‘You there. Not so fast!’
Annie’s pulse had been racing, but her heart began thumping even faster when the men drew near and identified themselves as detectives. Both were tall and heavily built, and the older of the two, a stern-faced man with a grey moustache, seemed to be in charge.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Peter, his tone aggressive.
‘I live here,’ said Peter.
‘Really? Where exactly?’
‘That house there, Botanic Lodge. We’re having a party.’
‘Except you’re not at the party, you’re out here. And so was someone else we’d like to talk to.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Peter.
Annie was impressed by Peter’s coolness, but she knew he would be in huge trouble if he couldn’t convince the policemen, and if they searched the house and gardens.
‘What’s your name?’ said the man.
‘Peter Scanlon.’
‘And you?’
‘Annie Reilly,’ she answered, trying to keep her voice from sounding shaky.
The second policeman looked at Peter. ‘Good party, is it?’ he queried.
‘Yes, very good,’ replied Peter.
‘Then why weren’t you in at it?’
Peter hesitated, and the older man looked at him piercingly.
‘What were you doing out here?’ he insisted.
‘I was…’
‘What?’
‘We were dared,’ answered Peter, pointing at Annie.
‘Dared?’
‘To play sweethearts.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s … it’s a game where you’re dared to go down the lane here and … and kiss a girl in the dark,’ said Peter with embarrassment.
‘Bit young for that, aren’t you?’ asked the second man.
‘It’s … it’s just a game.’
The older man looked at Annie.
‘Is this true?’
Annie had expected Peter to lie, but this explanation had taken her completely by surprise. If the police found the package and she was discovered to be lying she would be arrested. And if that happened she could lose her scholarship. All of Ma and Da’s hard work and sacrificing, all of her own efforts would have been wasted. Peter shouldn’t have put her on the spot, she thought angrily. He was asking her to take a huge risk. And it was all right for the Scanlons, they had money, so no matter what happened, Peter could always go to college. For her, though, there was only one opportunity, and to lose it would be a disaster.
‘Well?’ prompted the policeman.
Peter was trying to keep a brave face, but Annie could see that he was frightened. He was her friend and she didn’t want to see him arrested, but could she risk everything?
The policeman was looking at her impatiently, and Annie knew she had to answer. ‘Yes,’ she said suddenly, ‘it’s true. We just came out for a minute and then … then we got a fright when we heard the motorbike screaming off. That’s all that happened. Can we go back in now, please?’
Annie held her breath. The priests who had visited her school had taught that a lie was always sinful, but nevertheless she prayed now that her lie would be believed.
The policeman looked at her appraisingly, then he nodded wearily. ‘Go on then.’
‘Thank you,’ said Annie.
‘And go easy with the kissing,’ said the other man with a smirk. ‘You’re not much more than chisellers!’
The two men turned away and strode briskly back up the laneway as Annie and Peter made their way to the entrance to the house. They turned into the driveway, and once out of sight, Annie turned furiously on Peter.
‘Peter Scanlon! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m sorry, Annie. I didn’t mean to drag you into it.’
‘I’ll lose everything if I’m arrested. My scholarship, Eccles Street, everything!’
‘I’m sorry, I … I was desperate, I just–’
‘Just nothing! You could be in big trouble too. You’re hiding stuff for the rebels, aren’t you?’
Peter didn’t answer at once.
‘I know you are. I followed you into the Bots. I saw you throwing the stuff over the wall!’
‘When did you become a spy?’
‘When did you become a fanatic?’
‘I’m not a fanatic.’
‘You’re risking lives in a war you can’t win!’
‘We have to fight on.’
‘No! You don’t.’ Annie paused, calming down a little. She looked questioningly at Peter. ‘Have you ever not got what you wanted?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re so used to getting what you want, Peter. You’ve never had to settle for an old overcoat, or cheap shoes or a second hand bicycle, have you? And now your die-hard friends didn’t get exactly what they wanted in the Treaty. So they’re annoyed. Except they’re not just annoyed, they’re killing people because they’re annoyed!’
Peter looked a bit taken aback, then he spoke softly. ‘They’re risking their own lives, Annie.’
‘They’re risking everyone’s lives. That’s what people like you do!’
‘People like me?’
‘People who don’t have to worry. If you’d been caught, you’d be in trouble. If I’m caught, it’s over, I lose everything. If the police find out what I did tonight, Peter, I’m finished.’
‘They won’t find out.’
‘Supposing you’re arrested over something else?’
‘I’d never give your name. Never.’
‘They could still link us. I couldn’t bear to lose my scholarship now, Peter. Not after just four weeks in Eccles Street!’
Peter looked down and breathed out.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘I … I didn’t think about affecting you. I’m really sorry, Annie, for doing that to you.’
Annie looked at his downcast face and saw that he genuinely meant it. ‘I couldn’t inform on a friend,’ she said. ‘So I’ll just pray we get away with this – and that you see sense. I’m going home now.’
Peter was about to respond, but Annie raised her hand and stopped him.
