Eden Burning

by Deirdre Quiery

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I explained why he shouldn’t listen to William. I gave him a good reason not to follow William’s orders.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “What we have talked about together – about William and I – and more.”

  “Tell me ‘the more’. I need to know.”

  “It’s complicated. I will tell you, I promise; but not now. It’s not going to help now. It could distract you. We need to get through today and then I’ll tell you. Do you trust me Peter?”

  “Yes I do, more than anyone in the world.”

  “Then listen to me. I want you to go to school as normal. Don’t come back at six. Stay with Mr McCabe. He will take care of you. I will meet Lily this afternoon at five as planned at Saville’s.”

  “Rose thought that it might be a good idea to go to the Police. So did Mr McCabe. Are we making a mistake not doing that?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t think so. You’re right. We need to persuade them not to kill Rose. We’ve started. It now depends on how Cedric reacts and what he will say to William. Go back to bed now and try to get a little more sleep. I know that sounds impossible but try. We need to make everything seem as normal as possible. It has to be easy for them to change. We mustn’t make them afraid of being different. By getting out of the way, we can at least create some space for something better to happen.”

  “What are you going to do before you meet Lily?”

  “I’ll make breakfast as normal for William and Cedric. I will then bake wheaten bread and visit some new friends in Glenbryn. Then I will see Lily at five.” Eileen sounded decisive.

  “What new friends?” Peter shook his head in disbelief. Eileen normally didn’t have any friends apart from those in her art class. She spent her life painting, cleaning the house, and taking care of the small garden. The windows sparkled, the furniture was scented with pine polish, the floors with disinfectant. Everything gleamed and squeaked. Small cacti plants were lovingly tended on the kitchen window sill. She made miracles happen with the cacti – like when she helped one cacti give birth to a little button flower, a small star shaped flower hidden under a spiky green leaf. The star shaped flower had a circle in the centre filled with small triangles of yellow and green. Star leaves unfolded from the circle scattering more yellow and green triangles into the air. Eileen would look at it the way a mother looks at a new baby – with amazement, a sense of pride and mostly awe.

  “Sammy and Anne. They’re ex-neighbours of Tom Martin and Lily. I met them at the art exhibition. They are salt of the earth people. Today is a good day to spend an hour or so with them.”

  Eileen moved towards Peter, holding him in her arms in the freezing temperatures, hearing the thump of his heart as she pressed her head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his breath in her ear. He stood above her, his arms awkwardly pulling her close.

  “Mum, one more thing – I gave Rose the diamond ring that belonged to Paddy O’Connor. Cedric took it from him before he killed him.”

  “Paddy?”

  “You remember I told you last night about Paddy O’Connor?”

  “My God.” Eileen shivered.

  “It was meant to be Molly’s ring.” Peter sighed deeply.

  “Molly?” Eileen looked up into Peter’s eyes.

  “Paddy’s fiancée who was killed in a car bomb in Cornmarket. Do you remember Susan in your art class got caught up in that bomb and lost her legs? Well, Molly died.”

  “I saw it in Paddy’s hand before Cedric took it from him.” Peter looked up at the moon and gulped at the air.

  Eileen shivered again. “Why did you not tell me before?”

  “I didn’t know what to say – where to begin.”

  “Why did you give it to Rose?”

  “I thought that I could blackmail Cedric and William into not killing Rose.”

  “I don’t think threats will work with either William or Cedric. But we are where we are now. Let’s get you back to bed. Tell Mr McCabe to ring me this evening and let me know that you are safe. Don’t come home until I tell you.”

  Eileen linked arms with Peter and they walked slowly into the kitchen. Eileen closed the front door taking a last look at the cherry tree and the moon.

  “Why are you smiling, Mum?”

  “In a way I am glad that the truth is emerging. The truth is always good and yet I for one am so afraid of it. I knew that something wasn’t right but I didn’t want to really know what it was. I was terrified to know. I stopped looking and stopped asking questions. I realise that by not looking and not asking questions and not trying to find out what was going on, I contributed to these murders.”

  “Is that what you meant last night, Mum, when you said that maybe you were to blame?”

  “No. There’s more, much more.”

  “What? Please tell me?”

  “I will tell you tomorrow.”

  There was the sound of someone stirring upstairs. Footsteps padded across the bedroom floor and then shuffled along the hallway to the bathroom.

  “Tell me quick, before they get up.”

  “I need to tell you properly. Not like this. I’ll tell you everything when today is over. I promise. There will be no more secrets ever – I promise.” She touched Peter on the nose with her finger. “Promise.”

  The toilet flushed upstairs. Footsteps retraced the path along the landing, towards Eileen’s bedroom.

  “He’s back in bed. He won’t move for another few hours. Get some rest.”

  “I’ll try.” Peter squeezed her hand and moved towards the kitchen door.

  Eileen pulled her hair into a ponytail tying it with an elastic band. “Be strong.”

