A knock on the door and a young man with red hair and freckles entered the room.
‘Speak of the devil. I was just talking about you, Ernie. Your ears must have been burning,’ Mrs O’Reilly said with a laugh.
‘Veronica, Michael’s here. Could you come into his office for a minute? Bring a pen and paper. And Veronica, wear something warm. He’s got the windows open.’
In Michael’s office, the fire blazed. The flames flickered as the wind blew in. Michael’s brush with death with the flu before Christmas meant that he had not only given up cigarettes but also insisted that there would be a steady flow of fresh air in his office.
‘Any word?’ Michael asked.
There was no need to ask what he meant; Veronica shook her head.
‘I’ll let you know as soon as I get any word, but maybe he’s not coming back. I may not hear from him again.’
Veronica returned to her desk with letters Michael needed typing, and she rubbed her arms. ‘It’s so cold in there. Not a bad thing there is talk of him moving. Even the landing is freezing.’
Mrs O’Reilly stopped typing. ‘Do you know I hate these dark evenings. Everything is so dismal and dreary. It’ll be nice to see the first buds of spring. When I was first married, we often went to Kingstown for the day to walk along the promenade. But when the boys came along, our day trips stopped. Now they are men. You really should make a trip someday; you look so glum lately. You need some cheering up.’
The door of Michael’s office banged.
‘We’d better stop this chit-chat and do some work. Veronica, you can leave once you have typed that for Michael.’
She left the office gladly as darkness had descended. On the street, lights flowed out of the doors of shops. She ran between the shadows, her footsteps light. At the corner of Abbey St, she slowed to catch her breath before she called in to Mrs Sullivan to tell her about the speeches and the Dáil.
When she entered the shop, Mrs Sullivan looked up from her newspaper as the bell chimed.
‘Come in quick, dear. It’s a cold one. I’ve a note, and I’d a chat with him. He is very polite, for a soldier that is, so different from the thugs parading around the streets as if they owned them.’ And she whispered even though no one else was in the shop, ‘And, so handsome. It’s a pity he is English, though.’
Mrs Sullivan handed the note to her, and Veronica tore it open, her body tense. She didn’t know what to expect.
1 Feb, 1919
Veronica,
Again my sincerest apologies for not seeing you before Christmas. Will you go to the moving pictures with me Saturday, 15 February?
Yours, Harry
‘Well?’
‘He wants to go to the moving picture house.’
The bell chimed behind her.
‘I must go,’ Veronica said and stuffed the note into her bag.
She nodded hello to the silver-haired woman who entered as she walked out. Veronica pulled her coat tight, trying to forget the danger on the streets.
*
Michael clasped his hands together. ‘Great news. I’ll get James to follow you.’
‘No, not James,’ she blurted out. His name alone infuriated her; she didn’t want to see him.
‘What do you mean, not James?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter who goes, reply to him as quickly as you can. Westminster are not happy about our new parliament, and they will intensify their attacks on our offices and do everything to prevent us from getting any more power. We will have to get more guns and counter-attack as many of the militia and government officials as we can.’ He stared ahead and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘I don’t know how they are always prepared for every one of our raids on their army barracks, or on the RIC station, but we need more guns. Veronica, remember, use your womanly traits with him, get him to like you, get his guard down.’
Veronica had never been to the cinema. They were nights out for lovers. The papers were full of posters advertising the new picture houses that were popping up all over the city. Even the Gaiety Theatre had converted to a picture house. Ireland was changing with the times. A knock on the door was followed by Eibhlin who brought in a tray with tea and biscuits. Veronica hadn’t seen Eibhlin for a while; after her husband had got the flu the previous spring, he had never recovered to full health and had passed away in the autumn.
‘There’s tea for the two of ye.’ She smiled at Veronica. Eibhlin had lost so much weight that her face was gaunt, her eyes sunk, lost in a pool of sorrow.
Eibhlin had left the door open, and a breeze blew in from the landing as the windows had been left open. Veronica shivered, wondering if there would be an end to this chill.
