Country

by Michael Hughes

  Up on his feet again. Christ, she was giving him the runaround today.

  ‘Isn’t it? Then tell me what I can give you, to make you happy!’

  ‘A divorce, Henry.’

  He laughed.

  She didn’t.

  Nothing else to go on. Just the words.

  He really didn’t have the fucking time for this. Not today.

  ‘This is the man you married, Anna. I haven’t changed.’

  ‘I see that now. I don’t blame you, Henry. I made a mistake, that’s all. It happens.’

  ‘Christ. You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘You might inflict it on me, but you won’t inflict it on our child. Not any more. The choice is entirely yours.’

  He’d had enough. Time to call her bluff.

  ‘I’m not making any choice, darling. You are. If that’s what you have to do, I can respect your decision. But it is your decision, not mine. Don’t you dare blame this on me.’

  ‘Why are you always so defensive with me? I’m not your fucking mother!’

  ‘No, but you’re turning into yours! I don’t want a row, you’ll wake the baby.’

  ‘He’s not a baby any more. Unlike his father.’

  ‘I can’t do this now. Bad timing. I’m needed.’

  ‘You’re needed here.’

  ‘Please, darling. I don’t want to go like this.’

  ‘We don’t always get what we want, do we?’

  He really had had enough now. Let her cool off. He couldn’t have this nonsense fogging up his head. Not today.

  ‘You need to buck up, for your own sake. People talk.’

  He turned to the door, but she stood and gripped his arm.

  ‘Henry! Don’t you even want to see him?’

  He didn’t, but he couldn’t begin to explain why. Not to her. He could taste the tang of the field. He was already crossing back.

  ‘Quickly, then.’

  She led him into the bedroom.

  His little son there, asleep. The same freckles, the same thick red thatch.

  Henry bent down.

  ‘Max. Daddy’s here.’

  ‘Please don’t wake him. He’s been having night terrors.’

  But the boy had woken. Startled eyes, rubbing away the sleep.

  He saw the little lad see him. Piecing it together.

  Henry lifted him. Face to face. And the boy opened his mouth, and screamed.

  Screamed.

  Screams to wake the dead.

  Henry stroked his cheek, but the boy recoiled. The moment his hand connected, the shrieks redoubled. The purest terror.

  ‘Shush! Please, Maxie, it’s okay, it’s Daddy! I came to see you.’

  Fists and feet battered Henry. He took one full in the eye. The child was hysterical. He’d heard nothing like it outside the field.

  ‘Christ. What’s wrong with him?’

  She touched his shoulder.

  ‘It’s your face, Henry. He doesn’t know who you are.’

  She was laughing now. A bloody good sign. He did too. He’d forgotten he was wearing the damn stuff, but he knew better than to say so. It might have been taken as meaning something.

  He handed her the boy and pulled out his wipes, cleaned off the green and brown and black.

  The boy saw Daddy’s face, and the scream just stopped. Like a switch was flicked. In its place, the broadest gummy smile.

  ‘Daddy. Daddy.’

  He lifted the boy back from her. Held him high. She needed a display of affection. He gritted his teeth behind his own smile. Couldn’t risk cracking the shell. Not today. Keep all that out.

  ‘That’s right. Good man. Up, up, up, see if you can touch the stars. Nearly. Nearly. Good effort. Soon you will. When you’re big, like me.

  ‘Now, listen. I want to say something. Look at me, Max. Are you listening? Good man. When you are big, like me, I want you to promise me something. Promise you won’t stop there. I want you to outgrow me. Are you listening? Be a better man than I can manage to be. Be a better husband, and a better father, if you get the chance. Make your mother proud of you, as she can’t always be proud of me. Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Deal. Daddy deal.’

  ‘That’s the best I can offer you right now. One day I’ll explain. One day, perhaps you’ll find out for yourself.’

  ‘Come home, Henry.’

  ‘When the job is done.’

  ‘One more chance. The last one.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  ‘I mean it this time. Oh, what’s the use. I was an idiot to marry you.’

