Though the Heavens Fall

by Anne Emery

  He got up and followed Muriel through the corridors of Ellison Whiteside. She turned and said to him, “We’ll be glad to have these dealt with and off our docket.”

  Monty looked around him at the posh furnishings, the portraits of former solicitors on the walls — prosperous-looking personages, fusty even, like late Victorians. There were photographs of some of the members of the firm with government figures at Whitehall in London and at the Parliament of Northern Ireland at Stormont, which had been suspended early in the Troubles, revived, and suspended again, leaving Northern Ireland under direct rule from London. Wherever power was centred, Ellison Whiteside lawyers were there, shaking hands. It was, proudly, the Establishment. A bastion of Unionist privilege. None of the august men or the few women now on the wall had a whiff of Republicanism about their person, or their names. To be fair, none of them, past or present, looked as if they’d be any more at home with Loyalist paramilitaries than with members of the Provisional IRA. Not our sort, don’t you know. Monty knew he was generalizing, stereotyping, committing the very sin he condemned in others, the sin of identifying lawyers with their clients. He also knew he was right. But somebody had taken on the occasional paramilitary case in the past: Emmet Crowley. He was “no longer with us.” Was he ever with us? Monty wondered.

  There were no longer any personal touches, if there had been any, in the office that had been occupied by Emmet Crowley. There was nothing but three thick file folders on the desk and three stacks of boxes on the floor.

  “The minor offences can wait for now. These are the Prevention of Terrorism Act files. Two involve Loyalist paramilitaries, and the third —” Muriel raised her eyebrows at Monty “— the third involves the IRA.”

  “Right.”

  “So, we’ll have these put on a trolley and brought into your office.”

  “I’ll get the trolley.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “Thank you, Monty.”

  “You’re more than welcome, Muriel.”

  Monty was keen to tell Maura about his good fortune, that is, the misfortune of certain of his firm’s clients, which would redound to the benefit of Monty himself. He would now have something interesting to do. So he called his wife at her office at the UCD law school. She agreed that this sounded more fulfilling than reading carton-loads of documents about metal fatigue and fractured disc harrow blades for his farm equipment case. Even though that case was putting coin in the coffers of his Halifax firm.

  “I’m going to work overtime on these criminal files, do what has to be done on my end and then, since Montague Michael Collins, QC, Barrister and Solicitor, is not a barrister over here, I’ll round up a barrister to take the matters to court. Court dates are coming up soon.”

  They exchanged other bits of news, and Maura said she had no lectures scheduled for tomorrow, Friday, and they decided no harm would be done by giving Normie a day off school, so they would be taking the train up to Belfast for the weekend.

  Chapter IX

  Monty

  Monty met his family at the train station Friday afternoon and, after a round of hugs and kisses, he noticed that Orla Farrell was with them. She said she had decided to come and visit some of her relations in Belfast, and a cousin would be meeting her, and there he was now. So she said her goodbyes and promised to see the kids again soon. Dominic put his arms around her; then, a gentleman at heart, he reluctantly let her go.

  “What would you like to see in Belfast city today?”

  “Well, I have a small errand to perform,” said Maura. “I promised one of my colleagues in Dublin that I would deliver a book to a prof at the law school here, so I should drop that off.”

  “Sure. Let’s head there now. It’s a short walk from my flat.”

  They drove to his place and dropped off the bags, then set out on foot for Queen’s University Belfast. When they crossed the street to the main campus, they stood gazing in awe at the splendour before them.

  “A castle!” Dominic exclaimed.

  “It looks like one, doesn’t it?” his sister replied. “Or like a great big old church, except that it’s wide instead of long!”

  They were looking upon the magnificent Lanyon Building, a Tudor Gothic edifice of warm-red brick and honey-toned sandstone. The building had big leaded-glass windows and three towers with crenellations; the central tower was topped by pinnacles at each of its four corners. But most pleasing to the children were the two angels guarding the entrance.

  “Is that the law school?” Normie asked. “The angels are watching out for everybody there.”

  “No, it’s not the law school,” Monty told her. “That’s in another part of the university.”

  “Not many angels there, I’ll bet,” his wife declared. “Bunch of lawyers and future lawyers.”

  “But lawyers are good! They help people get out of trouble.”

  “God love you, Normie. You’re right. Most of them are on the side of the angels.”

  “Except sometimes when they’re on the side of the bad guys. Like you, Daddy, when you work for killers and bank robbers.”

  “Now, sweetheart, the bad guys need protection, too. Because sometimes they didn’t do it.”

  “Yeah, I know. If it wasn’t for guys like you, the police could throw anybody they didn’t like into prison.”

  “And that’s exactly what happens in some places in the world.”

  “Not here, though, right?”

  “No, of course not, sweetie.” He and Maura exchanged glances over their little girl’s head.

  “The law school is nice, too,” Normie said. And it was. They had made the short walk to the School of Law, which was located in a beautiful terrace of houses on University Square. The law school occupied several of the buildings.

  “I love those red-brick places! Like yours, Daddy,” said Normie. “We should have streets full of brick buildings like this at home.”

