No Going Back

by Mick Moran

  “Yes father. Once I got going I was O K. But, when I saw you I was very upset. I’m sorry. I must have seemed very rude to you.”

 

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. But, would you like to tell me about what it was that upset you?”

 

  “If you’ve got a few minutes Father.”

 

  “I have. Take all the time you want.” Teresa could hear the Priest pulling up a chair.

 

  “Well, it was my fault really father,” Teresa continued. “I didn’t feel I could tell Mary my real reason for wishing to see Martin, so I pretended to be Martin’s niece. Mary was fine with that and was very helpful. You’re right. She is a lovely friendly woman. She told me all she knew about Martin. She even showed me his room. She seemed genuinely concerned about him too.”

 

  “Of course, as far as I know, she is not aware of Martin’s past, at least not the part that concerned my family. But, she told me about Andy Horan, who grew up on the farm adjacent to the one that Martin grew up on. I expressed a wish to meet him and arrangements were made for that to happen. That, I’m afraid, was a disaster; the worst part of my visit.”

 

  Teresa told of her encounter with Andy. “The look on his face when he saw me. The sheer hatred in his eyes totally took me aback. I just couldn’t cope with it. I had to get away. I just couldn’t talk to anyone. That was, I’m afraid, when I saw you.”

 

  “I understand, totally. What I don’t understand, though, is Andy Horan. His behaviour seems to have been totally out of character. I know him. At least I’ve met him a few times. I got the impression that he was a very placid type of young man.”

 

  “Of course, he must have seen immediately that I was not Martin’s niece. I was half expecting that, but I couldn’t explain in the presence of the other men. It was the degree of hostility that totally knocked me back. Andy totally lost it.”

 

  “Oh God. How did the other two react?”

 

  “They were surprised at Andy too. They were on my side. But I doubt that would have continued when Andy told them that I was not who they thought I was.”

 

  “Andy is the one that I can’t understand. I might see him this evening. I’ll have a word with him. We have evening Mass now. I didn’t notice him at Mass this morning. He might have been working. In which case I’ll probably see him this evening.”

 

  “Thank you father. But, don’t bother on my behalf. I don’t think I could face him again and I’m certain he wouldn’t want to meet me. It’s a pity because Andy will know more about Martin’s past than anyone else in this country.”

 

  “You might be right. But, I got the impression that that civil war was something they very rarely talked about. That’s the time you had in mind I think?”

 

  “It is.”

 

  “Well, I had a talk with Andy and when that subject came up I didn’t think Andy knew anything about Martin’s involvement. Now, his landlady, Maggie Murphy, she knows all about it, although she grew up quite a distance from Martin.”

 

  “Maybe she’s the one that I should have talked with.”

 

  “Maybe we’d better not talk too much about it at present. There’s a murder inquiry going on. If Martin is right and the man was killed because he was mistaken for him then, once the perpetrators realise that they got the wrong man, Martin’s own life may be in real danger.”

 

  “I’ve been to the police and told them about Martin’s suspicions. I know you weren’t keen on me doing that But I couldn’t put it off any longer. I don’t know how seriously they took me. But, they did say that they would be speaking to Martin. When I told them that he was no longer around, their interest seemed to increase. I fear Mary, and maybe all the lodgers, will be questioned.”

 

  “Oh, don’t worry about that Father. She was planning on going to the police herself in any case, to report Martin missing. We found what was probably the threatening letter you talked about in Martin’s room. It got Mary really worried.”

 

  “That’s interesting. Did you find anything else that might throw light on Martin’s whereabouts?”

 

  “Maybe. We found a couple of letters, which we took the liberty of reading. I know that was cheeky. But, we felt that, once the police got involved, nothing would be private any more. At least that’s how we justified it.”

 

  The priest made no comment as Teresa continued. “The letters were from his brother in Ireland. In both letters he invited Martin to come and stay with him. Maybe that’s where he’s gone.”

 

  “I suppose it’s a possibility. Although, Andy said the brothers didn’t keep in contact at all. Recently, however, Andy gave Martin’s address to his mother who passed it on to Martin’s brother, although Martin wasn’t too happy about that.”

 

  “Yes. Mary said the same thing.”

 

  “Have you seen your young brother yet?”

 

  “No Father. But I’ve got his address. I’ll try to see him this afternoon. After talking to my other brother, though, I’m fairly sure that he’s no longer involved with that racist group.”

 

  “That’s a great relief.”

  ***

 

 

 

  “I enjoyed that.” Joe patted his stomach as he rose from the little makeshift table that was set up in the kitchen area of the room. “A proper Sunday lunch. I could get used to this.” Joe started to clear the table. “Let me wash up. It’s time I did a bit of housework.”

 

  “No. No.” Alan insisted. “Leave it to me. You’ve had a hard week.”

 

  “O K. But, next week it will be different. You’re all set for tomorrow?”

