A WILD SIDEY TED

Craggy Island Parochial House, Somewhere Off The West Coast of Ireland
(It doesn’t appear on any maps)

Father Ted Crilly paused at the foot of the stairs. He turned to the mirror beside the umbrella stand, made a few final adjustments to his long blonde wig and smoothed the front of his floral short-sleeved dress.

This had to work. It had to.

Because if it didn’t…

His right hand moved to the delicate silver chain he wore around his neck. It seemed to transmogrify into a dog collar before his eyes. He closed them tightly, banished the image from his mind.

Bishop Brennan’s last words to him weren’t so easy to exorcise.

You are staying here until all of that money is paid back. You hear me, Crilly?

They’d probably heard him on the mainland.

Ted took a deep breath, then opened the living-room door. Father Dougal McGuire was at the table stuffing Pop-Tarts into his mouth. In the far corner, Father Jack Hackett was snoring loudly; Ted wondered at the beatific smile on the old lecher’s face until he saw the empty bottle resting in his lap.

“Mornin’, Father Crilly!” said Mrs Doyle, striding in from the kitchen. “You’ll be wantin’ a nice cup o’ tea, I hope?”

Ted pointed to his outfit.

“Notice anything different about me, Mrs Doyle?”

The housekeeper frowned as she looked Ted up and down. Three times she opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. Finally her eyes lit up with understanding.

“You’ve had a haircut, Father!” she beamed.

“No, Mrs Doyle!” cried Ted. “I’m a woman!”

“Okay so…but you’ll still have a cup o’ tea?”

As she left the room Dougal’s head swung round.

“Is that right?” he asked. “I didn’t know you were a woman, Ted. How did that happen?”

“It didn’t,” explained Ted. “I’m just after pretending for a while.”

“You mean like those fellers who did the synchronised swimming at the Olympics?”

“No, Dougal. Those are women.”

The young priest’s expression was that of someone who has just had everything they held to be true exposed as a tissue of lies. Dougal wore it several times a day.

“It’s like this,” Ted went on. “I have to persuade Bishop Brennan to let me go. The way I see it, he's up to his ears in scandal because of the son he keeps sending money to in California. The last thing he needs is a transvestite looking after one of his parishes.”

“You’re right there, Ted. He wouldn’t like that at all. But where are you going to find a transvestite on Craggy Island?”

Ted narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t know what a transvestite is, do you?”

“Come on, Ted! I’m not a complete eejit!” protested Dougal. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s when a man wants to look like a woman.”

“Like Father Bigley?”

“Not quite. Father Bigley was actually a nun before he entered the priesthood, so I suppose you’d have to consider him to be a special case. I’ll give you a better example: Father Gerry Curran. He was so convincing he auditioned for a part as a Bond girl. But his acting career didn’t take off, so he moved to America and went into politics there. Ended up as Governor of…now where was it? Not Alabama, not Arizona — but definitely one of the states that begins with an A.”

“Well, all we have to do is get you some women’s clothes, then,” grinned Dougal.

“I’m wearing women’s clothes. I found them backstage at the Lovely Girls contest last month.”

“GIRLS!” shouted Jack.

“Tea for everyone!” trilled Mrs Doyle from the kitchen doorway. She offered the tray to Jack first. “Will you have a cup, Father?”

“FECK OFF!”

“Aw, go on…”

“DRINK!”

The telephone rang. Dougal skipped over to the window and picked up the receiver.

“Craggy Island Parochial House. Father Dougal McGuire speaking…ah it’s you, Len!”

Ted felt the foundation freeze on his cheeks and forehead. A call from Bishop Brennan was never good news.

“What does he want?” he whispered to Dougal.

“He says ‘don’t call me Len, you little prick’. Oh, and he’ll be here in twenty minutes. He’s bringing a Monsignor Rossi from the Vatican with him, so you’ve to make sure Jack’s on his very best behaviour.”

Moisture leaked from Ted’s palms and congealed into stalactites. Twenty minutes! That gave him time to change back into his priest’s habit, but would it be long enough for him to get rid of his make-up?

Then he noticed his fingers.

Feck!

“Mrs Doyle!” he said. “Quick, fetch the nail-polish remover.”

She pointed to the empty bottle in Jack’s lap.

“I’m sorry, Father, I think himself drank it all.”

Ted tried desperately to retain his composure. Then he came to a decision. If he backed down now he’d spend the rest of his life in this godforsaken place. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t feel comfortable in these clothes…

“Give me the phone,” he told Dougal.