Freedom First, Peace Later

by Jeanette Hewitt

  Connor, still sitting on the doorstep, jumped when he heard someone hit the window upstairs. He hauled himself up and hobbled to the curb to look up at the window. He saw Bronwyn, palms flat against the window, a look of angry frustration on her face. Taking advantage of the fact that she didn’t know he was there, he stood and watched her until he felt in a strange way like he was intruding, and then hobbled back to the step.

  Ten minutes later, she came out of the house and stood in front of him on the step.

  “I can’t get through to her,” she said. “She won’t listen to me.”

  He managed a wan smile.

  “I find it hard to believe there’s someone who doesn’t listen to you.”

  “Me too, it doesn’t happen often.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve taken care of her all our lives. I’ve sorted out anyone who’s hurt her, and I’ve protected her from her mother. This, though, it feels hopeless.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll come back tomorrow, is that okay?”

  “Yes, please come. I’m sure if we work together we can get her to see that none of this is her fault. It’s her bloody mother. Someone should have a word with that woman,” replied Connor. Bronwyn narrowed her eyes and a look of anger crossed her face.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Connor as she walked out of the gate. “You leave that bitch to me.”

  As Bronwyn walked down the street, Connor couldn’t help pondering her words. Strange, Bronwyn had almost repeated what his mother had said the night before, about being there to protect Rosina. Was that how he felt too?

  * * * *

  When she heard someone knock on her door, Kathleen’s head snapped up and she turned towards it.

  “Rosina?” she asked and took no notice when she banged the table in her haste to get to the door, knocking over the four empty wine bottles.

  When she flung open the door, she was confused to see Bronwyn standing on her doorstep.

  “Look—” she began but was cut off by Bronwyn leaping up the step towards her. In her drunken haze she couldn’t dodge Bronwyn’s fist. As it smashed into her face, she staggered and fell back into the hall.

  “You bitch!” Bronwyn came into the hall, kicking the door closed behind her. Kathleen looked up, stunned, and paid no heed to her throbbing eye. A red haze came over her and instead of her daughter’s best friend standing before her, she saw him, Rosina’s father, and let out a wail as she lurched towards Bronwyn. They wrestled together but Bronwyn was stronger and pushed Kathleen back to the floor where she crouched down in front of her.

  “Leave Rosina alone. Never, ever, see her again, you poisonous bitch!” spat Bronwyn.

  “She’s my girl—my baby,” Kathleen screamed back in Bronwyn’s face and collapsed in a weeping heap on the floor.

  Bronwyn stared with a mixture of hate and pity as Kathleen curled herself into a fetal position and sobbed.

  “She’s nothing to you,” replied Bronwyn and, leaving Kathleen where she was, quietly let herself out of the house.

  * * * *

  Barry turned up for his cell meeting, full of good intentions that tonight he was going to tell Andy that it was his last night as an I.R.A member. He was the first to arrive and he followed Andy through to the kitchen.

  “Listen, Andy, I need to speak to you before the others get here,” He took the can of beer that Andy gave him.

  Andy, a thin, red haired man with piercing blue eyes, nodded and gestured for Barry to sit down.

  “This isn’t for me, being a member here. I can’t take the strain of it anymore,” the words that Barry had rehearsed over and over came out easily and he relaxed a little. Andy regarded Barry with a serious expression before he pulled out a chair and sat opposite.

  “You’re a good man, Barry, a decent sort, and you know we don’t keep anyone here against their will.”

  Barry sagged with relief and took a sip of his beer.

  “Can I ask you something, Baz, now you’re no longer involved?”

  “Sure.”

  “A lot of jobs have been getting messed up recently. Do you think we’ve got an informer in this cell?”

  Barry froze, the can of beer halfway to his mouth as he raised his eyes to meet Andy’s. As he stared into those empty blue eyes, Barry knew, right at that moment, that Andy was aware of everything. He recovered quickly and put the beer back on the table.

