Page 106 of Audacity

Gabe

When Bren and I turn up at my parents’ house, I busy myself with Mairead’s kids, entertaining them over the course of their lunch while Mum and Dad prepare our lunch in the kitchen.

Ideally, we’d have this conversation after eating, but one look at Mum was enough to tell me that the woman is a pressure cooker waiting to blow. Now that she has me in her sights, I’m fair game.

One of the more useful skills I acquired as a priest was that of retaining perspective and compassion under fire. I find myself able to stay more regulated than certain other people in this family. While it doesn’t make it any less frustrating to have to engage with people who have spiralled firmly into their sympathetic nervous system, it does make me more mindful of their point of view.

That said, I’m a former priest, not a saint, and I’m not immune to the occasional desire to stir up trouble. I can’t, therefore, resist stirring the pot a little. Sometimes a shock is what people need to jolt them out of their blinkers.

Mairead’s husband Peter has already made clear his intention to be nowhere near this Sullivan family drama. I waituntil he’s plated up his lunch and taken it and the kids outside and everyone else has been served their plate of first class roast pork belly with all the trimmings. Once Mum and Dad have picked up their forks, I assume what my siblings used to call my “priest face”: some combination of devout and placid.

‘I assume you want to talk to me about my role at Rath Mor,’ I say pleasantly, spearing a piece of carrot. ‘Given you clearly have certain views on solicitation. Are you planning on asking me to step down?’

I smile at Dad, who looks at me as though I’ve grown an extra head. ‘Of course not!’ he blusters.

‘Oh, good. Because I feel like I’ve finally got my feet under the table.’

Next to Dad, my sister presses her lips together to halt a smile.

‘We’re very disappointed in you, Gabriel,’ Mum chimes in. ‘What you’ve done is a mortal sin, but we know you’ve been struggling since you took the reins. It’s a big adjustment, that’s what it is, but you’re a grown man, and it’s your business. Yours and God’s.’

I smile broadly. ‘That’s very compassionate of you. I’m glad you feel that way. And I assume the same goes for Athena?’

Mum’s fork clatters to her plate, and Bren snorts beside me.

‘That little hussy,’ she mutters, her eyes fixed on her food. She picks up her fork and carves off a piece of pork with far more venom than is necessary.

‘Wow,’Mairead says. ‘Mum. We’ve talked about this.’

When someone is operating from a place of fear, not love, meeting fear with fear is counterproductive.

‘I understand that what happened the other night came as a shock,’ I tell mum as softly as I would have spoken to a vulnerable parishioner. ‘The way Giles Harrington behaved washorrible for everyone. I just want to be very clear that Athena was a victim of a particularly damaging and abusive outburst.’

‘No one’s condoning his behaviour,’ Dad offers. ‘It was a very ungentlemanly way to behave. But?—’

‘Hang on.’ I put my hand up to stop him, because nothing that comes after thatbutwill be okay by me. ‘What I was going to say is that it’s okay if what you learnt about my and Athena’s original working relationship made you feel uneasy. I know it’s far outside your comfort zones. You’re allowed to dislike it.

‘But here’s the thing. Your approval of Athena’s—or my—sexual activity isn’t relevant to either the discussion of whether she’s right for meorfor the foundation. If anything, it’s discriminatory.’

Mum’s face goes from mulish to outraged in a second flat.

‘Of course it’s not discrimatory! It’s a direct reflection of her character, and nobody who is working as a common prostitute is getting their hands on our foundation.’

Brendan huffs as if this is the final straw and puts down his wine glass. ‘Mum, that’s such an offensive label. Athena made choices. Gabe made choices. Sex was had. Money changed hands. They’re both adults, and no one got hurt. End of story.’

I elbow him softly by way of thanks, and he grunts.

‘But this is hercareer,’ Mum hisses. ‘She sleeps with powerful men like my son to get ahead. That’s conniving, and it’s apattern. She’s trying to ensnare him, and she’s blinkered him with her… feminine wiles. Women like her are dangerous.’

‘If you’re going to cast her as Mary Magdalene, know she’s most likely already done that herself. Which makes you just as damning as Simon the Pharisee.’ I never speak to my mother so severely, but I can’t let her moralistic judgement go unchallenged. ‘And if you’re so concerned about her morals, remember who Christ chose to stand by him when the time came. Both of these women have seen truths others miss. Athenasaw the scale of the potential in this foundation before any of us, the former priest included. Not only that—she was the one who made me see just how effectively we could use our wealth as a force for good.’

God, I’m on a roll here. I’m back in my pulpit, lecturing my parishioners on one of my absolute favourite topics: how moral absolutism and judgement are categorically unchristian.

‘And I don’t know how you could possibly know so much about Athena’s career history, so I’ll assume it’s all conjecture. But let me set you straight. No one is blinkered. No one is ensnared. And yes, Athena is dangerous, because she’s challenging the status quo and using her powers to do things her way. She’s unafraid, and she’s terrifyingly competent.’

I sit back in my chair and continue more softly, because Mum is looking stricken. I understand the particular concoction of fear and love and ignorance and protectiveness that’s driving this extreme scepticism. She’s decided Athena is the lion in our midst, and she’s hell-bent on taking her down before she causes any imagined damage.

‘That’s precisely the kind of person we want running the foundation,’ I argue. ‘Someone brilliant and radical, who doesn’t give a damn about what’s considered seemly or about doing things the traditional way. If anyone’s blinkered, it’s you and Dad.’

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