by Tom Bradby
She turned into the front room. She saw the damage, but what she noticed was that the television, which was not broken, was new. There was a large hole in the floor and the room was littered with glass and debris, but otherwise it was the same; the same mottled blue wallpaper, the same dark wooden bookshelves, the same picture of the Madonna and child on the far wall.
She stood still again, trying to find her bearings but failing. She heard the music in the kitchen and took a step forward.
She saw the spools of the white cassette recorder slowly turning and heard the clear, sad voice of Enya – the tape she had given her mother last Christmas. She noticed the top of the aerial had broken off the tape recorder. She saw her mother, hunched in the chair, with her head in her hands. She looked at her shawl, at the grey hairs poking out of it, the blue trousers and the flat-soled brown shoes that she had worn for so many years. She looked beaten. Defeated. Colette felt her betrayal so acutely she almost collapsed. Her mother looked up, tears in her eyes, and Colette wanted to hesitate. But the guilt wasn’t enough to stop her. She didn’t want her legs to move, but she found herself in her mother’s arms.
She wanted to cry but couldn’t. She wanted to feel safe but didn’t. As her mother’s embrace tightened, she tried to hate her. She stopped hugging first. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. She realized she was shaking violently.
She stepped back and her mother looked at her with sorrow and grief in her eyes. Her face was weather-beaten and lined, but she still managed to look elegant, and there were traces of the beauty for which she had once been renowned.
‘The kids are OK – they’re at—’
‘I know, Ma.’
Her mother still had tears in her eyes. ‘Bastards,’ she said simply. ‘Bastards.’ She hugged Colette again. ‘It’s got to stop, love. It can’t go on. It’s got to stop.’
When Colette pulled away she did so with her face averted. She went back to the hall, where Paddy was talking to their eldest brother, Gerry.
Gerry smiled at her. ‘You OK?’
She nodded and smiled back. He looked at her, but without scrutiny and, for once, she felt grateful for his indifference. She noticed his pebble glasses were dirty and his chin was unshaven.
He was a quiet man, who generally kept his emotions under tight control, but she could tell he was furious. ‘We’ll have to move her – the Loyalists will keep coming here now.’
She felt contempt. She wanted to say, ‘It’s your own fucking fault,’ but she didn’t flinch.
Paddy leaned back against the door, his face suddenly catching the evening sunlight. ‘Ma won’t move.’
Gerry said nothing, but pushed himself away from the wall. He looked as if he would say something else, but seemed to change his mind as he saw a policeman and two soldiers standing outside. They watched him in silence.
After he’d left, Colette sat with Paddy. They had always been close and neither of them had ever really seen eye to eye with Gerry. They had all played together, but somehow Gerry had kept himself apart.
They talked a little about England, but Paddy didn’t probe in any detail. She tried to eliminate the hesitancy in her voice, and when she spoke she did so with her eyes focused on the ground. She looked for a reaction in his face, but saw nothing amiss. She could see tension and stress there and she told herself it was the life he chose. He did not have the intelligence to find a way out.
She congratulated herself.
When he smiled and kissed her forehead, she felt sick.
They sat in silence for a while. She couldn’t help looking at him and feeling her love. His hair still hung to his shoulders – it always seemed to have been the same length – but there were tinges of grey now. Even his moustache was showing signs of age.
She smiled again. ‘You’re getting old.’
He grinned back at her only briefly, his expression suddenly serious. ‘Do you ever wonder what life would be like without this?’
She paused for a while before replying, looking at the ground between her feet and scratching it with a small, sharp stone. ‘It’ll always be like this, Paddy.’
‘Not everyone thinks so.’
‘Gerry does. Doesn’t he?’
Paddy paused. ‘Yes, he does.’
She looked at him. ‘What’s happening? Is it coming to an end?’
‘Maybe. I’m not sure. Gerry keeps his own counsel – you know how he is.’
