‘Ben, please,’ Chloe said, ‘let him talk.’

‘Fine, if that’s what you want?’ he asked her.

‘It is,’ she replied. ‘This is why we came here, isn’t it? You wanted the truth.’

Ben nodded his head and looked back to Sparling.

‘You had better not lie to her.’

17

There was no tremble to Alec Sparling’s hands. No nervous glances about the room. No stilted formality. In his own home, in this room, the doctor was perfectly calm.

‘I’ve never told this to anyone,’ he said, eyes narrowed pensively towards the window. ‘I was forbidden to do so for reasons that you’ll come to understand. Taking into consideration what you both know and what you’ve seen, the irreparable damage has already been done.’

‘I think you might be overestimating how much we know,’ Ben said.

‘You know enough, Mr French, unfortunately,’ he replied, letting his gaze linger on him.

Sparling pulled his chair in tighter to the desk. He fixed his posture, as one preparing for a long and uncomfortable journey. Next, the man straightened his shirt collar and fixed both cuffs tight over his wrists. He then cast an eye over his desk. Its contents all passed inspection. Only a single pen was adjusted slightly so that it was now aligned symmetrically beside a leather-bound diary. The doctor looked to Chloe and then to Ben. The grandfather clock’s steady pulse counted the silence between them. This was how he wanted them to listen, without interruption, and with their full, undivided attention. Satisfied, Alec Sparling began.

‘My ancestor was Tír Mallacht’s clergyman. He also holds the distinguished honour of being the last of my family to die there. That church you would have examined, Ms Coogan, was once his house of worship. Brendan was his name. He had a wife and son as permitted by the Church of Ireland, and in his role as priest he cared tirelessly for his community; resolving disputes, prompting vows, offering advice on all matters spiritual or otherwise. Such was the man’s compassion and patience that he planned his week around visiting every home, leaving none wanting for company.

‘There was one man, however, whom the priest never met. He had lived alone on the outskirts of the village for as long as the oldest amongst them could recall. Months had gone by without anyone so much as seeing him. It was believed that he had either passed away or passed on elsewhere. But despite these rumours, Brendan still visited his home each week. The priest wished only to befriend him, to encourage the man to join his congregation if only to remedy the loneliness that had, no doubt, become his stock and store.