think I am?’
    ‘I don’t think. I know. You’re devious.’ She gave me a friendly poke in the ribs. ‘You knew about this.’
    ‘I didn’t.’
    ‘Admit it. I can tell by the colour of your face.’
    ‘We’re in the dark, if you haven’t noticed.’
    ‘I know we are. But you’re glowing.’
    She knew me well. ‘Okay. So I was vaguely aware of it. But that isn’t why I came. I came to write. You know that. It’s all I’ve talked about for ten years.’
    ‘Yeah. Talked about.’
    ‘Look, I don’t prepare my lies that far in advance. Anyway, I’m hardly going to uproot you and a new-born baby, transport youse across the sea to a backward hole like this purely on the off-chance of making a few quid on the back of a ridiculous claim by a religious crackpot, now, am I?’
    ‘Dan, nothing would surprise me. I note you’ve thrown yourself into writing your novel with your customary sloth-like enthusiasm.’
    ‘Will you give me a chance? Jesus, we’re only here forty-eight hours. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
    ‘But the earth was created in seven.’
    ‘And it hasn’t moved for you in months.’
    ‘You can always twist things back to sex, can’t you?’
    ‘I try.’
    ‘Well, enjoy talking about it. It’s all you’ll be doing.’
    ‘I might get lucky with someone else, if you’re not more accommodating.’
    ‘Aye, with a rabbit, if he’ll have you.’
    ‘The girls might fancy a bit of strange. I’m sure it gets a bit incestuous in places like this.’
    ‘What is it they say, keep incest in the family?’
    ‘You should know.’
    She started giggling. Then we kissed. She broke off to say, ‘God, wouldn’t it be amazing if it really was true. The Messiah, here on Wrathlin. And a girl.’
    ‘I’m not sure which bit worries me more – the Messiah coming back, being born in Ireland or being a girl. Actually, they all worry me about the same.’
    ‘It would be . . . wonderful.’
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘Well, different . I mean, the world’s so different now . . . I mean, I can’t imagine Jesus on the Internet, or using a mobile phone.’
    ‘I can’t imagine me on the Internet or using a . . .’
    ‘You know what I mean. A girl. A woman. I mean, the closest we’ve come to a woman of power before was Margaret Thatcher.’
    ‘Not that far removed. A Messiah to some, Antichrist to others.’
    Little Stevie woke up. While Patricia heated milk in the kitchen I cradled him in my arms. When she reappeared with the bottle she stood in the doorway for a moment watching us. A loving smile. Then she came across and took him from me.
    ‘Did Father Flynn ask you not to write anything aboutthe Messiah?’ she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Is that why he came to see you?’
    She said ‘Messiah’ so easily, as if there was a possibility. I lay back, my arms folded behind my head. ‘On the contrary. He wants me to write it all down.’
    Patricia nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, that’s good. Even if he is nuts, you’ll make some money from it.’
    ‘It’s not quite as simple as that. He wants me to