Colette wanted to be away and she told Paddy she had to go and see the kids. As she arrived at Margaret’s house a few minutes later, she could barely contain herself. The front door was a few inches ajar and she pushed it without knocking. There was nobody inside, but she could hear the sounds from the yard. The back door was open, the sun spilling into the room, catching Catherine’s blond hair and making it golden.
She was wearing the pink and white dress Colette had given her before going away. She sat hunched over her doll, dressing it meticulously and combing its long blond hair.
For a moment, Colette watched. She could see and hear Mark in the courtyard. He was screaming abuse at Margaret’s son Kieran and waving a plastic gun wildly in his face. ‘I killed you first and you’ve got to lie down. We agreed!’
Kieran was a nervous boy and he was stammering weakly, ‘But I got you. I got you.’
Mark began to push Kieran to the ground, but Colette’s attention was distracted by Catherine, who had turned and seen her. Without speaking, she ran and curled herself around Colette’s leg, whispering quietly as she did so, ‘Mammy, Mammy.’
Colette bent down to hug her and looked out towards Mark. For a few minutes he stared at them, and then turned and ran, leaving Kieran stranded on the ground, relieved his torture had inexplicably ended.
Colette picked Catherine’s hands off her leg and promised she would be back in a few seconds. She chased after Mark and found him around the corner, crouching against a wall. When she sat down and tried to hug him he pulled away, but she persisted and eventually he began to sob quietly.
When he’d exhausted his tears, he pushed himself closer to her. ‘Why did you go away for so long, Mammy?’
For a long time, she didn’t answer, but she realized she must. ‘It’s hard to explain – and hard for you to understand. I’m trying to make you and your dad proud of me.’ She gripped his chin. ‘One day, I want you to be proud of me.’
‘Is Daddy coming back?’
She hugged him tight. ‘No, Daddy’s gone to a better place. He’s up there looking down on us. You see him?’ She pointed up towards the sky. ‘He’s up there in the clouds, looking back down on us. Helping us when we need help and—’
‘Why did he have to go away?’
Colette sighed deeply, squatted down and sat Mark on her knee. ‘It’s very hard for you to understand. One day you will, but he did it for us. He did it so we could have a better life. That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s what he’d want me to do.’
‘Would he want you to be away?’
‘No, he wouldn’t. No, but it is something we all believe in; Davey, me – everyone. It’s something we have to do.’ She felt hollow as she said it, and lonely. Mark nuzzled closer to her again, pushing his head into her chest.
‘I hate it when you go away.’
She tightened her arms. ‘I know, love, I know.’
He began to sob again gently. ‘I hate it. I hate it.’
‘I do too, love. I hate it as much as you.’
He pushed away from her again. ‘But why do you have to go? I don’t understand.’
She pulled his head back down and tried to stem the tears.
‘Will you go away again?’
‘I don’t want to, my love. I really don’t want to. I hope I won’t have to. I love you, Mark. I love you.’
She carried him back to the house. Catherine was sitting on the step and she seemed to understand that her mother needed to deal with Mark first. She accepted Colette’s hug without any reservat
ions and the three of them formed a small tableau by the kitchen door.
Eventually, Colette stood up and began to feed them and put them to bed. Mark remained truculent and he seemed to manage to intimidate Catherine. It upset her. She felt tired and dazed. After she’d read to them and put out their lights, Margaret suggested she stay on and they sat in the front room for a few minutes drinking tea. Colette felt uncomfortable being here. She’d shared the house with Davey and only offered it to Margaret when she’d decided to move back in with Ma. The situation was only temporary, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to come back here. It held too many memories.
Margaret was very like Ma, though she talked more. She was the youngest sister in a family of ten and the closest to Ma in age. Her husband had gone to England to find work. They were not ‘involved’ and did not really approve of those who were, though they understood well enough the pressures that set people on that road.
Like Ma, Margaret was good with the kids. Colette knew that, in this small community, with its warm and intimate network of friends and family, the children were well cared for, even when she was not there. The fact that she thought that made her feel guilty. She felt like she was making excuses.
