The Silent Dead
Page 32
‘Who?’ She said it casually, but her heart began to beat.
‘This fella Brooking – he’s not such a bad being, I’ll admit. He does his best. He was frantic when they realised you hadn’t made it home from the hospital. But he has a wife, yes?’
‘I don’t know what’s happening with them. They were splitting up, I thought.’
‘For now, though, there’s a wife, and a kid, am I right?’
‘She’s sixteen.’
‘Maguire . . .’
‘Yes, yes, Guy is married, OK? I didn’t exactly plan all this.’
‘Never mind. He can’t be there for you, that’s my point. But there’s me, Maguire. I’m unwed.’
She looked away. ‘You’re seeing Maeve, though, aren’t you?’
‘Maeve? Maeve Cooley?’
‘Yes, Maeve who was lying upstairs there in the ICU, whose bedside you’ve hardly left in weeks. You were in her bedroom in your pants, that time in Dublin. Don’t pretend you don’t remember. I’m not stupid.’
‘Ah Maguire.’ Aidan began to laugh heartily, leaning on his knees. ‘Me and Maeve?’
‘Is it so unlikely? I saw you, Aidan. I saw how upset you were when she got hurt.’
‘And here’s me thinking you were observant, Maguire. I love Maeve, right enough, but like a sister. That woman who was there at the ICU, giving out to you about your phone?’
‘Yeah?’ He meant the one with the dark bob. Some friend, she’d assumed.
‘Maeve’s girlfriend. Sinead. Nice girl, you’d like her.’
‘Oh.’ Paula thought about this, things fell into place. Oh.
‘So I’m not with Maeve, or anyone, and you’re not with Brooking, nor are you likely to be any time soon.’
‘What exactly is your point?’ She folded her arms huffily.
‘You. Me. How about it? Get the old band back together.’
‘You want me to go out with you? Again? After everything?’ She was gaping. ‘Jesus, Aidan, you’re mad.’
‘Am I? Anyway, that’s not what I mean. We’re not eighteen this time. I don’t want you to “go steady” with me.’
‘So?’
‘Thought we could do better this time. I want you to marry me.’
She just stared at him. ‘Fucking hell. You’ve lost it. I better call a psych consult.’
He took her hand, which was lying limp on the bed, and she let him, still in disbelief. His was rough and warm, inkstains on the knuckles. ‘I mean it. Don’t do a paternity test. Forget about all that bollocks. Just marry me. I’ll be Maggie’s da – honest. I don’t care whose she is. We’re family anyway, you and me. We should be there for each other. Especially if you keep doing mad things. I want to be there for you, and for her. What do you say, Maguire? Will you marry me?’
A jingle of the curtains announced three new arrivals into the cubicle – PJ, Pat, and baby Maggie, held in Aidan’s mother’s arms.
‘Are we interrupting?’ said Pat, looking between the two of them.
Kira
She was surprised by how little Rose’s grave had changed over time. Someone else had been looking after it – Mammy, probably, though they hadn’t talked about it. Someone had put daffodils in the jar, fresh and yellow, the colour of hope, and cut the grass. Otherwise it was all the same, the black granite stone, the wind through the trees, the quiet of the place. Kira walked a few steps and then dropped onto her knees. She’d get grass stains on her jeans but she didn’t care.
‘Hi,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been for a long time. I’ve been . . . away.’
She didn’t tell the truth, but she felt Rose would know anyway. Maybe she’d even been watching over Kira in the young offender place, with all the angry girls, scars up their arms, bruises under their eyes. It had been a year now and Kira was out. Ready to get on with her life, whatever that meant. Lily was still in the women’s prison, though she’d get out in another year. Dominic had been sent to jail for a long time, but Kira thought in some weird way he was glad. There was no one outside he really wanted to see now his little girl was dead. Ann had managed to get off without prison, since she hadn’t been there at the end, and Liam had been inside for six months. No one else had really known what they’d planned, or if they had, they were dead. So many other graves to visit after this – John, and the new memorial in town, and even Lorcan deserved a visit from someone, she thought, though no one else wanted to mention his name.
She heard the breeze through the leaves, like a soft whisper, like a hand across her forehead. ‘I’m all right,’ she told Rose. ‘Mammy’s better, and there’s Jamesie . . . I’ve been spending time with him. I think that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? He says I should call him Dad.’
No answer. She had stopped expecting one, and maybe that was right. She stood up, resting her hand on the cool stone of the grave. Rose Sarah Woods. 1983–2006. Beloved sister and daughter. Beloved mother, it should read, but it didn’t matter. Everyone important knew the truth. She knew. Jamesie knew. And Rose, wherever she was, Rose knew too. ‘Goodbye,’ said Kira softly. ‘I hope that you’re all right. And maybe . . . maybe I’ll see you again.’
A bird sounded again in the tree, sweet, out of sight. Kira smiled, and turned to go back to the car where Jamesie was waiting for her. She shut the gate to the graveyard with a squeak, and she didn’t look back.
Author’s Note
This book is not intended to represent any specific events during the Troubles, but sadly there are parallels with real-life atrocities, most notably the Enniskillen and Omagh bombs. I was sixteen when the Omagh bomb exploded, killing 29 people and unborn twins. At the time, in the stunned devastation that followed, it seemed impossible to believe the country could ever move towards a lasting peace. However, for the most part, it has, something which I and most people from Northern Ireland are grateful for every single day.
I hope this book will serve as some reminder of the losses which are still being endured every day, the unbelievable strength of the victims and bereaved, and the incredible progress that has been made even in my lifetime. The worst days are behind us now. May we never go back.
I am indebted to the book Aftermath by Ruth Dudley Edwards, which sets out the stark consequences of terrorism with much more insight and detail than I ever could. I urge you to read it.
‘Norn Irish’ Glossary
I’ve been living in England for 14 years now and I’m still surprised when I use words that make people look at me blankly. So, here’s a short glossary to explain what on earth the characters are talking about.
A yoke – a thing
A galoot – a useless person, an idiot
Provos – the Provisional IRA, ie the main IRA
Footering – fiddling with
Black as your boot – insulting way to say someone is very Unionist/Protestant
The Orange Order – kind of a long story. Involves sashes and marching.
An Garda Siochana – the southern Irish police force
PSNI – Police Service of Northern Ireland. Replaced the RUC.
Wean – a child
Peelers- the police
Hoke – to root about for or to extract (‘hoke it out’)
Baldy – a clue, ie I haven’t a clue
Herpelling – to walk awkwardly, to limp
Flitters – tatters
Hot press – airing cupboard (not sure this is in the book but I do get a lot of blank stares when I say this one)