Transgressions

by Ed McBain

  She walked past him to the cupboard and bent down in front of it. She was aware of Paddy by the back door, and knew he was watching her. She needed to defend herself.

  “Not eating isn’t going to help,” she replied. “And you may be perfectly happy to have potatoes for every meal, but I’d rather have something else as well. A cake is one of the few things we have the ingredients for. I’d rather bake than just stand here.”

  “You’re playing into their hands! Don’t you give a damn that Adair betrayed us? Billy and Ian are lying dead up there. Doesn’t that mean something to you? You knew them for months! Ian helped you mend the gas. He stood in this kitchen only a couple of days ago.” His voice was shaking. “How can you bake a cake, when this man tells you to?” He jerked his arm towards Dermot. “Are you so afraid you’ll do anything at all?”

  She stood up slowly and turned around to face him. “No, Connor, I’m not. I’m baking a cake because I want to. I haven’t forgotten what happened to Billy and Ian, but nothing’s going to change that now. Maybe we could have when we had the chance, but now it’s too late. And fighting over what we eat isn’t brave, it’s just stupid. Please move away from the bench, so I can use it.”

  Connor remained where he was.

  Liam was watching them, his eyes wide, the muscles in his face drawn tight with fear.

  “Please, Dad?” Roisin said urgently.

  He raised his head and looked at her.

  Bridget watched them. It was as if time stood still. She could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall as the second hand jumped. She knew what was going to happen before it did, in the endless moment from one word to the next.

  “You want me to do what he says?” Connor asked. “Why is that, Rosie? I told Adair we were going away for a week. I didn’t tell him where to. Who did?”

  Whether she could have lied or not, Bridget did not know, but Roisin must have felt her face give her away. The tide of colour must have burned.

  “Eamonn!” Connor said bitterly. “You told him, and he told Adair!”

  “No,” Roisin looked straight back at him. “Adair never knew. He still doesn’t, so far as I know. I told Paddy, because you won’t listen and you won’t change. I’m going to have a child, and I’m tired of endless fighting and killing from one generation to the next, with no hope of ever being different. I want peace for my children to grow up in. I don’t want them afraid all the time, as I am, and everyone I know. No sooner do we build something than it’s broken again. Everybody I know has lost someone, either dead, or maimed. Everybody’s got to move. If you won’t, then we need somebody else to lead us who will!”

  “You did?” He said the words as if he could hardly believe them. He swayed a little, and gripped hard on the edge of the bench, his knuckles white. “You betrayed me, the cause? My own daughter? You got Billy and Ian murdered, and the rest of us, your mother and your brother held here at gunpoint—because you’re going to have a baby? Great heaven, girl, do you think you’re the only woman in Ireland to have a child?”

  Bridget stepped forward. “Leave her alone, Connor. She did what she thought was right. She thought you’d change. She was wrong. But I think I’d have done the same thing in her place. We protect our children. We always have.”

  He stared at her. “You sound as if you agree with her?” It was an accusation.

  Bridget heard Paddy move a little to her left, towards Connor, but closer to her also. She was afraid he was going to say something to protect her, then she realized how stupid that was, but the feeling was still there. She rushed into speech to prevent it. “I understand. It’s not the same thing. Please, Connor, this isn’t the time for us to quarrel, and not here.”

  His face twisted in scorn. “You mean in front of this lot?” he jabbed his elbow to indicate Dermot and Sean. “Do you think I give a damn what they think about me, or anything else?”

  “Perhaps you don’t,” she replied. “Have you considered that I might? Or Roisin, or Liam?”

  “Liam’s with me,” he stared at her icily. “As far as Roisin is concerned, she is no longer part of my family. She is Eamonn’s wife, not my daughter. That’s what she has chosen.” He moved fractionally so he turned his shoulder away from Roisin, as if physically cutting her out of his sight, and his knowledge.

