Islandbridge

by Brady, John

  “You want me to feel sorry for you or something? Is that your game here?”

  “No, no. I’m just saying, I’m in no position to, you know.”

  “To . . . ? To do something for me? For the man who saved your neck? How do I know you didn’t rat on me for what happened back then, what is it now, only four months . . . it’s like a million years ago. Anyway, how do I know you didn’t?”

  “I didn’t,” said Kelly. “I wouldn’t, I swear.”

  “You swear, do you? What about your priest in confession, whatever your crowd do. What about that?”

  “No. I mean I wouldn’t. And now, well, it’s gone by.”

  “What are you saying ‘gone by’? It’s too late to rat on me just because my son isn’t here?”

  “I mean there’s no point. That’s all I mean.”

  Rynn seemed to consider this.

  “Well, you’re starting to make sense a bit,” said Rynn. “Just a tiny bit, mind you.”

  Kelly lowered his voice again.

  “I didn’t mean any harm there at the church,” he said.

  “So you say,” said Rynn. “So you say. But those are only words.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Now look. You have to realize something here. You have to see my position here. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m talking to a Guard like this, explaining things. This is madness. But I have a bad feeling that somebody’s trying to rub my face in it here.”

  “I wouldn’t–”

  “–You keep on saying the same thing: ‘I wouldn’t, I didn’t, I couldn’t.’ Let me tell you something, copper: you would if you could get away with it. All of you cops would. You hate me, us, all my people. You’re jealous of us. You’d love to see us go down. Don’t lie to me, I’m not an iijit?”

  But staring now at the marks on the desk, the bottle of Tippex, his incident book, Kelly realized then that he had decided something. It had happened in an instant. He understood that he had made this decision long before tonight. It was just that he hadn’t even admitted it to himself. It wasn’t relief that flooded into him, no, but some feeling of clarity.

  Yes, he’d work at anything. Toronto was nice he’d heard, but only go to a big city. Somewhere near the mountains and the sea, Vancouver? So much space – and the North, where hardly anyone lived?

  “You get what I’m saying to you?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. I want an address. Can you do that for me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well try. And try hard. I’m trying to get in touch with someone but I’ve lost his address. So his sister would have it but she moved a few weeks ago herself. They’re half-knackers, to be honest. Him, he’s like a fart in a bottle, always running around, but I know he gets in touch with her. So I don’t have time or energy to be running around. Write down her name.”

  Kelly wanted to say something. He watched his own hand scribble the name. Lorraine Smith.

  “I know, I know,” he heard Rynn say. The voice seemed to come from a great distance to him now. He loosened his grip on the telephone and took a deep breath, and then another. “There’s tons of Smiths, I know. That’s why I’m asking you, see. She had some connection with people in Arklow or some place. Knackers, the half of them, I think. I used to know her oul lad but he’s otherwise occupied this past while.”

  “I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

  “That’s a load of bollocks. Just go to that new computer thing you have there somewhere and do it.”

  “There’s a log of who uses it. There’s requisitions and everything. I can’t.”

  “Did I ask you the ins-and-outs of the thing? No I didn’t. And let me tell you something else now. I want you to think long and hard about this. I’m not asking you to do impossible things. That’s not my way. That’d be stupid to do that. You said stress, didn’t you, pressure and all of that? Well, I’m not thick. I know all about that. People do mad things under stress. I’m going to tell you something now and you’re hardly going to believe it, so you’re not.”

  Rynn seemed to gather himself before going on. Kelly kept his eyes on the desktop but his mind was trying to piece together images from maps and travel brochures, and from the pictures he had formed from listening to people’s descriptions.

  The Rockies were so high they had snow all year long. They were different from Americans too, the people there, not loud or full of themselves, or that. There had been a bunch of them years ago, hitchhikers, in that pub there in Clifden.

  “I’m going to consider what you done at the church as a good thing. Do you hear that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think you know what a big step that is. Do you have a clue, even?”

  “I do.”

  “I’m going to think of it as a show of respect. Not as some kind of savage thing, a revenge thing.”

  Rynn paused then and waited. Kelly thought he heard some liquid swishing around.

  “I bet you think I’m losing it,” Rynn said then. “Don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me anyway, would you? But just think back for a minute how this conversation started, and then tell me it’s not some kind of a miracle. I mean, I don’t believe in that shite, don’t get me wrong, okay? But it started out me wanting to nail you for that, for showing up. But I always had that doubt, wondering if maybe you didn’t mean any harm. D’you get that, did you?”

  These were the first slurred words, Kelly realized.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I think I do.”

  “Nobody asked for any of this to happen, okay? But there’s something between us, yes there is. I don’t know what it is. I don’t believe in this fortune-telling crap, no way. But there we are. So there. Did you ever think you’d hear someone on my side of the fence talk to a Guard like that, did you?”

  “No. I suppose not.”

