CONFIRMATION DAY

John pulled up to let his partner’s daughter Marioara out opposite her secondary school. He stared at the wipers brushing rain off the window as Marioara manoeuvred out of the passenger seat by first lifting her heavy book laden bag up on to her knees. Before closing the door, she said goodbye to him and wished him luck. He thanked her and watched her safely cross the busy road. After she had disappeared among a throng of schoolgirls making their way through the school gate, he slowly pulled out into traffic and headed on out of the city in the morning rush hour.

John took the N2 route which was not unusual for him when driving to work in Dundalk. Nearing the Kilmoon Cross turnoff for Duleek he had been considering taking the motorway, but this, he thought, would get him to his daughter Ursula’s confirmation far too early. Instead, he stayed on his usual route, the rain having now stopped, and drove through the towns of Slane and Collon but took the Dunleer slip road for the motorway rather than going through the towns of Dunleer and Castlebellingham.

Confirmation was due to start at 11am. John had taken a half day off work to attend the ceremony. He had only found out about the event because the principal of the national school Ursula attended had informed him. In the car he pondered if his ex-wife would call him over to have his picture taken with Ursula. Clodagh had done that when John had attended Ursula’s First Holy Communion at the same church he was heading too now. At that time, Clodagh was still denying him access to Ursula. Now, things had settled somewhat, and John was seeing Ursula every three weeks. Not enough, he thought, but small steps.

He and Ursula met at St Helena’s Park in Dundalk. The meetings were supervised. Necessary, after Clodagh and her family had convinced Ursula that her father was going to kill her. This, and John not having seen Ursula for nearly two years. Being supervised was not an ideal situation but it was something he hoped to build on. Perhaps even getting overnights again like they used to enjoy. But he knew deep down in his soul this was not likely. The relationship he had once enjoyed with Ursula had been irreparably damaged. At times, he thought Ursula appeared scared or reticent in his presence. Other times, when she was relaxed, she would open up and chatter about school, sports or even about her mother and her mother’s family. The supervisor, walking a little away from them, was always listening, sometimes even joining in conversations. Ursula rarely enquired after John’s family. After they would have walked about the park, they would return to the carpark where her mother, still seated in her SUV, had remained waiting. John and Ursula would hug at his own car. He would tell her he loved her. The meeting would only have lasted about 30 minutes. For this, he paid the supervisor fifty euro on alternate visits. In the rearview mirror, John would watch Ursula, and the supervisor, walk over to Clodagh’s SUV. Navigating out of the carpark, John would see the supervisor talking with Clodagh, no doubt telling her what had been said between them, he thought. On the drive back to Dublin, John would often wonder if Ursula was given out to for talking about her mother’s family. Was this the reason, at the next meeting, Ursula could be cagey. No matter how bad his seeing Ursula in such circumstances appeared, John was open about it to everyone he met. In the office in Dundalk, he would talk openly about his relationship with his daughter. Even joking that the supervisor would likely be present when Ursula got married and he was giving her away.

Checking the dashboard, John saw he was making good time. Not wanting to arrive too early he pulled into the Applegreen station after Exit 15. There, he went to the toilet before buying himself a coffee. He sipped the coffee sitting in his car. It was not good coffee. After the coffee became too cold, John placed the cup of coffee in a bin then went to the toilets again and splashed water over his face.

Rather than take the road for Carlingford, the more direct route, John decided to pass by Ursula’s National School and the road which, if he were to turn left after the school, would bring him to the house he and Clodagh used to own. Having passed here, John now passed the Lumpers Pub, and soon afterwards began to make out the spire of the church between clumps of trees nestled along the narrow and twisty country road. The church grounds were full of cars. Far more than he had anticipated there would be. He drove around the church but there being no available spaces in the carpark he exited the grounds and drove back up the narrow road where he had passed a line of parked cars on the verge that ran along a ribbon development of one-off housing. Finding an available space among the line of cars, John reversed parked then reached around to the backseat and took from among some work-related material a sealed white envelope on which he had written Ursula’s name. The envelope contained a card, some money from him, his mother, and his sister along with a bracelet made of seashells he had brought back from Greece the year before but which he had forgotten to give Ursula. Standing by the car, John tried placing the envelope in his jacket pocket but found it did not fit. So, holding the sealed envelope in his hand, John made his way towards the church which stood overlooked by a verdant field full of sheep and telegraph poles. It was an area John knew well and where once he had hoped to build a house and live with Clodagh and Ursula.

