Eden Burning

by Deirdre Quiery

  Peter looked again at the flowchart on the blackboard. “If I am watching my thoughts, I cannot be my thoughts. If I am aware of my emotions, I cannot be my emotions. It seems that the space around thoughts and emotions is what is watching – and that space is who or what I am.”

  Mr McCabe nodded vigorously. “Perhaps we might call that space ‘Awareness’. That space is a vibrant, intelligent, loving Awareness.” Mr McCabe smiled broadly, wiping a trickle of sweat which ran down his forehead with the handkerchief.

  The bell rang outside for break. Peter jumped as the radiator beside his chair gurgled into life. He looked at Mr McCabe who was holding his index finger against his lips, his eyes soft and questioning. “Who is it, Peter? Can you tell me? Who is it who is planning a murder and who are they planning to kill?” Mr McCabe leant forward and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m all ears.”

  Peter told Mr McCabe the whole story after school in a tea shop near the City Hall. Donald McCabe munched angel cake and sipped tea. Peter sat across the table, his face whiter than the tablecloth.

  “Peter, this makes you an accomplice to murder.”

  Peter breathed heavily. “I know, but I never wanted to be involved. I couldn’t say no. I’ve told you what they did. They wouldn’t think twice about killing me. I know it.”

  “I believe you, Peter, but where is the evidence to show that you weren’t willingly involved?”

  “Paddy and Michael knew but they’re dead.”

  “Let’s not think of that now. We will convince the police Peter. They will understand, I promise. Let’s think now about what we need to do to stop them murdering Rose or anyone else.”

  “I’ve tried to do what I thought might work but I might have made it worse. They’re now watching me, suspicious of me.”

  “There is always a way.” Mr McCabe patted Peter’s hand. “What would they not expect you to do?”

  “Maybe they wouldn’t expect me to speak to Mum?”

  “What about talking to your Dad?”

  “I have never talked to Dad. I don’t think now is the best time to start.”

  • • •

  William turned the corner onto Elmwood Terrace. Everything in his body hurt. He was aware of how difficult it was to move his left leg. It was stiff and dragged behind him like a leaden weight, daggers of pain in his knee and ankle. The wind pummelled his face with small rounded hailstones. He closed his eyes as he tugged his woollen scarf into a knot to try and stop it slipping free. As he did so he heard the sound of a small motorbike starting up at the end of the street. It wasn’t that particular noise that made his heart beat faster, sending fear flooding through his body. It was the sound of laughter – the laughter of two teenage boys.

  He opened his eyes. On the left hand side of the road a small motorbike was making circles in the road. There were two skinny boys riding it. William didn’t really look at them. He heard them laugh even louder. They were cheering as though riding a bucking bronco. He could make out that they were maybe twelve or thirteen, too young to be riding the bike legally. He didn’t spend too long looking at them.

  They straightened their circle and approached. He turned his attention to the six feet of rope attached to the exhaust pipe of the bike. On the end of the rope a shape a little more than a foot long was rolling and bouncing along the road towards him. William rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, not sure he could trust his vision. It was easier to make it out now. It was a ball of fluff, rolling from left to right on the end of the rope, occasionally catching on the pockmarked tarmac which sent it sailing high into the air before crashing back onto the surface. The ball of fluff screeched rasping hopeless cries as it was dragged.

  William threw himself in front of the bike as it drew parallel to him, the boys falling off and the rider screaming. “What are you’re doing, you fucking idiot? Do you want to kill us?”

  William crawled onto his knees. On all fours he felt his way to the end of the rope, patiently and delicately undoing the knot attached to Bouncer’s collar.

  He cradled Bouncer in his arms. For five minutes he was unaware of anything other than feeling the faint heartbeat which still moved within Bouncer’s chest. Blood from Bouncer’s mouth and broken teeth seeped into William’s beige raincoat. William didn’t notice the boys jump over the wall at the end of the road as he buried his head in Bouncer’s long stripy coat of winter fur.

  “Don’t die on me. Please don’t die.” William lifted his head and stroked Bouncer with his finger on his favourite spot behind his left ear. Bouncer moved his leg an inch and a small pink tongue with a nail file finish licked William’s hand.

