by Joan Lingard
Tommy splashed some brandy into a glass and gave it to his mother.
‘You might have brought me one,’ said his father, ‘I’ve had a bit of a shock myself.’
‘I thought you were going to a Lodge meeting,’ said Tommy. ‘Is it not time you were away?’
‘I’ve a brave excuse for being late the night. It’s not every day you find your daughter’s going out with a Taig.’
‘I’m sorry I let on,’ said Linda. ‘It just slipped out without me knowing it.’
‘Now don’t worry, Linda,’ said Mrs Jackson. ‘You did right to tell us.’
‘Come on, Linda, if you’re coming,’ Tommy stood by the door.
Linda followed him. On the way out he heard his mother saying to his father, ‘I’m real glad Tommy’s going out steady with such a nice girl as Linda.’ Linda heard it too though she did not bat an eyelash. Tommy shut the door behind them and they stood for a moment in the street, the small street of red brick terraced houses in which they had been born and brought up and played together.
Tommy began to walk; she caught up with him. She complained that he was walking too fast He stopped when they were round the side of the house and looked at her.
‘Why did you have to do that?’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ Her lower lip trembled.
‘Oh, come off it, Linda, you knew you were going to tell them from the minute you walked in the door.’
Linda’s lip steadied. ‘Well,’ she said defiantly, ‘I think Sadie’s a right eejit going with a Fenian.’
‘She’s not going with him.’
‘How do you know?’
Tommy stood with his back to the wall with the mural of King Billy behind him, the mural that Kevin McCoy had once mutilated by writing DOWN WITH KING BILLY in white paint across it. It was the first time Linda had ever seen him angry and it made her feel a little afraid. He was usually very peaceable, much more so than Sadie.
‘You don’t know, do you?’ said Linda. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t tell you everything.’
‘She would have told me if she’d met Kevin again, I’m sure of that.’
‘You had a bit of a notion on his sister, hadn’t you?’
‘I did not. I just thought she was a nice girl.’
‘She’s a Mick and she’ll probably have twelve kids.’
‘What’s that to do with it? I wasn’t going to marry her. I was only fourteen at the time.’
He began to walk again. Linda tagged along beside him but he was hardly aware of her. He was thinking about Brede’s soft brown eyes and quiet smile. He had not thought of her for years. There was no point in thinking of her.
‘Don’t be angry with me.’ Linda’s small warm hand crept into his. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, honest I didn’t, Tommy.’
He sighed. ‘O.K.’
‘Shall we get some chocolate in Mrs McConkey’s before we go to the pictures?’
Mrs McConkey kept a small shop in the next street. It sold everything from sweets to sticking plaster. She was reading the evening newspaper with her bosom resting on the counter. Every year her bosom increased until, as Sadie predicted, she might have to take on a larger shop to accommodate it.
‘God help us, what times we’re living in,’ she said, looking up as they came in. ‘It’s time they were doing something about them louts.’
She slapped the paper with her hand. ‘Clodding stones at the Army! Even the women and children are at it.’
‘I don’t think they like getting their houses searched,’ said Tommy.
Mrs McConkey lifted up her bosom from the counter and stared at him. ‘What side are you on anyway?’
‘I was just making a comment.’
‘I think we’ll have a couple of bars of milk chocolate, Mrs McConkey,’ said Linda, pointing at the shelf. The continual talk of the Troubles bored her. As far as possible she didn’t think about it. She wanted to enjoy herself. She didn’t want to throw stones or have them thrown at her. They had done a bit of that when they were younger, but as her mother said, it was not she who had ever wanted to get mixed up in trouble like that, it was Sadie Jackson that had led her into it.
3
Mrs McCoy lifted the last soapy dish from the sink and laid it on the draining board for Brede to dry. Mr McCoy sat in the corner muttering over the evening paper.
‘Let them come and search this house!’ he said. Mrs McCoy said nothing. She wiped her hands on the towel and began to put the dishes away. ‘Why is it always Catholic houses they pick on, tell me that?’ He looked at Brede demandingly.