32
A guerrilla war ensued in Ireland against the British army and RIC in Ireland to weaken them into retreating forever from Ireland. The unity in the country was palpable.
On the second Saturday in February Veronica told Betty that she was meeting Bridget to go to the picture house.
‘She’s such a nice girl. You go and enjoy yourselves.’
‘Thanks.’ Veronica tried to shake away her guilt for deceiving Betty.
Veronica handed Betty her breakfast bowl with the porridge uneaten. Betty put her hand on Veronica’s forehead. ‘Are you coming down with something? You’re looking flushed. Are you sure you can meet Bridget?’
‘No, I’m fine, absolutely fine.’
Michael’s words reverberated in her head. Act interested, try to look relaxed, get him comfortable with you, and maybe he’ll tell you something, or even better try to get an invite inside the Castle. We don’t know how they know where our volunteers are, but they keep attacking us. We need to keep all the guns we have, and we must keep attacking the RIC stations to weaken them.
‘Sorry, Betty, what did you say?’
‘Do you know, it’s very dark, there’s no moon tonight. Your uncle will drop you to the picture house and collect you.’
‘No. No, it’s grand. Bridget’s brother will bring me home.’
Tom stood to put on his boots. ‘Come on, love. We’ll go. I could spend the evening asleep in front of the fire, but I’ll only be stiff in the morning if I don’t move a bit before bed. That peat your father sends up would put anyone to sleep.’
‘Bridget’s brother! Is he going as well? I didn’t know she had a brother.’ Betty smiled and raised her eyebrows.
‘No, it’s not like that,’ Veronica said, not wanting to talk about Bridget or her brother.
The dray stood patiently under the streetlamp, the steam from the horse’s warm breath mingling with the cold air like two boxers, each trying to conquer the other and neither winning.
Tom flicked the reins. ‘I think it’s colder than last year.’
Veronica nodded and picked a white speck off her coat, wishing she had worn the new purple coat, a Christmas present from her mother and father. Instead, she wore her old cream coat that had seen better days, so Betty wouldn’t question her why she was getting dressed up for Bridget. She ran her hand across her pinned hair to put any escaped curls back in place.
‘James will be there.’
‘Pardon.’
Tom looked at her. ‘I said James will be there to keep an eye on you because if the major is in uniform, you may get some hostility from people. He’ll be there in case you need him.’
She snapped, ‘I’ll be fine, and I don’t need James Sheridan looking out for me.’
‘Don’t sound so annoyed. It really is for your own good.’
Tom stopped at the corner of Mary St. A steady stream of people walked towards the picture house.
‘Are you all right, love? You’ve hardly said a word.’
‘I’m fine, Uncle, don’t worry about me,’ she said, jumping down from the dray. ‘And thanks.’
‘Veronica,’ Tom said. ‘It’ll be all right. Look, there are lots of young people and couples.’
A few couples that were familiar with each other were linking arms and laughing, but she could tell the couples that were only starting their journey of romance, the ones who were keeping their distance, making sure they didn’t touch. She doubted any of them had to do what she had to do, and if they did then surely, they would be terrified.
Tom looked at her, his eyes gentle. ‘Veronica, don’t think about it, just be your charming self.’
She had to try for Eddie and her cousin Padraig, and she fell behind the walking crowd moving towards the picture house. Harry stood at the corner in a brown tweed jacket and a trilby, which was not typical apparel for a young Dublin man. He held his head high above most of the other men, his handsome face scanning the crowd. He smiled at her approach. ‘Veronica, you look breath-taking.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, now more comfortable with his compliments.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t see you before Christmas, I wanted to.’
She couldn’t deny she was pleased to hear him say that. He placed his hand lightly on her elbow, barely touching it, but guiding her in the queue. To others, they would appear like an average couple. In the queue to their right, a girl stared at Harry then at her. As she searched the crowd for James Sheridan, the girl whispered to her friend, they giggled, and both smiled at Harry. He didn’t notice. Veronica had feared the girls recognised Harry and would shout into the crowd that an English soldier was amongst them, but the girls’ flirty looks dispelled her anxiety. She took in his calm, good looks, and sighed. If only things were different.
