Kevin waited for several minutes. Finally he cleared his throat.
One of the women looked up. “Yes?”
“My name is Kevin Nolan. The headmaster asked for me.”
The woman stood and walked to the door of the larger office. “Wait one moment, Kevin.” She knocked, opened the door and disappeared inside.
Kevin heard the murmur of voices. The woman came out again. “He’ll see you now.”
Kevin, heart hammering, feet like lead, walked around the counter and across the floor to the office door. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he stepped inside. The man behind the desk had his back turned toward him. Two large wing chairs took up most of the floor space. Kevin glanced around the room and his eyes widened. James McKenna, headmaster of St. Anthony’s Catholic School for Boys, was a master fisherman and from the trophies on the shelves, a proficient golfer. Framed pictures of dignitaries with their catches lined one wall and politicians holding golf clubs filled the other. Mounted on the wall above his head was the largest fish Kevin had ever seen.
Mr. McKenna turned around. His piercing blue eyes settled on the boy and then on the fish. “It’s a sailfish,” he said, “caught off the coast of Mexico.”
“Did you catch her, sir?”
“I did. Do you like to fish, lad?”
Kevin nodded.
“Have you done much?”
“When my da was alive. I’ve done none since.”
“Hmm.” The headmaster motioned toward one of the chairs. “Sit down and I’ll tell you why you’re here.”
Kevin tore his eyes away from the sailfish and sat. “Your instructors tell me your marks have slipped. You’ve been recommended for probation.”
Kevin sighed with relief. If that was all—
“What have you to say for yourself, lad?”
“It’s true, sir.”
“Why is it true?”
Kevin’s mind sorted through the possible replies. “I haven’t been applying myself.”
“Why not?”
The truth. Tommy Dougherty once told him that it was always better to stay as close as possible to the truth. “Because I don’t see the point. I’ve no interest in attending university.”
“Your mother is educated, Kevin, as was your father. I’m sure your da would have wanted you to follow in his footsteps.”
Kevin stared at the headmaster. Was the man mad? “I think my father would have wanted me to do what pleased me, sir.”
“I agree.” The laser-blue eyes pinned him to the back of the chair. “What is it that you want, Kevin?”
He wanted the art school but that was a pipe dream. “I don’t know yet.”
“But you know what you don’t want?”
“Sir?”
Mr. McKenna stroked his chin. “Tell me if I understand you properly. You don’t want to attend school and you don’t want to go to university.”
“That’s right.”
“Have you given any thought to your future?”
“I have.”
McKenna waited.
“I’ll find work,” began Kevin, “in Dublin or Belfast, maybe even London.”
“What kind of work?”
Again Kevin shrugged and said, “I don’t know yet.”
“Do you have a propensity for anything?”
“Excuse me?”
“A talent, Kevin. Do you have a talent?”
The boy flushed. What kind of question was that? “I don’t think so.”
“Well then, it had better be university. Those without talent won’t be succeeding in this world without an education.”
Kevin nodded. “Yes, sir.” He wouldn’t win this one, not with Mr. McKenna. Better to take the easy road and agree with the man. Kevin knew from experience that agreement silenced an argument quite effectively.
“Are you happy here at St. Anthony’s, Kevin?”
Kevin stammered and shifted in the leather chair. “Happy, sir?” Another one of those stupid questions. Dare he answer truthfully?
The headmaster waited.
Kevin threw caution to the winds. “Happy isn’t the word I would use, Mr. McKenna.”
“What word would you use?”
“Please, don’t take this Personally, sir. I wouldn’t want to offend you.”
Was there a softening of the man’s expression or was it a trick of the light filtering in through the long windowpanes? “Duly noted. No offense will be taken.”
“I don’t dislike it here, Mr. McKenna. I suppose the correct word is tolerate. I tolerate the days. It has nothing to do with St. Anthony’s. It’s that I prefer not to attend school at all.”
“I see.”
Kevin doubted very much that he did. The conversation had turned decidedly uncomfortable and he had the sinking feeling that Mr. McKenna would be calling his mother. Kate didn’t need another upset, not yet. Hastily Kevin scrambled to mend his fences. “St. Anthony’s is a very good secondary school.”
“I’m happy to hear that you think so.”
“It would be best for me to continue here, in case I change my mind and decide to attend university.”
“It would be best,” the headmaster agreed.
“I’ll raise my marks, sir.”
“I have every confidence that you will, Kevin,” the headmaster said dryly. “Because if you don’t, I will inform your mother that this isn’t the proper place for you. As it stands you are on informal probation.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. You may go back to class now.”
Outside in the hallway, Kevin’s legs gave out. He leaned weakly against the wall and closed his eyes. He was a wanker. If a small thing like low marks could leave him in this condition, he was a serious lightweight. He took another minute to collect himself, pushed away from the wall and walked slowly back to class. How had he come to this and how in bloody hell was he going to get himself out?
Robbie Finnigan was a toad. It pained Kate to think of him that way. She was a woman who tried to see the positive in everyone, but there was really no other way to see the chief of Ulster’s Royal Constabulary.
