Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen)

by Stina Leicht

  “Thanks, Mrs. B., but she’ll be fine.” He called up after her but she was already gone.

  “Hello? Liam? Is that you?”

  Sighing, Liam turned back to the phone. “Yes, Father. It’s Mary Kate. She’s sick.”

  “Do you need someone to take her to hospital?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Liam said. “At least, I don’t think so. But I need you to talk her into going to the doctor. She’s being stubborn.”

  There was a short pause. “Don’t you think this is something best resolved between the two of you?”

  “Father, please. I tried. She’ll not see reason,” Liam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you come by tonight? Don’t think she’ll have the energy to put up a fight. She’s throwing up her lunch and possibly breakfast too by the sound.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Liam hung up the phone and took the stairs at a run. By the time he got to the flat Mrs. Black was already sitting next to a rumpled and weary-looking Mary Kate.

  “She’s fine,” Mrs. Black said. “I’ll just go get some peppermint tea.” She patted Mary Kate’s knee.

  “Father Murray’s on his way,” Liam said after Mrs. Black was gone. “Do you have a fever?”

  “It’s only something I ate,” Mary Kate said. She got up from the sofa.

  “Sit down,” Liam said. “I’ll make the dinner, then.”

  “You’re planning on serving ham baps is it?”

  “You’re in no shape to be cooking. Sit.”

  She put a hand on her hip. “I’ll not speak to him, you know. I don’t care what the pair of you do. It isn’t going to work.”

  “I said, sit.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips formed a straight line. He suppressed an urge to kiss her. If she was feeling well enough to argue then she would probably be all right.

  “You promised to love, cherish and obey,” Liam said. “So, make with the obey.”

  “William Ronan Munroe Kelly, don’t you dare take that tone with me.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Black entered, carrying a cup.

  “Here’s the tea, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. B.,” Mary Kate said. After glaring at him she sat and accepted the cup.

  Liam went to the kitchen to finish the cleaning and then start on the dinner. He packed up the manuals and dumped them onto the bed in the next room. Then he moved the bucket of petrol and plugs into the bath and pulled the curtain. Getting the motor grease and petrol from the table was a bit tougher, and it occurred to him that he should be more careful in the future.

  Mrs. Black asked, “Are you certain you’re not—”

  “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. B.,” Mary Kate said. “I’ll come by tomorrow and drop off the cup.”

  There was a spate of fierce whispering. Curious, he looked over to the sitting room. Mary Kate had Mrs. Black by the arm and was leading her to the door.

  “I’m not,” Mary Kate said. “Definitely not.” She opened the door, gently pushed Mrs. Black outside and turned the lock.

  “Definitely not what?”

  “Having a case of summer pneumonia.”

  “Oh.” He sighed and went into the little kitchen. “Still, you look a bit weak. Why don’t you have a lie down? Drink the tea. Relax. Take a wee nap.”

  “I don’t know if I feel like eating a bap tonight.”

  “What else can I make for you?” He peered around the wall and saw she was lying down. “I can boil water with the best of them. Had quite a lot of practice, you know. As many hours I had on the boiler at Malone, you may even call me a professional.”

  His humor didn’t even get so much as a smile.

  She sighed. “Let me just stay here for a minute. I’m feeling better already. It’ll pass.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  “No doctors, Liam.”

  “I heard you. How about some beans? I can heat a can of baked beans. Or soup? Thought I saw a can of oxtail somewhere. I think.”

  When Father Murray arrived Liam had both the beans and the ham baps ready. Mary Kate was sitting up and looking quite a bit better after her nap. She was still angry. That was obvious by the silence, and her reluctance to join them at the table. Liam pulled out the chair that wobbled the least and offered it to Father Murray.

  “We were going to have a fine soufflé, but Bernadette Devlin dropped in,” Liam said in an effort to lighten the mood. “On her way to the People’s Banquet. And so, Mary Kate gave it over.”

  Mary Kate slugged him on the arm.