  “I’ve never suspected anybody,” he said. “Do you really believe that we’ve a mole here?”

  “Hey, don’t listen to me. I’m just a natural paranoid I guess.” Andy reached across the table and held his hand out. “It’s been good knowing you, Barry.”

  Was it just Barry’s mistrustful and confused state of mind, or were Andy’s last words loaded with a threatening warning?

  Barry shook Andy’s hand and stood up, wanting to get out of the house as quickly as possible now. As he left the house, he knew that was it.

  Game over.

  He walked briskly home in a mild state of shock. Andy knew! How long had he known, and what was he planning to do? Barry was well versed in the ways of the I.R.A. He had been given extensive lectures on what was likely to happen if a member ever found out that he was

  undercover. It meant death, and if by any chance Barry got away from Crossmaglen, indeed out of Northern Ireland altogether, he would spend the rest of his life in hiding, with a new name, a new identity, and no contact with his family.

  But as he walked, Barry couldn’t even think that far into the future. His first priority was to run, as far as he could and as fast as possible.

  Stopping at a phone box, he glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being watched and picked up the telephone to ring Johnny. It was now up to Johnny to make the necessary arrangements to get him out of here alive and in one piece.

  Before he dialed the number in full he suddenly hung up the telephone and stared out into the street. A thought had occurred to him; what if Johnny had set him up? Maybe Johnny was so pissed at him quitting as an agent he had spilled the beans to Andy?

  “Shit,” Barry whispered and leaned his head against the side of the phone booth. Suddenly feeling very confused and vulnerable, Barry pushed open the door and stumbled back into the street and straight into the arms of Andy.

  Barry shrieked and pushed at the man’s chest.

  “Hey, man, it’s only me!” Andy slapped him on the back. “You want to watch where you’re going!”

  Andy’s face was friendly enough, but Barry didn’t buy it. He wondered for a second if this was it, if this was his time to die, and before he could find out, he turned tail and fled, not stopping until he reached home.

  * * * *

  Barry crashed through the front door only moments after Bronwyn arrived home. Bronwyn was part way through telling Alia about Rosina’s sorry state when Barry half fell into the kitchen. He was wheezing, desperately trying to catch his breath, and he leaned over and clutched at his chest.

  “I need to get out of here. I have to leave, Mam!” Barry pulled himself up and gripped Alia’s arms. “Mam, I’m really fucking scared!”

  Alia stared at Barry in horror. Of her two children, Barry was the one who was always calm, never in a flap or a crisis. Now, as she looked at the wild-eyed boy in front of her, she barely recognised him.

  “Barry…” Tentatively, Bronwyn touched his arm. “What have you done?”

  Barry moaned and let go of Alia. He spun around and clutched at his head.

  “I can’t tell you but, oh God, I need you to help me!” he cried and his voice got higher and higher until he was almost screaming at his mother and sister. “You need to help me! Hide me! I have to get away!”

  Bronwyn stepped forward and slapped his face hard. He stopped his rant and turned to her with large eyes.

  “Are you one of them?” he asked and cowered back into the hall.

  “Barry!” Alia shouted and he jumped.

  “It’s me, just your ma and Bronwyn. Barry, please, you’re
scaring us…” Alia was weeping now and Bronwyn clung onto her mother’s arm.

  As Barry stared at his mother, the fog started to clear in his head and he took a deep breath and held his hand up.

  “A minute, just gimme a minute.” He got his breathing steady again and nodded to himself.

  “Barry, come and sit down,” Bronwyn implored and when he looked at her now he knew that it was she, just his sister, Bronwyn, and not one of the crazy demons that, in his moments of clarity, he could see haunting him.

  Eventually he returned to the kitchen and sat down.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Tell us what’s going on.” Bronwyn took his hand and spoke in soothing tones. “You’ve been acting weird for ages, Barry, and if you tell us we might be able to help you.”

  “I’m ill,” he said. “Voices, in my head or, maybe, they’re not, I don’t know…” his words made no sense and Bronwyn exchanged a worried glance with her mother.