  “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Maura agreed. “There aren’t many in Halifax. A few near the law school, though, coincidentally.”

  “Yeah, those are really nice. We should buy one of them when we get home.”

  “Talk to your father.”

  “Ha ha. You always say that when the answer is no.” Then she pointed to the last house in the row. “The corner house is made of different stuff. It looks like little brown stones.”

  “That’s right. It’s called pebbledash.”

  Normie’s eyes widened with delight. “Pebbledash! What a cool word!”

  Ah, for the days when the sound of a simple word was enough to bring joy to the heart.

  * * *

  After she had made her delivery, Maura expressed an interest in taking a bus tour around the city. And Dominic concurred. “Bus!” But Normie had always liked visiting Monty’s office at home, so she decided that’s what she would do today. When mother and son headed off to find a tour bus, father and daughter went to work.

  Monty wanted to spend some time reading through his new files. Normie was happy to spend her time writing a story on his computer while he worked. His secretary, Laura, poked her head in, greeted Normie, and said, “Monty, you didn’t forget the call from Miss Flanagan, did you? She called again when you were out.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Laura. I meant to call Katie. I’ll do it right now.”

  He picked up the phone, reached Katie Flanagan, and apologized for not calling sooner.

  “That’s all right, Mr. Collins.”

  “You can call me Monty.”

  “Um, Monty, my mam’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” As if Katie and the other kids didn’t have enough to deal with. “What happened?”

  “Oh, it’s just her nerves going on her. It happens sometimes. But what I wanted to tell you was that Auntie Assumpta is coming i
n a little later to see Mam. It’s close by. Musgrave Park Hospital. And she says she has some information for us, Assumpta does.”

  “Oh, good. She’s going to stop in at your house?”

  “Aye. So I’ll let you know whatever she says.”

  “Better still, why don’t I take a drive out and see what she has to say?”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

  He looked at Normie, absorbed in her work. He had learned never to interfere with the creative process by asking her what she was writing; when she was ready, she would tell her parents or not, as she saw fit. He considered leaving her here in the office to write, but then thought she might like to go for a drive out to the suburbs. In the usual course of things, he would never, ever bring his children anywhere within the orbit of his clientele because, in the usual course of things, his clients were people charged with murder, assault, armed robbery, sexual offences, and/or any number of other things that made necessary an impregnable wall between his life at work and his life at home. But Katie Flanagan was not in that league. No reason Normie couldn’t come along for the trip. He told her he had a young client named Katie, and they were going to see her.

  “How old is she?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “That means she’s a young offender, right?”

  “No, no. Sorry, sweetheart, I should have explained right away. She’s not charged with an offence.”

  “So how come she’s one of your clients?”

  “Her dad died in an accident. He fell, and it may be because he was hit by a car.”

  “That’s awful!” Normie’s hazel eyes were huge with concern behind the lenses of her wire-framed glasses. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if that happened to you!”

  “And there are four younger kids.”

  “This is terrible. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m hoping we’ll be able to find the guy who was driving the car that hit Katie’s dad, if that’s what happened, and sue him for money for Katie and her family.”

  “I hope so! Why can’t you find him?”

  “Sometimes people leave the scene of an accident.”

  “They shouldn’t be allowed to do that! They should stay and help the person or get the ambulance.”

  “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

  “Some people are rotten!”

  You said a mouthful there, little one.

  They drove through the city towards the Flanagan residence, and Monty did not point out the sites of bombings and other attacks that had been pointed out to him on his travels with Katie Flanagan and Hughie Malone. When they got to the Musgrave Park neighbourhood, he found a parking space a few doors away from the Flanagan house.

  “These places look newer than the ones we always see in town,” Normie remarked.

  “I suppose they are. And that one is Katie’s.”

  They walked to the house with the light brown bricks and knocked on the door. Katie opened it and invited Monty in. “’Bout ye, Mr. Collins? Monty, I mean.” Then she spotted the young red-haired girl at his side. “Oh! Who’s this now?”

  “Hi. I’m Normie.” She pointed to Monty. “He’s my dad, and I was in his office, and he said I could come.”

  “I’m Katie. You’re welcome to come inside.”

  They followed her into the house. All the furniture in the living room was covered with children’s clothes. “I did the washing and hung it on the line outside but then it started to rain, so . . .”

  “That must happen a lot,” Normie said. “You get quite a bit of rain here.”

  “We do.”

  “But it’s nice again now, so do you want me to help you hang the clothes up again?”

  “No, I couldn’t be arsed to do it all again. But thank you, Normie.”

  “So, Katie,” Monty said, “how are you doing these days?”

  “Good.”

  “Where are your sister and brothers today?”

  “Darren and Dermot and Clare are with their school. There’s a field trip to the Giant’s Causeway.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see that!” said Normie. “I saw a picture of it in a book.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” Monty said again.

  “Yeah, it’s just . . . she has to go in sometimes. She gets depressed and upset.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she does.”

  “I got invited to debating club today.”

  “Oh? Where’s that?”