  ‘That’s hardly classified. I told you so at the time. Thank Christ you ignored me.’

  He held her close. Both of them. Made himself, for her. Told himself he couldn’t resist. Let himself feel it, just for a moment. Then wished he hadn’t. Knew it was poison to the man he needed to be. Hoped she was happy now. Someone ought to be.

  ‘It’ll be over soon. Every war ends, and this is no exception.’

  ‘Keep yourself away from trouble. Do your duty, but no more. Promise me that.’

  ‘I promise you that. Now please, go home and wait. I’m coming back.’

  ‘I won’t wait for ever.’

  ‘You won’t have to. It’s almost over.’

  And then he closed that door. Turned away, looked away. Walked away.

  Back to the war.

  40

  Pig presented it to the men.

  Dog stepped up.

  ‘Fuck it, I’ll go. No bother. Let me get a look at the whites of their eyes. See how he justifies shooting down unarmed men going about their business. Arrogant pricks.’

  ‘No,’ says Pig. ‘Not till you’re a hundred per cent. We need a volunteer.’

  They all looked at their hands. Scared it was a trap, or scared of looking like they were giving ground. Scared, anyhow.

  Ned shook his old head, rattled out a cough.

  ‘Youse should be ashamed of yourselves. Let me tell you a story here. In the Border Campaign, near forty years ago, we were asked to approach a notorious B-Special who had beat a wee woman round the head, and she was never the same after. Headaches, and then she died six months later, on a Christmas Eve. As good as murder. We all knew it was him, but the man was feared, and the peelers didn’t want to know unless there was an official complaint. Well I stepped up. Not a one of them would step up, hard men all, but I did. I sat near an hour with that man, my sworn enemy, and tried to convince him to do the right thing. Turn himself in, and then there’d be no reprisals. Well, he wouldn’t fucking listen, and he got what was coming to him soon enough. But if I was that age now, I’d be out the door ahead of any of you. And I will again, if none of youse have the guts.’

  Straight off, five hands went up.

  ‘That’s liker it,’ says Pig. ‘Names-in-the-hat time. Any of you would be suitable.’

  They all put their names on a fag paper, scrunched it up and dropped it in a bowl. Sid jiggled it about and then pulled one out.

  He squinted at it.

  ‘I can make nothing of that. Whose is it?’

  He passed it round. Every man shook his head, until he got to Budd.

  ‘That there’s mine, so it is.’

  ‘How does that say Jack?’

  ‘It’s a wee mark I use. My writing’s not the best.’

  Pig slapped him on the back.

  ‘Good man yourself, Budd. You’re the best of us, there’s no doubt of that. No smart talk, no double-dealing, just head down and get on with the job, every time. You’ll show them the true republican spirit. Don’t take any shite.’

  41

  It happened just the way Henry said. Budd driv up to the checkpoint at the same time the next night, gave his name, and he got took up to the station. A peeler showed him into one of the interview rooms. The man wouldn’t look him in the eye the whole time. Budd didn’t mind. He understood well.

  In the room, he waited. Happy enough. He could wait all night. />
  The Brit came in, dressed for patrol, except for the helmet. Snobby as fuck, Budd thought. But a fine-looking man apart from that. Big, broad, good head of red hair. He could pass for Irish. Probably he did, half the time.

  ‘Thank you for giving up your time, Mr Hughes, and I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I won’t detain you any longer than is absolutely necessary.’

  Henry felt his heart thump faster than it had any reason to. Perhaps this was lunacy, to try to engage with them. To let them get a good look at him. He hadn’t expected Hughes. Why on earth had they sent him? He was a skilled operator, but not the brains of the bunch.