  William felt the roughness of the tongue and heard a small purr start around Bouncer’s heart. He kept looking at his closed eyes. Bouncer slowly opened his eyes and looked at William. William bent closer. He heard the small purring noise get louder as Bouncer slowly lifted his paw and tapped him gently on the nose.

  William leaned back against the wheels of the bike and took a deep breath. He gathered Bouncer to him in a circle of fluff, pulling his tail neatly around him as though Bouncer was curled up on his knee on the sofa.

  Holding Bouncer on his knees and caressing him William rocked backwards and forwards. His body started to vibrate with Bouncer’s purring. He felt a deep peace move through him. He kept rocking gently, squeezing Bouncer to him, occasionally dropping his face into Bouncer’s fur and shaking his head deeper into its wetness. He didn’t notice his face covered in blood.

  It was only when a car turned onto Elmwood Terrace and the driver got out to help William to his feet that he thought of moving. He refused to hand over Bouncer. Instead, he walked the remaining few steps to his front gate, Bouncer still purring in his left arm, walked past the cherry tree, and heard Eileen’s feet running along the hallway as sank to his knees on the doorstep.

  chapter 7

  Thursday 6th January 1972

  Cedric zipped up his leather jacket before opening the passenger door of the taxi. He reached out a hand. “Madame.”

  Jenny placed her hand in his. She was surprised how warm and soft it felt. Yet she still wanted to shake her hand free. She looked into Cedric’s eyes. He glanced away as she slid her legs out of the taxi. She wrapped a multi-coloured scarf around her neck and tucked it into the duffle coat.

  “We can pop into the golf club later for a hot drink if you like.”

  Jenny tied a loose lace on her boot. She pulled her pink pom pom hat down over her head. “Sounds good.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the taxi here. If I drive it onto the beach there will be sand everywhere.” Cedric locked the door.

  “That’s fine.” Jenny stuffed her hands into her duffle coat pockets. “It’s freezing. Let’s walk quickly.” Jenny started to run towards the beach.

  Cedric walked quickly behind pulling on his leather gloves.

  There was a strong gale blowing from the North whipping up the waves into foamy white tops. The wind then snaked its way across the sand, carving deep rhythmical curves as far as the eye could see. To the right Jenny watched gannets plunging into the waves in search of food. There was a moment of stillness when the gannets pointed their heads straight down and then almost hovered over the waves in a way that seemed timeless.

  “It must be cold in there.” Jenny turned to Cedric. “There must be easier ways of finding a bite to eat.”

  “Like driving a taxi?” Cedric laughed.

  Sandpipers and wagtails raced ahead of them towards the Barmouth. The sand was soft underfoot near to the water’s edge which made walking more difficult.

  “Over here is easier.” Cedric headed towards the sand dunes where the spiky grass shivered in the wind.

  “I can’t believe that there’s no-one here. It’s so beautiful.” Jenny buried her face into her scarf.

  “It’s better that way, don’t you think?” Cedric moved closer to Jenny. His shoulder bumped against hers. Jenny took a few steps to th
e right.

  “I like having people around.” Jenny pushed her hands more deeply into her pockets. “Don’t you?”

  “Depends. Are you warm enough?” He rubbed his hands together. “Freezing isn’t it?” Cedric watched the tip of Jenny’s nose turn red.

  “Maybe we could walk faster. Race you to the Barmouth.”

  Jenny started to run with her hands in her pockets, her head down looking at the sand, fighting against the strong wind whipping sand into the creases of her jeans. Cedric followed, gasping deeply. His body felt heavy, solid and unwilling to move.

  As they reached the end of the beach they scrambled onto the slippery rocks to see the river Bann sweep into the Atlantic like an artery releasing blood into infinity. White luminous clouds billowed high above them. Strong waves dashed against the rocks at the end of a rocky pier. A black cormorant watched regally as foam from the breaking waves stuck like candy floss to its feathers. Cedric felt his cheeks turning numb as he licked salt from his lips.

  “Careful!” Cedric shouted as Jenny made her way slowly over the rocks towards the edge of the pier. “It’s dangerous. You could slip.”

