Country

by Michael Hughes

  She didn’t. She watched his face. She was imagining how it felt. Then she took it in her hand, and tried to copy what he was doing. She loved seeing the look on his face when she got the rhythm right.

  He stopped her, and said, ‘Look, I don’t want to count my chickens, but just so you know, I have no johnnies.’

  ‘I have one in my bag,’ she said. ‘But that’s where it’s staying. Just so you know.’

  When she reckoned he was ready to pop, she put her lips over the end, like she’d seen in a porno one time. She kept on pulling, but tried to move her head as well. When he came, she near choked. It slipped out, and then she was covered in the stuff. He said, ‘Don’t stop now, for Jesus sake!’ And he grabbed it himself and gave another few tugs, till he was all done. She was up on her feet, shaking the gunk off her hands, and wiping it off her face. It was fucking disgusting.

  ‘That was fucking disgusting,’ she said. ‘I tell you right now, Brian Campbell, I am never doing that again. You are one dirty scut.’

  He was panting like a dog.

  ‘Calm down, would you. I never asked you to in the first place. Frig sake.’

  She got some tissues, and the two of them cleaned themselves up.

  Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. She didn’t know what to do now. She felt stupid. She hoped she hadn’t ruined it. Her and her smart fucking mouth.

  ‘Well, the first time’s always the most romantic, so they say.’

  He said nothing. She could feel him slipping away. Only one thing for it.

  ‘We can have another go in a minute, sure.’

  ‘I thought you said you were never doing that again.’

  ‘Neither I am. Grab us up my bag, till I find that johnny.’

  12

  After that, the pair of them were inseparable. He met Nellie every evening after school. She went down to watch him at hurley practice. She went out hunting with him really. You’d see them sitting in Franco’s Cafe after school, grinning at other, bantering away. Her ma and da didn’t mind one bit. They thought Brian was a lovely fella. And the family was very well off. Fingers in lots of pies. The pumps at the border, loads of livestock, plenty of property in the town. Sponsored the youth club, and paid for the coaches to Medjugorje every year. Always happy to sort out a wee matter for you if you had a word. You’d hear the odd rumour about smuggling, but nobody minded that. Not a bit of it.

  The odd time you’d hear people muttering about the da, and what he was mixed up in. She’d heard a man say that Brian’s father was one lad you wouldn’t want to cross. That there was more than livestock being smuggled over the border. You never saw him in pubs or down the town. He seemed to get stopped by the soldiers an awful lot, but so did plenty of people. That proved nothing.

  She was there with Brian the day his da had a heart attack after Mass. The priest had preached about how you couldn’t come to the chapel and take communion if you were in any way supporting the IRA. A few standing in the porch at the back decided to leave. The priest said he noticed them leaving, and that was fine, anybody whose conscience wasn’t clear was perfectly correct to go on home, and they were welcome back when they were at peace with themselves, and with their Lord, and with their community.

  Nellie still didn’t think very much about all that. Brian never talked about it, so neither did she. But everybody she knew supported a united Ireland. The majority of the area would have nothing to do with Sinn Fein or the IRA, solid respectable SDLP voters, but you still knew that they were sound. Going about the right thing in the wrong way, is what both lots would say about the other. Even if you hated the Provos, and there were some who had good reason, you never took the side of the Brits. Ordinary Protestants getting shot or blew up was a different thing. Nobody liked hearing that. But soldiers were soldiers and they knew what they were getting into. You might feel a bit sorry for them, as individuals, or for their families, but it was completely fair enough at the same time. In for a penny.

  So whenever everybody was leaving that day, all the talk was about what the priest said. Whether he might find his milk bottles broke in the morning, or his tyres slashed, or his windows in.