  “And…and I can’t sleep! I keep hearing voices in my head and people are watching me—everywhere I go they’re stalking me!” Barry’s voice rose in panic again and this time neither Bronwyn nor Alia could placate him.

  “Oh, it’s starting again!” Barry grabbed his head and stood up, knocking his chair over. “Make it stop! Please, stop them—make them stop!” He ended his tirade with a roar. Then he spun around and swept the plates that Alia had laid out for dinner off the table. Bronwyn and Alia leapt out of their seats and clutched at each other, frightened of this new Barry that they had never seen before.

  Barry didn’t stop. He crashed around the kitchen, bouncing off the units and cupboards, punching the walls, picking up and hurling anything that got in his way. A stray china plate caught Bronwyn on her forehead and she fell back, screaming when she felt the blood that trickled down her face.

  “I’m calling the police!” Alia shrieked and ran into the hall, dragging Bronwyn along behind her.

  Once there, they slammed the door on Barry and Alia fumbled for the telephone. As Alia sobbed out their predicament to the emergency services operator, Bronwyn realised that there was silence from the other side of the door. She opened it a crack and peered through to see Barry sitting amongst the mess of broken crockery and mugs and bottles.

  “Barry?” she whispered.

  He turned towards her and her mouth fell open at the sight of him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, tears streaming down his face, and blood streaming down his arms.

  “Sorry, Bronwyn,” he whispered in reply, dropping the shard of china he had used to slash his wrists.

  * * * *

  Everything happened very quickly after that. Bronwyn skittered back down the hall and grabbed the phone out of Alia’s hand.

  “Make that an ambulance,” she told the operator. “My brother’s slit his wrists. Please, send it as soon as possible.”

  With that she handed the phone back to a stunned Alia and ran back into the kitchen, grabbing a tea towel on her way. She fell to her knees beside Barry and grabbed his left arm. Working

  quickly she wrapped the towel as tight as she could around his bleeding arm, talking to him all the time in a hushed voice.

  “You’re gonna be fine, Barry. We’ll get you some help, and we can deal with it, right?” She glanced up at him.

  Barry stared back through half closed eyes and she panicked and shouted in his ear.

  “Barry!”

  He snapped his head up and looked at her, dazed and confused.

  “There we go, you stay with me now.”

  Bronwyn called to Alia when she heard her hang up the phone.

  “Ma, more towels, or bandages, or something.”

  Alia reacted well, considering the sight that met her eyes when she came back into the kitchen. Blood, puddles of it, was now gathering around Barry and she clapped her hand to her mouth when she saw the pallor of his skin.

  “Towels, ma,” Bronwyn said. Alia nodded and, scooping up fresh ones from the laundry basket, she brought them over.

  With both arms tied and Barry looking almost comatose, there was nothing else for Bronwyn to do to help her brother. She couldn’t stand it, being useless, so she told Alia to stay with him and she went out front to wait for the ambulance.

  As she stood in the street, with the wind howling around her and snow starting to fall again, she glanced back towards the house, then up into the sky.

  “God, if you’re there, you better bloody help us now.”

  * * * *

  News spread quickly in the small town of Crossmaglen, and details, some true, some false, of Barry’s breakdown traveled through the grapevine.

  Danny heard one of the false versions, as he took his breakfast in the Fox and Hound. It was Lila, the landlady, who told Danny how Barry had gone insane, smashing up the house before attacking his mother and sister.

  Danny’s first thought was of Bronwyn. He left the pub and immediately made his way to the hospital.

  When he arrived at accident and emergency, he spotted Bronwyn at the coffee machine and ran up to her.

  She was not surprised to see him; after all he was one of Barry’s best friends.

  “How is he? How are you?” He took in the stitches on her forehead and tried not to look at the black eye that he had caused.

  “I’m fine, getting used to being wounded,” she said dryly. There was an uncomfortable silence and he had the decency to flush a dark shade of red.