Brede sighed.
‘The British army has got to be run out of this province,’ he declared.
‘There might be more trouble if they were,’ said Brede.
‘You know nothing about it. You women are all the same. Peace at any price!’
Mrs McCoy and Brede stacked the last of the dishes. The pile of plates was high as there were eight children in the family and next month there would be a ninth.
‘Why don’t you go and lie down, Ma?’ said Brede. ‘You’re looking tired.’
‘I’m all right. I’m just wondering where Kevin is. His tea’s drying up in the oven.’
‘He’ll come back sometime, don’t worry.’
Mrs McCoy worried when he came in late, fearing the worst. She worried when the younger children came in late too, for they roamed the district late at night in company with others taunting the soldiers who patrolled the streets. She made efforts to control them but was often too tired to do very much, and although their father disapproved in principle he did little about it. ‘Kids will be kids,’ he said. ‘Sure they’re all the same. I’d have done the same at their age.’
A loud sound like a gunshot made them all leap towards the door.
‘Holy Mother of God!’ said Mrs McCoy, as she followed her husband and Brede out into the street.
Mr McCoy was shaking his head and laughing. ‘Boys, Albert, you gave a queer fright for a minute there,’ he said.
‘It’s only Uncle Albert’s car,’ said Brede to her mother.
Uncle Albert’s car was rusty and ancient and her mother often declared it was only a miracle that it kept going at all and that it was a mystery to her as to why Albert should deserve such a miracle. He had eleven children at the last count and never did a day’s work if he could avoid it. He lived on Social Security and sponged off his numerous brothers and sisters whenever that money ran out.
‘Now listen, Pete,’ said Mrs McCoy to her husband, ‘don’t you be giving him anything. He never gave you back the last pound he borrowed. We’ve hardly enough to feed ourselves.’
Albert got out of the car and joined them on the pavement.
‘My, you’re growing into a bonny girl, Brede,’ he said. ‘You’ll be going up to the altar before we know it.’
Brede blushed.
‘She’s time enough,’ said her mother sharply. ‘She might as well enjoy herself while she can.’
‘Aye, you didn’t get much chance, did you, Mary?’ said Albert,
‘I’m not complaining.’
Round the corner, on the opposite side of the road came a band of children, walking in single file, each carrying a toy gun or home-made weapon.
There’s our Gerald,’ said Brede.
Gerald was leading the line; further back walked two of the younger McCoys.
‘Gerald,’ called his mother. ‘Come on you in.’
‘Oh Ma, it’s early yet.’ Gerald halted with the line behind him.
‘Let the lad alone,’ said his father. ‘It’s a fine summer night, he’s better out playing than sitting in the house.’
‘I don’t like the games he’s playing.’
‘Ach, all lads play at cops and robbers.’
‘There’s a bit more than playing to what they’re doing.’
‘Can you blame them when they see tanks touring the streets and soldiers with guns?’
Mrs McCoy sighed. It was beyond her. She
had not much time for the Protestants but she would have preferred to live in peace in her street and let them live in theirs and she did not see why there was any need to meet in the middle to fight. She wished she were back in the green fields of County Tyrone where she had grown up as a child. When she was little older than Brede, Pete McCoy, dark and handsome and curly-haired, with a fine persuading tongue on him, had come along and wooed her and brought her to the city. He had told her she would like the town, its bustle and excitement, but all she ever saw of it was this street of brick terraced houses and the main road beyond where she did her shopping. And instead of fishing for tiddlers or climbing trees her children played at death.
‘Up the rebels!’ shouted Albert.
He and his brother laughed and the children cheered. Gerald urged them on and away they went down the street, walking stealthily on the balls of their feet as if they were stalking an enemy.
‘You’ve no call to encourage them like that, Albert,’ said Mrs McCoy quietly.
