“What for?” he asked despondently.
Cally stopped her work and sat down opposite him, a sympathetic look on her face.
“To get through this,” she said. “You’re hurting right now and—believe me—I know just what you’re going through.”
“Oh yeah?” A glint of anger shone in his eye and he looked up at her. “How could you possibly know?”
“Because I lost my entire family at the hands of those bastards in Ireland, that’s how,” she replied and Connor, his anger forgotten, stared at her.
“What?”
“Bronwyn didn’t tell you? I don’t suppose I blame her. It’s not something I like to tell people about, or else they start looking at you different.”
“I didn’t know… I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed to have snapped at her. “When was this?”
“Twenty years ago. I was the same age as Bronwyn and, if her mother hadn’t been with me that night, I’d have been dead as well.” Cally settled herself down and prepared to tell him the whole story. “It was a fire. Someone set fire to my house as my mam, dad, and three brothers were sleeping. When I came home the house was ablaze, smoke all over the street.”
“And they couldn’t save anyone?” Connor whispered.
“My mam was alive when Alia and I got here, and it was a terrible sight. On fire she was, at the bedroom window and she held Shane, my baby brother, out of the window and Alia went to catch him. I couldn’t watch. My God, I closed my eyes and just prayed, but before Alia could catch Shane, the window blew from the heat and it knocked her right off her feet. So they all went, all dead and I left, like yourself, to start a new life.” Cally took Connor’s hand and smiled at him.
“Now see, I’m a wife, nearly a mother, and I have a whole new family to take care of. I guess I’m trying to tell you that it does get better, you won’t forget, but it’ll get easier, and you’ll move on.”
“I guess, but Rosina…she was special.” Connor smiled as he remembered. “She was so sweet. She wouldn’t have hurt anything or anyone. I never knew anyone as kind or as good as her.”
“She sounds very special. And I can’t say anything to make it better for you, all you need is time.”
“It was her funeral today,” said Connor.
“I know, Alia told me over the telephone. And I know you’re sad that you couldn’t be there, but why don’t you have a drink and remember her in your own way?”
Cally stood up and resumed her cooking. Connor nodded and made his way up to the fourth floor.
When Bronwyn came home it was late, almost ten o’clock, and seeing that the lights were out downstairs, she made her way directly up to the fourth floor, hoping that Connor was still up so she
could tell him about her day. He was awake, but he didn’t hear her come in. She put her bag on the table and watched him from the doorway as he sat, slumped over the table in the lounge area, a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. He had his back to her, and at first she thought he had fallen asleep, but then he reached for the bottle and poured another finger of whiskey into his glass. As she came into the room he heard her and turned around. He was drunk, she could see that now, and she stared at him uncertainly, trying to read his expression in the soft glow of the lamplight.
“Are you okay?” she asked eventually.
“Yes,” he said shortly and turned back to stare down into his glass.
“You won’t find any answers in there,” she said, light-heartedly.
“There are no answers. Here, or anywhere else,” he said, the pain that he was feeling apparent in his voice.
This was a Connor that she had not yet encountered. She had seen him sad, smiling, and serious, but not like this. His mood, she could tell, was black and his stance was that of a man in the throes of depression. She didn’t like it, not one bit.
“Hey.” She walked over to him and crouched down by his chair. “Talk to me, I don’t wanna see you like this.”
He turned to face her and for the first time she saw the fire in his eyes, and he appeared, just for a moment, like Danny used to look, when he was drunk and angling for a fight. Full of pent up aggression and anger.
“How do you want to see me, Bronwyn?” he asked, and just her name on his lips sent shivers down her spine.
“Hopeful, positive,” she said. “You were so optimistic this morning.”
He banged his glass down hard on the table and she jumped as the noise resounded off the walls.
“What the fuck have I got to be hopeful about? You tell me that,” he shouted.
“Don’t fucking take it out on me!” she shouted back. “Do you think I’m not angry? Or hurt, or upset, or lonely?”
“Why don’t you show it then?” He was yelling now, not caring if he woke up the rest of the house with his rant. “You’re so fucking cool all the time! Do you not realise what’s happened to our lives? She was your best friend, all of your life she was there, and you’ve not even shed a tear!”
He stood up, knocking the chair over and she pulled herself up to face him.
“I can’t think about it! I can’t give myself that luxury yet, or I’ll bloody crack!” She was angry now, and the blaze in her eyes matched his.
They faced each other, circling like warring lions, and without warning Connor suddenly lurched towards her, grabbing her face between his hands. There was a split second of hesitation before his mouth was on hers, and she was returning his kiss with more hunger and passion than she had ever felt before. His fingers knotted through her hair and as his lips traveled down her neck she closed her eyes in something close to ecstasy. Still fused together, they stumbled against the wall and she slid her hands up and under his shirt. His skin was taut and smooth. She moaned, with an almost animal sound, as his lips once again found hers. Suddenly a vision flashed through her mind and she pulled away from him.
“Rosina!” she cried. “We can’t!”
At the sound of her name, Connor stopped and shook Bronwyn hard by her shoulders.
