“The next day I got up early and returned to the lake. She was already there, and this time I’d come prepared. I approached her and offered her some of the bread I’d nicked from Nan’s house. She took some and we sat there eating the dry crusts until we’d finished the bag. Then she pulled
out some mints from her pocket and we shared those, too. Her name was Cally, she told me, Cally Wilson and she was the same age as me. We traded stories that day and arranged to meet up again every day for the rest of my time there.
“Cally was very pretty, total opposite to me. She was all petite and blonde, the sort of girl you know is going to be a right show stopper when she hit her teenage years.
“And she was, for I saw Cally Wilson every single summer holiday for the next nine years. Except for one, when I was made to go to Portadown to me Auntie’s, and by God, I kicked up such a fuss they never made me go there again.
“Of course, we knew we were different from each other in a very important way as we grew up, but we didn’t really understand it. And by the time we did understand what it was all about, we had a bond that was too deep to break. We had grown up, grown out of Barbie dolls and into Ken dolls, if you know what I mean. We still spent most summer days down by the lake, though. It was our special place. Nobody bothered us there, not like they did when we went into the town. By that time I had been going there every summer, so all the Prods knew about us. Cally lost a few friends by sticking with me, and I made myself a few enemies, but as long as we had each other we could deal with it.
“Then, it all ended as suddenly as it began.”
Bronwyn sat transfixed and she tugged impatiently on her mother’s arm when she stopped talking.
“What happened, Ma?” Bronwyn asked.
Alia looked up and straight into the eyes of her only daughter. She took a moment to study her child before she continued with her story.
“We’d been at the lake all day. We no longer went into town, or to the discos. Things had changed – no longer were we just getting called names, things had started to get violent. It was a good day, but it was long past nightfall so I walked Cally to her house. I always made sure she got home first. She was smaller than me and not so tough. Rosina reminds me a lot of Cally, you know. Anyhow, we knew that something was wrong before we even got near to her house. The air was thick with black, acrid smoke and crowds of people were running down the street.
“Cally stopped and clutched at my arm. I looked over at her and I could read her mind, her prayer, before she spoke the words.
“‘Not my house.’
“We broke into a run and pushed through the people to get to the front of the crowd. It was her house. Of course it was – we had known in the pits of our stomachs it would be her house.
“Cally stood outside her own garden gate and stared in horror at her burning home.
“‘Where are the fire engines?’ I remember calling. ‘Someone, call them, please!’
“Suddenly, a movement caught our eye in the upstairs window and Cally let out a shriek as she realised that it was her mother.
“I’d never met her mam, none of her family in fact. Not because they didn’t approve of me. They let Cally go her own way in seeing me. It was just easier to see Cally on our own. That was why we stopped going to the bars and the town centre.
“Now, I felt my heart rip for what Cally was seeing, a sight so terrible it still burns my eyelids every time I close my eyes. Cally's mam was on fire, her back, arms and hair, yet she was frantically trying to open the window. I stared at her and all the while Cally shrieked beside me, sounding like a little Jay bird, shrieking and shrieking. Then the heat blew the window in and suddenly her mam was there, leaning out as far as she could and I saw the baby that she held in her arms. I saw what she was going to do and I knew, without looking, that Cally would not be able to move. Nobody else was helping and it was up to me. I crashed through the gate and stood directly under the window, just as she let the baby go. That was the longest moment of my life as I stood there and watched that babe fall. I knew I had to catch it, there was no second chance and if I missed, that child would die at my feet on the concrete.”
Alia stopped speaking and clapped a hand to her eyes as though to stop herself reliving the memory.
“Mam? Mam!” Bronwyn bought Alia out of her reverie and she snapped her head up. Bronwyn was horrified to see the tears slide down Alia’s cheeks. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother cry before.
“Did you catch the baby?” Bronwyn was wide eyed, hoping, praying for the baby she didn’t even know.
More tears slid out of Alia’s eyes and she reached across the table and gripped Bronwyn’s hand.
“Mam? Did you catch it?”
There was a long silence, and then, “No.”
Bronwyn swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and gaped at her mother.
“No?”
Alia took a deep breath and swiped at her eyes.
“I was standing there, watching the babe fall and it was fine, he was right on track, then the downstairs window blew and I was literally picked up and thrown right back out of the garden and into the road by the force of the blast. So, no, I didn’t catch him.” Alia looked back up and tried to smile. “He was a little boy, just six months old. Shane was his name.”
“Oh, Ma.” Bronwyn wished she had never coerced her mother into telling her this story.
“And that was that. I never saw Cally again. Her whole family had been wiped out by that damn fire, and when they discovered it had been deliberately started, most likely by one of the thugs who had a grudge against the open-minded family, Cally moved away.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bronwyn. “But, why didn’t you see Cally again?”
