Audacity (Seraph)

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 wait until 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 was horrible 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 that but will 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 me or for 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 her career,’ Mum hisses. ‘She sleeps with powerful men like my son to get ahead. That’s conniving, and it’s a pattern. 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. Athena saw 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.’

‘How so?’ Dad thunders, taking the bait just like I knew he would.

Well, Dad, I’m glad you asked. ‘Take Eleanor. The epitome of good breeding and respectability, and, pardon my French, fucking useless.’

‘Amen, Father,’ my sister pipes up with a wicked smirk. Mum shoots her her signature don’t make me put you over my knee glare, to no avail.

‘Everything she’s done has been mediocre and steeped in snobbery. I’m sorry, but it’s true. And I didn’t even realise it until Athena opened my eyes to the incredible possibilities of what we could achieve. Athena has a brilliant strategic brain and an exceptional variety of experience—some of which she may have gained in roles that you don’t like and don’t have to like.

‘But, at the end of the day, our fiduciary duty here is to the staggering amount of money we’re planning on giving away, and if you compare Athena to Eleanor and find that Athena is the one lacking, then I have no earthly clue how to get through to you.’

I’ve cast the pleasant, pastoral tone aside, I realise. My voice is harder, colder, more authoritative than any tone I’ve used with my family in a long time. Because I’ve spent years feeling guilty about this inheritance, overwhelmed by it, and now—thanks to Athena—I finally know how to use it.

I’ve finally found my calling.

I have felt lost for so long. I felt equally lost during my years as a priest and in the aftermath. All this time, I’ve bemoaned my ability to be the type of shepherd I believe I should be. The type of man I believe I should be.

Managing the Sullivan billions made me feel at worst, uneasy, at best, conflicted.

Stewarding the Sullivan billions takes my innate desire to serve, to shepherd, and reimagines it as a new type of priesthood: ministry on a staggering scale.

There’s only one person I know who can transform my purpose into reality, and, God bless her, it’s not Eleanor Whitmore.

‘I don’t disagree on Eleanor. But I worry that we were shown that young lady’s true colours the other night,’ Dad says gruffly.

Mairead puts down her cutlery with a huge sigh. ‘For God’s sake, Dad, the only person who showed their true colours the other night was Harrington. Given what he threw at Athena, I thought she conducted herself in a seriously classy way. And I hope those lawyers of hers take him for every penny he has.’

‘They will,’ I promise her. I turn to Dad. ‘Look, I realise you don’t know her very well, but I do.’

‘Very well,’ my brother mutters under his breath, and I turn to frown at him. ‘Athena is the least fake person I know,’ I tell my parents. ‘If she doesn’t like you, you’ll know about it. She doesn’t suffer fools, and she doesn’t dissemble. She can’t be bothered. In her professional circles, she’s supremely self-confident, but the reaction she had from all of you the other night was horrific. I know you were shocked, but think about it from her perspective.

‘You don’t need to worry about her character. She’s withdrawn herself from me, and I know she’s making other career plans just now. She’s already mentally walked away, and it’s not because she’s afraid of a good fight. She’s really not. I know in my heart that she’s walked away because she doesn’t want me to have to make a difficult decision, and she doesn’t want to put any more pressure on me given my guilt over leaving the priesthood. If that doesn’t say integrity, I don’t know what does.’

‘I trust Gabe here,’ Bren pipes up. ‘I don’t think he’s blinded. I think he’s an excellent judge of character. And from what I’ve seen of Athena, she’s a straight shooter. That’s what we need.’

I throw him a grateful look. ‘She always expresses horror at being taken for a do-gooder. She’s never tried to pretend to anyone that she’s an angel. But she gets the job done like no one else I know. We need her.’

Mum pouts, her face like thunder, and my sister goes in for the kill. ‘A few weeks ago, we all loved her. We were blown away by her. Absolutely nothing has changed there. She’s still every bit as qualified and capable as she was before the gala. Wait.’

She takes a huge gulp of red wine and presses on, her attention going to me. ‘I actually think you’re the perfect power couple. You’ve got the pastoral background, but honestly, this lunch aside, I don’t ever see you stand up for what you want. Not really. Athena will harness all that goodness and whip you into shape. Together you could be unstoppable—I mean it.’

I smile despite myself. Athena’s words from our planning session at my house come back to me. Together, we’re unstoppable.

Never have I believed something quite so fervently.

I’m done being the gentle priest here.

There’s a time for humility. For patience. For lending your ear. My family is used to all those characteristics from me. I dare say they depend on them.

This is not that time.

It’s time to advocate for others who deserve it, whether that’s the thousands of people we can help or the woman who’s been so maligned at the hands of my family.

It’s time to step into my power, the power they so readily granted me when they handed me the reins over a year ago.

It’s time to stop asking for permission.

‘Your belief means a lot, sis,’ I tell Mairead.

I fix my eyes squarely on my parents. ‘Let me be very clear. As CEO, I have the ultimate say in this appointment. The foundation will be run by the most qualified person. That’s Athena. And, after everything I’ve said, if either of you still feel you want to cast a stone… Well. You know as well as I do what Christ had to say about that.’