  “Are wives supposed to be this abusive, Father?”

  After dinner, Liam went down to the car park, opened the taxi’s hood and got down to the business of replacing the plugs. Father Murray would need time to work on Mary Kate, and it was just as well to be out of the way. Liam tried to focus on what he was doing and not whatever it was they could be talking about—let alone whatever it was they’d fought about before. Mary Kate was being tight-lipped about the whole thing. Liam couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done something to upset her. It had all started a few weeks ago when he’d noticed her missing in the middle of the night and found her sleeping on the sofa. She wouldn’t explain no matter how many times he asked her why.

  Leaning inside the hulking engine compartment, he lost himself in motor grease and engine parts. At some point, he found himself humming. Working on automobile engines certainly had its frustrations. One bleeding knuckle and a burn on his left hand attested to that—the burn being the result of an unwise attempt to pull the plugs when the engine was still warm. However, there was something soothing about engines too. They were generally not much of a mystery—unlike wives, apparently.

  A stray memory of his stepfather tinkering on Sunday afternoons gave him pause. He stopped humming, and his hand tightened on the wrench he was holding. The old bastard.

  Liam stared down at his battered knuckles and blinked. No. It was only that he’d had the cab a week and there was to be an inspection tomorrow, and he wanted to show he was eager to do a good job. That was all. He had nothing in common with—

  “Liam?”

  Banging his head on the inside of the taxi’s hood, he cursed in Irish.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” Father Murray said.

  “It’s all right, Father.” Liam rubbed the hurt out of the back of his skull and was about to make a joke when he saw Father Murray’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not medically trained, but you were right. Mary Kate needs to see a doctor. She agreed to let me take her tomorrow. After class.”

  “I can’t take off. There’s the training and an inspection and—”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll call you after the appointment is over.”

  Liam nodded and sighed. “What can I do for her? I feel I’m letting her down somehow.”

  “Just make sure she gets some rest,” Father Murray said. “And don’t do anything that will worry her.”

  “Yes, Father. Thank you.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for the dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Liam finished with the spark plugs as fast as he could, started the engine to check that all was well and then shut it off, locking the taxi for the night. By the time he got up to their flat he found Mary Kate crying. He gathered her in his arms as gently as he could. “Love, what is it?”

  She shook her head, sobbing.

  “Oh, it can’t be as bad as that,” he said. “Only a wee visit to the doctor. Right? I can’t go with you, but you’ll be fine. Father Murray will see to it—”

  That only seemed to make things worse. She buried her face in his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling helpless to solve the problem. He waited until she was done, wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her. To his surprise, she kissed him back—long and hard, and before he knew it they were both lying on the floor, and she had his shirt off, and he had
her bra undone. He was starting to think everything was really going well when she stopped him from reaching inside her pants.

  “We can’t,” she said.

  “Are you still sick?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He kissed her again as a convincer. She was sufficiently motivated to unbutton his jeans and then pushed him away.

  “We can’t.”

  “Come on, Mary Kate. Have some mercy. It’s been a whole two weeks. And you feel so good.”

  “No.” She bit her lip and looked on the verge of tears. “Please.”

  She was afraid. He could see it in her face. So, he rolled away from her at once. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please. I’m so tired of being shut out. Is it something I’ve done?”

  She looked away and sighed. “I think I’ll go to bed now. Can you… Will you hold me?”

  He went to sleep with her snuggled up on his chest, and his bollocks aching, but he was that worried for Mary Kate and prayed that the doctor would find out whatever was wrong—that she’d be all right. It wasn’t easy. He couldn’t bring himself to trust doctors, but there wasn’t an alternative. There’d be someone to help her, he told himself. Had to be. She was going to be all right.

  He dreamed of the infirmary at Malone—of lying there with his ribs broken and unable to move without screaming, and her in the cot next to him. She was staring at the ceiling with empty eyes and whispering to him with blue lips that didn’t move.

  “I told you not to call Father Murray.”