  “At Saint Columba’s, my old school. Even though I don’t go there anymore, Mrs. Donnelly rang and invited me.”

  “Wonderful,” Monty said. “I’ll bet you make a very good debater.”

  “I really liked it when I was in it at school. I won a prize. And Father McMullan came up to me after and said, ‘Miss Flanagan, you’ll be prime minister someday, the first Catholic prime minister of the U.K.! You can count on my vote!’ I loved him saying that. And then he went on, ‘Best thing to do is start out as a solicitor, and then simply move up to Number Ten! You’ll make some much-needed changes around here when you’re in the top job.’ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t boast about it. But I really love debating, writing up the arguments, taking apart what the person says on the other side. Anyway,” she looked down then, embarrassed, “I liked it.”

  “Good for you, Katie. You must really have a talent for it. So, did you go today? Or you haven’t gone yet?”

  “Ach, I can’t go to it. But it’s nice to be invited.”

  “Why can’t you go?”

  “Timmy’s here.”

  Monty looked around for the little boy he had met last time. “Timmy is Katie’s brother,” he explained to Normie.

  “Where is he?” Normie asked.

  “Not here in the house. He’s outside with the lads playing football, but I have to mind him. I can’t keep annoying Mrs. Hamill to watch out for the kids. That’s my job. And besides, she works at a newsagent’s and isn’t home that often.”

  Monty thought about it. “What time is debating club?”

  “Half four, and it goes for an hour and a half, so . . .”

  “Is it a regular event?”

  “This is the second time. They’re going to have it every Wednesday and Friday. Anyway, Auntie Assumpta will be here soon. She can’t stay. She’s coming with a friend who has a car, and she’s going to visit Mam, but she’ll give me — give us — the information she found.”

  Monty felt a little sharp elbow nudging him. He looked down and Normie was giving him a significant look. “Ahem,” she said. He knew what she was thinking. He smiled down at her and told Katie, “We’ll wait for Assumpta, and then we’ll watch Timmy’s game, and you can go to your club.”

  “Ach, youse couldn’t do that. I told Mrs. Donnelly I wouldn’t be able to join it. She understands.”

  “Katie, go!” That was Normie. “I love to watch little kids playing. We have Gaelic football matches at my school sometimes, back in Nova Scotia I mean, because Father Burke used to play it when he was little here in Ireland and he misses it so he started up a league. Is it Gaelic football your brother is playing?”

  “No, it’s Association football. You know, Celtics, Rangers type of football.”

  “Soccer,” Monty explained to Normie.

  “Oh, right, we have that at home, too. But you better hurry. It’s after four o’clock, and you might be late.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” Monty assured her. “Get yourself ready and take us over to Timmy when you’re set to go. I’ll keep an eye out for your aunt.”

  “Lovely! The debate today is Medical experiments on animals are justified, yes or no.”

  “And what side are you taking on that question?”

  “I won’t know till I get there, because I missed the session on Wedn
esday, but that’s all right. So I have to consider what status animals have in the whole of existence. Are humans entitled to greater rights? If so, on what grounds?”

  Getting right to first principles. Monty liked that.

  The young girl continued, “I remember learning that Aristotle said we humans are rational animals. But if some animals are not rational, is that their fault at all? Do we have the right to use that against them? What about more intelligent versus less intelligent animals, even though it’s not the fault of, say, a slug in the garden if he hasn’t evolved very far and he’s never had an intelligent thought in his poor little life. And what if you’re the mother of a baby who might die if the right kind of drug can’t be found, and experiments have been forbidden because the ‘no’ side of the animal debate won the day? Oh! I have to change my clothes and wash my face. Or wash first, and then . . .” Her face was flushed with excitement. It was the most animated Monty had ever seen her.

  Five minutes later she bounded down the stairs, wearing a little bit of makeup, a dark tartan skirt, a bright blue sweater, and a great big smile. Monty and Normie followed her from the house and down the street. They came to a big empty lot where a bunch of little boys in pint-size Celtic FC green-and-white-striped jerseys had set up two goals and were playing a spirited game of soccer. A few of them looked over at the new arrivals, and Katie gave them a timeout sign. “Timmy!”

  “What?”

  “Come talk to me.”

  “Aw!”

  “Only for a minute.”

  He ran over and looked at his sister and then at Normie. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Normie. I’m going to watch the match. Katie’s going to debating club.”

  “Do they have chocky biscuits there?”

  “They do not!” His sister laughed and ruffled his short golden curls. “It’s serious business we do. Debate the great questions of the day.”

  “I want to play football.”

  “And you will. Normie and Mr. Collins are going to mind you while I’m gone.”

  He looked up at Normie again and said, “Watch this!” He tore off towards the centre of the field, took his teammates and opponents by surprise, and grabbed the ball. He held it under his left arm, kept his right out to fend off the defenders, and ran to the net, hip-checked the goal keeper and then put the ball down and booted it into the net. He raised his arms and did a dance of triumph. He was met with a chorus of “That doesn’t count, ya bollocks!” He laughed, and then they resumed the game according to Association rules.