‘They are showing a Charlie Chaplin film. Have you seen him before?’
‘No, I’ve never been to a picture house,’ she answered.
Squeezing her arm, he laughed. ‘Actually, neither have I.’ His eyes danced as he looked at her. ‘Veronica, it’s so good to see you; I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, but I had to go back to England. I didn’t think I would be sent back. We are so busy. You must be angry I didn’t contact you. Things are, well, they are complicated.’
She kept her head low for a minute. ‘No, Harry I’m not angry,’ she said, and that was the truth. She should have been angry, but not for the reasons he thought; she should have been angry at him because he was a soldier, and Eddie was still in prison.
Now was her chance. ‘I worry it is getting dangerous for you, Harry, there seems to be a lot of fighting.’ She held her breath steady. ‘The newspapers report the attacks on RIC stations around the country, so I worry that you may get shot.’
Harry shifted, and leaned into her so no one could hear. ‘Veronica, I’ll be fine, now the war is over, we are recruiting more men to help us.’
She straightened, rechecking her hair, and trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Really, more men, wouldn’t that be more work for you?’
Harry looked ahead. ‘Are you ready? I’ve already bought the tickets, and the queue is moving.’ She looked at him. As the street gaslight fell on him, she was sure she saw a flash of pain cross his face.
Three young men stood in front of them. When they moved with the queue, they shuffled, and war-weary faces told their own story. A few Irishmen wore the English uniform. The reality of life was they had needed a job. A wage to send home to feed their family from their part in the war in Europe.
The cinema was dark, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air. A lady took their tickets and directed them to seats in the back row. It wasn’t an ideal setting for a chat. A motor started behind them, and a long bright beam lit up a screen at the top of the room, wisps of smoke swirling in the glow of light. From time to time, their knees touched, and she pulled back. She had to concentrate on the moving picture, knowing Betty would want to know what it was like. Veronica forgot about the fighting on the streets, about the two policemen killed in Tipperary, about the reason she was there. Mesmerised by the moving images on the screen, she was transported to another world, and it was remarkable. As the film ended, she stole a glance at Harry, and he caught the glimpse and smiled back.
She stopped to offer her hand before they parted, but he bent close to her. His soft lips brushed her cheek. One of his hands lingered lightly on her waist. She let it rest for a minute before she pulled it back. Something stirred inside – she was half thrilled, half repelled. She hadn’t thought it through. Her pulse beat to a deafening thunder in her temples. She closed her eyes. His slightly parted lips were now on her neck, his breath hot and the velvet touch of his lips trailing on her neck. With the other hand, he held the back of her head firmly. His lips gently found hers.
St Mary’s church chiming ten o’clock echoed through the still night. Hearing laughter behind them, she pulled away from him, her eyes wide.
‘I’ve to go,’ she said, her heart beating painfully fast.
‘I’ll walk with you, but I’m not too sure when I can meet you again, my men will be here in the next few weeks.’
Flirt with him, get him to like you.
Veronica stopped, only able to take sips of breath, ‘Surely you won’t be that busy, there must be an awful lot more soldiers coming.’
The shadows fell across his face. Her body, on heightened awareness, felt the heat of his body as he moved closer.
Flirt with him, get him to like you. It had sounded so formal, but this was new to her and the feeling she had in the picture house confused her.
He brushed away a loose strand of her hair. His steady gaze should have unsettled her, but she moved closer to him and held her breath. Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on his face, she couldn’t do anything to stop the hunger of desire that was building in her.
He moved closer, his warm lips on the nape of her neck. His hand slipped down to her hips, and as his fingertips pressed lightly on her clothing, her skin tingled. Not in disgust, but pleasure.
