All the lonely people

Father McKenzie put down his pen, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he should get some sleep and finish the sermon in the morning. Inspiration was not forthcoming tonight; in fact inspiration was in increasingly short supply of late. A cliché it might be, but he was genuinely looking for some kind of sign that he was on the right path.

A layer of gloom settled upon him as he gazed out into the churchyard. A flash of white caught his eye. A figure moved in the darkness.

Father McKenzie’s torch led his way through the churchyard, flickering over the names of the dearly departed, getting closer to the sound of crying. He stopped and shone his torch on the figure before him.

“Sister?” he asked, doubtfully.

The face in the torch’s beam was pale, tears smearing the make-up below wide-open eyes; the nails on the fingers holding the cigarette guiltily behind her back were painted bright red. A bottle of wine lay empty on the ground.

“Father, oh God, I’m sorry, Father.” The woman attempted to stand but then sank back down, resting on the gravestone.

The priest pointed the torch at her feet, brought it up over the long black habit then paused on the white of the wimple. “Are you...?”

“Oh, I’m not a nun, Father.” He hurriedly averted his eyes as she pulled her habit open, revealing the skimpy underwear beneath. “I’ve been on a hen do. Fancy dress, you know?” She noticed his discomfort. “Oh, I’m sorry, Father.” She pulled the habit around herself.

“I see. And what are you doing here?”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know, Father. I just needed somewhere to think.”

“In a graveyard?”

She shrugged. “Just suited my mood.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know, I was out with me mates, drinking, having a laugh, flirting with some guys, you know? Then I suddenly thought: ‘What am I doing? There must be more to life than this.’ I just felt like something was missing, you know? Like I needed some kind of meaning in my life.”

“What is your name, my child?”

“Mary, Father.”

“Mary, my child, you are shivering. Please, come inside the church and warm yourself.”

He put a hand on her elbow, helping her to her feet. As they made their unsteady way towards the light of the church, Father McKenzie felt his heart lift, a new purpose filling his soul. God had sent him a sign, a lost waif to bring back to the fold.

As they approached the open doors, Mary staggered, then pulled away, falling to her knees. Vomit splattered onto the church steps, then again, Mary gasping and retching.

“Oh God, oh God, I’m so sorry, Father.” She rose and stumbled away down the path.

“Wait, Mary, come back,” he cried weakly, but she did not stop. He watched until she disappeared into the darkness, then, with a sigh, he went to find a bucket to clean the steps.