  Joe studied Alan from the side, still fearing he may change his mind. His face looked drawn. He’s worried, thought Joe. Probably not sleeping. Also, he hadn’t shaved all week. Was he trying to disguise himself? A week’s growth of facial hair, however, just made him look scruffy. Again not the Alan Joe used to know.

 

  Alan turned to face Joe. “Yes. You know I am.”

 

  “Good.” Joe was pleased, for as far as he knew Alan had not ventured out of the flat all week. But, to Joe’s surprise he’d agreed to come and work with Joe the following week.

 

  It would be Joe’s first week self-employed. He had subcontracted the painting on some newly built houses on a small development: maybe a dozen houses. When Joe visited the site on the previous Friday two houses were already complete, ready for painting. One was to be the show-house, which the contractor required painting as quickly as possible: quicker than Joe could do it on his own. Joe hadn’t told the contractor that he was a one-man band. Alan would be his saviour.

 

  He just hoped Alan was up to it.

 

  It had been a busy week for Joe. He had his week’s notice to work, and in the evenings he had meetings about future work. Also, because Alan wouldn’t leave the flat, he had to fit in shopping as well as a couple of trips to Alan’s flat to pick up belongings.

 

  It was a week when he could have done without Alan and his problems. But, that’s life, thought Joe. Alan’s problem had not been discussed all week. Apart from sleeping, Joe had spent very little time there. Even so Joe did try to raise the subject a couple of times, but Alan seemed reluctant to talk about it. Joe didn’t press him. Alan would talk when he was ready and Joe had other things to deal with. Clearly, however, the problem could not be put off
for very long. The living arrangements were far from ideal, only bearable because Joe spent so little time there. But, Alan, he sensed, was as much aware of that as he was.

 

  Alan did all the cooking and cleaning- the flat had never been so neat and tidy-but, not contributing financially clearly worried Alan. “I’ve got savings,” he said one evening. “I’ll pay you back when I can get to a bank.”

 

  There’s a bank just five or ten minutes walk from here.” Joe was not pressing for payment. He just thought it would be good for Alan to get out of the flat for a while. Then, seeing the look of horror on Alan’s face he changed his mind. “Forget it Alan,” he said, “It really doesn’t matter.”

 

  The money didn’t matter. It was Alan’s fear of going outside that concerned Joe. In spite of Alan’s assurances Joe still had doubts about his readiness to go to work on Monday.

  ***

 

 

 

  There was a knock on the door. Wary looks were exchanged. Then, in a whisper, Joe urged. “Quick. Get in the bedroom. Make sure there’s nothing of yours in this room.”

 

  Joe answered the door. “Teresa! How did you find me? … Something wrong? Joe was mindful of Paddy’s assurance that it would only be in an emergency that he gave the address to anyone else.

 

  “No. Nothing’s wrong. At least I hope not. Aren’t you going to invite me in? You don’t seem too pleased to see me.”

 

  “Come in.” Joe forced a smile. His sister followed him into the living room.

 

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, while having a good look round.

 

  “Only about a month.”

 

  “It’s really tidy.” She sounded surprised. “I’m impressed. Are you going to show me round?”

 

  “No. But, take your coat off and sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?”

 

  “Please.”

 

  Joe put the kettle on, while keeping an eye on Teresa fearing she would look in the bedroom.

 

  “Who have you got hidden in the bedroom?”

 

  Joe froze, before it dawned on him that she was joking. He played along “Wouldn’t you like to know?” But, was she joking? Or did she suspect something. She wouldn’t have got the address off Paddy without giving a very good reason.

 

  “Is there a girlfriend somewhere?”

 

  “Maybe.” He could play this game.

 

  Joe had a girlfriend. At least he hoped he still had. They were out together on the previous evening. But her attitude towards him was, to say the least, cool. His explanation for failing to call for her during the week was clearly not good enough.

 

  “Who’s this?”

 

  Joe turned to see Teresa holding a photograph of his girlfriend that she’d taken of the mantelpiece.

 

  “She’s called Sylvia.”

 

  “Sylvia!”

 

  “What’s wrong with Sylvia?”

 

  “Never mind. Just milk. No sugar. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself and why you haven’t visited your parents. They worry about you, you know.”

 

  “I’ve been very busy. I planned to go last weekend, but something came up.” Joe brought two mugs of tea and placed them on the little table that was in front of the settee. Then he walked to the window. “Is that your Ford?” Teresa’s car was parked next to his van. He parked his van where he could see it from his window.

 

  “Yes. Never mind that. Come and sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to.”

 

  Joe, wishing she’d get to her real reason for her visit, sat on the settee next to his sister. He told her about his work plans and about his van.

 

  “I’m impressed. But, now that you’ve got transport, you’ve no excuse for not visiting.”

 

  “O K Very soon.”

 

  “I’m also impressed with how clean and tidy your flat is: what I can see of it. Sure you’ve not got Sylvia hidden in your bedroom?”