“Rosina’s dead,” he hissed, his face contorted with rage. When he uttered the words it was as if Bronwyn had heard them for the first time and she stared at him, wide-eyed and unbelieving. Then, as it finally hit home, she crumpled as her legs gave way beneath her. Connor caught her and lowered her gently to the floor, where he fell to his knees beside her. She looked up at him, and the tears that she never thought would come spilled over. Connor, his anger depleted and now just feeling very sad, wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“Oh, God…” Bronwyn let out a high pitched shriek and covered her face with her hands. Connor wrapped his arms around her and she fell against him, sobbing as if her heart would break. He whispered to her, inane, comforting words that meant nothing but soothed her nonetheless. They stayed like that, bound together in grief, until they heard the city come alive outside with the sounds of the early dawn.
* * * *
Back in Crossmaglen, Alia was getting anxious as she waited on the telephone for the daily report about Barry. Normally the doctor was with her within minutes to give her a full update on his tests and medicines. She had now been on hold for five minutes and was just about to hang up when Doctor Lough came on the line.
“Missus Ranger?” he asked and she confirmed that yes, it was she.
“Is Barry not with you?” he asked, and at these words her blood ran cold.
“Why would he be with me?” Her voice was abnormally high pitched and she cleared her throat.
“Missus Ranger, Barry discharged himself last night. It was against our advice but, as he was not sectioned, there was nothing we could do to keep him here.”
“What time last night?” she asked.
“Around six. I’m sorry, but I presumed he would be coming straight home,” the doctor said.
“Thank you, I’m sure he’s on his way.” Alia hung up the phone and chewed anxiously on her fingernail.
It was now ten in the morning; there were plenty of trains fro
m Banbridge, and Barry should have been home by midnight, if he left at six. She sat down at the kitchen table and worried over what to do. She couldn’t look for him, as he could have gone anywhere on a train, bus, or coach. Did he even have any money? Alia closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t stand if anything happened to Barry, not with Bronwyn gone as well. After another fifteen minutes of biting her nails and coming up with no solution, she was deliberating whether to call the police or not when the phone rang. Relief flooded through her and she snatched it up.
“Barry?” she asked.
“Missus Ranger, it’s Doctor Lough again,” the doctor’s dulcet tones came over the line and she sighed with disappointment.
“Hello, Doctor. How can I help?”
“Well, one of the nurses was clearing out Barry’s room and she’s brought me a letter that is addressed to you. Just to let you know, I’ll be forwarding it on to you, straight away.”
“What does it say?” she cried, thinking of Rosina and her suicide note.
“I’ve not read it, Missus Ranger. It’s addressed to you,” Doctor Lough sounded affronted.
“Open it!” she pleaded. “Read it to me, it could be very important.”
There was a sigh at the other end of the line and he cleared his throat as he prepared to read.
“‘Ma, as you know by now, I’ve discharged myself. I can’t come home, and I can’t explain why in this letter, in case it gets into the wrong hands. Please, speak to Bronwyn and tell her to tell you everything.’”
“Is that all?” Alia was confused. What would Bronwyn know?
“The word ‘everything’ is underlined three times,” the doctor said dryly.
“Thank you, it was good of you to call. Goodbye.”
As soon as the dial tone sounded, Alia rang the number of Cally’s home in New York.
“Hello?” It was Cally’s voice, and Alia almost shouted down the line.
“Cally, I need to speak with Bronwyn, is she there?”
“Alia, of course, hold on.”
Alia heard the sound of the phone being put down and then Cally calling for Bronwyn. Seconds later, Bronwyn was on the line.
“Ma?”
“Bronwyn, I’ve got a letter here from Barry. It says he’s discharged himself from Banbridge, and that he’s not coming home. It says you’re to tell me everything.”
There was a pause at the other end and then Bronwyn spoke up.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” Alia lied.
“Barry was in the I.R.A, undercover as an agent for the British government.”
At Bronwyn’s words Alia sank to the floor and gripped the phone, for fear that she would drop it in her shock.
“Ma?”
“Go on,” Alia whispered faintly.
“He thinks he was found out. That was part of what pushed him over the edge, and if he came home, he knew he would be killed.”
“And you knew this?” Alia asked in a shocked voice.
“Not until that day we went to visit him. I was as shocked as you, Ma. Where do you reckon he’s gone?” Bronwyn asked.
There was silence as Alia thought about it, and then a smile came over her face as she figured the only place Barry would now go to.
“Don’t get your hopes up, but I think I know where he might be headed,” she said. Bronwyn got it as well, and the excitement could be heard in her voice.
“New York?” she asked breathlessly. “You told him I was here, right?”
“That I did, baby. Don’t get too excited. Remember he doesn’t know where you’re living, but please, please, keep your eyes open for him.”
“Oh, I will but, Ma, I can’t bear to think of you there, on your own,” Bronwyn said mournfully.
Before she could reply there was a knock on the door. Alia leaned out into the hall and through the glass she saw Mary, Connor’s mother.