  Cedric got onto his hunkers and followed Jenny, trying to balance by grabbing hold of the rocks in front of him and using his knees and lower legs to slide over them one by one. He glanced into the river to his left. The water dashed against the rocks and then jettisoned back into the powerful currents which propelled it towards the Atlantic. He felt his head beginning to swirl. He couldn’t think. He could only feel this nauseating movement which didn’t allow a single thought to settle into awareness. His stomach lurched as though he had dropped several floors quickly in an elevator. He kneeled upright, rubbed his hands together, spotting a rock a few feet in front of him. It was flat on top. Keeping his sight on the rock, without looking into the river or into the sea, he tentatively edged forward, reaching the flat glazed surface and sitting down, not caring that the cold water seeped into his jeans. He closed his eyes briefly, smelling the seaweed, hearing the seagulls crying overhead, rubbing his eyes with the back of his gloves.

  He opened his eyes to see Jenny standing on the last craggy rock looking out into the Atlantic. She removed her hands from her pockets and held onto her hat. Cedric looked out to sea. There was a series of three magnificent waves approaching, the last much higher and stronger than the others in front. They were like glorious cavalry horses charging fearlessly into battle. As he stared into the turquoise green depths of their curves, he saw them gain in height, pulling the water up into the sky where the curled white tips almost appeared to vanish into the scudding clouds. The third wave advanced at a faster pace, gobbling up the second wave, and rearing itself higher into the sky before the last two waves pulled together and became one.

  Jenny had her back to the sea, watching Cedric scramble to his feet. Her hands were over her ears, still holding onto her hat. She couldn’t hear what he was shouting but saw his lips twist into a scream. He shook his arm vigorously pointing with his finger towards the sea. Jenny turned slowly. She twisted her head slightly to the right when the wave struck. Jenny felt the full force of the water hit her like a slap from a whale’s tail. She lost balance. Cedric, trepidation lost in a paroxysm of fear, leapt across the last three remaining rocks as Jenny disappeared from sight.

  Jenny was aware of her body turning over and over. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She was enveloped in an energy which tossed her at its whim like a killer whale playing with a sea lion. There was a heavy thump as her body hit the hard sand. She heard the air leaving her body through her mouth. She knew that she had to breathe in but the air kept pushing out. Then, there was the sound of waves dragging the sand and small pebbles out to sea. She was alone for a moment. She lifted her head and saw a wall of water above her. She managed to take a deep breath. The wave collapsed, pulling her again further out to sea. She turned over three times, instinctively holding her breath before again being dashed onto the sand. Once more she heard the familiar sound of the rasping, dragging of sand and pebbles. She tried to get to her knees in an attempt to crawl towards the shore. She knew time was limited. She had to move quickly before the wave returned. She moved only a few inches before being whipped away again and being pulled into the bowels of the sea, turning and tumbling over and over, lips tightly closed, open eyes seeing a dark shape moving towards her through the murky sand. She instinctively reached towards the blackness and grabbed Cedric’s thick black leather glove. As the wave receded Cedric lifted Jenny into his arms. She spluttered and gulped for air. He felt the weight of her presence in his arms like the constant steady pulse of his heart beat pulsing within him. Jenny lifted her arms and placed them both around Cedric’s neck.

  “Thank you.”

  She kissed his cheek, tasting the salty grains of sand against her lips, feeling his prickly stubble send quivers of bubbliness to her toes.

  “You’re going to be OK.” Cedric pressed his head against her, nudging her gently the way cats do when they’re pleased to see each other.

  “You saved my life.” Jenny shivered as the strong wind pressed the sodden jeans against her thighs.

  “We’ll have you warm and toasty in no time.” Cedric held his head high in the air and although Jenny was a dead weight in his arms, he was determined to walk the length of the beach without stopping, without dropping her. “You owe me a pint in the Black Beetle. I’ll have you there for 3pm no problem.”

  Cedric felt lightness in his heart which was new. He felt a smile spreading across his face. He didn’t feel the cold, only a soft warm flame in his belly as Jenny pulled him tighter. Then his body quivered and his heart sank as she whispered, “What will Peter say? He will never believe what happened.”

