Future Popes of Ireland

‘I’m starting to feel like Red Riding Hood.’

‘Does that make me the wolf?’

‘Mmmm, you’re more of a bear.’

Kiss to say, fuck you, my love.

Kiss to say, Happy Wedding Anniversary.

Kiss to say, let’s fuck across the counter amid knives and chopped peppers.

Kiss to say, yes.

Kiss to say, let’s go.

Kiss to say, but not now, first, the dinner.

Pause to chop basil and let feelings settle.

‘So, Ashima asked me to be Sara’s godfather.’

‘What?’

‘They’re having her baptized. You know what Gabriel’s like and Ashima doesn’t care but she thinks she can get Sara into some fancy-ass Catholic school, like she can’t think of a worse fate for her child than public school.’

Shoulder-rub to comfort an underpaid, overworked public high school teacher.

‘You think I’m godfather material?’

‘Keep up that belly you’ll be fat enough.’

‘Whata ar’ya talkin’ about?’

Kiss to stop impersonations.

‘I couldn’t go to the gym today; I was doing important research about this godfathering business.’

Peg walked over to Dev’s laptop, knowing, before she looked, the site that would be open.

‘Wikipedia is gymnastics of the mind.’

‘Ha.’

‘And I’ve been getting this sauce ready.’

Kiss to display gratitude.

Kiss to atone for judgement of Wikipedia reading and editing as an appropriate pastime.

Kiss to atone.

Pause to acknowledge the difficulty of approaching the topic of Peg Doyle’s family.

‘What were your godparents like?’

Peg’s godmother was Aunty Mary.

‘I’m not really in touch with them.’

But what was there to say about Aunty Mary?

‘Were they relatives?’

Irish women disappeared from time to time and that was how it went.

‘My godparents weren’t really that important.’

And then they died and upturned your life in exile, but Dev couldn’t possibly know about that; Peg had been careful not to show him the letter.

‘Thanks.’

Kiss to acknowledge the appeal of pretend-hurt Devansh Sabharwal.

Kiss to avoid further questions.

‘The main requirements are enough money to stuff a card, the ability to remember the kid’s name, and, as far as I’m aware, being a Catholic.’

‘Two out of three ain’t bad? Ashima says they’re being flexible about it. I guess it’s silly. It’s not like I’m going to start believing that dead dudes can make miracles.’

Tiny pause to tense at where the conversation was headed and search for any way to stop it.

‘Did you see the news? Pope John Paul II is on his way to becoming a saint.’

A gulp of wine to wash down a lie.

‘No.’

‘Yeah! Mad isn’t it, only two years since he’s dead and already they’ve found some evidence of a miracle so he’s halfway to being …’

She had the word in her head, despite everything.

‘Beatified.’

‘Right! I guess some guy in France claims that praying to the Pope cured his Parkinson’s so now the Pope just needs one more miracle and he’s Mr Beatified. Record time: it can take decades.’

‘I guess men are working out their minds on Wikipedia across the world.’

‘Ha! Yeah, I guess I got a bit distracted this afternoon … you know who else has a Wikipedia page?’