  • • •

  Cedric lay in bed listening to William walking along the landing. The room was dark, apart from a chink of grey where the curtain hadn’t been properly closed. A blackbird hopped onto the window sill, its shadow highlighted as it lifted its head into the air, singing three clear notes before opening its wings and flying into the early morning sky. He rolled over on his side, fumbling for a packet of cigarettes on the table beside the bed. He switched on the radio. Elvis sang,

  “There goes my reason for living. There goes the one of my dreams. There goes my only possession. There goes my everything.”

  He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The tip burned orange, blue smoke curled towards the ceiling. Cedric scratched his sideburns and early morning stubble. His head was heavy against the pillow. Images appeared in his head of Eileen cleaning the kitchen floor with a mop, shining the windows with newspaper, cooking Sunday lunch, making his birthday cake with thirty candles, ironing his shirts and socks, folding his underwear. A voice in his head repeated, “Eileen is not my mother. William is not my father. Peter is not my brother. Who is my mother? Who is my father? Who am I?”

  The words ate away at him, like mice chewing through a plaster wall. They gnawed away, probing for answers to questions which he had never asked before, “Who am I? Who was my mother? Who was my father?” Tears streamed down Cedric’s cheeks. He wiped them away with his hand, looking at the glistening teardrops beading on the hairs of his hand. He licked them. They were salty. He had never tasted the saltiness of a tear before.

  Eileen had told him how much she loved him and that it didn’t affect her love for him that he wasn’t her natural child. She said that she knew about the murders and even though they were appalling and he needed to give himself up and receive society’s punishment she still loved him. What would make her happiest would be if he could feel some remorse for what he had done – could see how wrong it all was and vow never to kill again. That was what she asked of him. That he could feel the suffering of his victims and their families and the terrible tragedy which he had inflicted on so many innocent lives. Then she repeated that she knew that he could only see what he could see and that what he needed was help to
be able to see differently. She would give him that help. She would be there for him. There was no way that he could undo what he had done, but he could stop the murders now, he could start to see the terrible error of it all.

  Even if it made no difference to Eileen, it did mean something to him that Eileen was not his real mother. He couldn’t think about the murders now. The only thing which he could think about was his real mother? Why had she been murdered? How would William react to the fact that Cedric was not his son? What would Peter say? What would Sammy P say? How could he walk into the Black Beetle hearing the sniggers of everyone around him and stay?

  Perhaps he should kill Eileen? Who had she told so far? As far as he could see William didn’t know. She had said that last night. Peter didn’t know. If he killed her everything could be the same. He could make it look like an IRA murder. That would be easy to do.

  He took another puff on his cigarette and felt a sense of comfort in the fact that a solution to the problem was beginning to emerge. He would need to act fast. Eileen would have to be dispatched today if he was going to do it at all. He looked at his watch. She could be dealt with before five o’clock this afternoon. Even as he had this thought, he knew it was insane. He knew that he was denying his love for Eileen by attempting to put the images of her out of his mind.

  There was one image which kept returning. It was of Eileen last night as the candle flame spluttered, gasping its last. She pushed her chair back and in the darkness walked around the table and finding his hand flat on the kitchen table, lifted it to her lips, saying, “There hasn’t been one day, one minute that I haven’t loved you as my own son. There is nothing that you have done or will do which will ever change my love for you. I am here for you now and always. I love you. I only ask you to stop killing. Give it up Cedric. Admit what you have done. Take your punishment. Life will be still worth living. You can be a different person. You can be the person you were born to be. This person that you have been isn’t real. It’s false. The real you is inside and can be set free. There’s time. Remember that there is more joy in Heaven over one sinner who repents. Jesus didn’t come on earth to hang out with those who were good but to be with those who needed to see differently. You need to see differently. So does William.”

  Eileen didn’t want to sound like a preacher but she didn’t know what else to say. She was clutching at words, trying to find the right things to say that would get through to Cedric and yet the echo of her voice sounded so wrong – so clichéd – superficial, patronising, like a Pharisee. What would be better to say? Should she stay quiet for a while?

  “When are you going to tell Father … I mean William?” Cedric stared ahead of him as he asked the question. He ignored Eileen.

  “I could tell him. Maybe I should. I have lived a lie all of my life with him. I should be honest and tell him. Am I a coward if I ask you to tell him?”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a coward.”

  “Could it be the first step back to what’s real for both of you? He needs to hear it from you.”

  “What are you going to do after I tell him?”

  “That depends upon what you both decide to do next. It’s in your hands. However, I know that I won’t accept any further killings. I will do whatever it takes to stop you both killing.” For the first time Eileen looked and sounded extremely fierce.

  Cedric turned his head to look at her. She was on her feet, hands by her side, fists clenched. Her eyes glowed like dark coals in the golden light of the dying candle. Her hair had fallen out from her French plait onto her shoulders which he wasn’t used to seeing. It made her look more childlike. Nevertheless she looked solid, determined and unmoving and what he felt from her was a strange quality of love. “Remember, whatever it takes to stop the killings.” Eileen repeated firmly.