Eventually, she said she had to go and check on her mother. They agreed it would be best if the kids stayed where they were for the night.
In Leeson Street, the house was now full of relatives. Paddy was still there and he persuaded her to go down into the centre of Belfast. She was very reluctant, saying she had to get back to check on the kids, but Paddy insisted.
They decided to walk and were pleasantly surprised to discover there was no checkpoint at the bottom of the Falls. They were comfortable and easy in each other’s company and Paddy did not seem to be in the least suspicious. Colette felt as if he must say something, but as they went on, she found herself relaxing slightly. She thought to herself, it is only Paddy. Somewhere, there was a darker thought, and she began to wonder what he would think, what he would say, how much he would hate her … She locked it away and, as they walked, she found herself laughing. They were brother and sister again. They were friends.
With her, Paddy was always indiscreet. He told her that Gerry had tried to go for a job in Northern Command, the organization responsible for running the IRA’s campaign in Northern Ireland, but had been turned down, much to his anger and annoyance. She learned that Gerry was still playing around on his wife Christy with great regularity, but that she knew nothing about it – or at least pretended she knew nothing. Paddy’s tone suggested he disapproved. He and Gerry had always been different.
Colette tried to discover if Paddy was seeing anyone, but he just laughed. He’d never married. Their mother was still waiting and hadn’t given up hope.
As they entered Kelly’s, the doorman gave Colette a broad smile.
‘How’s the form, Colette?’ he said.
She felt a stab of guilt again and began to wish she hadn’t come. Everything that was familiar – every individual and every street – provided a reminder and an accusation. She decided she wanted a drink and made for the bar.
Inside, the band was loud and bad, grinding out poor renditions of ‘Johnny Be Good’ and various other classic Sixties songs. The singer was a tall lanky man with a thick mop of greasy black hair and a thin red headband. All of them were dressed in jeans and white T-shirts. A few people were dancing, almost everyone was smoking and drinking heavily. The smoke was overpowering – choking. Paddy was accosted by a group of young men just inside the door and Colette pushed on through the throng towards the far end. The room was like a cavern and had no ventilation.
As she reached the bar, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see a wide, toothless grin and an unkempt beard.
‘Chico.’
‘It’s been a long time, pet.’
She felt slightly uncomfortable so close to him, but she didn’t move. He smelled of Guinness and Chinese food.
She had known Chico a long time and for a few minutes they shouted at each other, straining to be heard above the din. He bought her a vodka and lemonade, which she drank quickly. He bought her another and continued to try to shout above the sound of the music. She nodded and drank. He’d got doubles and she began to feel light-headed. She felt better. Chico was just ordering another round when he appeared to catch sight of someone over her shoulder. He frowned and began to fumble in his pocket. He pushed a key into her hand and began shouting in her ear, ‘I need you for a few seconds. There’s a red Sierra round the back. Bring it to the front and keep the engine running.’
Before she could say anything, he was pushing through the crowd. She did as he said, not daring to refuse, and began to head towards the door. She saw Paddy, but he was standing with his back to her. The doorman smiled and asked her where she was going. She smiled back and shrugged. She began to worry.
She found the car and waited outside. A few minutes later one of the side doors flew open and Chico emerged dragging a boy in a white baseball cap.
He pushed him into the back of the car and got in beside him.
‘Drive.’
Colette didn’t know where to go, but she knew better than to question Chico, so she took the car up towards the Lower Falls. She was fighting the effects of the double vodkas. They passed beneath the security monitoring point at the Divis Tower and continued on up towards Andersonstown. She saw a soldier to the left of her and then another to the right. A few yards further on a third aimed his gun at the car, testing his sights. The streets were pretty deserted. A black taxi stopped ahead of her to let somebody out and she had to swerve round it. She crossed over the Springfield Road and slowed as she came down the hill towards Beechmount. At Beechmount Avenue, she turned right. She passed a long, red-brick wall, which was covered in graffiti. Somebody had written in big white letters, ‘Time for Peace. Time to go home, Brits.’ She turned left and then slowly brought the car to a halt.