‘Goodnight, Peter,’ she said, then she turned and walked quickly away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Peter was on his knees, his hands joined in prayer, as the priest made his way to the pulpit to deliver the sermon. Every Sunday morning Peter and his parents attended eleven o’clock Mass together, and for the couple of weeks since the incident with the police Peter had prayed hard that there wouldn’t be any problems for Annie and her scholarship. So far, nothing more had come of it, however, and Peter gave thanks that his prayers seemed to have been answered.
After the incident, Mr Mac had sincerely apologised. The schoolteacher had explained that Finbar must have been under secret surveillance on the night in question, but that he had made good his getaway on the motorbike. Finbar had since gone into hiding, so the authorities wouldn’t know what he had been doing at Botanic Road or whom he had planned to meet. Peter had been relieved to hear all of this, although it had still taken a couple of weeks before he felt confident that Annie was in the clear.
He had been afraid that the incident might affect their friendship, and there had been a slight tension between them when they met again, travelling to school with Susie and Tommy. It hadn’t lasted too long, though, and as time had passed with no problems from the police, things between them had returned to normal. There was still the matter of their different views on the civil war, of course. Annie’s arguments had been passionately made, and he could see her point, but he still felt that on balance the rebels were in the right. They hadn’t discussed it any further – sometimes it was best to agree to disagree – and he was happy just to be friends again.
Peter rose from his knees and sat back in the pew as Canon Dudley, their parish priest, mounted the pulpit to give his sermon. This was the part of the Mass that Peter liked least, but today the ca
non held an envelope in his hand, and Peter was curious as to what it might contain.
The priest stood facing his congregation, then spoke solemnly. ‘My dear brethren, I have here a most important document that I wish to read to you.’
Peter listened more carefully than usual, sensing that something was afoot. The canon put on his reading glasses and removed the letter from the envelope. ‘This is a statement from their lordships, the Bishops of Ireland,’ he said, ‘on the vexed question of the civil war.’
If Peter had been curious before, he was totally attentive now.
The older man held up the letter and began to read. There wasn’t a sound to be heard in the church as Canon Dudley read out a condemnation of the anti-Treaty campaign.
‘This campaign is a system of murder and assassination of the National forces and is without any legitimate authority,’ said the canon. ‘The guerrilla warfare now being carried out by the irregulars is without moral sanction, and the killing of National soldiers is murder before God, the seizing of public and private property is robbery, the breaking of roads, bridges and railways is criminal. All who are in contravention of this teaching and who participate in such crimes are guilty of grievous sins, and may not be absolved in confession nor admitted to the Holy Communion if they persist in such evil courses.’
Peter listened, horrified. How could the bishops be so biased? And how could they refuse confession and Holy Communion to people because of their political beliefs? All through the rest of Mass he struggled with his anger, then finally the service was over and he exited the church with his parents. There was an animated hubbub of conversation as the congregation emerged from the church, and Peter suspected that he wasn’t the only one who was furious.
‘That was a rather strong response from the bishops,’ said his father.
‘About time, too,’ his mother said firmly.
Peter knew that he should say nothing, but he couldn’t stay quiet. ‘How does that make sense, Mum?’ he said.
His mother looked at him in surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘At Michael Collins’s funeral there were loads of priests walking behind the coffin. So how is it OK when Michael Collins fights for Ireland, but it’s a sin when other people do?’
‘Michael Collins was a member of the government, Peter.’
‘Not when he was fighting the British, Mum. Then he was a guerrilla fighter. Like the men Canon Dudley says are committing a sin.’
Peter could see that his mother was irritated, but she kept her impatience in check.
‘It’s hardly your place to question the bishops, Peter. But since you do, Mr Collins’s government was elected. That’s the difference – the chasm – between the government forces and the irregulars. Now, I don’t want to hear any further questioning from you of Church teaching. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Peter, as they made their way towards the chapel gate. But it wasn’t clear to him at all. This would be the wrong time to make a stand with his parents. But the fight would go on, and he wasn’t giving in, bishops or no bishops.
Annie loved the sound of the rain lashing against the window panes. It was warm and cosy in the classroom, and she liked the sense of cheating the elements as she listened to the rain pelting down outside. In fact, she liked almost everything about the convent. She had even come to enjoy the elocution classes, about which she had been a bit wary at first. They were conducted by the Burke sisters, two specially hired lay teachers who came into the school and coached the girls on correct English pronunciation. Annie’s accent was a little stronger than some of the other girls in the class, but she had been determined not to adopt a posh accent just because she had changed schools.
In time, though, she had actually come to look forward to the elocution classes, which most of the girls looked on as a break from normal school work. And she had decided that there was nothing wrong with working on correct pronunciation, as long as you didn’t adopt a phoney accent – which she definitely wasn’t going to do. After all, many of the nuns had country accents, including Sister Josephine and the daunting Sister Immaculata, and nobody seemed to think there was any problem with that.