But he stood back, took her gloved hand and kissed it. ‘I’ll call at the shop. I don’t know when I’ll get time off as the soldiers may not arrive for weeks. We are so undermanned, and…’ He rubbed his temples, a stress line on his forehead.
This was great news for Michael. ‘Yes,’ she said, encouraging him to keep talking, trying not to think about his soft lips on her hand.
‘I’ve to go, Veronica.’ He tilted his cap and left.
She stood back in the shadows to watch him turn onto Bachelors Walk back towards the barracks. After a few minutes, she walked briskly home towards Thomas St. The streets were empty. In the distance, a patrol vehicle rumbled – the curfew. As she quickened her steps, she was pulled sideways. She lurched forward, but before she could work out what was happening, a hand covered her mouth, rough and calloused, and she was dragged away. Her shoes scraped against the alley’s cobbles. Before she could scream, she heard a familiar voice.
‘Veronica, shh, it’s me, Eddie.’
‘Eddie! Oh, my God.’ She hugged him, falling into him, running her hands over him and checking to make sure he was in one piece. ‘It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe it’s you! I thought you were in prison.’
The rumble of an army vehicle on patrol pushed them further back into the alley. The passing patrol lights reached down the alley, but they crouched down low so the lights passed over them before moving back to the street.
‘How did you get out? Why are you hiding?’
Eddie didn’t answer and pulled Veronica through a door to a musty smelling house. They entered a small dark room off the hallway. The flickering candle in the corner on a small wooden table offered little light. When Eddie moved to a table with two chairs, it was only then she noticed the bandaged hand.
Veronica jumped at a man’s voice behind her. ‘I’ll be off, Eddie, pull the door shut after you.’
Eddie dropped into the chair, rubbing his hand. Veronica saw a shot of pain in his face.
‘Eddie, are you hurt?’
The look of pain was gone as soon as he spoke. ‘Veronica, Jesus, what are you doing with that bastard? You kissed him! You’re not supposed to get that close to him.’
&nbs
p; The candlelight flickered across his face, and there was a black look of hatred in his eyes.
‘Eddie, I’m meeting him for Sinn Féin, I’m supposed to get information from him. I think he is complex. He said he is half Catholic. He thinks the English shouldn’t be here. And Michael said to flirt with him, make him like me.’
‘Jesus, Veronica, you’re so naive. He only wants one thing. They are all the same.’
‘He’s kind. I don’t know, Eddie, he is…’
‘He’s fuckin’ English, the enemy. I know what Michael said. It just felt different when I saw it with my own eyes.’
‘Look, Eddie, forget about it, God it’s so good to see you.’ She inhaled and said, ‘I saw James Sheridan. I thought that it was him who was following me.’
A movement in the corner. Veronica pulled her coat in tighter. Rats were everywhere.
‘Eddie, I don’t know what to ask him.’
‘Ask about his work, but don’t get too close,’ he growled in reply and grabbed her hand, looking at her ferociously. ‘Look at what the Cumann women are doing. Are you making a mockery of them?’
She pulled her hand from him. She didn’t know what had got into him. Eddie continued to rant but fell back onto the chair. A dark patch seeped through his thigh trouser leg. Veronica moved quickly to Eddie. She tore his trousers and saw a red bandage filling with blood and took it off. Pulling hard at the trousers, glad they were old and tore with no resistance, Veronica tied the torn trouser material tight around his leg. He winced but said nothing, his face covered in sweat. She pulled the bandage tighter and the blood stopped seeping into the trouser leg. When she sat on the filthy floor, only then did she notice how cold the room was.
‘Can you sit for a minute?’ She put his coat around his shoulders, dismayed how his once tight-fitting coat now hung loosely from his shoulders.
‘Eddie, rest and close your eyes.’ She rubbed his hand like their mother used to do when they were ill. ‘Get some sleep now.’
Veronica sat on the cold dirty floor beside him, holding him so he wouldn’t fall. She had to get back to Thomas St to get Tom’s help, but she was afraid if she left him, the rats might attack him, or worse, he might die.
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