Though the Heavens Fall

by Anne Emery

  But that night as he drifted off to sleep, two conflicting notions came over him. One, his determination that he would move heaven and earth to bring to justice the men who had ripped the hearts out of the families of ’74, and two, a fear that the entire shaky edifice of this plan, and any hope the families might have, were destined to fall to the ground in a smoking ruin.

  Monty

  The closing of the month of April brought some fine sunny weather but also an element of stress as Monty tried to wrap up his work on the Canadian Earth Equipment matter. He had cartons full of statements and documentary evidence from the manufacturing plant and engineering reports that bolstered his case. He believed he had everything covered from this end. He also had to deal with his Ellison Whiteside files, either complete the work or pass them over to other solicitors. He would have to leave Belfast as planned in early May. He was not looking forward to leaving an ocean between himself and Maura, Normie, and Dominic, but the children were better off staying till the end of June, Normie to finish out her school term and Dominic to be with her. He tried to shut out the image of his children saying goodbye to Orla Farrell after she had been taking care of them, and having loads of fun with them, for all their months in Ireland. His own goodbyes would be traumatic enough.

  But the first of May brought some very good news for the Flanagan plaintiffs. Monty had just received word from Royden Barrett that Colman Davison’s insurance company would be making a “without prejudice” interim payment of £25,000. The defendant was making the payment without admitting liability. But, between the lines, Barrett made it clear that in fact there would be more to come. They were going to be naming some other persons as third parties to the action and presumably going after them for compensation. Monty didn’t know the details, who these people were, or how the Davison insurer hoped to collect from them, but his concern was with his own clients. They would be getting the £25,000 immediately, with more to come later. And the first thing Monty was going to do was move them out of that terrifying tower block and into a nice, friendly, safe neighbourhood. Monty had one of the assistants at Ellison Whiteside scan the real estate pages, and she found a townhouse not far from the house where the Flanagans had been living before their eviction. The monthly rent was reasonable and the place was available now, so the move was on.

  Another thing the family needed was a new solicitor to take them through the rest of the doubtlessly long, drawn-out litigation/negotiation process. He had gathered from his conversations with Muriel Whiteside that this lawsuit, with the taint of guns and bullets, was not the sort of thing the solicitors of the firm would want to dirty their hands in. He had little doubt they would step in if need be, but he had another idea. He left Ellison Whiteside and walked to Reddy O’Reilly’s office just a few blocks away. Monty waited until Reddy finished with a client and then was admitted to his quarters. They had a good gab about the never-ending news cycle in Belfast, and then Monty told him about the case and asked if he would be interested in taking it on. Reddy’s reaction was not what Monty had hoped for. The solicitor’s expression darkened and he shook his head. “Sorry, Monty, can’t do it.”

  Monty nodded, said he understood, although he didn’t, and directed the conversation to less controversial subjects. He then returned to his own office. He knocked on Muriel’s door and asked her how she would feel about the firm staying on the record for Flanagan v. Davison with its whizzing bullets and unknown third parties out there in the mist. If she had any qualms, she didn’t let on and suggested one of the firm’s other solicitors for the case. So that was taken care of. But Monty couldn’t help but wonder what it was about the case that caused Reddy O’Reilly to turn it down.

  Chapter XXX

  Monty

  Wednesday, May 3, was once again moving day for the Flanagan kids, but this time it was a joyous occasion. Brennan Burke had done a lot of the heavy lifting the day the Flanagans had been forced to leave all they knew and loved in order to move into the tower block in the Heatherfield Villas housing estate. Monty remembered how he and Brennan had stiff-upper-lipped it as young Timmy said goodbye to his best friend, how Brennan had cast a sombre eye on the family’s dismal new surroundings and the threatening gangs of toughs hanging out in the yards. It was only fitting that Brennan should be on hand to see the children reunited with their friends and neighbours in the world they had loved and lost. Monty called Ronan’s number and heard the voice of a young woman, maybe Ronan’s daughter. She told him Brennan was still in the South. He was expected back before too long, but she wasn’t sure when. Monty regretted the fact that Brennan would miss the homecoming scene and that he and Brennan had not seen each other for the last month of Monty’s sojourn in Ireland. There should at the very least have been a Collins-Burke “Farewell to Ireland” pub crawl before Monty flew out, but it was not to be.

  He thought again about the claim by Carrick that the Flanagan case could have repercussions for people Monty knew in this city, including Brennan. He remembered, too, the subdued reaction at Ronan and Gráinne’s house party when he announced that he was ready to commence his lawsuit on behalf of the Flanagans. But Brennan hadn’t even known what Monty was talking about when he made that call to the abbey. Not for the first time, Monty wondered whether the person who really had cause to worry about the November 1992 incident was Carrick himself. Well, the whole thing had made no sense to Monty when he heard it and it made even less sense in the light of a bright May morning and £25,000 cash in the hand.