‘Sure you take everything too seriously,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Come on Albert, I think you and I’ll take a wee trip down to the pub and have ourselves a jar.’
Mrs McCoy turned and went back to the house. Brede stood by the door watching her father and uncle get into the car. It careered off down the street backfiring loudly. It could have been the sound of gunfire. The sound made Brede freeze inside.
She returned to the kitchen where her mother now sat with a basket of mending at her feet. Her face was composed again though her eyes looked sad.
‘Are you all right, Ma?’ asked Brede. Mrs McCoy laughed. ‘I thought I’d take a walk down the street and see Kate for a wee while.’
‘On you go, love. Don’t be late,’ Mrs McCoy added automatically. ‘And if you see Kevin tell him his tea’s getting ruined.’
The street was quiet. Brede walked quickly. As she came to the corner Gerald leapt out on her shouting, ‘Stick ‘em up!’ and pushed a wooden gun into her stomach.
She turned the gun aside. ‘For goodness sake, Gerald, one of these days you’ll do it to the wrong person.’
Gerald swung the gun from side to side pretending it was a machine gun, making a noise to represent the sound of its fire. Several of the other children slumped back against the wall clutching their chests and stomachs and sliding to the ground. On the wall was written in large letters UP THE I.R.A. and REMEMBER 1916.
Brede picked her way over the collapsed bodies of the children and carried on towards Kate’s father’s scrapyard. Kate and her family lived in a house beside it.
Kate was at home, sitting in her bedroom reading a magazine and allowing the polish to dry on her nails. She spent a great deal of time painting and polishing herself. She was pleased to see Brede.
‘I was dead bored,’ she said. There’s nothing doing round this place.’
There’s plenty doing in some ways. ‘Brede leaned out of the window and looked back up the street. Those kids worry me.’
‘Kids!’ Kate blew on her nails, ‘We were just the same at their age.’
‘Not quite. They’re much worse.’
‘We got into a bad fight ourselves once, you’ll hardly be forgetting that.’
‘Hardly.’
They had fought against a gang of Protestants and Brede had been badly hurt. She had been taken to hospital in an ambulance and Kevin had travelled behind in a police car with Sadie and Tommy Jackson, two of the Protestants. She thought about them now as she looked down on to the street and wondered what they would be doing.
She put her back to the window and leaned against the ledge.
‘Have you seen Kevin at all?’ she asked.
‘Not since he left the yard. Has he not been home?’
Brede shook her head and shrugged. She was not really worried about him. He liked to wander far afield, hated to be confined within a few streets.
‘I thought he might have been round to see me the night,’ said Kate. ‘He’s not got another girl, has he?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Kate tried to cling on to Kevin but most of the time she irritated him, and this Brede knew.
The voices from the street grew louder. Brede turned to look out of the window again. The children were running about excitedly.
She leaned out further and saw that two soldiers were coming down the road. Then an arm was raised and a brick went through the air.
‘Trouble,’ she cried quickly and ran from the room.
She ran out of the house followed by Kate. Kate’s mother was calling after them shouting to them to come back but they paid no attention. The children were all throwing stones now and anything else they could lay hands on. One of the soldiers had a streak of blood on the side of his head. They had both stopped dead, confronted by the children, their guns powerless in their hands. The soldiers looked young, no more than twenty years old.
For one moment they stood still, then they turned and ran.
‘Yeller,’ screamed a child. ‘Cowardy cowardy custards!’
A cheer went up. They danced round and round yelling, brandishing their weapons above their heads.
‘Fool!’ cried Brede, seizing Gerald by the arm.
Gerald shook himself free and danced out of her reach. ‘Traitor,’ he shouted back at her.
‘You’ve no right to be calling him a fool,’ said a voice behind her.
She wheeled round to see Brian Rafferty, an old friend of Kevin’s, standing there. He was well over six feet tall now and had shoulders almost as wide as his father’s. His father, Pat Rafferty, was well known in the district for his capacity for fighting. He had fists like hams and he raised them at the slightest provocation. Brian was becoming more and more like him.
