by Anne Emery
“I said hospital food, darlin’. That means no, I didn’t touch anything on offer in this place.”
“Right. So let’s get some nourishment into you.”
They headed out onto the Falls Road, found a café serving breakfast, and had the full Ulster fry. That would keep anyone going for the day. Brennan recounted the events of the night before and then returned to his vigil at the Royal Victoria.
Brennan
Brennan walked back to the hospital and sat down beside Gráinne. She looked the way he felt, utterly exhausted. She said, “The doctors told me they got the bullets out and said there were no unforeseen complications. Whatever they meant by that.”
That, in Brennan’s mind, left a whole lot unsaid; surely there were complications that a medical team in Belfast might regard as foreseeable. How had Ronan fared with those? But he didn’t have time to speculate further because he saw two men coming towards them. They were in plain clothes but you’d make them as peelers anywhere in the Western world. Here, that meant the Royal Ulster Constabulary.
“Mrs. Burke?”
“Yes.”
“I am Detective Inspector Arnold and this is Detective Sergeant Williams. We spoke to Mr. Burke when he was brought in here last night, but of course he was going in and out of consciousness. We’d like to have another quick word if we might. We know this is difficult. But is he . . . is he awake?”
“He’s only after having surgery, so . . .”
“All right. We’ll wait outside for a bit in case he wakes up soon.”
They turned their eyes on Brennan, and there was nothing for it but to make the introductions.
“Ah, yes, Father Burke. We were planning to speak with you today as well. Would now be convenient?”
“Certainly. Let’s go down that way.” He pointed down the corridor.
When they were out of sight of the family, DI Arnold said, “We’d like you to take us through the events as they unfolded last night.”
He told them everything he remembered, from the time they left the house to the harrowing moment when the shots rang out. But he simply could not provide any identifying information about the man or men who had opened fire on his cousin behind the Banned Flag bar.
Inspector Arnold expressed wishes for a swift recovery for Ronan and left Brennan a card with contact information on it. He asked Brennan to ring him if he remembered anything, however insignificant it might seem. Brennan assured him that he would. Arnold and Williams went back to check in with Gráinne. Brennan stood there after the police had left, reliving the horror of watching Ronan fall to the ground, of probing him for signs of life, of knowing that someone out there in the darkness wanted his cousin dead.
Chapter XXI
Monty
Maura came up to Belfast again the following Saturday with the children, hoping to see a big improvement in Ronan. And in fact he had made progress throughout the week. The surgery was successful. The bullets had been removed and the bowel repaired. The wound in his leg was superficial. He was still weak and in pain, and he was being closely monitored for signs of infection, but the outlook was generally good. Monty had brought some work home to the flat, and he tried to concentrate, pushing away the thoughts of Ronan in the sights of a rifle, and Brennan right beside him, of the bullets slamming into Ronan, and the would-be assassins slipping away into the night.
He turned his mind to the file on his dining room table. His colleague Sandra MacLeod had done a corporate search and found no listing for a company called Day Sure Investments in Northern Ireland or anywhere else in the United Kingdom or in the Republic of Ireland. But somebody had been writing cheques using that company name. It looked as if the source of the payments to Winnie Flanagan would remain shrouded in mystery. But there was other financial information he wanted from Winnie. Or from Katie, if her mother was having a bad day. He wanted to know if there were any documents such as paystubs or income tax returns showing what Eamon had been earning before his death. But Monty was not going to have Katie or Winnie come into the city centre from the Heatherfield Villas housing estate, so he called and got Katie on the phone and told her he would take a drive out there in the afternoon.
When Normie caught wind of a visit to the Flanagan kids, she insisted on going along. Maura and little Dominic had plans of their own; there were dinosaurs to be seen at the Ulster Museum, and it was only a short walk from Monty’s flat. So Monty and Normie started out for the inaptly named Heatherfield Villas. On the way there, Normie asked about Mr. Burke, and Monty gave her an upbeat report on his condition. “Thank God,” she said and went on to talk about her school and friends in Dublin as they drove through the city. She spotted a convenience store on the way and insisted that they stop and pick up some chocolate-coated ice cream bars.
Clusters of bored young guys and girls stood idly by, smoking and eyeing the car as it drove into the compound. Katie met Monty and Normie at the door to the building and sent a fearful look out at the yard before ushering them inside and onto the elevator.
When they were seated in number 705 Monty asked, “Have you had any trouble here, Katie?”
She made a noncommittal sound and moved her head slightly to the side, indicating little Timmy on the sofa. Before they could greet him, he bolted from the room, disappeared into one of the bedrooms, and slammed the door.
“Timmy! Come back and see Normie!”
No more sign of him.
“What’s the story?” Monty asked.
“He won’t say what happened, but you’ll know just by the state of him.”
The door to the other bedroom opened then, and Clare emerged, looking pale and depressed.
“Hi,” she said to the visitors. Monty and Normie greeted the little girl.
“You can’t stay in the bedroom all day, Clare,” her sister said. “Not every day. How about we play Scrabble tonight? She’s brilliant at Scrabble, spells words I barely knew at all when I was her age.”