  Monty had no trouble finding a substitute for Brennan as a lifter of heavy objects and mover of well-worn furniture. One of the Ellison Whiteside secretaries volunteered her teenage son for the job. The young fellow, Robert, was agreeable, even more so when Monty handed him twenty quid in advance for his efforts. So off they went to the tower block to collect the kids and their furniture and transport them to a far, far better place. Once again, all the Flanagans piled into a taxi van that followed their load of belongings. All except Timmy, who pleaded to ride in the front of the cargo van with Monty and Robert. Once again, they made the journey across the city. But this time they were going home. It wasn’t long before they arrived in the Musgrave Park area, and Monty turned in to the family’s old street. “Drive up there! Drive up there!” Timmy urged. “They’re playing football!”

  His old football buddies were on the pitch, and Timmy made a lunge for the van door before Monty had even stopped.

  “Hold on there, Tim. Wait till I stop. Don’t want you on the disabled list for the final.”

  But seconds later they were stopped, and Timmy was out the door.

  “’Bout ye, lads?!” he called out to them, and play was stopped. The boys all gaped at him, then abandoned their positions and came at their old pal in a rush. There was a mad scramble, which ended in a gleeful clump of boys on the field.

  Monty could imagine the joy with which Normie would have viewed the scene; he looked forward to reporting to her after the move was complete.

  A door opened across the street and a woman emerged. Monty had seen her before.

  “Merciful God! Is that —?”

  “We’re back, Mrs. Hamill!”

  She spied Katie on the pavement. “Katie, God love you! Are you moving back?”

  “We are! Different house, but really close to home! You can see it from here.”

  “And that’s wee Timmy I saw out my window, under that pile of lads?”

  “It is.”

  “Welcome back to youse all! Now let me go in and put some chocolate biscuits in the oven. I’m thinking Timmy has been missing my biscuits.”

  “He has. You’ve no idea, Mrs. Hamill. Thank you!” Katie turned to Monty. “I’m going up to see a couple of the girls and then I’ll help you unpack. The other kids . . .” By the time she thought to look for them they, too, had made a beeline for their old friends’ houses.

  Monty said, “Robert and I can take c
are of this stuff, no problem, Katie. Go off and enjoy yourself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  When the stuff had all been placed in the new house, at the gentle direction of Winnie, Monty gave Robert a lift into the city centre, returned the van, got into his car, and drove back to the Flanagans’ place for supper. Everyone had returned to the house, and they all crowded around the table, sitting or standing, with take-out pizza and fish and chips and Mrs. Hamill’s chocolate biscuits. Timmy and his best mate Barry exchanged playful punches and competed for the goodies on the table. Katie and Clare, Dermot and Darren, all had pals in for the happy occasion. Dermot was telling his mates about a couple of new friends he had met in the housing estate, and his mother assured him they would be welcome to hop on the bus and come for a visit.

  Hughie Malone arrived then, obviously in his cups, and beamed around the room at one and all. Monty went over to him and shook his hand. “Thank you, Hughie, for getting all this started. I have to confess I was a bit skeptical when I first heard your story.”

  “You and all the lads in McCully’s bar.” His speech was a little slurred. “They never believe a word out of my mouth, but I speak only the truth.”

  Winnie came towards them with a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. “A wee glass of red, Hughie?”

  “Thank you, Winnie. Here, I’ll pour it. You go on with your other guests.”

  Winnie laughed and handed the bottle and glass to Malone. She went off to speak to Mrs. Hamill. Malone filled his glass to the brim and said, “Monty, I could tell you stories about this part of the world that would —” He stopped, and Monty followed his gaze. He saw Assumpta Flanagan coming in the door, dressed for spring in a pale pink dress and a short white jacket. She was carrying a bouquet of Easter lilies wrapped in paper. She caught the eye of someone, smiled and raised the flowers in salute. That’s when Hughie made his move.

  He rushed at Assumpta and said, “How about a kiss for your favourite oul rascal?”

  Next thing Monty heard was a crash, the sound of breaking glass, a loud reeeooowwr from the cat, and a louder curse from Malone, who had tripped and toppled to the floor. The lilies lay beside him in a pool of red wine. This inspired Monty to deliver a line of verse, from one of Ireland’s patriot poets, “I see his blood upon the rose.” The line got a laugh, even from Assumpta, who had grabbed hold of the door frame to keep herself upright. Like the lilies, her white jacket and pink dress were splashed with red.

  Winnie rushed over, mortified, and then glared in the direction of Pebbledash, who had streaked across the room and was watching from the safety of a dark corner.

  “Will somebody put manners on that cat? I’m so sorry, I can’t count the times I’ve nearly fallen to my death tripping over that creature.”

  “Oh,” Assumpta replied, “I think we can give the wee moggy a pass.” She looked down at Hughie, prostrate at her feet. “This oul baste, though . . .”

  Hughie didn’t even lift his head, just muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Och, I was cursed by the other crowd the day I was born.”

  “The other crowd?” Monty asked.

  “The fairies,” Assumpta explained.

  Darren and Dermot cleared away the wine and the broken glass, Clare rinsed off the lilies, found a vase for them and placed them on a side table, Assumpta and Winnie disappeared into a back room together. Winnie emerged a few minutes later with the stained clothing and took the bundle to the kitchen sink. Assumpta was now dressed down in a bright green track suit.