  Bridget saw her face pale, and the tears fill her eyes, but she did not defend herself. Bridget understood why Connor had said it, she could feel his hurt as if it were a tangible thing in the room, but she still was angry with him for his reaction. He should have been larger, braver of heart than to cut Roisin off. She was not betraying for money or power, but because she believed differently, even though she had deceived him.

  “What she did was wrong, at least the way she did it,” she said aloud. “But you contributed to that also.”

  “I what?” he shouted.

  “You contributed to that also! You don’t listen. You never really listen to anybody else, unless they agree with you.” She stopped abruptly as she saw Connor’s face.

  Behind her Dermot was applauding. She turned and saw his smile, a wide, curling leer. His hands were held up, clapping where the others could see them.

  “It’s a crusade of hate, with you, isn’t it!” she said to him with disgust. “It’s nothing to do with religion, or freedom, or any of the other things you talk about with such affected passion. It’s about power and hate. The only way you can make anybody notice you is with a gun in your hand.” Her contempt was so fierce, carrying her shame for Connor, her pain for all of them, that her voice was laden with it.

  Dermot swung his arm back to strike her, and Paddy lunged forward and took the blow on his forearm, sending him off balance a little, landing against the table.

  Dermot swivelled to face him, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Then suddenly he stopped, and a hard, artificial smile replaced his anger. “Oh, very good!” he said sarcastically. “But I’m not that stupid, Paddy. A grandstand rescue isn’t going to make any difference now. You’re with us, like it or not. Remember Billy and whatever his name is, up on the hillside? You put them there just as much as we did, so you can forget trying to win Mrs. O’Malley over. She can’t help you, and she won’t.”

  “She’s right,” Paddy said bitterly. “You only know how to destroy.”

  “I know how to clear the ground, before I build,” Dermot said between his teeth. “More than you do, Paddy. You’re soft. You haven’t the guts to go through with it, or the judgement to know who’s strong and who’s weak.”

  “Or who’s honest and who isn’t,” Paddy added, but he did not move.

  By the far door Sean relaxed a little. “I’m going to cook,” Bridget said abruptly. “If you want to eat, you’ll let me get on with it. If you don’t, there’s not much but raw potatoes. Take your choice.” And without waiting for permission she went to the sink, filled the bowl with water, and took a dozen large potatoes out of the sack and began to scrub them.

  Silence descended again until every movement she made sounded like a deliberate noise. The wind was rising. She heard Connor say he was going to the bathroom. There was a brief altercation with Dermot, and then he went.

  She looked at Liam, still sitting at the kitchen table, and saw the misery in him. He glared back at her, as if she were the enemy. He was furious with her because she was not defending Connor. She had seen his defeat, and Liam could not forgive her for that. It confirmed it in his own mind, and made his confusion deeper. He so desperately wanted certainty, a cause to believe in and someone to admire, and in the space of a few days it had all been torn away and the flaws exposed, the fear and the weaknesses, the self-absorption.

  She turned back at the potatoes. They were half done. She had to persuade Connor and Paddy both to run, in opposite directions. Paddy must know Dermot wasn’t going to let them live? Was that regret deep enough in him for him to risk his life? Or would he sacrifice them all for his own chance?

  And what about Connor? Would he
risk himself, to save his family? Or did he really believe it was his duty to live, that only he was fit to lead the cause? She remembered him in her mind’s eye as he had been when they first met, his face smooth and eager, his eyes full of dreams. There had been something beautiful in him then.

  She was nearly finished with the potatoes. How long had she got left before Dermot made his decision? Once he moved it would be too late. Little time, very little. She must think of a way to persuade each person to do what she needed them to. With Paddy and Connor it would have to be without their knowing.