Monty started to respond but the little girl sank to the sofa and dissolved in tears. “I hate it here! I miss Daddy! How come he had to die?”
There was no need to look at Normie; Monty knew all too well what her reaction would be to such raw pain in another child. Katie wrapped her arms around her sister and held her and whispered softly in her ear. She pointed towards Normie, no doubt trying to encourage Clare to take part in the occasion of the visit, but the poor child was having none of it. She just couldn’t do it. She turned and walked back into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Katie looked devastated, and Monty was once again filled with determination to compensate this family of children for their loss. He just as quickly brought himself down to earth; the chances of making a case and achieving a payout in the end were virtually nil.
After a few seconds had passed, Normie nudged Monty and pointed to the bag of treats. Monty nodded encouragement.
Normie called out. “Timmy! Clare! I have ice cream bars. Coated with chocolate.”
No response from Clare, but it didn’t take long before Timmy caved; the temptation was too great. He sidled into the room with his face turned away from the light. Normie started towards him but Monty put a discreet hand on her arm to hold her back. He wanted to see whatever it was Timmy didn’t want them to see. The little fellow gave in and came towards them. He had a black eye, his lip was cut and swollen, and another cut was visible through his short yellow hair.
“What happened to you?” Normie cried out.
The little boy attempted a nonchalant shrug. “I bet up a fella and he hit me back.”
Monty decided to go along with the pretence for the moment. “What did he do that made you decide to beat him up?”
He didn’t have a story ready, so he improvised. “I went out to kick a ball around. He tried to fuckin’ rob it offa me. So I gave him a thumpin’.”
There was likely some truth to
the tale. Timmy went out with his ball, and the other fella, or fellas, attacked him. Monty didn’t ask where the ball was now.
“Here, Timmy,” said Normie. “Have a bar. Or will it . . . hurt your mouth? It’s freezing cold.”
“Won’t hurt,” he said, holding out his hand for the treat.
“There’s one here for you, too, Katie,” Normie told her, “and for Clare, and the other kids when they come home.”
“Thank you, Normie. I’ll put them in the freezer and we’ll all have them later.”
“But mine will be gone by then! And youse will all be having yours!”
“That’s the trade-off you make for enjoying yours now, Timmy. Go ahead, have it now. It will make you feel better.”
“I feel good now. Ow!” He gave a little yelp as the ice-cold delicacy hit the delicate tissues of his mouth. But he persevered. “This is brilliant! Deadly!”
“What do you say?”
He turned to Normie. “Thank you for bringing it!”
“You’re welcome. I love them, too. Let’s go out and we can both kick the ball around.”
He looked embarrassed then. “Em, I’ve got it hidden away, so they won’t try to steal it again.”
“Okay, we can just go for a walk.”
Timmy hesitated, then said, “I’ll race you!” And his skinny form rocketed to the door. Normie followed.
“She shouldn’t be out there, Mr. Collins.”
Monty had been hoping she wouldn’t say that. But what should he do about it? His instinct was of course to keep his daughter safe inside. To do that, however, was to acknowledge in front of the surviving members of the Flanagan family that their housing estate was dangerous, not fit for his daughter, but that, when he and Normie had made their escape, the Flanagan children were stuck with it. That was exactly the case of course, but he didn’t have the heart to make it so starkly obvious. All he said was “Be careful, both of you.”
When they had gone, Katie got busy with a kettle and called out, “Mam! Tea!”
Winnie emerged then and said, “Oh! Monty, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
When the tea was ready they sat down at the kitchen table, and Monty asked Winnie about Eamon’s work and earnings. Eamon Flanagan had been working for a well-established company as an electrician and had been doing that work for as long as she had known him, almost eighteen years. Plus he had worked as a contractor, renovating houses.
“Do you have pay statements or tax returns or anything?”
“I didn’t keep everything, but I did keep his pay statements close to the time when he died. I’ll go get them.”
She went into one of the bedrooms and came back a minute or so later with papers in her hand. She gave them to Monty, and he saw that Mr. Flanagan had earned just under £19,000 a year as an electrician.
Katie said, “The amount he made at his regular job plus fixing up houses was enough that we were never without clothes and shoes and schoolbooks and toys and the occasional little holiday. And Mam, you always had the prettiest dresses. You were very fashionable! But I remember the day he first showed me the house in Musgrave Park. I was only a wee girl at the time, and I told him the house looked as if somebody had broken in and run all through it, making it filthy. The old owners hadn’t taken care of it at all. Da told me he had ‘got it for a song’ and I thought he meant it literally and I asked him what song he had sung to get it. And he put his chin up and his hand on his heart like an old-fashioned singer. And he sang something that sounded like a bunch of nonsense syllables. I later found out it was ‘Funiculì Funiculà.’ And I remember laughing but at the same time being mortified, and I said to him, ‘Be quiet, Daddy, other people will hear you!’ And he said, ‘Think of all the houses we’ll have when everybody hears my song.’ But then I asked him if he had paid money instead of singing for it, it would have been nicer, and he assured me that he knew how to do all the work himself to make it lovely. And he did! My da could do everything that needed doing to build or repair a house. Couldn’t he, Mam?”