  Katie said the only thing that could be said. “Tea, anyone?”

  When everyone was seated with their teacups, including a subdued Hughie Malone, Katie looked over at Monty. She spread her arms out, indicating the new surroundings. “We owe all this to you, Monty. I don’t know how to say a big enough thankyou. Right, lads?” All the kids joined in a round of applause. Except Timmy and Barry, who were wrestling under the dining table by that time.

  Winnie said, “We all owe you so much, Monty. I don’t know where to begin.”

  “It’s been my pleasure, Winnie. And a certain Mr. Malone deserves some credit here, too. Let’s not forget Hughie.”

  “Hughie is now, and ever shall be, unforgettable,” Assumpta said, turning to him. “Bless you, Hughie.”

  A flush crept up Hughie’s cheeks. He raised his teacup in rueful acknowledgement. “I’d best be counting my blessings, in case they don’t come my way again!”

  Katie said, “We’re going to really miss you, Monty. And Normie!”

  “She won’t be leaving for another two months, so she’ll have the opportunity for some visits before then. And she loves to write letters. I know there’s a new thing now. People can write to each other by computer. One person writes, sends it, and the other person receives it instantly!”

  “I know,” one of young fellows piped up. “Electronic mail. Everybody’s talking about it.”

  “They must be if even I’ve heard about it.” Monty laughed. “So, Katie, I’m going to speak to your new solicitor about making sure you get a computer, for fun and for electronic mail. And of course for your school work, if you promise to go on to law school.” Katie’s eyes filled with tears, and she came to Monty and gave him a great big hug. She wasn’t the only one who teared up.

  This was why he did what he did, to bring justice to people like Katie Flanagan and her mother and the little kids. True, it wasn’t often that he had clients so clearly deserving as the Flanagans, nor was it often he got a result worthy of celebration all round. After all, how many citizens celebrated the old standby, the killer getting off ? Well this was a far cry from that. Get it while you can!

  Two days later, Monty had said his goodbyes and managed to maintain once again that stiff upper lip that would earn him approval from the English side of his family, and he was on the plane to Heathrow. He would stay overnight and catch the morning flight to Halifax on Air Canada. The working holiday in Belfast had been a turbulent one, with Ronan Burke being shot, Maura going undercover to flush out a mass murderer, and Monty himself extorting information from a client and having a secret rendezvous with a hostile paramilitary. At the end of it all, right had prevailed for the family of Eamon Flanagan. But what about Ronan Burke? What about the families of the 1974 bombing victims, who meant so much to Ronan and Brennan? Would anyone ever see the inside of a prison cell because of those crimes?

  Chapter XXXI

  Brennan

  Brennan had delayed his departure from the peace and felicity of Mount Melleray even longer than anticipated but finally, on the second Saturday in May, he embarked on the journey from County Waterford back to Belfast, after more than a month away. He was still basking in the beauty and peace he had found with the monks at the abbey. When he returned to his lodgings in Andersonstown, he heard that his sister and brothers had made a big hit during their visit and had promised to stay in touch with the Belfast branch of the clan. Now Gráinne and Ronan were packed and ready for a night in Derry. They didn’t say but Brennan had the feeling that the purpose of the trip was to do a bit of political campaigning with Republicans and other Nationalists in that city, to promote Ronan as a future candidate in an elected assembly for the North of Ireland. Ronan was in good spirits when he left the house and was getting around quite effectively in spite of his pain. Gráinne, too, was clearly looking forward to the excursion. Brennan made a call to Monty’s place but the phone was answered by a new tenant; Brennan had missed Monty by a week. Well, Brennan would be back in Halifax for the summer, before heading to Rome in September, so he and Monty would have plenty of drinking time at the Midtown Tavern.

  With no prospects for company, Brennan decided to go into the city centre to try out an Italian restaurant he had noticed before he went away. Two doors from the restaurant was a music shop with a display of classical compact discs in
the window, so he made that his first stop. He wandered around inside, coveting everything in the shop. He settled on a new recording of Vivaldi’s Gloria and an old, but cherished, rendition of the Monteverdi Vespers of 1610. Then he went into Pannacci’s and savoured a wonderful meal of antipasti and pasta al forno and a couple of glasses of Chianti. He topped it all off with the best pistachio gelato he had ever tasted outside of Rome. The couple who ran the place had recently arrived from Perugia, and Brennan got into a conversation with them in Italian and had a thoroughly enjoyable time. It was after ten when he got to Andytown and let himself into the house. Now for the music. He started with the Monteverdi. Almost without thinking, he found himself at the drinks cabinet reaching for the Jameson, but then decided to hold off a bit before getting into that.

  He lit up a smoke and flaked out on the sofa in the sitting room and let himself be transported as the early Baroque masterpiece moved from the dramatic to the prayerful to the ethereal. He lay there enthralled for several minutes after the final note. Then he rose, poured himself a whiskey, and put on the Vivaldi. It was late and he had an early Mass to say in the morning, but there were parts of the Gloria that always filled him with gaudium quod est immensum atque probum, the joy that is immense and good. So he pressed play again, cranked it up, took a sip of the Jameson, and sighed with pleasure.