 

  “Yes I’m sure.”

 

  Joe could wait no longer. “Come on,” he said. “Tell me. Why are you here?”

  “Charming. Can’t I visit my brother without having an ulterior motive?”

 

  “Yes. But, I have a feeling there’s something you’ve not told me yet: something important.”

 

  “O K. Teresa smiled as if to say there’s no fooling you. “You’ll never guess where I was yesterday.” Joe shook his head as she continued. “I was in a place called Broadfield in Lancashire, where I believed Martin Prendergast was living. Do you remember that name? He is the man, who we always believed was involved in murdering your uncle.”

 

  “Yes. I remember. Paddy told me you’ve been writing letters about him.”

 

  “Yes. I was trying to discover all I could about his involvement in that terrible event. Did Paddy tell you that we now believe that Martin is totally innocent?”

 

  “Yes. He did. Did you meet the man?”

 

  “No. I’m afraid not. But I learned a lot in the short time I was there. Did you know that while he was living down here he was known as Michael; Michael O’Malley?”

 

  “Yes. I did know that. Joe was wondering where he came in to all this.”

 

  “Well, a man called Michael O’Malley was murdered recently. He lived in Broadfield. Martin told the priest that he believed that it was a case of mistaken identity; that it was he who was the intended victim.”

 

  “But, you didn’t see Martin?”

 

  “No. He’s vanished. He hasn’t been seen around there for over a week. I talked to his landlady. She’s worried about him. She thinks something’s happened to him. All his clothes are still there and there’s a job waiting for him that he hasn’t showed up for. She’s going to report him missing to the police.”

 

  “Could he have something to do with the murder?” Joe, of course knew the answer to that question. Asking it was his way of hiding the fact that he knew from Teresa.

 

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t think so. The police, though, will want to speak to him. His disappearing after the murder will look suspicious to them. Also there was a note; a threatening note, addressed to Michael O’Malley, the man who was murdered, which we found in his room.”

 

  “You were in Martin’s room!”

 

  “Yes. I didn’t tell you. Mary, his landlady was kind enough to show me his room.”

 

  Responding to Joe’s disapproving look, Teresa explained. “She was really worried about him and thought she might find some clue to his whereabouts in his room. For over a week she had resisted doing that. I think she felt that having me with her made it all right. I told her I was Martin’s niece.”

 

  “Oh!”

 

  “Yes. I thought it best not to tell my real reason for wishing to see Martin. I didn’t know how much, if anything, she knew about his past: a past he might not wish people to know about.”

 

  “So, you found this threatening note?”

 

  “Yes. If he doesn’t return by tomorrow Mary will report him missing to the Police and show them the note. That, as well as him going missing, will probably make him a suspect
. But, it can’t be helped. Not to do so would be concealing, what might be regarded as vital evidence.”

 

  “You’re confident that he’s innocent. How can you be so sure?”

 

  “Well, he didn’t leave immediately after the assault. He hung around for the most of a week. Then we know where he went; at least at first. He came to see my father. You know about that?”

 

  “Yes. Paddy told me.”

 

  “Also, he was in The Antelope that same Friday. The mystery for me is why didn’t he return to Broadfield as he told my father he would.”

 

  Joe could have told her why. Instead, he suggested. “Maybe he got a job down here. All the subbies go in The Antelope. He could have got fixed with a job there. Irishmen are always moving around to where the work is.”

 

  “That’s true, and certainly Martin moved around a lot following the work. But, this time it was different. I had a talk with Brendan. Martin wasn’t looking for work, he said. In any case it was early evening when Martin called. No subcontractors were in then. Also he’d booked a room, in a lodging house where he had stayed previously, but he never came back to it. I talked to the lady. She seemed worried about him too.”

 

  “You have been busy.”

 

  “To get back to the murder. There was a young man with a Birmingham accent seen lurking in that area some time before the assault. It’s thought he was involved in some way.” Teresa gave Joe a hard questioning look.

 

  “But, why?” Joe had a drink of his tea to avoid Teresa’s gaze.

 

  “Martin believes it was he who delivered the note and as you know, Martin used to live down here. Someone with a grudge against him could have followed him up there to do him harm.”

 

  “But, he got the wrong man. Surely someone with a grudge against him would have known him.”

 

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about that. Our family had a grudge against him, but not all of us knew what he looked like. Did you know what he looked like?”

 

  “No. I never met him. You’re not thinking it was one of us, are you?”

 

  “No. That was just an example. But, are you sure you never met him. Martin told the priest he thought it was you that he had a brief altercation with on evening in “The Antelope.”

 

  So this is it, thought Joe. She thinks I’m somehow involved.

  “Yes,” he replied angrily. “Of course I’m sure. I never even saw the man. But, if he did see me, how could he possibly know it was me?”

 

  “I don’t know. Afterwards, someone could have told him it was you. Don’t get annoyed. I’m just concerned for you.”