  She cut the potatoes into manageable pieces, awkward with the one blunt slice they had left her, and put them into the largest saucepan, then covered them with cold water. They were going to be very bland. There was a little bacon left, and some eggs, but she did not want to use them now. It would betray the fact that she knew that there was no tomorrow. She must behave as if she believed rescue, or at least release, was only a matter of time. There was no ideological difference between Connor and Eamonn, or Adair, only the means to attain the goal of Protestant safety. Just as there was none between Dermot and Paddy, only the means to unite Ireland under Catholic rule. No one expected anyone to cross the gulf between them. Their quarrels with each other were nothing compared with the enmity that stretched down the generations dividing Catholic from Protestant, Southern Ireland from the North. Paddy might not be on Dermot’s side, but he would never be against him. There was all the difference in the world between those two things. She must not trust him.

  But she did not have to tell the truth—to anyone!

  She looked at the potatoes. They needed salt, and flavour. An idea began in her mind. It was small, not very good, but there was not time to spend waiting for something better. Dermot was nervous, shifting uneasily already. How much longer would it be before he decided to act? He could shoot them, her whole family, everyone she loved most in the world. Paddy would be upset, for a while, caught in an act of barbarity he had not intended, but violence was part of Irish life. Almost every week someone was killed. It would not make any difference to him, in the long run.

  “Liam!” she said suddenly. “I want to move something in my room. Will you come and help me please?”

  Sean looked up suspiciously.

  “In my bedroom I’d rather have my son, thank you,” she said sharply. “Liam!”

  He stood up slowly, unwilling. He looked for a moment at his father, and received no response. He followed Bridget along the short corridor to the bedroom.

  “What is it?” he said as soon as they were inside.

  “Close the door,” she told him

  He frowned.

  “Be quick!”

  “What is it?” He looked puzzled now, and a little alarmed, but he obeyed.

  “Listen to me, Liam.” She swallowed down the tension inside her, and deliberately banged the chair on the floor as if moving it. There was no time to think of the risk she was taking, or whether this might be the most costly mistake in her life. “Dermot can’t afford to let us go. He killed Billy and Ian, and there isn’t going to be any resolution to this. He’ll realize it soon, and then he’ll kill us.”

  His eyes were dark, wide with horror at what she had said, and the leap to denial.

  “It’s true,” she said with as much firmness as she could put into her trembling voice. “One of us has to escape and get to the village.”

  “But, Mum . . .” he began.

  “It has to be you,” she cut across him. “There’s no time to argue. Roisin can’t do it, your father won’t. I can’t outrun them, but you might. I’m going to try and make Dermot think both Paddy and your father are escaping, in opposite directions, which should occupy Sean as well. When you see the chance, run for it. Don’t go straight to the village, it’s what they would expect. Go round the shore, and bring help back, as soon as you can. Do you understand?”

  He stood silently, absorbing what she had said.

  “Do you understand?” she repeated, her ears straining to catch the sound of Sean or Dermot in the passage outside. “There’s no time to think of anything better.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice was tight, high pitched with fear.

  “Yes. He can’t let us go. Your father will hunt him down for ever. You know that!”

  “Yes. Okay. When?”

  “In a few minutes.” She gulped. “If I can make Paddy and your father go in opposite directions—or I can make Dermot and Sean think they have.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “No. If I tell anyone else it’ll raise their suspicions. Now go back and behave just the same. Go on.”

  He hesitated only a second, started to say something, then swallowed it back and went out. She followed a moment later.

  In the kitchen everything was exactly as they had left it, Sean standing by the door, Dermot by the window behind the table, Roisin at the stove and Connor sitting on the hard-backed chair nearest to the back door. Bridget went back to the sink and ran the tap until it was hot, replaced the water over the potatoes, put in salt, and set them on the stove.

  She must do it now, before thinking about it sapped away her courage. She had nothing to lose. She must keep that in mind all the time. If Dermot realized, and acted before she did, they would all be dead.

  She started to speak, but her mouth was too dry. She licked her lips and started again. “This is going to be very bland. I need something with a bit of flavour to add to it.” She turned to Connor. “There are some wild onions growing up the hillside, about a hundred yards or so. Can you go and dig them up?”

  He looked surprised.

