I understood. I glanced around the candle-lit room. It was a kind of exclusive cage where I could safely be exhibited. Its very lavishness made me feel bought in a way I’d never felt in that room off Edgware Road, where home was just a Tube journey away. Here I was captive. Luke reached over to pat my hand.
‘Tomorrow, I promise you,’ he said. ‘Now order any drinks you want, but don’t bother waiting up, I could be late.’
He left after the desserts, not waiting for the coffee which was being served back in the library. I tried to sneak upstairs but the owner spotted me.
‘It’s early,’ she said, taking my arm. ‘Don’t run off on us yet. Guests always tell me that the chat by the log fire afterwards is the highlight of their stay. We do need you to keep us company. You’re so spontaneous. Not everybody could carry off those casual clothes but you made the dining room look so relaxed, almost like a home from home.’
I felt her varnished nails dig into my arm as she positioned me on the main sofa. Coffee was brought in on silver trays and everyone started discussing Georgian architecture and how good young people my age actually were, despite what was written about them. Cognacs were served and cigars lit. The men leaned forward into a huddle to compare the merits of various tablets for ulcers. I knew that the Dubliner would turn out to have brought the most expensive one ‘for everyday usage’. It felt worse than being trapped with Chelsea skinheads on a tube. But every time I tried to slip away the owner would look at my empty brandy glass and offer to freshen it for me. She had me hemmed in and seemed determined to engage me in conversation. I asked if she had ever heard of a fiddler called Proinsías Mac Suibhne.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not good at that type of thing but I’m sure someone in the kitchens would know of him.’
I found I couldn’t stop staring at her eyes, which seemed hard and huge and totally at variance with her smile as she sized me up in a way she would never dare to judge Luke. But I wasn’t the one with the gold credit card.
‘You were lucky to get a room,’ she said. ‘Even at this time of the year we’re quite booked out.’ The tip of her tongue slipped out of her mouth, moistening her lipstick. I felt something, almost like an electric charge from her. I couldn’t tell if it was envy or hatred. I noticed there was no sign of her husband being around. ‘I just mention the fact,’ she continued, ‘in case anyone else was thinking of staying here.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘A young Dublin man phoned this morning,’ she said. ‘He wanted to check if you were booked in here. He even asked directions, although he didn’t give a name and seemed anxious I didn’t mention his call. He might be planning a surprise.’ Her eyes savoured my discomfort. ‘I’m not sure people want surprises in a quiet place like this, when they’re escaping from day-to-day domestic considerations.’
She rose to inquire if any guests wanted another night-cap. Her perfume lingered along with the insults. It had to be Al, nobody else was so stupid. The elderly American lady glanced across at me, then whispered loudly to the owner; ‘Where exactly has her father gone?’
I picked up my brandy and left the room. I couldn’t bear this any more. No matter what else he was, at least Luke commanded respect for me. Without Al’s phone call the owner would never have dared say a word. I didn’t need minding and all Al had ever done in the past was make things worse. I tried to dismiss the notion that Al might be hanging around outside, but it took hold.
I opened the front door and left it on the snib. Amber spotlights among the shrubs lit up the ivy-clad walls of the house. I walked across the gravel, still holding the brandy glass and gazed at the sky, amazed at how bright and huge the stars were. I walked on as the crunch of gravel gave way to a croquet lawn, crisp with the onset of frost. I was cold and beyond the reach of the house lights. A black configuration of trees loomed before me. Anyone could be lurking there, watching me approach.
‘Al,’ I called softly and then slightly louder. Something rustled, a fox or whatever rustles in the countryside. I heard paws scurry through the undergrowth and shivered. I called Al’s name again, feeling foolish, and had turned to go inside when I heard a footstep. I froze. Surely if it was Al he’d call my name? I turned. It was Al all right, though I could hardly distinguish him in the shadows.
‘I watched you earlier,’ he whispered. ‘You were hard to make out but I saw you standing naked with him in the window. He had his arm around you. You said it was over. I can’t believe you’re still his mistress.’
It was too complex to explain and I didn’t see why I should have to. Al had no right to come here.
