‘Margaret - oh yes.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘Are you her husband?’
‘No. No. Just, you know, a friend.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t really discuss it unless you’re next-of- kin.’
‘Oh. All right. But she will be … you know, all right?’
‘Well,’ said the nurse, raising her eyebrows, ‘fingers crossed’.
Emma and Louise exchanged glances. As the nurse walked off, leaving Walter standing there rather forlornly, Emma said, ‘That’s what they said to us as well - “fingers crossed”. Hardly inspires confidence.’
Walter nodded. ‘You’re with Margaret?’ he asked. Then: ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘Allergic reaction to carrot cake, apparently.’
Walter sat down beside them. ‘Carrot cake?’ he repeated.
Louise nodded. ‘You can be allergic to anything. I have a friend who’s allergic to zips.’
Walter shook his head. Then he glanced down at the designs in Emma’s lap. ‘You’re in the fashion business as well?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Emma introduced herself. Walter pretended to have heard of the shop. Then she patted the designs. ‘She’s a fantastic designer; it’ll be a terrible loss.’
Walter turned a little paler. ‘Is it really that serious?’
‘She could die,’ said Louise, ‘or suffer some kind of irreparable brain damage, or be paralysed down one side, or lose the motor function in her arms and legs, or be blind or deaf.’
‘Crikey,’ said Walter. ‘Carrot cake has a lot to answer for.’
All three of them stared at the floor for a while.
Eventually Walter said, ‘Has anyone told her husband?’
‘Didn’t know she was married,’ said Emma.
‘Don’t know where she lives,’ said Louise.
Walter looked at the floor for another thirty seconds, debating with himself. Then he stood up. ‘I - well, I know where he lives. I can, ah, go and get him if you think it would be a good idea.’
They both nodded. Walter thrust his hands into his pockets. On their last meeting, Margaret’s husband had called him a speccy fat clown. Now he would have to inform him that his wife was at death’s door because of a rogue carrot cake.
17
Yourself Alone
Redmond O’Boyle was summoned from the exercise yard of La Picota prison, outside Bogotá. Once again the guards waited until he was in the middle of preparing his food. They knocked over the chicken and stamped on it. They kicked gravel into the rice. Then they marched him across to the Administration Block. The other prisoners watched him with ill-disguised contempt. Word had leaked out that he was being held for training FARC guerrillas. Overnight, his single cell’s population had gone from fifteen to two. He was now sharing it with a Frenchman called Marcel, who spoke even less Spanish than Redmond, and so wasn’t aware that the other prisoners had decamped because they feared that extreme violence was about to be visited on their Irish cellmate. Marcel’s English was passable, but Redmond decided to maintain the pretence that he had been arrested for illegal bird-watching activities. He detested the overcrowding in La Picota, but also didn’t want to be left alone.
Redmond was shown into the same small, bare interview room. A young, freckled woman with a bad case of sunburn stood and held out her hand as he entered. She was wearing a white linen dress which was sweat-stained at the armpits. A fan revolved lugubriously overhead, shaking and rattling. Its only function seemed to be to provide annoyance.
‘Siobhan O’Rourke,’ said Siobhan, reaching out a hand. ‘Sinn Fein Flying Squad.’
Redmond shook it. ‘It’s good to hear a friendly voice.’
‘Caught the first flight I could. Horrible journey. Had to overnight in Rio. Have you ever been to Rio?’
‘No, I can’t say I—’
‘Put you to shame, those girls. Those guys. On the beach. The thongs!’
‘Well, I—’
‘But it was so crowded, honestly! And you have to keep your eye on your purse the whole time and you never really relax. Tell you the truth, I think the beach at Portstewart is better, but we don’t get the weather, do we? Maybe a couple of days a year. God, it’s hot in here, isn’t it, I’m sweating like a hoor. So how are you?’
‘I think they’re going to try and kill me.’
‘I mean, food and fresh water - getting enough?’
‘Yes, but they know what I’m here for. It can’t be long before they try and—’
‘But you’ve enough water. That’s good. And access to a church or Bible?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, there’s no of course about it. Those are your fundamental basic human rights. Although if you saw the state of the swimming pool at my hotel - I’d almost swap places with you. It’s a disgrace, I tell you. Supposed to be five star. It can’t be more than four, I swear to God. There’s things floating in the water. And room service, don’t get me started. But you’re surviving all right, aren’t you?’
‘I’m okay for the moment, but you have to get me out of here.’
‘Well, it’s not quite as simple as that, Redmond. As you may know, we are supporting a Bring Him Home campaign, but metaphorically rather than physically.’
‘I’m not sure if I—’
‘Times have changed, Redmond. We’ve embraced democracy. If you can put your hand on your heart and tell me that you are an innocent man, then I - we - as a Party, will be in a much stronger position to offer you help.’
Redmond looked at her, not entirely sure if she was serious. She didn’t crack a smile. She had a yellow legal pad in front of her, and had been making odd notes, but now she turned it round so that he could read it. It said I think they’re listening to us.
Redmond nodded. He slowly raised his hand to his heart and said, ‘I am an innocent man.’