  “Well, I’m telling you. I know myself. I don’t have much schooling, but I know stuff. So I’m saying this: you save me time finding Lorraine Smith, and I’ll push things your way. No, no, no – I can hear you thinking I’m trying to buy you off – it’s not that. It’s not. Not at all. I’m saying that I’ll look after you, yes I will. In some shape or form. Okay? I’m going to just leave it with you for now. I don’t want to hear from you saying you can’t, and it’s impossible, or whatever. Lorraine Smith, used to be in Walkinstown. Lorraine Smith.”

  Kelly’s thoughts swarmed, and words skittered into nowhere. He definitely heard a glass, or ice at Rynn’s end now. He listened harder and heard a sigh.

  “Look,” he said, but stopped. Rynn had hung up.

  Kelly put down the receiver. Things went on around him, as though nothing had happened or changed. He heard the stutter of the typewriter still, and saw the piece of tongue Cullen held between his teeth in his efforts to concentrate.

  Everything looked faded and tinted a pale grey by the fluorescent lights. Fahjy was off the phone himself, and he groaned and swore as he stood. After a stretch that lifted one shirt tail right up from his belt, he began that tuneless whistling he did with his tongue at the roof of his mouth. The happy man finishing his shift, just as he Declan Kelly should be.

  He heard his breath and felt a band around his forehead, tightening, pushing.

  Fahy turned up the radio traffic to hear something about a motorbike accident. He turned away, heard a Guard talk a little breathlessly about some pub called Tracy’s, a falling-down fight they’d need a wagon for three of them.

  “What’s with the long face there, Dec?”

  He studied Fahy’s tired smile. Fahy at least had the wherewithal to stop the digs about women after the wedding.

  “Not long now,” said Fahy, and tilted his head and winked.

  Kelly knew it was well meant, maybe even a joke, but he didn’t know what it meant. Nor did he care, right now. Fahy was still eyeing him.

  “Come on,” he said. “Go home. Are you nodding o
ff there?”

  Kelly got up. Everything was suddenly heavy on him now, his limbs even.

  “Are you all right there, Dec? Going to make it, are you?”

  “If we were all right we wouldn’t be here, would we.”

  Fahy smiled but it became a yawn. Then his face turned softer.

  “Don’t be overdoing it,” he said. “Believe you me, there’ll be plenty of time for that painting and decorating thing now. Conserve your energy, as they say. You’ll be busy enough in no time, let me tell you. Mark my words, oh yes.”

  Kelly tried to hide his irritation. It was well meant. Fahy had three kids already, himself. Maybe he should have kept back the news about Eimear expecting until later. It was inexperience really, and there had been a little bit of embarrassment about how quickly she had gotten pregnant. Ahead of the rest of the field already, Fahy had said when he’d heard the news first, and hardly out of the starting gate.

  “Thanks for telling me,” he said to Fahy.

  “I meant to ask you, Dec. How’s the leg with you?”

  Kelly didn’t get it for several moments.

  “The ankle?” Fahy went on. “You’re back to the hurling, aren’t you?”

  Kelly was almost certain that Fahy’e eyes had done a quick search of the desk for an ashtray.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign then,” said Fahy.

  But Kelly knew that Fahy was still watching him as he put away his folders.

  “Ever consider trying again, you know?” he asked.

  “Twisting my ankle?”

  “No, you thick– I meant looking for those fellas who did it.”

  “I haven’t, to be honest. I suppose I should.”

  “It might be worth it, Dec. They might have come up since, for a similar.”

  His fury with Fahy’s meandering talk that’d never stop was only growing. “Maybe,” he said. He realized that he had been holding his breath.

  “Dublin, huh,” said Fahy then, with an air of finality, and began another long, slow stretch. His last words came out as a groan.

  “Lucky it wasn’t worse, I suppose.”

  Kelly finished the incident report but left the misspellings. Then he got up. His mouth felt acid, and the room seemed to have changed. He couldn’t bear to look over at Fahy, but seeing Cullen’s earnest, frowning attentions to what his typewriter was doing repelled him now.

  “You look shagged,” he heard Fahy say behind him. “Go on home.”

  Cullen looked up from his typing, and Kelly had to look away.

  Fahy shoved the drawer closed as he always did when he had his shift done.

  “You might be coming down with something,” he said. “There’s something going around, I hear.”

  November 18, 1983

  For the fourth night in a row, Declan Kelly kept waking up. It was almost always the same time. Eimear was beginning to sleep lighter too. Tonight, for some reason, she had woken up before him. He could tell by her breathing. He tried not to move.

  There wasn’t a hint of dawn on the curtains. The nights were so damned long now, and there was still a month yet to go before it turned again. Solstice, was that the word?

  He listened, hoping for her breathing to lapse back into the steady, nasal pattern that had come on in the past few weeks. She didn’t mind the odd kick during the day but at night it wasn’t much fun.

  Her voice was clear when she spoke, clear enough to startle him.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I am.”

  “Why are you waking up?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  She shifted a little, and drew up her leg. He had stopped wondering how much the skin on her belly, on any woman’s belly, could stretch so much already.

  A minute passed. He stared at the darker line where the curtains met, willing it to be brighter so he wouldn’t have to look at his watch and see how early it was.

  “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t look.”