“It was indirectly my fault, don’t you see?” Alia stood up and returned to the stew on the stove.
“I’d caused trouble in their lives. Oh, I know it wasn’t all me. I found out since that Cally’s mam had her own Catholic friends, but she kept that well hidden. Just not hidden enough.”
Bronwyn looked down at the table, feeling like her heart would burst.
“I can’t stand it, Ma!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I don’t understand this hatred at all.”
Alia laughed and the humourless sound pierced Bronwyn.
“Get used to it, sweetheart. Stick around here and it’s something you’ll live with forever.”
“No, I won’t. I won’t put up with it. You’ll see. I can change people, make them see the fighting is worthless,” Bronwyn’s voice was cold and hard enough to make Alia turn and come back to the table.
“My girl, where did you get your spirit from?” Alia smiled and shook her head in wonder.
“But, Bronwyn, if anybody can, you can.”
It was all that she needed to hear. As she kissed her mother and left the room, she had a newfound resolve to unite Danny and Connor.
It was only two people, sure, but it would be a start.
* * * *
Barry woke suddenly and turned over to look at the clock.
4:45 a.m.
Damnit, he was waking earlier and earlier each day; yesterday he had at least slept until 5:00a.m.
The sleeping problem had not gone away since it first began three weeks ago. Barry had paid a visit to the local library and spent an afternoon perusing the books on his now specialist subject. Insomnia.
From the books that he had devoured, he had discovered that the form of insomnia he was suffering from was premature waking. He had also discovered that there were many remedies that were recommended, ranging from honeycomb to warm milk, before getting onto the heavy-duty stuff that would require a trip to the doctor. The doctor was something he wanted to avoid; both the I.R.A and the British government had access to medical records, and he could get pulled from both teams if they suspected his mind was not entirely on the job. Of course, this was highly illegal of both parties, but then both groups involved didn’t always play by the rulebook. B
arry lay in his bed for a while longer before he got up and flicked the lamp on. It was depressing, this illness, and he didn’t know how much longer he could put up with it. He wished he could talk to Bronwyn about it, about everything, but she was asleep with Danny, and what could she do anyway?
He turned his mind to a more pressing matter. He had a meeting with Johnny in six hours. He knew he should tell Johnny about the mass of explosives that were currently residing in his garden shed, but if he did Danny would be arrested by the Royal Ulster Constabulary and it would be over for him for a very long time.
What about Bronwyn? Could he stand to put her through the pain, knowing that he had caused it?
“I want out—just want out of this whole mess,” he muttered to himself. Suddenly he stopped pacing, and it was as if a light bulb had gone on in his head. That was it! He would get out of the whole rat race; leave the I.R.A, quit the agent role—that was all he needed to do.
They won’t leave you alone, either of them, the annoying little voice in his head said.
“Then I’ll leave Crossmaglen. I can make a fresh start someplace else and leave all this sorry shit behind me.”
Pushing from his mind thoughts of Bronwyn and his mother, Barry lay back on the bed feeling like a little bit of pressure had been released from his increasingly tortured self. As soon as the sun started to rise in the east, Barry got dressed and paid a visit to Johnny. He didn’t go to Johnny’s house; he didn’t even know where the man lived. He called him from the telephone box at the end of the road and told Johnny he needed to see him, urgently. Johnny, sounding like he had been asleep, named a café that they had met in a couple of times. Barry hung up and started to walk.
Johnny was already seated to the rear of the café when Barry arrived. He slid into the seat opposite him.
“Coffee?” asked Johnny.
“No, nothing for me,” replied Barry and took a deep breath. “I want to quit my job.”
Johnny regarded him with some amusement before he spoke.
“The agent job or the I.R.A one?” he asked.
“The agent…I mean, both,” said Barry, wondering why Johnny always made him so nervous.
“That’s a sudden decision to make. Why would you want to do that?”
“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t betray Danny and I can’t risk my sister being hurt. It’s just all too much.”
“It would be a shame to lose you,” said Johnny.
“I can’t help that.”
“Well—” Johnny sat back and laced his hands behind his head. “I’ll have to take this news back to my boss. We’ll get back to you.”
Barry frowned.
“Why would you need to get back to me? I’ve quit. That’s it, the end of it.”
“Oh, Barry, you know it doesn’t work like that. We need more meetings. We need to make sure you’ve not switched sides and are using information against us.”
Barry suddenly felt very weary and he rubbed his head as he felt a tension headache coming on. He should have just left the country without telling anyone.
“I’m quitting the cell today,” he said in reply. “You can check, use your resources, then we’ll need no more meetings.”
“Of course,” Johnny’s tone was ever so slightly patronising and Barry felt a flicker of anger as he sensed that he wasn’t being taken seriously.
“Are we done?” asked Barry.
Johnny nodded and raised a hand in farewell. Barry left the café, more confused than when he had arrived.