‘And the Semtex they found in your rucksack? Did you pick somebody else’s up by mistake?’
‘That’s all I can think of.’
‘And you’re an innocent victim in all of this?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘You were merely on an ornithological visit?’
‘Yes, I was.’
Siobhan turned a page in her notebook. There was a list of names. She quickly wrote above them Birds. Try and sound like you know what you ‘re talking about.
‘And did you find any interesting species?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Oh yes. The Rufus-naped Grand Torrent.’
‘The Rufus-naped Ground Tyrant?’
‘That’s what I said. And also the … the Coppery-headed … Emerald.’
‘The Coppery-headed Emerald. That sounds interesting. What do you know about that one? What does it eat, for example?’ Siobhan’s hand made a suddenly crawling motion across the top of the desk.
‘Creepy crawlies,’ said Redmond.
Siobhan did it again, but this time using both hands.
‘Loads of them,’ said Redmond. ‘There are so many insects, I don’t want to blind you with science.’
‘Did you manage to see a Golden-browed Chlorophonia?’ Siobhan underlined the name of the bird twice with her pen, then wrote: Very rare!
‘I believe it’s extinct,’ said Redmond.
Siobhan stabbed her pen at her instruction again.
‘Or at least that’s what some people think because it’s so rarely spotted. Nothing would make me happier than to be released from this prison - where incidentally the guards and prison staff have treated me with nothing but respect - to return to the jungle and find the Golden-browed …’ he twisted his head to read the name again ... Chlorophonia.’
Siobhan nodded enthusiastically. ‘Redmond, I believe you are innocent, the people back home believe you are innocent, and I can assure that I - we - the Party and the people will do everything in our power to see that justice is done. In the meantime you have to remain resolute. Have faith in the great Colombian justice system.’ She wrote qui
ckly in her book again. I just have to find the right person to bribe.
Redmond nodded. Then he remembered the letter in his pocket. He had been endeavouring to post it to his wife, to explain his current situation, but his dire circumstances had prevented him from scrawling anything other than a basic appeal for help. He fished it out. The envelope was sweat-stained and badly creased.
‘Please, can you give this to my wife?’
Siobhan took it.
‘Have you heard from her?’ he asked.
Siobhan looked rather pained. ‘We spoke to her, Redmond. She’s very angry. But she also is putting her faith in the fabulous Colombian judiciary.’
‘No visit then,’ said Redmond. He couldn’t even begin to hide the disappointment in his voice. ‘I suppose it’s better that she doesn’t see me like this.’
‘Nor the children.’
‘The children?’ Siobhan quickly wrote a number in her notebook, but before she could turn it round Redmond leaped in. ‘All nine of them.’
Siobhan turned the notebook round. She had written the number six. Redmond rolled his eyes. ‘They send their love, and hope that you will remain resolute, though God knows what they’ll do without their father to provide for them.’ With that Siobhan closed the notebook. She stood. She extended her hand. He clasped it.
‘Thank you for coming,’ said Redmond.
‘No problem,’ said Siobhan. ‘And don’t worry, we’ll get you out, Redmond.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do your best. In the meantime, you wouldn’t happen to have any cash on you? I need to buy food.’
‘They make you pay for your own food? Although of course that’s quite understandable.’
Redmond nodded forlornly. ‘I’m stony broke.’
‘Well, how have you survived up till now?’
‘Oh, I’ve some coke in my shoes.’ It was out before he even realised. Siobhan shook her head. Redmond shrugged helplessly.
‘I would lend you some,’ said Siobhan, ‘but I used all my spare cash to buy souvenirs. Next time, I promise.’
When they were walking him back to his cell, the guards stole his shoes.
18
Journey into Fear
Walter had never been the bearer of bad tidings before. Throughout his life he had scrupulously avoided taking that kind of responsibility. You could argue that he was a coward. But although accurate, that is much too simple. The fear he had was not a fear of death or illness, it was not a fear of standing up and being counted, it was an abject terror of saying the wrong thing. Of laughing at the wrong moment. Of getting his words back to front. He lacked confidence, and that manifested itself in frequent and embarrassing communication breakdowns in relatively trivial situations. This one was about life and death, and he was terrified. He had volunteered to tell Margaret Gilmore’s husband that she was lying unconscious thanks to an allergic reaction to a slice of carrot cake.
So he approached the front door with some considerable trepidation. He bit down hard on his lip to remind himself how grave the situation was. He kept saying to himself, over and over, ‘Don’t mention carrot cake, don’t mention carrot cake.’ He knew if he did, he would only start laughing. Even in the hospital he had struggled to contain himself. It was a nervous thing.
He hesitated before ringing the bell.
What am I even doing here? I’ve met Margaret once. It has nothing to do with me. Run away! Run away now! Or leave a note. Why give him any respect at all when only the other day he was screaming up the road after you that you were a speccy fat clown?
Because it’s the right thing to do.
Walter rang the bell. He stepped back. He bit on his lip again. Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm, calm …
The door opened. The husband was standing there, a newspaper in his hand and a snarl already on his face.