The church was white and circular shaped and in the morning sun it seemed to glow. Above its centre stood a tall white spire. The church always reminded John of a circus big top. Outside the church a couple of photographers loitered. Of the two entrances only one was fully opened. Hearing the sound of a hymn being sung from inside John entered the church passing a statue of the Virgin holding the infant Jesus. He hesitated but did not dip his fingers in the font or bless himself. He saw the pews were packed with children and parents dressed in their finest clothes. Feeling as if he were being watched, the faces came as a blur as he sought to find someplace to sit or stand. The hymn was being sung by a children’s choir. All around the interior of the round church people were standing or sitting along the circular wall. Finding a spot between two men, John leaned against the wall and having attuned to the interior, scanned the church for any sign of Ursula. He could not see her.

At the back of the church, her bobbed head of grey hair suddenly standing out, John saw one of his former sister-in-law’s. Bernadette, he had liked. He remembered how, a year into his and Clodagh’s separation, Bernadette had offered to allow Ursula to speak with him over the phone on weekdays when he did not have access with her. Not wanting to get Bernadette into trouble with Clodagh, John asked her to talk with her sister first. That was the last he heard about weekday phone access.

Wondering if his daughter was with Bernadette, John glanced along that part of the wall. But if Ursula was with her aunt, John couldn’t make her out. As he was thinking Ursula could be sitting against the wall with her aunt John saw the deacon, dressed in black and white, make his way from the back of the church. He had seemed to come from out of nowhere. The Deacon approached the alter and, after a hush had fallen over the audience, he spoke into the microphone, informing the congregation that the Confirmation would be starting in a few moments. Still gripping the envelope John again looked over to where Bernadette was standing to see if he could spot Ursula.

A man was handing out booklets, John accepted one from him. Glancing through it, he saw his daughter’s name listed as a Candidate for Confirmation. The book also informed him that three schools were represented here today. Now he understood why the carpark had been full. At the back of the booklet there was written a word of compliment for the parents of the children being confirmed:

You are the first educators of these children in the ways of faith.

Closing the booklet, John held it next to the envelope and stood up straight when, with the choir singing Song of Joy, he saw the archbishop, flanked by two other priests, approach the alter. The deacon followed behind. The three priests were dressed in royal red. The archbishop wore a red mitre ornamented with gold Celtic latticework. The three men bowed before the alter. Then turning around, the archbishop walked over to the marbled cathedra where he handed his crozier to the deacon who placed it in a stand. Then, taking off his mitre, the archbishop laid it on a red cushion on the cathedra and, remaining standing, waited for the choir to stop singing.

“In ainm on Athar agus an Mhic agus an Spioraid Naoimh. Amen,” the archbishop said, blessing the congregation.

“Amen,” the congregation responded.

“Go raibh an Tiarna leat,” the archbishop said.

“Agus le do Spiorad,” the congregation replied.

John hurriedly opened the booklet to see if the entire service was to be conducted through Irish. He closed the booklet when he heard The Confiteor spoken in English by all.

Not having attended church in a long time John mumbled through some of the phrases he half remembered from his own childhood but otherwise remained tight lipped. Always professing she did not like her local church, he and Clodagh used often to attend Mass every Saturday evening in Dundalk. Somewhat surprisingly, they had even married in the same church in Dundalk. It was a church he passed every day he was in work as it stood facing where his office was. In the month of October, he would attend with Clodagh and members of her family the Novena held in the town. Nine masses per day over nine days in honour of Saint Gerard Majella. He had, coming from the city, never seen the like of it before. Every mass was full. Those unable to stand in the church, stood outside. The masses were relayed on loudspeakers. Other people sat along the hallways in the attached monastery. Apart from the odd Mass in the local church, the only event he had attended had been Ursula’s baptism. Clodagh had insisted Ursula be baptised in the local church.

Of the two other priests John knew only one. Father Gregory had baptised Ursula in this church. It was rumoured by locals that when Father Gregory came to this parish the other priests in the previous parish held a party after he had left, so disliked was the priest by his fellow clerics. The only other time John had had dealings with Father Gregory was when John had called up to the priest’s house for a copy of Ursula’s baptismal certificate. John liked him, as he liked all people who seemed to have been cast off by others.

Still watchful of the congregation John could not locate Ursula. The children being confirmed were seated everywhere. With his view obscured by the throng of people and not wanting to linger too long in the search he continued to throw fitful glances in Bernadette’s direction. Thinking on the absence of men and why he could not see Bernadette’s husband alongside her, John saw another grey bobbed haircut a little distance away from her. Looking again, he saw it was Clodagh’s sister Brigid. She had been looking over at him but averted her gaze downwards when John caught sight of her. When the man seated in front of Brigid leaned over, John saw, sitting next to Brigid, Clodagh, and his ex-mother-in-law Elizabeth. Not wanting to make it too obvious he was searching for Ursula; John periodically looked their way in the hope of spotting his daughter but otherwise focussed his attention towards the alter.