  The sand under foot felt softer now under Cedric’s heavy black boots. He kept looking straight ahead and tried to keep part of his attention on the feel of Jenny in his arms. He blotted out any memory of Peter looking at Jenny, listening to her telling her story. Instead he concentrated on the softness of the curves of her thighs, the tug of her arms around his neck.

  “Peter mightn’t be there tonight. He sometimes has rugby practice.”

  • • •

  While Cedric helped Jenny out of the taxi parked near Portstewart’s Golf Club, Tom cycled towards Downpatrick. Since Rose had been born, he made the journey to Castle Ward each year to give thanks for the year gone by and to think about the year ahead. He loved hearing the squawks of the ducks on the Lough and the high pitched screams of seagulls overhead. Making this annual pilgrimage to Castle Ward allowed him to nestle into the rhythm of the lapping waves, feel the touch of the breeze on his face, smelling the sodden earth and tasting the harmony of being at one with nature.

  He turned left at the roundabout a mile from Downpatrick town centre and cycled the remaining seven miles along a fairly flat road towards the estate. There was an hour of sunlight left before he would need to return home. He arrived at the main entrance beside Ballycutter Lodge, dismounted his bike to walk along the path, frozen solid with patches of black ice. It was difficult to hold onto the bike handles as he slipped walking downhill past Castle Ward House, further down past Old Castle Ward, heading for the old Boat House on the edge of Strangford Lough. He walked along the edge of the road where the frozen grass crunched under his boots. The sun sparkled on the snow on the path in front of him like stars exploding in micro bursts of glitter. Slipping again on the ice, he took a few faster steps, with his woollen gloves gripping firmly to the handlebars. His bicycle clip bit into his right calf. He stopped, rested the bike against the grey stone wall, bending over to pull his woollen socks into a more comfortable position, adjusting the bike clip, his eyes watering with the cold. He coughed deeply, the phlegm tasting a little bit bloody on the back of his tongue. He felt slightly feverish as he coughed a second time. This time the cough rattled around his heart, straining muscles at the back of his throat which seemed to almost close over. He grasped hold of the ha
ndlebars again and pushed the bike past the Farmyard, past the Clock House, turning onto the narrow path leading to the Boat House.

  The trees were empty of leaves, reaching into the blue sky with fine dendrites making their connection with an infinite universe, sending messages and information into eternity. A blackbird swooped over the frozen grass, back glistening in the golden light of the winter sun. He finally reached the Boat House on the edge of the Lough, leant the bike against the green wooden door and opened the rucksack to remove a bag of twigs. He scattered them on the ground. He struck a match and with the help of two firelighters the twigs crackled into life. Tom watched a heron lift heavily into the air and swing into a low flight towards the Deer Park. A small plume of blue smoke rose like incense into the blue sky, swirling into tangerine tinged clouds. He prayed.

  Firstly he prayed for Rose and Lily that they would be safe and happy. Then he then prayed, as he always did, for his ancestors. It seemed easy in Castle Ward to hear them calling him. Listening to the silence on the shore, Tom heard them calling from the depths of Strangford Lough. Their voices were at times gentle, soft, faint and apologetic – not at all demanding. It would have been very easy to miss what they were saying as he tended the fire, throwing twigs onto the orange embers. They were whispering to him in the blue pine scented smoke twisting into the air. Tom stood beside the fire, staring over the Lough’s turquoise shimmer, watching a boat bob close by. It was when his thoughts stopped and he listened in the silence and stillness that he felt connected to everyone who had ever walked a path on this earth ahead of him. He was at one with them. That was when Tom felt that he was really praying – when all the words dropped away.

  What did break that sense of peace was a sense of discomfort in his gut. Tom felt suddenly strangely uncomfortable. A kind of anxiety gripped him, tightening into a knot in his stomach. He had a premonition, an inkling, an intuition that something extraordinarily dreadful was about to happen. It was as though his body reached feelers out into the space beyond him. His body knew – not his head – what was happening and what was about to happen. He knew that if he stayed in his head he would feel safe – but to do what he had to do he need to be in tune with his body. He breathed deeply and felt fear arising in his throat, stirring in his stomach, circling in his heart which thumped erratically. His heart then fluttered as though trying to escape his rib cage, pounding against his ribs the way a bird in a cage panics as the cat circles it.