‘What the hell do you want?’ he growled.
‘Carrot cake,’ said Walter.
‘What the … ?’
‘Your wife - carrot cake - the hospital - you have to …’
‘Hospital? What about a hospital? Is Margaret … ?’
‘Life support. Excuse me one moment.’ He was beginning to hyperventilate. Walter closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Control yourself. Calm. Calm. Calm. Look at him. Look him in the eye. He’s just another human being.
‘Are you pissed or something?’
Walter’s eyes flashed open. ‘No, I am not.’
‘Then what the bloody hell are you talking about? What’s this about my wife?’
Calm, control, calm, control.
Walter stared wide-eyed while he grasped for the right words, in the right order. Now that he looked at him, the husband didn’t seem that threatening. In fact, he was quite a lot smaller than he remembered. His hair was receding and his eyes were hooded. His nose was a little too long and his wrists thin. Suddenly Walter felt an awful lot calmer. From his slightly hunched position, Walter’s back began to straighten. His posture improved. He spoke clearly and precisely. ‘Sorry, it’s been such a panic. Margaret’s in hospital; she’s had an allergic reaction to something she ate and she’s in a bad way.’
‘Oh.’ The colour had now drained from the husband’s face. ‘I’ll get my coat.’ He disappeared for a moment, then came back, putting on a black sports jacket. He pulled the door closed after him. ‘Where’s your car?’ he asked.
‘My car?’
The husband stopped. He poked a finger towards Walter. ‘Listen, mate, I don’t like this any more than you do, but if she’s sick I have to get there, and my car’s being serviced. If you’re the one she left me for, if you’re the one destroyed our marriage, then the least you can do is drive me there. Now where’s the bloody car?’
Walter blinked at him for several moments, then nodded a little way along the street. ‘Just over there.’
Walter’s mind was in turmoil as he drove. Margaret had left her husband. The man was plainly upset about it, but Walter didn’t care. She had left him. She was available. Virtually in a coma, but available.
Walter became aware of the husband watching him as he drove. He glanced across. ‘What?’
‘You’re not what I imagined.’
‘I’m not what I imagined.’
The man’s brow furrowed. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘It means, when you start out in life, do you ever become what you imagine?’
‘What a lot of crap,’ said the husband.
Walter shrugged, and concentrated on the traffic. He wanted to sing ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands’ and it was all he could do to stop himself from humming it. When he next chanced a look across, there were tears rolling down the husband’s cheeks. Walter felt suddenly very sorry for him.
‘Look,’ he said, as sympathetically as he could, ‘not only am I not what you or I imagined, I’m not who you think I am.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ The man wiped at his cheeks.
‘Margaret didn’t leave you for me. I only met her a few days ago. Through a dating agency.’
‘Only sad bas**rds use dating agencies.’
‘That may be. My point is, I had nothing to do with her leaving you. It’s none of my business.’
‘Well, you made it your business, didn’t you? Embarrassing me in front of the entire street. Rubbing my nose in it. See all the neighbours out having a great laugh, did you?’
‘No, …’
‘Yeah, right.’
They drove on in silence.
When they reached the car park behind Psyclops Surgeries, Walter took some time to find a parking space, then, aware of being watched by Margaret’s husband and feeling under pressure, took half a dozen goes to manoeuvre into it. Successful at last, Walter began to open his door. But the husband wasn’t moving. Walter settled back in his seat.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘I still love her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Walter.
‘W
hen she left, she said she’d never loved me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Ten years we were together, and she never loved me.’
‘That’s hard.’
‘I keep hoping she’ll come back to me.’ He glanced up at Walter. ‘And it will happen, I swear to God.’
‘Well, I hope … Well, I mean, in my position, I can hardly say I hope it all works out, but if I wasn’t in … my position, I would hope that it all works out for you, if I wasn’t, you know …’
‘Sleeping with her.’
‘God no, not yet. One date we’ve had.’ Christ, thought Walter, I’m starting to talk like Yoda.
The husband began to tap his fingers on the dash. ‘Did you kiss her?’
‘No. It didn’t come to that.’
‘So if nothing happened, and you’ve had one date, how come you know about her being in the hospital before I do? I’m her friggin’ husband.’
‘I know that. It’s purely coincidental. I was getting my eyes checked, and I saw them bring her in. Swear to God.’
The husband nodded slowly.
Walter moved his fingers to the door handle again. ‘Should we …’
‘I’m an accountant,’ said the husband.
‘That’s good,’ said Walter.
‘I still do her accounts. It’s one way of keeping in touch.’
Walter nodded. ‘Not very exciting, is it, accountancy?’
Walter shrugged. ‘I’m in property.’
The husband nodded. ‘At least, you wouldn’t think it was exciting. All those figures. Tax. I do big companies. Little ones too. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. But there’s others too. You know, the dark side. Gangsters. Paramilitary. Think nothing of having you knocked off if you cross them.’ He looked directly at Walter. ‘Wouldn’t think twice.’
Then the husband climbed out of the car.
Walter took a deep breath and followed.
19
The Sentinel
I Predict a Riot Page 7