  ‘We’re aware that something is in the air locally. I’m here to ask you to please consider the implications of this very carefully. For yourselves, and for this country. There’s a real opportunity at the moment, to engage with the political process and advance your cause that way. And I think you have every reason to hope that if you can make the argument, you will have your united Ireland in good time. But the people here don’t want violence. They don’t want you, frankly. You must know that. They want peace, and stability, and prosperity. And we would prefer to let you go about your business unmolested, your families and your associates. But that’s not possible as things stand. To be plain, there’s every possibility that an attempt to attack the military presence in the area will lead to a violent confrontation, and I’m afraid you’re almost bound to come off worst.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure we’d come off worst. Youse are so smug sitting in here. You might just get your comeuppance some day.’

  ‘So there is something in the air?’

  ‘There’s nothing in the air but the smell of shite out of your mouth.’

  ‘I won’t say what we know, and I certainly won’t say how we know it, but in this case I’m confident that our information is sound.’

  ‘Is it Dog’s woman?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Brian Campbell. Is it his wee wife Nellie that’s been filling you in?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You soon will. That’s all I’m saying.’

  Henry felt tired. He wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe Anna was right. Christ.

  ‘Mr Hughes, let me ask you, man to man. We’re sitting here, having a perfectly civil conversation. I mean, isn’t this the better way? Taking us on is going nowhere. It’s a bloody stalemate, a fool can see. Did you ever honestly think you’d be able to defeat us?’

  The man shifted in his chair, looked him in the eye. He seemed to like what he saw.

  ‘That’s a straight question, and I’ll give you a straight answer. We thought we could get you out, aye. We still do. Hit you hard enough, often enough, that you’ll get your fill. For out you will get, sooner or later. That I do know.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re quite right. Declare a permanent ceasefire, engage with the political process, and we’ll be out within weeks. But not before. That’s our position. And let me add this. The IRA will lay down its weapons, sooner or later. And they will do it while Northern Ireland still exists. That I do know.’

  ‘You might be right about that as well. But on our terms. We’d want a timetable for military withdrawal, within the lifetime of the parliament. An amnesty for prisoners and on-the-runs. The promise of reunification within a generation, and no unionist veto. A few other bits and pieces, but that’d do rightly.’

  ‘We can’t decide the outcome of negotiations in advance.’

  ‘Certainly you can. You do it all the time. I watch the news.’

  ‘We can’t have your people as part of the talks until you declare a final ceasefire.’

  ‘There’s no way we pull the plug until we get a firm commitment to withdraw.’

  ‘Well. Another stalemate. No shame in that. At least we’re talking, eh?’

  ‘Talk all you want. It gets us nowhere.’

  ‘It stops us fighting.’

  ‘Exactly. Gets us nowhere.’

  The door opened, and a wee woman looked in. She nodded to Henry.

  ‘Yes, Iris?’

  She tapped at her wrist.

  ‘Already?’

  She gave a sharp nod, then left.

  ‘I’m afraid it seems you’re quite right, Mr Hughes. Other duties call.’

  ‘You serious? We hardly got started.’

  ‘Nonetheless. Shift-change here, and we have to call a halt. But, look. Man to man. I don’t want this to be taken in the wrong spirit, but I’d like you to have this compass. No funny business, it’s not bugged or anything, though I’m sure you’ll have it checked out, and quite right too. Works perfectly well, I’ve used it myself in the field. A sort of souvenir of today, a token of our shared sense of direction for the future, something like that. So that in years to come, if perhaps your grandchildren ask you what the British Army were really like, this meeting might come to mind before some of your other encounters.’

  ‘That’s fair enough. I have nothing to give you, but. Unless, here. There you are. This is a Miraculous Medal. A true image of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. I don’t know why I would want you to have good luck, but that’s what it gives you. Just to show I have nothing against you personally, do you see. And so maybe indeed when your own children or your grandchildren ask you about the muck-savages there was in the Provos, you can say there was one man among them at least who had his mind on higher things.’

  Pig

  42

  Pig was raging he didn’t know. That was what hurt the most. Stabbed in the back. It was like they didn’t trust him. Like everything he had done for his own side was turned to shite.

  Canary Wharf, of all the targets to choose. Typical Belfast. Suits and ties attacking suits and ties. They knew nothing about how to fight. Driving out an occupying army.