  Out in the car park there was a bit of a kerfuffle. Brian’s da was on the ground. A few men laughed. They thought he was playacting, pretending to faint with the shock. But then he wasn’t moving. The men were calling for a doctor. There was a nurse getting in her car, and she got out again and ran over. Brian shouted had anybody got a mobile phone and could they call an ambulance. Somebody did. The nurse kept his head up with her handbag and worked at his heart. Francie Donnelly raced up to the hotel to get Dr Mallon, for Olive Farrell said she’d seen him going in for his dinner. The ambulance came, and Brian’s da was taken up to Craigavon. The boys followed in the car. He was dead before they got there.

  Later on a rumour went round that one of the paramedics was the brother of a man shot by the IRA years before, and he’d switched off the machine on the way. The boys didn’t pay any heed. You always got stories like that. You’d go mad if you listened to them.

  It was the biggest funeral in many’s the year. People came from all over. England, Scotland, America, Australia. The two boys were there for an hour shaking hands by the grave. The rain came on but they wouldn’t budge. Nodding and muttering thanks and taking all the slaps on the back. A few serious-looking whispers in the ear from certain individuals. They were pale but there wasn’t a tear. Though with the rain, it was awful hard to tell.

  Their uncle got the property, but Brian’s big brother Shane got the farm and the pumps both. He was five years older, and he was already working there. He knew the ropes. Brian dropped out of school and started working with him. It was what he would have done anyway in a few years. Everybody said it was the right thing. There needed to be the two of them, because the way the business was going, there’d be more and more trips away, and somebody had to hold the fort. There was the pigs at home, and the sheep out at Lanecross, and the old Cunningham farm they rented on and off for storage, to keep the tools and the plant, and whatever else. You know yourself.

  Brian started spending less time with Nellie. He said he was always busy. She said that was fair enough. She was getting fed up with him anyway. He’d started acting weird since his da died. He hardly ever laughed any more. He was always with his brother, and three or four other ones, that she knew didn’t like her being around. She wasn’t thick. She knew the score.

  She said maybe it was time they left it be. He said whatever suited herself. She said fine. And that was the end of it.

  Indeed and it was not. He’d be back. She knew how to reel him in. The long game.

  13

  Nellie started hanging around with a few of the goths and the indie kids. Reading Hot Press and the NME, and watching Network 7. Listening to different music. She went up Belfast every month just to buy The Face, and see what she could pick up in Fresh Garbage or the market.

  For a while, she had a wee thing going with Aidy McCann. He played in a thrash band with his brother Davy. Then she swapped him for Davy. The two lads stopped talking to each other for a while. The band kept going, though. They had a lot of bookings.

  Then she started going out with Jarlath Mallon, the doctor’s son. You couldn’t miss him. He dyed his hair black, wore army trousers, and smoked rollups. He started taking her to Belfast, to student nights at the art college. He was very into his drugs, and she tried whatever was going. He knew some quare characters. One time they ended up at this rave in the middle of a field. Another time they climbed to the top of Cave Hill and lit a fire with these men with straw heads. There was some mad stuff going on.

  At the same time, things were changing at the Glenallen. It was round the time everybody started doing E. You took a couple of them, and you just felt like all the worry and stress and headfuck melted away. There was nothing but the beat of the music

  bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha

  the lights zooming all round
you

  your blood smiling up and down your veins

  bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha

  you knew the best thing the only thing was to be close to someone anyone that person right there and you knew they felt the same

  it was raining love

  not the way it was with your family real love happy love

  bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha bom-cha

  love love love look there it goes whoosh up in the air and whee down again

  love love everywhere

  and they all felt the same. She’d never felt closer to anybody in her life.

  Brian didn’t seem bothered, when she saw him around. But she wasn’t that bothered herself any more. These were her people now. They talked all kinds of stuff she’d never thought about. Some of them said they didn’t believe in God. One fella said he thought he was gay. A few of them were even Protestants. They were all for going to college, maybe over in Scotland or Liverpool. A couple of them talked about heading for London after, and not just to make a few pounds. They were for staying. Getting the fuck out this place. For good.