“I don’t understand what the problem is. You’ve had nearly a year to make this work.”
“These things take time, Mrs. Nolan. I can’t just fire everyone on the police force and hire Catholics.”
Kate drummed her fingers on the table. “How many men have retired in the last nine months?”
“I can’t say exactly.” Deliberately he avoided her gaze. “Four, maybe five.”
Kate’s crisp voice cut him off. “Actually there were nine. Only three of the nine knew there was a large bonus and benefits due them.”
“Nine?” The chief constable frowned. “Really? I hadn’t realized there were so many.”
“How many Catholics were hired to replace them?”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that as well, Mrs. Nolan.”
“I do, Constable Finnigan. Not a single new recruit is Catholic.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. Your hiring practices must change, immediately. You know that. Why aren’t you operating under the terms of the Patten Commission?”
“I’m not running a charity operation, Mrs. Nolan. Our people must be qualified. There aren’t many Catholics who aspire to join our forces. They’re seen as touts, turncoats.”
She ignored his last comment. “I’m sure there are just as many croppies from West Belfast who can wield billy clubs, Constable.”
“But will they use them, Mrs. Nolan?”
“Probably not with the same alacrity but I won’t be sorry. I’m sure a large majority of the population will agree with me.”
“I’ve already hired replacements for the retired men. They have families. Do you want me to sack them?”
“Catholics have families, too, Constable. You were precipitous in your hiring. I’m afraid you’ll have to make your apologies unless you can think of another way to bring on nine new Catholic police
officers. Fifty percent is the number we’re working toward. You’re hovering at a miserable eight. I’ll expect everything to be in place by next Monday. Please, don’t disappoint me or I’ll be forced to go over your head.”
“I can’t integrate fifty percent of my work force with Catholics by Monday.”
“Start with nine.”
“You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Nolan.”
“Good day, Constable.”
Kate made it through the waiting area, out the door and across the parking lot before she began to shake. Managing her car keys, she unlocked the door, climbed into the car and rested her head on the steering wheel. Her lungs burned. She forced herself to relax, to breathe slowly, to wipe the conflict from her mind.
Minutes passed. What next? The ride back home and the appointment with the therapist she’d scheduled for Kevin. Groaning, she turned the key, felt the engine catch and backed out of the car park. Across the street at the primary school, children played on an ancient jungle gym. Directly ahead an empty guard tower, barbed wire still intact, hung forbiddingly over the treeless neighborhood. Young men loitered outside a Catholics only pub. Women held children by the hand, pushed babies in prams and gossiped outside half-open doorways. Ragged strips of green, white and orange, the flag of Ireland, hung from every doorway, black flags and green H’s, commemorating the twentieth anniversary of Bobby Sand’s death by starvation in the H-blocks swung from street signs, a typical afternoon in Belfast, except that Belfast was never typical, not even now.
She hesitated at the light and looked at her watch. It was too late to swing by the university and hope that Deirdre was in her room. Even though she came home on weekends, Kate missed her dreadfully. Nothing was quite the same since Deirdre had left for Queen’s in the fall. Because there were only three of them, her absence was all the more obvious.
Kate bit her lip. She wouldn’t be one of those mothers who kept a stranglehold on her children, binding them through guilt, reluctantly obligating the carefree years of their youth. Deirdre deserved her freedom and a chance to live her life away from her family’s troubles.
It was Kevin who needed her attention. With a cautious eye on the road, Kate concentrated on the meeting to come, on the words she would choose to maximize the hour they would have. Kevin was always her challenge. Kate was a fighter. She wouldn’t back away from a challenge, especially when he was her son.
Seven
It happened so quickly, Kate had less than an instant to react. She had barely turned left from Grosvenor Road to the Westlink and the M1 when a nondescript compact hurtled across the divider, spun out of control and crashed into the passenger side of her car. She felt the impact, a wave of dizziness and then the loss of orientation as her Volvo tilted sideways, careened for terrifying seconds and then rolled over. Imprisoned by the seat belt, Kate hung upside down for what seemed an eternity before the car rolled again landing on the embankment. She closed her eyes, breathed a silent prayer of gratitude and waited.
Minutes passed. Her heart shuddered. Gingerly she touched her head, stretched her muscles. She wasn’t hurt, probably not even bruised. Breathing deeply, she sucked in as much air as her rapidly constricting lungs would allow. She needed her inhaler. Where was her handbag?
Voices blended together outside. Help had arrived. Thank God. A large fist knocked on the window. She pressed the automatic control and the pane inched down.
“Are you all in one piece, miss?”
“I think so,” Kate managed.
His voice changed. “Mrs. Nolan, is that you?”
She looked at her rescuer for the first time. “It is, Mr. Anderson. You’re a welcome sight. What are you doing here?”
“I pulled up just as you were hit. Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so.” She tried the door. “I can’t seem to get out.”
He grasped the handle and pulled. The door opened, he unlatched the seat belt and helped her out.
Kate gripped his arm. “I need my handbag.”