As he walked along, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and he glanced furtively around. That man, by the Indian takeaway, was he watching him? Barry snapped his head forward and let out an audible gasp as he saw Andy, his cell leader, leaving the newsagent across the street. Good God, had Andy been following him? Did he know that he had been with Johnny, and did he know who Johnny was?
Sweat gathered on Barry’s brow and he chewed his fingernails anxiously. Were both sides watching him?
Get a grip.
Trying to steady his breathing, he walked briskly on. As soon as he was out of sight of the café, he broke into a run.
* * * *
Back at the Ranger home, Barry’s mother, Alia, wasn’t in much better shape than her son. Her talk with Bronwyn had got her thinking about the past. More specifically, it had got her reminiscing about Cally. After an hour of mentally listing the pros and cons, Alia had decided to get in touch with her old best friend. She sat down at the kitchen table with the cordless phone and the national telephone directory. Predictably, there were a lot of Wilson’s, so she started with the initial ‘C’ in case Cally had never married. She rang them all, seven of them in total, with no luck and decided to start back at the beginning.
It took her right through to the ‘F’s before she reached Francine, a lady who claimed to be Cally’s aunt.
“And she’d be my age, thirty-eight, right?” Alia asked in excitement.
“That’s her. Wait a second, I should have her number.” Francine put the phone down and Alia heard her muttering as she flicked through her own phone book.
“Now, you have to dial the whole number. Have you got a pen?” Francine came back on the line.
“Yes, go ahead.” Alia wrote down the number that Francine reeled off and frowned as she stared at it.
“It seems to have a lot of digits,” she said.
She heard a chuckle from Francine’s end.
“It is a lot of digits. You are calling New York, after all. Will you give her my love when you ring her?”
“Oh. Yes, yes, of course, and thank you for your help.”
Alia hung up the phone.
New York. Who would have thought it? Well, after the death of her family there was not much point in staying in Belfast, after all.
It took another half an hour before Alia built up the courage to ring the number, and even then she hung up four times before she completed dialing.
“For God’s sake, all she can do is hang up,” Alia said crossly and this time she made herself dial the number in full.
It rang so many times that Alia was about to ring off when she heard a small voice at the end of the line.
“Can I speak to Cally please?” she asked, palms beginning to sweat.
“Speaking.”
Alia froze and tried to speak but no words came out.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end, which had a slight American twang to it, bought Alia back and she cleared her throat.
“Cally, it’s Alia.”
There was a pause from the other end, and then, “Good God!” The American accent vanished, and Cally’s lilting Irish voice brought tears to Alia’s eyes. “You’re the one person I didn’t expect to call. It’s been so long.”
“I know. I was speaking to my daughter about you, and it brought back so many memories that I thought I would try to find you.”
“You have a daughter!” Cally exclaimed. “How old is she?”
“She’s twenty-one. I have a son too, they’re twins.”
“Twenty-one eh? I’m only just starting on the baby front.” Cally sounded happy enough to talk, so Alia relaxed and began to ask Cally about her life over the last two decades.
They spoke for a long time, covering everything from marriages to births and the jobs that the women had done. The one thing that neither of them mentioned was the fire that had killed Cally’s family.
Bronwyn came in as they ended their conversation with a promise to keep in touch. She sat down as Alia hung up the phone.
“You’ll never guess who that was!” Alia said before Bronwyn could speak.
“Who?”
“Cally, my friend Cally, who I told you about. Oh, boy, it was so good to speak to her again. You’ll never guess where she’s living now.”
Bronwyn listened as her mother recounted the conversation and felt happy that she had finally made contact with her lost friend.
“So, you see, you were right. We ju
st have to have the courage to try to change things,” her mother was saying.
At that point Barry came in and both women blanched at the sight of him.
“You okay, Barry?” asked Alia.
“What?” Barry spun around. It was as if he hadn’t even seen them sitting at the table. “Oh yes, fine thanks.”
With that, he turned and left the kitchen.
Alia began to talk about Cally once more, but Bronwyn’s mind was now elsewhere. She knew Barry better than anyone in this world, and he hadn’t looked right. At first he gave the impression that he was drunk, but that hadn’t been it either. He had just looked…wrong. Still annoyed at him for his I.R.A betrayal, Bronwyn pushed her concerns from her mind and turned her attention back to her mother.
Chapter Nine
The Decline of Crossmaglen
Stu awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in his bunk. He wondered what had woken him and then realised that it was the alarm on his watch. He groaned as he realised it was just after midnight, and he was due on duty. Already running late, he grabbed his ration of tea bags, writing paper, and some chocolate, and ran over to the observation tower. The man who had been on duty since four o'clock yesterday afternoon was waiting impatiently. Stu apologised as he climbed up and signed in.
Freedom First, Peace Later Page 7