After the Readings and the Responsorial Psalm were completed, the archbishop rose from the cathedra and gave the homily. He spoke in a measured and affectionate tone.

“You are all very welcome to this church. The Church of the Good Samaritan. It is a beautiful building,” the archbishop said. “Looking at the faces of the children who are being confirmed today I see many happy children seated with their parents and their sponsors. Today is a day for reflection. This church is named for the Good Samaritan. The gospel does not tell us the name of the Good Samaritan. By not giving him a name, the gospel makes him an everyman. Sadly, we live in a world where the act of kindness performed by the Good Samaritan is often forgotten. The parable of the Good Samaritan is told by Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. It does not appear in the Gospels of Mathew, Mark, or John. The parable tells how a man, left beaten and stripped of his clothing is left for dead by the wayside. This man too remains unnamed. A Jewish priest and a Levite come upon him, but they avoid the distressed man. It is only when the Samaritan comes across the wounded man that any help is given. In those days, Jews and Samaritans despised each other. In our world today there are many who are reviled and marginalised by our society. We relegate people we do not like to the margins. Immigrants, refugees, minorities, people who look or behave differently. We marginalise people because of the least thing. Because of their accents, because of where they live, or where they come from. We adults have forgotten the parable of the Good Samaritan. Jesus told the parable in answer to a question asked by a lawyer, “And who is my neighbour?” the lawyer had asked. And Jesus had answered, “Everyone is your neighbour.” Remember that children. Everyone is your neighbour. When asked what the greatest commandment was, Jesus answered: Love God, but love your neighbour too. Always look out for the marginalised in society.”

On hearing the word marginalise, John had looked over to where his ex-wife and former in-laws were seated. The three of them, he observed, were staring impassively at the floor. After his own marriage had broken down John had tried saving it. Clodagh had told him she no longer wished to be married. That marriage had not been what she had expected. That he had not brought anything into the marriage. “Like what,” he had asked her. “You brought no money, or land,” Clodagh had answered. This, for John, was the real reason the marriage had failed. John had come from an inner-city neighbourhood. A poor background. His family weren’t farmers or university lecturers, like Clodagh’s. Through tears Ursula had pleaded with her father to send her mammy flowers; to tell mammy he loved her. And he did. He had loved Clodagh from the moment they had met in college. A part of him still loved her. Even now, despite all that had been, he loved her in his own quiet way and would often imagine them getting back together. But it was an impossibility to retrieve the past even though he would relive it in his mind and wonder what it could have been like. There was no way back. Once, years before, he had watched Ursula, it was the lead up to Christmas and the pair where at the Waterford Winterval Festival, write in her letter to Santa Clause that she wanted her mammy and daddy back together again, but he knew even then it could never be. Rallying around Clodagh her family had cast him out. They had set him beside the roadside badly wounded. It had taken him years to rebuild a life. He was content now than he had been in years. But he was not truly happy as he had been when Clodagh, who had just given birth to Ursula, and he was handed his newborn child by the nurse. He pressed her close to his heart. Promised to himself he would always be there for her. His partner too was a divorcee. She had come out of a violent marriage. His partner’s child looked on him now as her father. He drove Marioara to school in the mornings. When Marioara was ill, he would collect her from school. He sometimes made lunch for her when her mother was unable to. These were things he had hoped to do for Ursula. But Clodagh had made certain he would never do these things for his own daughter. Clodagh was aware from court documents of his partner and surrogate daughter. Brigid had even seen them when, only a few months earlier, they had passed her while shopping in the city centre. Brigid then, as now, had kept her head down, pretending not to see him. But she had seen them, John knew very well she had seen him. And Clodagh, he knew, would do everything she could to stop Ursula and Marioara meeting.

When the homily was over the children being confirmed were asked to stand. To his surprise, not far from where he was standing, about six rows in, Ursula stood. John smiled at her, but Ursula did not smile back. Standing beside her was Faye, her best friend. Faye looked over at him and smiled. It was then that John saw, sitting to Ursula’s right, was Sarah-Jane, Bernadette’s daughter. John had expected the sponsor would be one of Brigid’s children. If not Brigid herself. He knew from Ursula that she and her mother were still living in Brigid’s house. They had been living there since before the separation.

The archbishop began the sacrament of Confirmation.

“Do you reject Satan, and all his works and all his empty promises?”

“I do,” the children said.