“He could. He was the loveliest man . . .” Her voice broke and she said no more.
Monty now had the foundation of a dependency claim on behalf of the mother and the children, who had lost all the benefits Eamon’s income would have continued to provide if he had lived. A comfortable home, clothes, books, sports equipment, music or other lessons, and the opportunity for higher education. Monty did not want to raise Katie’s or her mother’s hopes with all this talk of earnings. They would surely be crushed when, almost inevitably, the claim died aborning. He tuned in to what Katie was saying, something about Clare having trouble with one of her classes in school.
The door banged open suddenly and Timmy came flying in. “Youse wouldn’t believe what we found! And they said they were going to kill him!”
“What!?” Katie and Monty demanded at once.
“Show them, Normie! Here, let me!”
“Just give him a minute, Timmy. He’s shaking; he’s nervous.”
“Who are you talking about?” Monty asked.
“Pebbledash!” both children answered.
“I’m lost here.”
“Daddy, look!” And she opened her jacket and gently drew out a little kitten, which must have been around eight weeks old.
“Aww!” said Katie. The universal response to an adorable baby animal.
“Here, let me have him.”
“Maybe he’s a she,” Katie suggested.
“No, he’s a boy. You can just tell. Can I have him, Normie?”
“Okay, Tim, but you have to be really gentle because he’s so little. And he’s scared.”
“I know. I did something bad to a kitten when I was a wee lad. I picked him up by his tail and swung him around. I thought he’d like it, flying through the air, like. But my ma killed me for it. So I know that was bad. I know to be careful.”
He leaned over the kitten and gently stroked its head. The little thing was mewling and extending its claws, and everyone gathered around to reassure it. Him.
“What did you say his name was?” asked Katie then.
Normie answered, “We called him Pebbledash because he’s white with brown spots. Like pebbledash on the houses.”
“Good name!”
“Let’s get him a dish of milk. He’s probably starving.”
Winnie looked towards the refrigerator. Her face flushed a painful red. “We, uh, didn’t get our milk yet today. I just had a bit for our tea, but there’s none left.”
No milk in the house for a family of five children. “I’ll run out and get some now,” Monty said. “But you know, gang, he’s somebody else’s kitten, right?”
“No, he isn’t!” Tim insisted. “They killed his mother, and all the babies are gone except this one.”
“Who . . . how do you know what happened to his mother?” Monty asked.
“They showed me, Gary and them!”
“Those sleekit wee skitters!” Katie exclaimed. “Boys on the estate,” she explained to Monty, flashing him a significant look.
Dermot came in then and asked, “What are you talking about? Who?”
Katie was about to reply and then saw that he had a couple of boys from the estate with him. “’Bout ye, Missus?” they greeted Winnie.
“Mam!” said Dermot. “We need some Sellotape. There’s an old banger of a car out there. No wheels on it. We’re making it into a fort! We’ve a load of rubbish sacs to cover the windows so nobody can see in, but we have to tape them on.”
“Well, we’ve only the one roll, Dermot, so . . .”
“I’ve a roll with all my old school things, Mam,” Katie said, “Youse can have that one. You know where my stuff is, Der.”
Dermot ran for the tape, waved it at the room in general, and started out the door.
“Thanks, Miss!
” one of the boys called back.
“Yeah, thanks!” the other echoed, and they were gone.
Those young fellows looked all right. Maybe there was hope, after all.
But Timmy resumed his own tale of council estate life. “Gary and them made me look at the dead mammy cat, and they said they . . .” The little fellow’s voice caught, and he made a pretence of having to refresh himself in the loo. “I gotta have a slash.” He shoved the kitten at Normie and ran from the room.
Normie’s eyes had filled with tears. “It really did happen. They took Timmy out to the end of the parking lot and then he came back all upset. They told him they threw her out in front of a car and they showed him the cat lying there, all . . .” Normie’s voice broke and it took her a few seconds before she could continue. “And . . . and they said they’d get the kitten, too, and do the same thing to him! You have to keep him in here, Katie!”
“I will.” She was clearly worried about the cat. “What do cats need? Milk? Special cat food? Is it very dear? We have our money all ready to buy our food for the week, but . . .”
“That can be our treat. Right, Normie? After all the pots of tea and hospitality Katie has been kind enough to offer us, least we can do is provide a few snacks for Pebbledash, eh?”
“Ah, now,” Winnie Flanagan said, “we can’t have you doing that. You’ve been too kind already.”
“No, really,” Normie insisted. “You didn’t know a cat was coming! We’ll just get the stuff this one time. And, um, there’s other stuff they need. To poop in.”
“Kitty litter. We’ll get a bag of that, too. How does that sound, Pebbledash?” Monty tickled the little creature under his chin and got a “mew, mew” in response.
“And you know what we should do?” said Normie. “Katie, you have to come with us and pick out a bed for the kitty!”
“I’m coming, too!” Timmy came barrelling out of the bathroom, fumbling with his jeans.
“Did you wash your hands, Timothy J. Flanagan?” his sister asked.
“Yeah.”