Annie was wondering how people got accents in the first place when her reverie was broken as Sister Josephine turned from the blackboard and addressed the class.
‘Can any girl tell me what the Latin word flumen means?’
Susie turned in the desk that she shared with Annie and raised an eyebrow, as if to say you must be joking. Annie gave a tiny smile in response, being careful not to let the nun see her.
Annie knew that flumen was the Latin word for a river, but she didn’t raise her hand or give any indication that she had the answer. She was almost six weeks in Eccles Street now, and during that time she had gotten on good terms with most of her classmates. There was a small minority of girls who were snooty and who looked down on Annie – and indeed on many of their other fellow pupils. Susie’s joke was that they regarded themselves as the cream of the crop – and that, like cream, they were rich and thick.
Annie had come to realise that she would never win their approval and now she didn’t bother trying. The rest of the girls were a different matter, though, and she was wary of appearing too clever at their expense. She fully intended excelling in her written exams, but no-one liked a pupil who showed off too much in the classroom, and so she resisted the temptation to raise her hand now.
Lilly Norton put up her hand eagerly. ‘Is flumen the Latin word for the flu, Sister?’ she asked.
‘No, Lilly, it’s not,’ answered Sister Josephine patiently.
The nun looked around the class, briefly catching Annie’s eye, but Annie looked away. She suspected that Sister Josephine knew that she sometimes chose not to show off her knowledge. But unlike Beanpole, her old teacher in St Mary’s, who had never realised that holding a pupil up as a shining example could make her unpopular, Sister Josephine was sensitive, and if she knew that Annie sometimes held back, she didn’t press the matter.
‘Is it a river, Sister?’ said Una Gannon.
‘Well done, Una, it is, indeed, a river,’ said the nun.
Susie turned to Annie and made a face. Everyone in the class knew that Una’s father taught Latin and English for the Christian Brothers in O’Connell’s School, and that he gave Una frequent grinds in Latin. Just then, the bell rang to indicate the end of class.
‘Very well, girls,’ said Sister Josephine. ‘For the next day I want you all to conjugate the list of verbs I’ve given you.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ answered the class.
There was a general buzz of conversation, and Susie turned happily to Annie. ‘Lunchtime in Ecland,’ she said. ‘Let’s conjugate a few jam sandwiches!’
Annie and Susie rose from their desks. Suddenly, there was the sound of shots from the road outside, and many of the pupils rushed to the windows to see what was happening. Annie was just in time to see a rain-sodden man in civilian clothes running along the street below. He wore no hat, and his hair was plastered to his skull. He had a revolver in his hand, but despite the fact that he was armed and, presumably, dangerous, he had a pathetic, hunted look about him. He suddenly wheeled about and fired off another shot at the group of soldiers who were pursuing him, then he turned and sprinted down the road, zigzagging to avoid the return fire from the soldiers.
‘Back from the windows, girls! Back immediately!’ cried Sister Josephine.
Annie obeyed the nun. She heard three further shots, followed by silence, and wondered if the man had escaped or if the soldiers had shot him. Even though he was a rebel, and on the wrong side, in Annie’s view, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had looked so frantic as he was chased, and now perhaps he was dying on the cold wet pavement, and all because he had insisted on fighting on.
The image brought Peter to her mind, and she thought back to the night when he had almost been caught by the police. Fortunately for both of them, nothing further had
come of it. But despite his apologies for involving her, she feared that her arguments hadn’t swayed him. Neither of them had discussed it again, but she was almost sure that he would still be involved with the rebels – which meant that he could end up being hunted like the rain-soaked gunman. She thought of how much she liked Peter, and hoped against hope that she was wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘This calls for a bit of brute force!’ said Susie. ‘Give us the hammer there, Tommy, will you?’
Tommy looked aghast at his twin sister. ‘You don’t hammer in a screw,’ he said.
‘You do when the screwdriver won’t get it any further,’ said Susie, then before he could protest, she took the hammer and delivered several firm blows to the wooden theatre flat on which she was working. ‘Bingo!’ said Susie, and Peter and Annie laughed at Tommy’s look of disgust.
They were helping to make and decorate a set for a concert that the Irish club was planning, and while most of the other girls had concentrated on making costumes or painting the scenery, Susie had insisted that she wanted to help build the set.
Although, strictly speaking, all conversation at the club was supposed to be in Irish, the friends often slipped into English if Mr McMahon and the other adults running the club weren’t there to overhear.
‘You should stick to what you’re able for,’ said Tommy
‘I’m well able for you anyway,’ answered Susie.
‘Why can’t you be like other girls? Why do you always have to be different?’
‘Why shouldn’t she?’ said Annie. ‘Why shouldn’t a girl help make the set?’
‘Because it ends up with screws being hammered into wood!’ said Tommy.
Annie thought that this was a weak argument. What was the point in the nuns in school encouraging them to be ambitious, if they were always going to be stopped from doing things?
‘Times change, Tommy,’ she said. ‘A woman is after being made a senator in America.’
Taking Sides Page 12