Listening to the Baptismal vows, John was reminded of the film The Godfather and how Michael Corleone eliminates his enemies while a priest asks these same questions. Inwardly smiling, his list of enemies would make even Webster blush. When the archbishop was finished, the congregation sat, and the archbishop held up a small chalice which he informed the crowd contained chrism oil.

“This is used,” he said, “to anoint the candidates for Confirmation. There is very little of it left as this has been used since last year. Next week new oil will be blessed for the forthcoming year at Armagh.”

Then the deacon began to direct children and their sponsors out of their pews. Every so often, John looked over at Ursula. She was wearing a flowered patterned dress, with a white hairband. He thought the dress made her look older than she was. But still, Ursula would not look over at him. When Faye looked his way, John nodded to her smiling, and Faye returned the smile. Some years earlier, when Ursula had asked her dad to organise her sixth birthday party John had given invitations to the principal of her school to give to Ursula so she could hand them out to her class. John had proposed giving them to Clodagh, but Ursula had insisted through tears that if the invitations were given to her mother, she would not let her have them.

“Everything you give me dad, goes missing,” Ursula had said pleadingly to him in the car when he was returning her home to Clodagh.

Back then, the separation was in full unpleasant flow having moved out of the District Court and into the Circuit Court. John was then living in his parent’s house attempting to build a war chest. The parents of three of Ursula’s friends from school had said they would attend her birthday party. One of these was Faye’s parents. Along with two children from Ursula’s ballet class and two friends of John’s and his own niece, there were eight children at Ursula’s birthday party at Fun Galaxy in Ashbourne. It was not what he had hoped or envisioned for Ursula. But he was grateful for Faye and the twins for having drove such long distances to attend. The parents left their children with him to take advantage of the opportunity to do some shopping in the city centre.

Ursula was in the fifth group of children sent up to stand before the alter. John strained his ears to listen to her Confirmation name but, with the choir singing, he could not hear the name she had chosen. The children turned and faced where John was. Realising she would pass him by, John held the envelope ready to hand it over to her. He saw that she was wearing Converse runners and smiled. She had told him at their last meeting that her mother and grandmother were telling her what to wear but that, if she could wear her Converse runners, she didn’t care what they dressed her up like. About to extend his hand with the envelope he saw Sarah-Jane, her hands on Ursula’s shoulders, turn her down an opening between some pews and away from him. John quickly pulled the envelope back to his side. Looking down towards were Clodagh, Brigid and their mother sat, he wondered if they had seen what had happened. John then stared impassively towards the sixth group of children brought up by the deacon. Catching Sarah-Jane look over at him John remembered how, years earlier, for her second or third birthday, he had bought her a rocking horse. Ursula had mentioned the rocking horse as still being in Bernadette’s house. John told her he had bought the rocking horse for Sarah-Jane’s birthday. As a child growing up in the inner city, he too had had a rocking horse. He remembered the horse was painted white with a brown saddle and stirrups. It was made of wood. The one he bought Sarah-Jane was near identical. The rocking horse was a lynchpin to his own happy childhood. That was why he had bought the rocking horse for Sarah-Jane. It was why, after Ursula had been born, he had planned to buy her one as well. But with the marriage ending when Ursula turned two, he never got the chance to. After Ursula had turned seven John began taking her to horse riding classes. He too did the riding classes with her.

“And what should you do if the horse starts to pee?” He had asked her one day as they walked along the river which flowed through part of the park.

“You stand up, daddy,” Ursula had said laughing and then, holding her hands out, “and you hold the reins like this.”

While John was laughing, he caught the surprised look of the supervisor listening to Ursula’s reminiscences. It was likely the supervisor had been told something very different about the relationship John had had with his daughter.

According to Ursula none of her cousins went to horse riding classes. John knew Clodagh had thought the classes he took her to were too dangerous and, after she had stopped access the last time, Ursula never did go back. Given the circumstances in which John now had access with Ursula, horse riding was an impossibility until such time as she became an adult.

Watching the gifts being brought up to the alter John knew he would not be taking communion. He had last attended a church some years back with his partner Daciana. Now, neither of them was bothered to attend. After his marriage broke up John had begun to attend church again. Vainly, he had hoped by doing so God would save his marriage. It was no different to Ursula asking Santa Claus to bring her mammy and daddy back together again.

Then the archbishop and the congregation spoke the Lord’s prayer in Irish. John listened to its musicality but otherwise knew none of the words. He recited the prayer in English silently to himself. Vessels containing communion bread were then handed out to the two priests by the archbishop. The deacon, and the two lay ministers, also received containers to administer to the congregation who now, tentatively at first, began to approach.