Chico dragged the boy out of the car and onto a piece of wasteland to their right. Ahead of them lay two identical red-brick terraces, built in Belfast’s industrial heyday. If they were once new and neat, they now stood as a symbol of neglect, deprivation and urban decay, their walls covered in barbed wire, the streets in front of them strewn with rubbish.
Chico pulled the boy into a narrow alley that ran between the two sets of houses, pushing his face into a concrete pavement and a discarded packet of salt and vinegar crisps. The ground was damp and the air cold. Colette had followed Chico on autopilot and stood beside him, but now she realized she didn’t want to be there.
The boy was crying gently. Chico banged his face hard against the pavement. Colette winced.
The boy screamed, ‘I haven’t done nothin’! I did what you’se said.’
‘Shut up.’ Chico grabbed his hair and leaned down to whisper in his ear. ‘Just stay there – move and you’ll be dead.’ He turned to Colette. ‘Hold him. I’ll be a few minutes.’
‘For Jesus’ sake, Chico. He’s only a kid.’
He looked at her. ‘Just fucking hold him.’
She put her knee into the small of the boy’s back, but he didn’t move or speak. He was still crying and whispering to himself. He had a thick, attractive mop of curly blond hair and Colette felt intensely uncomfortable. She wanted to say something, but knew she shouldn’t.
‘I haven’t done nothin’, I haven’t done nothin’,’ he whispered.
Chico was quick and when he came back he gave Colette the pistol and grabbed the boy’s hair again.
‘I thought I told you not to go back in there?’
The boy was very frightened and tried to raise his head, but Chico slammed him down against the ground and he screamed again and struggled to get the words out. Blood from the grazes on his face was thickening on the concrete.
‘I wasn’t doin’ nothin’. I was just out for a drink.’
Chico leaned on him. ‘Are you still pushing?’
‘No. No. Please.’
&nbs
p; ‘I’ve not seen any money from you. You know the rules. Nobody plays that game without our say-so. If you want to push, you ask me and maybe I’ll let you. You go freelance, you pay the price.’ He stood up, but kept hold of the boy’s hair. ‘Do it, Colette.’
She looked up.
‘Do it. That’s an order.’
The boy was sobbing hysterically now. ‘No, please no. For Christ’s sake, I didn’t do nothin’.’
Colette closed her eyes for a few seconds and then stood up, took aim at the boy’s right thigh and fired. In the small alley the noise was deafening, and the two of them turned to run.
The army patrol must have been near, because as they rounded the corner the soldiers were running towards them at full tilt. They were shouting and the boy was screaming. The alley ahead was dark, but Colette could see their way was blocked. Chico leaped onto the wall, turned back and stretched out his hand.
She jumped for the top, missed and slid down again, grabbing at Chico’s hand in the process. The first shot rang out and ricocheted off the wall beside her. She felt her legs going, but at that moment Chico pulled her up and she fell over the other side, landing painfully in a ditch in the corner of a field. She picked herself up and followed him, and the soldiers’ shouts quickly faded into the night.
They cut across waste ground and crashed through somebody’s garden, but at the back of Hill Street they stopped in another alley and leaned against a wall to catch their breath. Colette was muddy and wet.
Chico had taken the gun back and he slipped it into his pocket.
‘That’ll teach the fucker. Little wee shite.’
He stood up again and looked at Colette. Once, when they were kids, he had kissed her in just such an alley.
‘Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?’ he said casually, as if it didn’t matter to him either way. Colette wanted to say no, but there was a deep, corrosive loneliness within her and she heard herself say yes.
Chico lived in a sparsely furnished house at the far end of Beechmount Avenue. As they walked in he threw his keys into the bowl and swept away the remnants of a Chinese meal that had been left on the corner of the plywood coffee table. The sofa was old and worn and Colette sat down whilst Chico went to get her a drink.