  He woke with a scream clogging his throat and a hand gripping one of the bars in the iron headboard with all his might.

  “Name is Oran MacMahon.” The stocky taximan sitting next to Liam put out a hand. There was grease under his fingernails. “What’s yours?”

  “Liam Kelly.” He took Oran’s big rough hand and shook it.

  The taxi association building was not much more than an old warehouse, but there were makeshift offices facing the street. The walls didn’t reach the ceiling and thus, didn’t block out the noise of the inspections or the business being done. The place smelled of dirty concrete, iffy milk and engine grease. The tea was fine enough, though.

  “You’re new,” Oran said, and Liam caught the Dublin in his voice.

  “This is my second week,” Liam said, gripping the edge of the steel chair with his left hand. Everything had been blissfully normal for two months. Never once a sign of the tingling nor the monster under his skin, but now it was back. Everything seemed to be falling apart just when it was supposed to be perfect. “You?”

  “Been a mechanic with the association for a year. My brother, Bobby, and

  I. We have our own shop. You banjax them. I fix them.”

  The voice that Liam associated with the creature from the Kesh whispered in the back of his brain, Danger. Kill it. It made tracking the conversation difficult. He picked up the Styrofoam cup filled with tea and sipped. “That’s good.”

  “Married?”

  Kill what? Liam thought back, Surely not the mechanic? “I am. Been so for two months.”

  “Newlyweds, is it?”

  Liam nodded. “My wife is a student at Queen’s University.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “I am, at that. You?” Danger. Liam gripped the chair harder with his left hand. Things were bad enough. Shut it.

  “Married too. Four children. Although, they eat enough for an army.” Oran studied him. “Is something wrong?”

  “Mary Kate. My wife. She’s sick. A friend—” Not a friend. Danger. Kill— He put down the cup and shut his eyes to blot out the voice. Can’t have a fucking moment of peace. “—took her to see a doctor.”

  “That’s a shame,” Oran said. “Is it serious?” “I don’t know, yet. My friend is supposed to call as soon as he has news. But he doesn’t have this number.”

  “Ah, well then. Let’s get you out of here,” Oran said, standing.

  “What? I have to wait for the inspection.”

  “I’ve a feeling you’ve passed,” Oran said with a wink. “I’ll be back with the keys, and then it’s back to your flat for a beer.”

  “We don’t have any beer.”

  Oran shook his head. “Then that’s the first order of business. For you can’t sit through a wait like that without a bit of something to tide you over.”

  Liam watched Oran stride out the door and into the back of the warehouse. He was back with Liam’s keys in ten minutes.

  “You’ll take me back here in the morning, yes?” Oran asked. “We’ve more inspections to finish.”

  “Sure,” Liam said, thankful that he wouldn’t have to be alone.

  “Come on,” Oran said. “There’s a shop down the road. You fit to drive?”

  Liam nodded.

  “That’s good. Because I can’t.”

  “You’re an automobile mechanic, but you can’t drive? Isn’t that a bit like a queer gynecologist?”

  “Fuck you, you fuck.” Oran grinned and tossed him the keys. “Show some respect for your elders.”

  “Ah, so, you don’t drive because you’re too decrepit. Is that it?”

  “Go on with you.”

  Climbing into the boxy black taxi, Liam felt better to be heading home early. He probably wouldn’t know anything until late in the day, but being close to the flat seemed like a good idea. He wished there was something he could do. Anything. But he never seemed to do anything right lately.

  Must go to her. Now. Danger.

  Shut it, Liam thought back. He slapped his hand onto the cold steel door and held it there until the chill burned the tingling sensation away and then turned the key.

  Sitting next to him, Oran gave him a look. “You sure you’re in shape to drive?”

  “I’m fine. Where to?”

  “End of the corner. Turn right.”

  Liam backed out onto the street.

  “Bobby says you’re from Derry, and you spent three years in Malone and another in the Kesh.”