Looking down to were Ursula and Sarah-Jane where he saw they remained seated. Ursula still did not look at him but turned and smiled at Faye who, along with her sponsor, stood to exit. As Faye waited to join the line of communicants John saw Bernadette, Brigid and Clodagh pass her by in the queue. Not having been to church in a long while John had no intention of taking the Eucharist. To do so would, he felt, make a mockery of the sacrament. Recalling the archbishop’s homily John watched the three sisters change queue in order to receive communion from the archbishop and not from either of the two priests, the deacon, or the lay ministers. Each in there turn bowed their head before the consecrated host and, holding out their hand, received the Body of Christ. Their mother was not with them. Unable now to turn away from where John stood, they filed pass him. Their heads lowered. Their shoulders hunched. Observing them, a wry smile set on his otherwise stern face, John was reminded of times when the distance between them had not been as great as it was now. All three were wearing flowered patterned dresses. Not too dissimilar to the one Ursula had been wearing. Bernadette seemed plumper than he last remembered. Brigid thinner than when he had last seen her at Christmas. Looking on Clodagh he thought her somewhat fatigued. As if worry like a crow had settled on her face. A face he had once thought beautiful and captivating. That face was now somewhat drained and looked severer for it. Wondering if he still harboured feelings for her, he watched her return to her seat and thought she could just have been any woman in the congregation with whom he had never had dealings.

Settling back against the wall, John watched as the last of the communicants returned to their seats. The two priests, the deacon and the lay ministers stood at the alter emptying the remainder of the consecrated host into the vessel belonging to the archbishop who, pouring some wine into the cup, drank the leftover Sacrament.

With the lay ministers having returned to positions near were John stood. The priests with their backs to the congregation did not observe the small middle-aged woman approach from the far end of the church. John could see the woman had Down syndrome. She stopped in front of the alter. Most eyes were on her. Her hands cupped; the woman waited for someone to give her the consecrated host. A much older woman whom John thought was likely her mother, then approached her from behind and, whispering into her ear, steered the small child-like woman back to her seat. As the two women were walking away the archbishop turned and approached the microphone.

“Let us pray: Accompany with your blessing from this day forward, O Lord, those who have been anointed with the Holy Spirit and nourished by the Sacrament of your Son, so that, with all trials overcome, they may gladden your Church by their holiness and, through their works and their charity, foster her growth in the world. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

After the concluding rite the choir began singing again. The song they sang seemed as if it were sung to the rhythm of Dave Brubeck’s Take Five. John enjoyed the song. When it was over there was a round of applause. The archbishop then thanked everyone for attending. He singled out the teachers, and those who had decorated the church and then wished all the anointed children well for the future.

People began to stand and make their way towards the exits at the front and the one at the back. John looked over at Ursula hoping she would either come over to him, or that Clodagh might call him over. Ursula, steered out of the pew by Sarah-Jane, disappeared among the people engulfing the aisle. He could not see Clodagh or her sisters now. Feeling his shoulder being tapped he turned and saw Faye’s dad who gave him a thumbs up. Faye, walking between her dad and her mother said hello to him. Nodding to Faye and her parents he saw over Faye’s head Ursula being led out of the church through the back door by Clodagh, followed by Bernadette, Brigid, Sarah-Jane, and their mother Elizabeth.

Gripping the envelope, John wondered if he should give the envelope to Ursula’s teacher, or perhaps give the envelope to Faye and ask her to give it to Ursula. Deciding against this, John slowly shuffled out of the church along with everyone else. Passing by people having their photos taken, he saw people make their way towards their parked cars, knowing there were more cars at the back, he decided to return to his own car.

Soft rain began to fall lightly over the trees, and the farms, and the cattle lolling in the fields. Cars parked along the narrow road began to edge out into the traffic. To save the card from getting wet, John placed it inside his jacket, under his arm, the way a father might wish to protect his child. John waited for the traffic to ease. He did not see Clodagh’s car pass by. He drove to his office in Dundalk. And there, when asked by some had he seen his daughter he said yes and explained what had happened.

“At least she saw you there,” one of the women said to him in the canteen, “that will mean a lot to her.”

Derek Kelly is a writer from Dundalk, Ireland. Several short stories have been published. Large White Chrysanthemums was published in CC&D Magazine (v336, the 8/23 issue). Hastilude appeared in Year VIII, Number 58 February 2023 of The Adelaide Literary Magazine. While He Isn’t Worth It appeared in the April 2024 issue of All Your Stories Magazine. The Galway Review previously published his short story Taig. In 2023, Derek was awarded the Carlow College Literary Award.