  “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” she said, looking around. The last thing she needed now was for her mother to see Danny here.

  “Let’s go outside, I need some air.”

  They walked out and sat on the wall in the ambulance-parking bay.

  “What happened?” Danny asked. “I’ve heard a couple of stories and I don’t know what’s true.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with him—he just went mad. But he’s been acting weird for a while now. The doctors said something about stress…”

  “Baz had nothing to be stressed about, he was fine!” Danny exclaimed.

  “It’s one of those things,” said Bronwyn.

  “I’m sorry for what happened—I mean—what I done to you,” said Danny. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Yeah, well, lucky that the cavalry arrived,” she replied.

  “Who was that guy?” asked Danny. “He could have broken my nose.”

  “He was a guy from the barracks, Stu, his name was.”

  Danny felt a slow burn of anger and his tone changed.

  “Stu, huh? He the guy you dumped me for?”

  “Jesus, Danny, I didn’t know him before that night, and if he hadn’t been there you might have killed me!” she exclaimed.

  “Don’t be so fucking dramatic! So, how many times have you seen him?” Danny asked roughly.

  “Twice!” she said. “And if I want, I’ll see him again.”

  Danny laughed and shook his head. “You’re a soldier doll. This past year I’ve been with you, and all the time you’re running after a fucking soldier. I guess you live up to your reputation, hey?”

  “What reputation?” Bronwyn was indignant.

  “For being a slag! The tough girl about town, Bronwyn Ranger, she’ll be anybody’s for a pint!”

  Danny’s words cut deep and Bronwyn was devastated, but she would rather die than let Danny see that he had hurt her.

  Before she could reply, Danny jumped off the wall.

  “Give Baz my best, I’ll see him soon.” As he muttered the short sentence he glanced over her shoulder. As Danny jogged away, she turned around to see Connor making his way over to her. She uttered a laugh. Danny was so scared of Connor, now he would do anything to stay out of his way.

  “Was he bothering you?” Connor asked when he reached her. “Jesus, what happened to your face?”

  “You asked me that yesterday,” said Bronwyn.

  He reached out and touched her face, next to the fresh stitches and her skin tingled at his touch.
/>   “This wasn’t here yesterday. Did that bastard hit you again?”

  “No, it was an accident with a plate,” she said and moved away from him. “What are you doing here?”

  “My stitches burst.” He pulled up his trouser leg and showed her his bullet wound. A couple of the stitches had torn and it was bleeding.

  “God, we’re all in the wars lately. How’s Rosie?”

  Connor’s face fell and he shrugged.

  “She wasn’t up when I left. I’m going to try to get her to come out to dinner tonight, take her mind off things. Anyway, are you going home now? If not, do you have time for a coffee while I wait to get this seen to?”

  “I’m not going home yet. I’ve been here all night. My brother’s in there.” She nodded to the hospital.

  “Is he okay?” Connor asked.

  “Not really.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned away. “He’s in a right fucking mess and I can’t help him.”

  Connor laid his hand on her shoulder. She let out a cry and turned into his comforting embrace. He held her there and she wrapped her arms around him, shaking with silent sobs.

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked quietly, and she nodded into his chest.

  But she didn’t want to tell him, not quite yet. She liked it where she was, breathing in the smell of him and liking the feel of his strong arms around her. The last few days had been a turmoil of emotions for Bronwyn, what with Rosina and Danny, along with Connor making her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling, and now Barry. So she clung onto Connor, pretending for a while that she was in the right place, with the right man, until all she could see in her mind’s eye was Rosina’s hurt and angry face and she pulled away.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  He took her hand and led her back inside the hospital, where he found a quiet corner and sat her down on one of the hard-backed chairs.

  “Tell me what’s going on with your brother,” he said, sitting down next to her. She told him everything, not only about Barry, but also about her fears for Rosina, her troubles with Danny, and her visit to Kathleen the day before. The only thing she didn’t confide in Connor was her mixed feelings for him.