Shadows moved across the hedge, elongated in the headlights of the cars parked in what the village deemed a car park. Their reflection glanced on the puddles that filled the potholes on the gravel surface.
Barry rolled the piece of flint he had kept in his pocket since he was a boy, his eyes drawn to that shimmer of light on water. The stone’s cool surface was comforting.
More cars joined the congregation, moving into formation and further illuminating the hedge on the far side of the road. Feeling a pang of jealousy, he shuffled his feet. The scraping noise of shifting gravel would not be heard over the din of car engines but was deafening to Barry’s ears.
A gust of wind sent an empty packet of cashew nuts chattering across the ground in front of him. Its silver interior sprayed reflections along the car nearest to him. Barry glanced inside it and was bemused to see the parish priest in the driver’s seat. He frowned in confusion through the stench of oil and diesel that permeated the air.
His mother had been on first name terms with the priest, but Barry had been ambivalent, hostile even. Now, standing just yards away, he could not recall his name. The priest stared straight ahead with a steely look in his eye.
Barry heard faint cheers rising from the pub across the road. Inside he imagined crowds thronging the bar. Men slapping each other on the back. Women popping the corks on cheap champagne and dousing the merry crowd.
Muffled conversation could be heard from inside the car. The priest in conversation. A female voice. Barry toyed with the frayed edges of his woollen jumper and crouched instinctively.
Something about the woman’s tone told him that to startle the priest at this time would be best avoided.
He peered through the half-light as the car’s engine shuddered to a halt, the whirring craneflies disappearing. Barry watched as the car door opened and a black shoe stepped out.
He heard the jingle of a keyring as the priest raised himself from the driver’s seat and stretched to full height. A shadow moved along the hedge. Its owner was slightly crouched and walking unsteadily, clinging to a burger with two hands as he made his way past.
The priest moved in the man’s direction, gliding like wax down the side of a lit candle. Barry stood now, watching the cleric coast his way through the sea of cars, the sound of idling engines drowning out the crunch of his footsteps on loose stone.
The burger-toting shadow staggered his way around the corner and into the nearby estate. For a moment Barry thought the priest would follow, but he veered to the right without hesitation and into the pub.
He suddenly yearned for absolution.