  He felt that love transmitted by Eileen within him now, like a delicate flame setting tinder alight. A flame is like that – it moves and burns quickly. It was stronger now than what he had felt last night. How strange that the memory of love can burn even stronger than the real thing. Or maybe it was that first touch of love last night that he hardly recognised. It was so removed from anything he had known before, including anything he had felt with Jenny. This morning it was as though a gentle breeze within him fanned the flame. He lay in bed, not really thinking, staring at the ceiling and allowing himself to feel warmed by this fragile flicker within. He sensed Eileen’s presence now in the room beside him as though she was breathing into him. The flames leapt higher, became stronger, until he felt them roaring within him. He was burning, being consumed by a certain knowledge that was unknown. He was burning, burning, blazing with an unknown love. He did not want to extinguish that fire. He didn’t want to dampen the flames, even though they hurt. He rolled onto his side and allowed himself to cry. The bed felt on fire like a funeral pyre. There was no coolness anywhere – not in the sheets, not on the pillow, not when he threw the sheets from him and faced the frosty temperatures of the room. The only coolness that existed was in the sense of Eileen breathing into him.

  He would not kill Eileen. He knew that the painful burning he was feeling for the first time was indeed remorse. The faces of those whom he had murdered flashed before him – expressionless, floating faces, non-judgemental – appearing and disappearing, as real as if alive. The depth of their pain now twisted within him. He had become each of them. They were embedded in his DNA. He felt the knife wounds he had inflicted on them sink into his own flesh. His body shook with terror. He was gripped by an excruciating desire to get out of his body but he had to stay and face it all. This was his prison, this moment of eternal Hell his own self-judgement. As the flame burned within him he knew for sure that he would never murder again. He was afraid as he shuddered now beneath the blankets pulled around him of what would become of him. Who would he become? He squeezed his eyes tighter as though wishing to blind himself and curled his legs up to his chin. He held them with his arms, rolling onto his back and then rocking backwards and forwards in the bed, oblivious now of time, of where he was and what he could do next.

  • • •

  Sammy and Anne listened carefully to Eileen’s every word at mid-day, as they chewed on the sultana barn-brack bread.

  “That’s a lot to take in.” Sammy shook his head from side to side. “What time did they say they were meeting up?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “You think that they’re heading for Holy Cross Church?”

  “I think so.”

  “Leave it with me.” Sammy got to his feet and shook Eileen’s hand warmly. “Tom and I have already made plans for this evening. But maybe we need reinforcements.”

  “It takes courage to do what you’ve done.” Anne whispered.

  • • •

  Peter caught the train to Lurgan and found his way easily to the nurses’ residence. He knocked on her bedroom door. She slowly opened it. She waved him to sit on the one wooden chair as she perched on the edge of the bed. The room had the feel of a nun’s cell. There were no paintings or pictures on the white walls. A gold lightshade with a cream fringe dangled above his head. The single bed had a primrose yellow candlewick bedspread. The white sheets turned down over the top looked starched. The room’s simplicity conveyed peace.

  It was strange for Peter to see Jenny in her nurse’s uniform. Her hair was pulled into a bun which sat inside a white hat which looked like it had come from a posh Christmas cracker. He didn’t tell her that. She had a dusty blue dress which ended below her knee which was covered with a white cotton apron. She had white plimsolls and wore no earrings or jewellery.

  Her eyes were watery as she listened to Peter explain about the reasons for his visit to Rose the day before.

  “How is Eileen?”

  “I would say focused.”

  “I’m worried about this evening.”

  “I promise I will come here tomorrow and tell you what happened.” Peter sat with his two hands on his knees. Jenny
reached forward and took one hand.

  “Can you not ring tonight? They’ll call me from my room. I won’t sleep otherwise.”

  “Can I tell you a dream that I had about us?” Peter looked embarrassed asking permission.

  “Tell me.”

  Peter explained the dream about being imprisoned and not able to escape while being ‘entertained to death’.

  Jenny laughed for the first time that afternoon. “It looks like you’re the one who is meant to save me from that woman who looks as though she’s wearing a nurse’s uniform.” Jenny looked over her shoulder and giggled. “Maybe it’s Sister Maureen. Although, I don’t know where the games room is.”

  • • •

  At exactly five o’clock in the afternoon, Eileen peered into Saville’s jewellery shop. She could faintly see Lily polishing the counter. She tapped on the window and immediately Lily looked up and waved at her and ran to the front door.

  She hugged Eileen. “Am I glad to see you. Come in. It’s freezing outside.” She turned over the red ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. “Eileen, what on earth are we to do?”

  “Let’s talk. Let’s put the facts on the table and decide.” Eileen perched on a stool behind the counter and waved at Lily to join her on the stool to her left.

  Lily first rummaged in her hand bag, zipped open her leather purse and removed the diamond ring.

  “Let me start. First of all there’s this. You know that Peter gave it to Rose.”

  Lily placed the diamond ring on Eileen’s open palm.