  She’d honestly never thought about that before.

  She thought about it now.

  Finding yourself. Being yourself. Whoever you wanted to be.

  She wondered what Brian would think. And then she realised she didn’t give a fuck any more. He could follow her if he wanted. And if he didn’t, his loss.

  She knew she was good looking, but she always just went with the flow, wearing what everybody was wearing. Now she wanted to cut her hair short. Sinead O’Connor short. Her ma would hate it, but her da always said he thought it looked well.

  She’d pierce her nose. Nobody she knew had done that. She was thinking about a tattoo, even. Maybe that was too much. She would wait till she got well away, and then she could do whatever she wanted. Whatever the fuck she wanted.

  Could she really?

  She really could.

  Every day felt like a prison sentence. She wanted to scream. She knew there was another kind of life waiting for her. She could feel it. She didn’t know the shape of it, or the ends of it, but she knew there was something inside her that could grow into anything at all, if she had the room. It was like the walls needed to be moved back. Now she knew there was an outside, the inside felt tiny.

  She’d save up. She’d go to the tech, get her A-levels, and away to university in England. That was all she thought about. Nothing else mattered. She didn’t give a fuck. She felt ruthless. The minute she knew she could do it, she knew she couldn’t not. There wasn’t a thing in the world would stop her. She’d do whatever it took.

  But she wasn’t going to fuck it up by telling anybody. The sneering and the slagging and the bitching. No way. Not even Jarlath. She’d wait on her chance. That was one thing she did know how to do. The long game. And when she saw that chance, no matter what it was, you wouldn’t see her for dust.

  14

  Then she missed her period.

  She knew straight away. It was always totally regular. And she felt different, inside. She could sense it, in her blood. She just knew.

  And she knew what she had to do. Not a doubt for one second. All she needed was money. Money to get over to England and get sorted out. Mortal sin or not.

  But she didn’t know how. Not a baldy notion. She was panicking inside, but she just kept going about her business like everything was fine. Pretending it wasn’t happening.

  Her parents never knew a thing. Neither did Jarlath. They’d only really screwed three or four times, but always on E, and she couldn’t swear he’d worn a johnny every time. The fucking stupid dick.

  15

  She wised up. She knew she had to do something, and fast.

  Her friend Laura had told her one time that a teacher at her school was made leave because she got pregnant and she wasn’t married, but what happened in the end was, she went to England to get rid of it, and then she was allowed keep her job. Laura said she knew all about it because her da had helped organise it.

  Laura was a Protestant, and her da was a peeler. Nellie was the first Catholic her own age she ever spoke to, and she had made Nellie swear not to tell anybody round where she lived what his job was. Nellie couldn’t care less, but she didn’t mind Laura asking. She got the picture.

  So Nellie told Laura her secret. She didn’t know what else to do.

  Laura was all biz. She said she could find out from her da how it worked. Nellie said no way. Laura said not to worry. She’d say she needed to know for a school project, or a story she was writing. Something. Her da was sound as a pound. Everything would be grand.

  16

  Laura’s da picked the two girls up after drama group next time, and he said Nellie was to come back for her tea. She couldn’t believe they had a bottle of wine on the table while they were eating. Not that they opened it.

  After, she said she’d ring her brother for a lift, but Laura’s da wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘I’ll drop you home. Not a bother.’

  A bit of chat on the way, the usual nothing. He pulled up round the corner from her house, and turned off the engine.

  ‘Now, listen. Before you go in home. I understand you might be in a wee bit of trouble. Is that right?’

  Nellie was raging. Laura, the stupid fucking bitch.

  ‘Don’t blame my daughter. I guessed the whole story before she said a word. In the police you learn how to pick these things up.’

  Nellie just looked at him. Say nothing, Brian always used to tell her. Let them do all the talking.