‘He’s no fool to be fighting for his country.’
‘Fighting for his country! Brian Rafferty, you make me sick!’
‘Brede McCoy, I never knew you had such a temper in you.’ Brian laughed softly. ‘I always thought you were that meek and mild.’
‘I’m not meek and mild when I see my young brother throwing bricks at soldiers.’
‘The soldiers are asking for it. They’re occupying our country.’
‘It’s not their fault. They’d probably rather be at home.’
‘Ah, give over arguing you two,’ said Kate, who was lounging against the wall. ‘Why don’t we all go to the chippy and have a Coke? Kevin might be down there.’
Brede looked at Gerald and said, ‘Go home at once, Gerald, or I’ll send your da after you.’
‘Aye, away home now, you lot,’ said Brian. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Right, Brian,’ said Gerald. He saluted smartly, clicking his heels.
The children went at once. Brede watched them go wonderingly. Brian was looking very well pleased with himself.
‘You haven’t been encouraging them have you, Brian?’ she asked slowly.
He laughed. He put his hands into his pockets and sauntered off down the street.
I used to like him,’ said Brede. ‘Now I’m not sure. He’s changed.’
Kate yawned. ‘I heard, he’s got himself mixed up with the Provos.’
‘Surely not!’
The Provisionals were a splinter group from the Irish Republican Army. They were dedicated to the unification of Ireland and believed that they could only achieve their end by violence.
‘Let’s go down to the chippy,’ said Kate.
Brede shivered. ‘I’m cold. I’m going home.’
She said good-night to Kate and ran all the way to her house. Her mother was still sitting in the kitchen mending. She looked up with a sock in her hand as Brede came in.
‘What’s up? Anything happened, Brede?’
‘Have the kids come in?’
Mrs McCoy nodded. ‘I’ve sent them up to bed.’
Brede hesitated a moment.
She looked at her mother’s tired face and knew that she could not give her anything more to worry about. She would talk
to Kevin.
‘Kevin hasn’t been back?’
‘No. Not a sign of him. Well, he’ll just have to starve for his meal’s burnt to a cinder.’
Brede went up to the room that she shared with her three sisters. They were in bed; one was asleep, the other two were playing cards. Brede took a book and sat by the window but she did not read. Every time she heard a step in the street she looked down to see if it was Kevin.
4
Sadie and Kevin sat on the top of Cave Hill with the city spread out below them. They looked down at the great sprawl of factories, offices and houses that were gradually eating further and further into the green countryside beyond. Into the midst of the town came Belfast Lough. It was blue this evening, under a blue, nearly cloudless sky, speckled with ships and spiked by the shipyard gantries.
‘I like looking down on the town,’ said Kevin.
‘Me too,’ said Sadie. ‘It looks so peaceful. I wish it were!’
It was peaceful up there on the hill with the wind playing round their faces and tousling their hair. Sadie sat with her knees up to her chin, hugging her legs. She felt at ease with Kevin, though of course it was seldom she felt ill-at-ease with anybody, but she also felt a sort of contentment that she was unused to.
‘Its funny,’ she began.
‘What?’ He turned on one elbow to look at her.
‘I was just thinking a place looks better if you’ve got somebody with you.’
‘Two pairs of eyeballs are better than one. As long as they’re the right two pairs of course.’
He has a sweet tongue on him, she thought. He was gazing back down at the city again. She stole a look at him. His face was not very broad but it was firm and had a suggestion of strength about it; it was also deeply tanned with the look of one who was seldom indoors. He probably went home only to sleep. She understood the feeling of restlessness in him. She had it herself.
He pointed down at the ships.
‘Have you ever been in a boat, Sadie? A proper one?’
‘No. Only a row boat at Bangor.’
They both laughed.
‘We’ll go to Bangor one day again, will we?’ said Kevin. ‘And I’ll take you out in a row boat. I’ll row you across the sea to Scotland. How would you like that?’