  She moved around and got her elbows under her. The bed warmth came up at him. Wait till the water breaks bejases, O’Keefe had told him: it’s always at night!

  “I might as well now as later,” she said.

  “Do you want a hand?”

  “To pee? I’m not ready for that yet, love.”

  Kelly followed her form in the near dark, heard her labouring breath. The yellow landing light glowed at the bottom of the bedroom door, and he heard the door to the bathroom close.

  He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. The tots of whiskey hadn’t helped a bit these last two nights. Eimear hadn’t noticed, or if she had, she hadn’t let on. He’d been careful, brushing and gargling. There was the soft clank of the lever pushed and the rush of water. He waited to hear her footsteps, and the click of the light switch.

  “Don’t be worrying,” she said, and nestled against him.

  “I’m not,” he said. He took her arm under his and let it rest on his chest.

  “Come on now, Dec,” she murmured. “I’m not blind, you know. Or stupid.”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “Go back to sleep, can’t you,” he managed. “Talk in the morning.”

  “Give us an oul squeeze first, but,” she said.

  He guided her leg up and felt the taut press of her belly against his side.

  “Don’t be getting excited now,” she whispered.

  From her voice he knew she was smiling. He stroked her back with his fingertips, felt her head shift a little in the crook of his arm. He had admitted to himself that part of him was annoyed at how fast things had happened. The thing was, it was nobody’s fault. Even thinking that way about “fault” was stupid: a baby was good news, for God’s sake. And when you think about it, it was way better to get started now and not to be waiting. The fact was, Eimear must have been pregnant at the altar. People would figure that out soon enough, no doubt.

  He lay there for what seemed like a long time, until he thought her slack weight meant sleep. Then he began to work at freeing her arm.

  “I can tell, you know, Dec.”

  “Aren’t you asleep?”

  “How can I sleep?”

  “I’m sorry. Here, lie over.”

  “I can read your mind,” she said. “Well, a bit anyways.”

  “Jesus, now I’ll never sleep again.”

  “I’m only joking. But it’s okay to be nervous, for men. You know that.”

  The flutter of resentment stirred, and stayed. How women were so all knowing, he thought, or so they thought. He rubbed at his eyes and for no reason he saw the flashes in that laneway and Junior Rynn’s lit up with each shot.

  “What,” said Eimear. “What’s that? Did I hit you?”

  He felt his heart thumping. He tried harder to keep his breathing normal.

  “No, no. I’m grand.”

  He could tell by the quiet then that it wasn’t over, that she didn’t believe him. His mind ran from place to place, through the years, in his search to banish the dim half-born images circling in his mind. He must never panic: never.

  He forced himself to remember the beach where they had lain and had it off that night in Portugal. There had been that low wall with the nice places to sunbathe, he could remember. Then there were the umbrellas, the wooden walkway thing. A German couple, with the girl going topless, no big deal. His mind raced to the hurling that he had enjoyed all the way though secondary school, even the falls onto the grassy, soft surface of the pitch so often moist from rain. It had been an icy blue sky the day of the passing out parade in the Garda Depot in Templemore, though–

  “What is it, Dec? No secrets, remember?”

  He mustn’t get angry, not even annoyed.

  “Ah, it’s just a situation at work. It’ll work out. It will.”

  “It’ll be different soon,” she said after a while. “They’ll know you have responsibilities, you know.”
/>
  He stared harder at where the curtains met. If it was dawn here, then it was dusk on the far side of the planet. He had never quite figured that out: if the Earth was spinning so fast, well how come . . . ?

  The question faded as a great longing came over him, a confused cascade of sky, and snow-capped mountains, and the wide highways – interstates, they were called – and skyscrapers and California beaches. He opened his eyes again.

  It wouldn’t even have to be more than five years away: that’s how he’d sell it to Eimear. They could save pretty well everything they earned over there too, because stuff was cheap. He could try his hand at something there that’d look good when he came back – a course in computers would be good, the coming thing. Then, when they’d come back, this would be all out of their system, and they would build a house, their own house, down near Cahir. He’d never have to travel the stinking streets of Dublin again.

  “When is your cousin visiting again?”

  “What cousin?” she asked.

  “Paddy Keane, him”

  “From the States?”

  She jerked upright, far faster than he imagined she could. Her voice had changed.

  “Listen, Declan. Don’t start that again. Don’t. This is not the time, okay?”

  “What am I starting?”

  “You know my feelings on that score. It’s a lot different now; with the way we’ll be, God willing. There’ll be three of us. Not two, three. Are you listening to me?”

  He was annoyed enough now not to pretend otherwise.

  “Declan, look. A woman doesn’t think like a man, okay? She can’t. I have all mine here. Ma, all my sisters. Everybody.”

  “Okay,” he managed. “Okay.”

  She knew enough not to push it, he realized. Slowly she let herself down again.

  “Of course we’ll go,” she said. “For a visit. I know you want to go. New York, Los Angeles wherever. Australia, wasn’t that another one? Canada. I listen. I do.”

  He heard the little intake of breath. His mind rocked with guilt and love. He reached for her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and a sob broke. “I’m sorry.”