  ‘Now, listen. I’m not a Bible-basher myself. I know you’re a kind girl, a good girl. Things happen, and that’s all right. You can go to England, and that’s one way. But it costs money, and it takes a good few days. Not easy to sort out, at your age, never mind keeping it hush-hush. Which I’m assuming is what you want.

  ‘Or there is another way. You see, I know people who could organise you to have the thing dealt with over here, very simple and very quick. Done properly, a real doctor. You’d only be away a half a day. We tell your parents it’s a school project, or a drama-group trip, or something like that. I’ll take care of that end of things, don’t you worry. What do you say?’

  ‘Does that not cost money?’

  ‘Not as such, no. All you’d owe me is a wee favour. I’d need a bit of a hand from you now and again, but I can see you’re a good girl. A kind girl. You don’t want anything bad to happen to anybody. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘What kind of a hand?’

  He lit a fag, a Benson, and offered her one too. She knew rightly what he was at. Trying to make a wee secret to have between them. Show her he thought she was grown up enough. See if she said no, and that might mean she wanted to keep it. Cheap tricks. But a fag was a fag, so she took it.

  ‘Ah, nothing much at all. Just the very odd wee bit of information. For example, I might show you a picture, and say do you know that man’s name. Or if you hear some oul chat on the bus, or at school, or out at the disco, you might let me know. I believe you’ve some history with a certain individual who would be up to no good now and again, and we just want to keep that sort of character on a short lead. Do you get me?’

  ‘You want me to tout?’

  ‘Not at all, no such thing. Goodness gracious, no. We have enough of those people, and they do what they do. I just mean confirming things we already know, more or less. Adding a wee piece to the puzzle. Touts, as you call them, are individuals who are actively involved, but they’re really working for us, or for the army. Agents, we call them. Making things happen on the inside. That’s a very different matter, and it’s important, but it’s highly specialised work. This here I’m talking about is wee buns. Just helping us see what’s going on. Like wiping somebody’s glasses for them. There’s far more people passing on bits and pieces than you’d believe. Nobody will ever know a thing about it.’

  ‘I think I should go in home now.’

  ‘I understand, but jus
t listen a wee second. This is the way it works. If there’s to be an attack on a certain army foot patrol at a certain time, we just make sure that patrol doesn’t go out. If there’s to be a fuse or a timer taken from a dump that we can access, then we disable that timer and the device won’t explode. The paramilitaries think it’s faulty equipment, or bad luck, and nobody’s the wiser. If we did any more than that, it might compromise the people who are helping us, and all we want to do is save lives. It’s not gathering evidence, we’re not going to arrest anybody, or shoot anybody. The opposite. We’re only interested in saving lives. Do you see what I mean?’

  ‘I really think I should go in now. They’ll be wondering where I got to, so they will.’

  She said nothing. Neither did he. She’d finished her fag, but she didn’t know what to do with the butt, so she was just holding it, trying not to let the last bit of ash fall in his car. She could tell he knew rightly, and he was saying nothing on purpose, letting her feel uncomfortable. So they both just sat there.

  Then he took it off her, and dropped it out the car window.

  ‘That’s okay. You don’t have to do a thing you don’t want to. Take your time, have a wee think. But not too long. The sooner you get the thing dealt with, the easier it’ll be. And of course, if you get a better offer, good luck to you. Anyway, you know where to find me.’

  17

  It was an army doctor gave her the tablet, at a barracks in Lisburn. She had to sign a form first. Then she went back a few days later and took a different one as well. The doctor made her promise never to tell anybody, ever, or they might all go to jail.

  It was pretty fucking grim while it was happening. But it didn’t last long. And then it was over and done with.

  The next few days, she felt very mixed up about the other side of it. She hadn’t told anybody. Especially not Jarlath. She couldn’t bring herself to go with him again, not now, so that was all finished with. She was on her own. But that was how she wanted to be. Who would have her now? She knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t help feeling like everybody knew she was doing something shameful.