“You need a hospital. You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I’m an asthmatic,” she explained, between wheezes. “I can’t breathe. My inhaler is in my bag. It was in the front seat but I can’t find it now.”
He took another quick look at her face, opened the back door of the car and ran his hands along the seats and the carpeted floor. “Here it is.” Unzipping the leather side compartment, he handed Kate the inhaler.
Ordinarily she was self-conscious about her condition, but not now, not when her chest was so tight she felt as if she were breathing through a pinhole. Sealing her lips around the plastic she depressed the nozzle, drew the life-sustaining medication into her chest and held it there. Exhaling, she leaned weakly against the car.
Neil Anderson reached out to support her with his arm, but she waved him away and, once more, lifted the vial to her lips. Relief was still minutes away.
He watched the blue leave her lips. A hint of color crept back into her cheeks. Neil relaxed for the first time since he saw the small car leap over the divider and slam into Kate’s Volvo. He hadn’t known who she was until she’d rolled down the window. It was odd, the extent of his relief, considering who she was and, more to the point, who Patrick Nolan had been.
The singsong whine of an ambulance was very close. He hadn’t even checked on the other driver.
“Wait here,” he said and jogged over to the Other vehicle. Already two police cars were positioned on either side of the blue car. The man inside was slumped over the wheel. “Is he alive?” Neil asked the officer standing nearby.
“I believe so, sir. The medics are on their way.”
Neil leaned into the window and pressed his fingers against the pulse point in the man’s neck. It was faint but steady. He straightened and nodded. “If he’s treated quickly enough he might make it.”
“What can have gotten into him, sir? Eye witnesses say the car ran right over the center divider.”
“Most likely several pints of Guinness,” replied Neil grimly. The inside of the car smelled like a brewery. “Is everything under control?”
“Aye, sir. We’ll have him up the road in no time.”
Neil nodded and sprinted back to Kate. She looked dazed and unsteady but no more than that. “I’d like you to see a doctor,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ve got to be back in Donegal by six o’clock. I have an appointment.”
“You won’t be going home in this car even if you were in any condition to drive.”
“The appointment is for Kevin. I must be there.” She gripped his arm. “Please. Will you take me?”
Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he studied her, wondering what it had cost her to make such a request of him, a woman like her, serious, almost prim, exuding the faintest scent of perfume, Irish skin, dark hair falling around her face, wide-eyed, utterly feminine, quietly fierce. It would be Kevin. For who else would she place herself under such obligation? “Of course,” he said quietly. “Would you like to leave now?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Where would you like your car towed?”
Kate shrugged, bewildered. “I don’t know. I have no experience with this sort of thing.”
Neil’s mouth turned up in his first smile since he’d witnessed the accident. She was entrusted with the integration of Northern Ireland and yet she was lost when it came to towing her car. “I’ll take care of it, but first I’ll walk you back to my car.”
She smiled gratefully and walked beside him, through the flare pattern in the street and around the stopped traffic to where his car sat on the side of the road. He opened the passenger door and she slid into the seat.
“Will you be all right for a minute or so while I see about your car and the chap who started all this?” he asked.
She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m most grateful, Mr. Anderson. Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”
He was back very soon.
/>
“Is he badly hurt?” Kate asked, a stricken look on her face.
“He’ll make it.”
“Thank God.”
She’d nearly died, yet her concern for the misguided young man in the blue car was genuine. Turning the key, Neil maneuvered the car out into the afternoon traffic. He was a very good driver, confident but careful. He pressed the power button on the radio hoping the steady hum of the engine, the smooth ride and the soothing music would work its magic on Kate’s frazzled nerves.
His eyes never left the road ahead of him but he knew when her breathing deepened. Not for the first time did Neil marvel at the resilient quality of Irish women. Perhaps they were made differently, born with the quality of endurance and a resigned acceptance that life was not meant to be kind or equitable or fair. There could be no other explanation. An English woman, or any other he’d come across, would have been terrified after an accident like the one Kate had survived. She could have been killed and yet she asked for nothing, not even sympathy or a friendly ear to hash it out. She was Tony Blair’s hope for the restructuring of Northern Ireland, she supported two children on her own, she’d suffered a harrowing trauma, her son was in serious trouble and her husband—Neil deliberately stopped his thought and continued in a different direction. Kate Nolan was unlike anyone he’d ever known.
She dozed through the lake country of Lough Neagh, the flat marshy bog land of Tyrone and the meandering road bordering the River Erne. Not until he breathed in the familiar smell of the Atlantic, tangy, saltier than the Irish Sea, did she fully awaken again. “We’re almost in Ardara,” she said, surprised.
“Yes. I was about to wake you. Shall I take you home or drop you somewhere?”
Kate looked at her watch. “It’s still early. I have time to make dinner and drive back to Donegal with Kevin.”
“How will you get there?”
“My father has a car. I’ll use his tonight and rent one tomorrow.”
“Grand.”
Kate hesitated. “I appreciate this very much, Mr. Anderson. It’s a very long way for you to go. I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking about your son.”
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