  “Please?” She must not make it too urgent, or Dermot would suspect. Surely worrying about food would sound so normal, so sure of tomorrow and the next day?

  “Send Liam,” Connor replied, without moving from his seat.

  Dermot straightened up. “You’re neither of you going! Do you think I’m stupid? A hundred yards up the hill, and I’d never see you again. How do I know there even are onions up there?”

  Liam raised his head. “There are,” he replied, without looking at Bridget.

  “Then Paddy can get them,” Dermot said. He looked at Paddy. “Do you know an onion when you see it?”

  “Probably not,” Paddy said with a half smile. “But I can smell one, or taste it.” He turned to Bridget. “Do you want them dug up, or pulled, or what?”

  “Dig up two or three,” she told him. “There’s a small garden fork just outside the back door. Thank you.” She could not meet his eyes for more than a moment, but by then he was gone anyway, closing the door after him.

  Now she had to get Connor to go in the other direction, or at the worst to make Dermot think he had. She glanced at Dermot. The slight sneer was still on his face. Could she trick him into doing what she wanted? Had she understood him?

  She turned back to Connor. “Will you help me get the sheets in, please? It’s a lot easier to fold them with two. Roisin, watch the potatoes.”

  “Liam can do it,” Connor replied, remaining where he was.

  Bridget let her annoyance show in her face. “Why can’t you do something for once?” she answered back.

  Liam’s head turned from Bridget to Connor and back again. He was very pale.

  “Liam, do as you’re told,” Connor said abruptly. “Help your mother with the laundry.”

  Uncertainly Liam started to climb to his feet.

  “Sit down!” Dermot snapped. “O’Malley, she’s right. You go and do something for a change. Help her fold the sheets! Move!”

  Sean was smiling, leaning against the door to the passage, his gun also raised.

  Slowly Connor rose to his feet, his face red, his lips in a tight, thin line. He opened the back door and Bridget followed him out. He walked ahead, without looking at her, and went straight to the line.

  She hesitated. Now that the moment had come she found it desperately hard to do, almost too hard.

  “Do
n’t,” she said as he unpegged the first end.

  “What the hell’s the matter now?” he snapped.

  She moved closer to him, making him back behind the billowing sheet and he grabbed at it with his left hand.

  “Connor, they won’t let us go,” she said levelly. “Dermot can’t. And as soon as he realizes you aren’t going to give in, which will be any moment, he’ll shoot us. He has no choice. He’ll go back over the border into Southern Ireland, and at least he’ll have a head start before anybody even knows what’s happened to us.”

  “They’ll hunt him down like a rat,” Connor said contemptuously.

  “How? Who’ll be alive to say it was him?”

  The full horror of it dawned on him. She saw it in the void of his eyes.

  There was a shout from the house. She could not tell from where, because the sheets were in the way, but it was Sean’s voice. There was no time to hesitate.

  “We’ve got to go! Now, while there’s time,” she urged. Was Sean coming after them already? What about Paddy up the hill? If he’d kept on looking for the onions, which didn’t exist, he should be over the slight rise and out of sight. Why wasn’t one of them looking for him? Surely after their betrayal of him they couldn’t trust him, could they? Not enough to let him out of their sight, this side of the border?

  Then she heard Sean’s voice again, calling Paddy’s name, sharp and angry.

  “Is this what you intend to do?” Connor demanded. “Turn and run, and leave Liam and Rosie to take Dermot’s rage when he finds we’ve escaped? And you were the one who said you understood Rosie putting her baby before the cause, sacrificing her morality to save her child! You disgust me, Bridget. I thought I knew you, and you were better than that. You’ve betrayed not only me, but everything you said you believed in, everything you are.”

  “Don’t stand there preaching!” She heard her voice rising out of control. “Run! While there’s time! For the cause, if not for yourself!”

  There was a shout of rage from up the hill, and then another. They both turned towards the sound, but they could see nothing. Then there was a scream, a shot, and then silence again.