‘These things happen,’ I said.
‘I know.’ Al was quiet for a moment. He looked so cold. ‘That’s what I’ve kept telling myself since I discovered Luke was fucking my mother.’ He didn’t seem angry, just distressed. ‘He fucked Aunt Margaret before that. He would have fucked me too if I was a girl.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘He loves us all, That’s Uncle Luke’s problem. He wants to mind us. We’re his family, whether we want to be or not. Christine was the only one ever to stand up to him. She got a kitchen knife and threatened to chop his balls off if he ever tried to put his dick near her again. I don’t know why I thought you were different. But God knows, even if you were his natural daughter he’d probably still have fucked you seeing as you’re so willing to spread your legs for him.’
It wasn’t the slur that made me snap. It. was being confronted by truths about Luke which I’d always known but had never wanted to face. I wanted to hurt someone and Luke wasn’t to hand. Even if he was, I would be too scared to. I flung the brandy into Al’s face. He pushed my hand away and the glass smashed against a tree trunk. I reached down, searching the ground for the jagged stem. Al had come this far just to rub home how cheap I was. I wanted to stab him or maybe to stab myself for what I had become, a dumb blonde tart who let herself be used. I closed my palm over a shard of glass on the ground and felt the sudden wince of pain submerge this other anguish. My veins burned as I cried out. Al could only guess at what I was doing. He unclenched my palm and carefully prised the glass out.
‘No,’ he said, ‘Trace, please.’
I cried uncontrollably as the shock of the cut subsided. It had changed nothing as usual. Al hauled me away from the broken glass. I struggled and he lay on top of me, holding me still like a startled animal. Pliability and the curve of my arse were all that had attracted Luke from the start.
‘I thought he cared,’ I sobbed. ‘All I wanted was someone who cared.’
‘I do, Trace,’ Al said. ‘I’m scared for you.’
‘Why should you be? You said yourself I was a slut.’
‘I never said that. Luke has no interest in sluts. He mesmerises people and adopts them. He weaves lies until they no longer know who they are. He turns them into someone else, like he’s been doing with himself for years.’
‘Why should I believe you? You nearly had me in jail.’
‘I didn’t pack my bag,’ Al said. ‘I was stupid too. Luke told me to hide in the Pleasure Dome. He went to my flat and packed a bag himself for Carl to give me.’ Al relaxed his grip on my hands, then raised my cut palm to his lips as if he could stem the blood. He took it away. ‘Can you not see, Trace? I knew nothing about the gun. He used us both. He knew the police would stop Christy’s car coming off the ferry, but you’d be allowed to drive through. That gun killed McGann, I’m certain of it. You were Luke’s way of getting it safely to England.’
Al searched for a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. The cut was slight but sore. In the old days the monkey on my shoulder would have taunted that I deserved worse.
‘But what about your confession in my flat?’
‘I confessed to nothing,’ Al replied. ‘Luke did the talking. I knew he’d kill me if I opened my mouth. He thought we’d slept together, that’s why he beat me up. If you hadn’t found the gun he’d have produced it as an excuse,
to show what happens to anyone who crosses him. Is your hand sore?’
‘No,’ I lied. ‘It just needs a plaster.’
‘He’s using you still,’ Al whispered. ‘I don’t know why or how but you’re in danger here.’
‘He’s helping to find my father.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘My father’s a fiddler caller Proinsías Mac Suibhne. Luke is in Killybegs, tracking him down.’
I had to believe that much, even if Luke had other reasons to be here. He always said that nobody did anything for one reason only.
‘The old biddy blabbed about me phoning,’ Al said.
‘Only to me, not Luke. How did you know where to find us?’
‘It was when you said Donegal. The time we were in London for the wedding there was an article about this place. Christy and Luke started talking about digging the bishop’s garden. It’s the only time I heard them mention Saint Raphael’s. Luke joked about booking the master bedroom here and getting some young girl to sit on his face.’ I felt Al half-glance towards me, then look away. ‘That’s the type of thing he said whenever Christine was present.’
‘Even in front of her father?’ I had showered afterwards but felt unclean down there now.
