Almost a week into Lent and the burly altar boy at St Gabriel’s was on nodding terms with the regulars, mostly aul wans of a certain vintage, many of whom doubled up for morning and evening Mass.
They were a different crowd to the ones Vinny Fitzpatrick was used to in Foley's, more polite, and Christian in their outlook, as they shook your hand, looked you in the eyes and asked kindly after your health.
They also possessed a deep faith, which was evident in the way some would pop back in during the day to light a candle, or say a prayer. Invariably, they were early for confession.
Even so, none of them were spending as much time in the church as Vinny, who had found a sense of healing, if not yet God, through his voluntary work.
It was Leo Lavelle who suggested Vinny give a dig out at Mass. Aware of the personal torment which his old school pal was going through, the parish priest gave Vinny’s elbow a timely nudge.
“For starters, we’re crying out for servers. Secondly, it’ll get you out of the house, which can’t be a bad thing. Thirdly, you’ve got plenty of time on your hands.”
Vinny had let the offer rumble around his large head for 24 hours before reporting for duty the morning after Ash Wednesday. As he was off work for a month with “acute depression”, as diagnosed by Bones Malone, his local GP, he reckoned he had nothing to lose.
Largest surplice
St Gabriel’s was warm, shadowy and inviting, and smelt just as it did when Vinny, aged 12, served his first Mass and nearly decapitated his mother, Bridie, with an over-enthusiastic use of the paten.
To his surprise, Vinny revelled in his return. Wearing the largest surplice Leo Lavelle could find, Vinny was soon a busy bee before Mass. He lit the candles, filled the cruets, arranged the chalices, and ensured the collection baskets were in the right place.
To be sure, he double-checked that the gong and bell were in noisy harmony – the dong he dinged at the Eucharistic Prayer and again at Communion were his favourite bits.
After a couple of days, Vinny found himself arriving earlier and leaving later. He swept the aisles, dusted the confessionals, and emptied the donation boxes each evening.
On Sunday, he volunteered to be on call all morning and cheerily greeted parishioners with an up to date Mass leaflet on arrival.
The following morning, he went to Leo Lavelle with a suggestion. “Leo, that side altar to the right of the chancel is pretty much unused. What do you think about putting in a garden there?
“We could call it the Garden of Renewal, to reflect the Easter theme of rebirth. I’d happily put in a few hours extra each day to get the show on the road.”
Fr Leo was aware of the therapeutic benefits such a challenge would provide for his pal, and gave his permission, with a rider. “Church donations have dropped off alarmingly in the past year, Vinny. I’m not sure if we can cover the expenses which such a project might entail,” he said apologetically.
Vinny had waved off Leo’s protests. “No worries, Leo. It’s about time I put a few bob back in the kitty. Anyway, this isn’t the Chelsea Flower Show we’re talking about.”
Never one to dally when he had a purpose, Vinny toddled off to the Herb Garden on Vernon Avenue after lunch, armed with a few loose ideas and child-like zest. He was no Percy Thrower.
After an informative chat with the assistant, a pleasant woman called Barbara, he returned to St Gabriel’s with a few green-fingered thoughts. As he squatted in the side altar, in his mind’s eye, Vinny envisaged, sand, a water feature, hanging baskets, with Easter Lilies and some snowdrops.
He was calculating the cost of it all when, suddenly, he heard the church door open, followed by footsteps and heated whispers. He glanced at his watch. It was 4.30pm, two hours before confessions. Who could it be?
Hidden
From his position, Vinny was hidden from the newcomers as long as they stayed in the nave. If they got close to the altar, he’d be spotted in his inglenook. Kneeling in mock prayer, Vinny tilted his large head to one side and caught snatches of a heated conversation.
“You took the money; now you’ve got to bring it back. If you don’t, I’ll report you,” said a woman’s voice.
In reply, a man, somewhat wearily, said, “I did it for you, for both of us. Don’t you understand? We’re in this together. If I go down for this, you go to.”
At that, the woman hissed, “Don’t you dare threaten me.”
Then, there were more footsteps, a muffled exchange which Vinny couldn’t make out, followed by silence.
A few seconds later, Vinny poked his head out from the alcove; the church was empty. He was trying to make sense of it all when the sacristy door opened and Leo Lavelle emerged. “Ah, Vinny, have you a minute? I want to bounce something off you.”
Vinny nodded. “Fire away, Leo.”
“I’ve got great feedback from everyone since you arrived. You’ve been a huge help. To be honest, I’d be lost without you. Would you consider extending your involvement with us? We’re looking for a new sacristan as Digger Dunne is due to retire.
“I’ll have to get garda clearance but with a kind word from Bishop Brennan, we could fast track you for the role. We could see out the back nine together just like we saw in the front nine all those years ago in Joey’s.”
Vinny did a double-take. Serving at Mass was one thing; serving as a sacristan was quite another.
“Leo, I think I’ll pass on that one, thanks,” he said, removing his surplice. “If you don’t mind, I’ll also give this evening a miss. Something has come up.”
As Vinny headed towards Foley’s, he had last orders, not a role akin to holy orders on his mind.
He needed time a plenty to sip, and to plot his next move for he was sure he knew the identity of the whisperers in the house of worship. And knowledge, after all, was a powerful tool.
Bets of the week
1pt Luke Donald to be top European at Honda Classic (30/1, Bet365)
1pt Jetson to win World Hurdle (24/1, Betfair)
Vinnie's Bismarck
3pts Lay England to beat Ireland in Six Nations (Evens, Coral, liability 3pts).