  Well he would show them. The gloves were off now.

  But the needle was dug in his heart. Betrayed by the higher-ups. He was supposed to be the one to end the cessation, and they let that other crowd do it. Kept him in the dark. He felt like a total cunt in front of the squad. The whole townland.

  The way the men looked at each other, and at him. He let on like he saw nothing. But he could hardly think straight, he was that worked up. One minute he felt like giving up, the next he wanted to take them on solo. The Brits and the Shinners both. All over the fucking place.

  He called a squad meeting, up at the farm. The only way was to bull on regardless, with something, anything. Stay on the front foot.

  But he was shit-scared too. He had an awful feeling his number was up. That they were coming for him. Fuck knows what they might have got out of young Nellie. She knew far too much. The whole thing was a massive balls-up.

  It was time to call it. But he didn’t know what. He wouldn’t even know himself what he’d decided until he saw the rest of them sitting there, and opened his mouth to start talking.

  43

  What you need to understand is this. The Brits hadn’t been out in numbers since Achill was on the job. They’d fly them in and fly them out, even to set up a checkpoint. On the roads was no-go completely. On foot, they’d only come out in multiples, eight or twelve at a time, and that was rare enough. The peelers wouldn’t show their faces at all for weeks on end. The base had been Fort Apache for years.

  Now they were out combing the place. Stopping every car. Redding through every farm. They saw their chance and they took it. No hiding place. They’d turn up every man hiding out, every bit of gear. They’d be recruiting touts left, right and centre. Everybody knew the score. If they got their teeth into this part of the country, there wasn’t a hope.

  But the truth was, if the half of the country knew what this squad were about, they’d be delighted to see them get lifted. People had got awful comfortable with the ceasefire. For the older ones, it was just back to normal. They’d never got used to the whole thing.

  Even n
ow, the whisper was about that it was coming back soon, and for good. People could smell it on the wind. Just imagine. No turning on the news in the morning half-braced for what you were going to hear. If it was a part-time member of the UDR you’d breathe a sigh of relief. Nothing serious. A terrible state of affairs, when you stop to think about it. Not the same checkpoints either. A wee taste of what it might be like, that was the idea. Most people liked it well. The tide was turning, is what it felt like. And it was a brave man who would set himself to turn it back the other way.

  44

  ‘There’s going to be a statement from London.’

  In the officers’ mess, Henry and the usual few gathered around the TV. The others shrugged, a few didn’t even look up from the pool table.

  At the Ships, they switched off the TV, and turned on the radio. Nobody really thought about why they did that. Maybe they liked to see the looks on each other’s faces as they listened. Take it in together.

  In Holland Park, Anna had the radio on as she went over plans from the builders. It was time to start work on the old house. She’d give him something worth coming home to. The life they both deserved.

  Up in Derry, a Sinn Feiner was meeting a man from MI5, just to exchange views. They both admitted they’d quite like to watch, to see what the other made of it.

  Every one of them heard the measured voice, straining slightly, eager to please.

  ‘We expect all sides to condemn this reckless and cowardly attack, but let me be absolutely clear, our resolve remains firm. I say again, the British government has no selfish or strategic interest in Northern Ireland. But we expect all sides to make peace their single priority. We will work with any political party which signs up to that. We cannot solve the fundamental disagreement overnight, but I believe we can end the violence, and commit to resolve the outstanding issues by negotiation and compromise, on both sides, in place of armed conflict. Once again, to be absolutely clear, we will talk to representatives of Sinn Fein, and to the loyalist parties, when the paramilitary organisations they support have declared a full and permanent ceasefire. We still believe that is possible, and we will continue to work towards it. What I would like to add today, in response to rumours we have seen in the news this week, is that we expect and insist that none of the parties in Northern Ireland, and neither of the two governments, has any contact with paramilitaries, offers them any aid or advantage or succour, as long as their campaign of violence continues. The security situation is the domain of the police and the military only, and they have our full support.’