‘Luke had Christy by the balls,’ Al said. ‘He has us all by the balls. He owns everything, even his brothers’ lives. He borrows bits of their past and you know that he actually believes they happened to him. He’s spent his whole life inventing himself. At the wedding he started talking about my Da getting lost on the cliffs at Bundoran. I looked at my Da and I could see from his face that it never happened to him.’
We were hunched on the grass, keeping a slight distance between us. I felt frost invade my limbs. Al had come all this way just for me. I was scared for us both. I wrapped the bottom of my sweater around my wrist and realised how freezing he must be. He looked at the lights of the house.
‘I don’t suppose you could smuggle me out a ham roll or anything?’ he asked, forlornly.
‘It’s a luxury country house,’ I said, ‘not a bloody buffet.’
‘I was only asking.’ Al stared across at the winking light on Saint John’s Point. ‘It was only towards the end of his life that I got Christy to talk, on our own, building the summerhouse in his garden. I’d to prise out information about the smallest things, like the fact that it was Luke who was found on the rocks in Bundoran, bawling his eyes out after shitting himself with fright, or about the year they spent in Saint Raphael’s. That’s why Luke left Ireland, he could never cut it in Dublin afterwards.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘There was a Brother Damian here, your usual run-of-the-mill horny sadistic fuck. You know how bullies always need a teacher’s pet. You can’t blame Luke in some ways I suppose, Damian was a vicious cunt and Luke wasn’t built as tough as the others. In no time Damian has him running messages, doing little favours, until after a few weeks Luke never gets beaten any more, unless the other kids get him on his own. Even then they had to gang up on Christy before getting a dig at Luke. All these years later, you could see that Christy couldn’t bring himself to believe Luke was grassing on them the whole time.’
‘He and Luke were close,’ I said.
‘They were thick as thieves once,’ Al agreed. ‘I’ll give Luke that. He was too clever to have been nicked himself. He got caught risking his neck to save Christy.’ Al flung a pebble towards the house and shivered with cold. ‘What’s it like inside?’ he asked.
‘They’re sitting around discussing their ulcers.’
‘It wouldn’t be my scene.’
‘I can’t imagine them grooving to “I’m a Dublin dude from the Five Lamps, my heart wants to rock but my foot just stamps.”’
‘Christ,’ he winced, ‘you know how to hit a man when he’s down.’
I reached across to warm his hands in mine.
‘You’re like a block of ice. Where will you sleep tonight?’
‘I’ve the car parked beyond the woods,’ he answered. ‘I’d to feck the petty cash in AAAsorted Tiles for the ticket. What class of gobshite name is that?’
‘It’s first in the Yellow Pages.’
‘Fecking eejit. Doesn’t he know people always flick those books from the back?’
‘You’re not cut out for business, Al.’
‘Neither is Luke if you saw how little petty cash there was. Luckily Carl in Dublin donated his sleeping bag and the money he’d saved for the rent and left stuck up the arse of the plastic reindeer on the mantelpiece for safe-keeping.’
‘That was nice of him.’
‘I hope Carl thinks so too when he finds out. Let’s get the hell away, Trace. I’ve enough petrol to take us to Dublin.’
‘No.’
Al withdrew his fingers from mine. ‘I’m not trying to compete,’ he said. ‘I mightn’t be able to match posh hotels, but I’m not asking you to sit on my face.’
‘Fuck you,’ I said, recoiling into myself. ‘I’m nobody’s whore.’
‘Then what’s keeping you here?’ Al almost shouted. ‘You can’t love him. The man is using you.’
‘What are you doing?’ I accused him back. ‘How do I know you’re not using me to get back at him?’
‘If Luke finds me here I’m dead,’ Al replied quietly. ‘When the crunch comes, family means nothing to him. He has this obsession to keep hoarding and nothing gets in his way. He’s had the others under his spell for so long they’re convinced they can’t tie their shoe-laces without him. Even going to school I was told not to worry about exams, Luke would always fix something up. I was just to keep my head down and my mouth shut. Even when Christine found my mother sucking Luke’s cock I kept my mouth shut and didn’t even ask my father if he knew. It’s the family way. We Duggans stick together because the world is against us. It’s against us because Luke says so and he’s the brains who’s going to see us all right. He fixed Christy all right. I don’t want to be fixed up, I want out. That’s why I went to London with you. I planned to take off somewhere. But I wind up sleeping in his house, working in his shop, driving his stinking van. So I don’t want him fucking up your life as well.’