  Taken by surprise, Liam paused. “Was interred three months in the Kesh. Not a year.” Wary now, he glanced at Oran. “And how is it Bobby would know?”

  “It’s part of his job. And mine. Relax, will you?” Oran asked. He leaned in closer and smiled. “Tiocfaidh ár lá.”

  Liam knew that phrase. Anyone who’d been interred knew it. All Republicans knew it. It meant, Our day will come. If Oran was a Peeler it meant he suspected Liam for a volunteer. Ah, fuck. Not this too. Not now. His heart hammered at his breastbone. “What did you say?”

  “I’m in your unit, you idiot,” Oran said. “Never mind the beer. Let’s get you home.”

  When Liam pulled into the car park and cut the engine, Oran hopped out.

  “Third floor, right?” Oran asked.

  Feeling uncomfortable, Liam asked, “You know where I live?”

  “Of course, I do.” Oran lowered his voice. “I’m in your fucking unit. So, what’ll you have? It’s on me.”

  “If you know that much then you’d know what I fucking drink.”

  Oran leaned inside the cab. “I’ve not been watching you quite that long.”

  “Cider.”

  “Fair enough,” Oran said and then walked down the street.

  Liam went up to his flat and grabbed the clean teacup. Then he went down to Mrs. Black’s to return it in the hopes that she might have heard something. It turned out she hadn’t. She promised to come get him if she heard anything at all. He returned to the flat and paced until there was a knock on the door. It was Oran who carried a bag containing drinks and crisps. Another man was with him. He was taller than Oran and older. Liam guessed he was in his fifties. Where Oran was affable this man was hard—even sullen. His eyes made Liam think of a predator.

  “Liam Kelly, this here is Éamon,” Oran said. “He’s a friend.”

  “Oh.” That’s brilliant. Stand there with your gob open. Some impression you’re making, Liam thought. He stepped back and allowed them in.


  “Éamon here is our Lieutenant.”

  Éamon gave himself a quick tour of the flat, opening the doors to the washroom and then the bedroom and looking inside each.

  “It’s only us,” Liam said. “There’s no one else at home.”

  “Good,” Éamon said. “We’re here to talk business.”

  The shopping bag crackled as Oran emptied its contents onto the kitchen table. “You want one, Éamon?”

  “Tá.”

  Oran tossed a can, and Éamon caught it before settling on the sofa.

  “What about you, Liam? Are you ready for a pint?” Oran asked.

  “Sure.” He accepted a bottle and then settled on one of the kitchen chairs, leaving the sofa for Oran and Éamon.

  “Have you been briefed on your unit?” Éamon asked.

  “Was told I’d be contacted and would learn about my assignment then.” Liam shrugged in an attempt to look more at ease than he felt.

  Éamon took a long pull from the beer and then nodded. “Been through the training already?”

  “I have,” Liam said. Frankie had come up from Ballymurphy and taken him away for a few days under the guise of his stag do. Four nights rough camping in the rain and cold wasn’t his idea of fun, nor was being shouted at by self-styled drill sergeants, but it had to be done. Of course, Frankie did manage to include one night of revelry at the end, and put in a good effort at ruining him. They’d turned up at his mother’s house stinking properly of the drink. It’d taken two days to recover. His mother had given him shite for a week.

  “Good.” Éamon nodded.

  Oran opened the crisps bag with a loud crunch and crackle of packaging and dropped himself on the sofa next to Éamon. “How long you been driving?”

  Liam blinked. “The black hack? I told you. Two weeks.”

  “In general,” Éamon said.

  “Had my license about a month.”

  Éamon blew air out of his cheeks.

  “Hold on, now,” Oran said. “He’ll do. I’ve seen him.”

  “I’m the one says whether or not he’ll do.” Éamon frowned. “What is HQ thinking sending us a green recruit?”

  Liam tightened his jaw against any declarations of fitness. He didn’t know what any of this was about. Sometimes it was best to sit and wait things out. He’d learned that from Jack in Malone. He sipped his pint, feeling the tension in his neck and back.