“I’m not here alone,” she said. “Mary’s at the door. Hold on…” She put the phone down and opened the front door, gesturing for Mary to come in. “Bronwyn? I’m back. Like I said, I’m not alone so don’t you worry about me. I’ll call again, okay?”
“All right, Ma. Love you.”
As she replaced the telephone, Alia turned to face Mary. Before she could invite the woman in for a drink, she felt a lump in her throat and realised that her hands were shaking.
“Are you okay?” Mary stepped forward, face concerned.
Alia shook her head and tried to get herself under control. This was a woman she barely knew. It wouldn’t do to break down in front of her. Breathing deeply, she finally looked up and smiled. Mary seemed relieved that she wouldn’t have to do the whole comforting thing. It was a trait of the Irish woman; strong, tough, and hard as nails. It was the way both had been raised and now, as Mary followed Alia into the kitchen, they dealt with a shock in the usual way.
“Let me put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
* * * *
“So, did you find a job?”
Bronwyn had been trying to avoid Connor all morning. She had just returned upstairs to the fourth floor after Alia’s telephone call and Connor cornered her in the lounge.
“Yesterday? No, but I gotta go back to this bar today. Someone said the manager is looking for staff.” She edged past him and made her way to the window to look down into the street. “How did you get on?”
He followed her and stood behind her. Bronwyn glanced at his reflection in the glass and looked down.
“Nothing yet,” he replied. “About last night…”
She turned round to face him. Yes, what about last night? One minute they had been locked in passion, the next she was a crying wreck on the floor. She was confused; he had been drunk and, in the cold light of day, he didn’t seem so interested in her that way anymore.
“Let’s forget about last night,” she said. “I was upset, you were drunk…” her voice trailed off and she looked up at him, trying to work out what he was feeling. Eventually, with a grim expression, he nodded and changed the subject.
“So, this bar, what time are you going? Do you think they’d speak with me as well?”
Her face brightened. To have Connor beside her in a new job would make it far less daunting.
“Come with me, we’ll see what they say.”
“What did your ma have to say?” he asked as he wandered over to the sofa.
“Barry’s gone missing. He discharged himself,” she said and leaned against the window. “He was afraid, you see. He thought that if he returned to Crossmaglen, he’d be killed.”
Connor frowned.
“Why would he think that?”
Bronwyn came over to the couch and sat down next to him.
“He was working for the British government, undercover in the I.R.A, and he got found out,”
she said. “I’m just hoping he turns up here.”
“Jesus, Bronwyn, I had no idea.”
“Me neither,” Bronwyn admitted. “Not until last week…” she trailed off. Had it only been a week since her life had been turned upside down?
“So, he might come here. What does he look like? I don’t want to mistake him for someone looking to do me in,” Connor made an attempt at humour and Bronwyn smiled in return.
“He looks like me.” Bronwyn pulled her bag off the table and retrieved a photograph of her, Barry, and their mother.
Connor studied it and looked up.
“He does look like you.” He handed the picture back. “I’d have known he was your brother without seeing that.”
Bronwyn put the photo away, quietly pleased.
“Shall we go then? To the bar, I mean.”
He nodded, and together they went to get their coats. As they walked out, Bronwyn hoped that some of the tension between them had cleared, and that they would eventually become proper friends.
* * * *
Back in the Crossmaglen barracks, life
was slowly getting back to normal for Stu. After killing Danny, he had become filled with mixed emotions at what he had done. His fellow colleagues had done their best to make him see that if he hadn’t shot Danny, Danny would surely have killed him. Of course, nobody else knew about Bronwyn, or the lad that had been with her in the barracks that night, and that was the way he intended to keep it. A week later and he was out of the base, on his way to see Bronwyn to make sure she was bearing up okay. He had no idea of where she lived, so instead he made his way to the Fox and Hound and asked for her there. Lila, the landlady, looked Stu up and down and was immediately suspicious.
“What do you want with Bronwyn?” she asked.
The pub was empty except for the two of them, and he took a seat at the bar.
“I heard about her boyfriend, and I wanted to check she was okay,” he said. “Will she be in later?”
“No,” Lila said shortly.
“Well, can you maybe give me her telephone number? Or her address?” he asked, slightly exasperated.
Lila banged the tray of glasses on the bar and turned to face him.
“Look, Bronwyn’s done a runner. Left me right in the lurch, too, so it’s no good asking me where she is.”
Stu frowned and gave a heavy sigh. There would be no chance of finding her now; she may have even left Crossmaglen altogether.
Lila saw his disappointed expression and her tough exterior melted somewhat.
“Look, her ma might know. Go visit her.” Lila scribbled an address on a beer mat and passed it over. “And, if you find her, tell her to get her arse back to work.”
Stu thanked her and hurried outside. He had an idea of the location of this address, having remembered it from one of the raids he had done during his first week here. It was not far on foot. Eventually he found the right house and knocked on the door. A lady opened it, and it was clear from her looks that she was Bronwyn’s mother.
“I’m looking for Bronwyn,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, possessing much of the suspicious attitude that Lila had given him minutes earlier.
Freedom First, Peace Later Page 17