‘Luke won’t harm me,’ I said. ‘I know that.’
Al clambered to his feet, slapping his shoulders to inject some warmth into them.
‘You know nothing,’ he said. ‘Luke’s left hand doesn’t know what his right is doing. We could be in Dublin by dawn and I’d put you on a boat. I’m asking for nothing else.’
He looked comic standing there, stamping his feet like he was dying for a piss but was too polite to mention it. I remembered how he had showered me that night in Dublin. Few men wouldn’t have taken advantage.
‘I can’t leave,’ I said, ‘I came with news for my father. After that I had already decided never to see Luke again.’
‘I’ll wait for you.’
‘I don’t need waiting for. You’re the one in danger. Get away before he comes back.’
Al sat down again on the grass, deflated.
‘I appreciate you coming,’ I said.
‘It wasn’t to get at Luke. I didn’t care about him any more.’
‘I’m not worth the effort, Al.’
He ran his fingers over my cut palm. ‘You are,’ he replied quietly. We were both silent.
‘Where will you sleep?’ I asked again.
‘I’ll drive out there.’ He nodded towards the lighthouse. ‘Saint Raphael’s is a ruin now. There should be a plaque, because it was an academy of crime. They were all there, with short hair and short trousers, farting at night in big dormitories. They came out and divided Dublin between them, living like rock stars, getting night-club bouncers to kneel and kiss their boots. The Wise-cracker, the Commandant, the Cellar-man.’
‘And the Ice-man.’
‘The Ice-man wouldn’t spend Christmas,’ Al said, ‘sitting in London, counting the pennies, afraid to come home.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know well what I mean,’ Al said. ‘Christy was a passable lieutenant, but he could never do more than what he was told. The other criminals tolerated him because he was a good bloke. He’d throw money around the clubs. But they knew he was a front for Luke. Christy never had a thought in his life, but once you told him what to do he’d stick his neck on the line.’
‘You mean Luke planned everything?’
‘His house in London is like a miniature Dublin. Street maps, directories, even Corporation plans of sewers and underground tributaries. You could rebuild the city from what he has. He sits like God, going over every detail, but the little plastic stars he moves around are flesh and blood and they bleed.’
‘Surely McGann and the others knew that?’
‘If they did they kept their mouths shut,’ Al said. ‘Christy had a violent streak and liked the status. He paid over the odds. You knew he was buying their silence, bull-shitting about his great fence, when it was all going back into Luke’s pocket.’ Al looked at me. ‘I’m sorry, I should have warned you, but I thought you were his daughter. The man was fond of dipping his wick. I thought you’d just found him and I didn’t know what to say. You can’t just tell someone their Da is a bastard.’
Luke had the qualities I had once associated with my father: manipulative, ruthless and being only out for himself. The distant lights of a boat broke the dark expanse of water at sea. I knew Al was watching it too.
‘If you told Christy he was rich he’d believe it,’ Al said, ‘but all he ever got back was peanuts. Enough to splash around the clubs and get mentioned in the papers. Luke kept saying there was money for him in various accounts, but the time was never right to collect it. He was a pit pony slaving for Luke, with every penny vanished to London and coming back in contraband cigarettes that Luke bought in bulk in Holland. Luke was clever. The Irish papers keep screaming about heroin but you can make as much smuggling cigarettes without half the bother. AAAsorted Tiles is the perfect cover, because Luke deals with hauliers the whole time. He was cleaning up, you couldn’t walk anywhere in Dublin without hawkers flogging you smuggled fags or lads with bagloads of tobacco. Meanwhile all the heat’s on the drug pushers. The only hassle was from the Revenue and Christy knew how to lean on them if they investigated too closely.’
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