Across the Barricades

by Joan Lingard

  ‘I hope you’re not looking at me,’ said Kevin quietly. ‘I hate your guts but I wouldn’t inform on you.’

  ‘Expect me to believe that?’ Brian spat his chewing gum into the gutter.

  ‘Believe whatever you like, I’m not interested in what cowards believe.’

  ‘Cowards?’ Brian swung round, eyes blazing.

  ‘Yes, cowards. Anyone who has to bring two helpers to beat up one person is yellow right to the middle.’

  At that moment the soldiers clattered out of the Raf-fertys’ house. They were empty-handed.

  ‘Satisfied?’ demanded Mrs Rafferty.

  They did not answer; they went on to the next door. Brian Rafferty laughed, a loud triumphant laugh that made his mother look at him.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she called. ‘And where’s your da? That’s what I’d like to know. He’d have given those louts hell if he’d been here. Come on in for your supper.’

  ‘Go on to your mammy,’ said Kevin.

  Brian glowered.

  ‘Come on this minute,’ said his mother, and he went.

  Kevin limped back up the street. The soldiers went from house to house, followed by a crowd of jeering children. They came eventually to the McCoys’.

  Mr McCoy blustered for a few minutes, with Uncle Albert putting in some remarks, and then Brede put her hand on her father’s arm. ‘Might just as well let them,’ she said. ‘Save a lot of time.’

  The soldiers were quiet and solemn. Theirs was a difficult job. They had to keep their tempers whilst all around were losing theirs.

  They searched the McCoys’ house and found nothing. Kevin sighed with relief, not that he had any reason to feel guilty, but for a few minutes, when they were inside, it had come to him that Brian Rafferty might have planted his gun in their backyard or under the stairs. It would be easy enough to do: their door was unlocked all day.

  The whole street was searched and not a thing found. The soldiers drove off to a chorus of booing and abuse, and a hail of stones.

  They’ve only got what they asked for,’ declared Mr McCoy.

  The neighbours were angry. Voices were raised in the street for a full hour afterwards.

  ‘Certainly it’s not a nice thing to have your home pulled over,’ said Brede with a sigh, as they sat in the kitchen drinking another cup of tea.

  ‘I thought an Englishman’s home was meant to be his castle,’ said Uncle Albert.

  ‘That’s if you’re an Englishman,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘If you’re an Irishman it’s a different matter. You get treated like dirt by everyone.’

  ‘I’m away to bed,’ said Kevin.

  He lay in bed listening to the voices outside. Most he knew well for he had been listening to them for nearly eighteen years. He was just on the borders of sleep when the armoured cars returned to the street. The noise made him blink, and sleep slipped away. What was up now?

  The cars were stopping outside their house. Feet clattered on the pavement, voices rang out. Kevin sat up, resting on one elbow, frowning. Gerald sat up too and nipped out of bed to go to the window.

  ‘There’s soldiers at our door,’ said Gerald. He hung out of the window with an imaginary machine gun in his hands and sprayed them below, making the sound of machine gun fire.

  ‘Quit it, Gerald,’ said Kevin.

  He pushed back the bedclothes and joined Gerald at the window. The door had been opened now and the men were holding a conversation with Mr McCoy.

  ‘Don’t be so daft,’ Mr McCoy was saying. ‘Away and have your heads examined.’

  The bedroom door opened behind Gerald and Kevin. Brede slipped into the room.

  ‘The soldiers have come for you, Kevin,’ she whispered.

  For me? But what-?’

  Uncle Albert appeared behind Brede, pushing her aside. ‘Come on, boy, I’ll get you over the back wall while your da keeps them talking.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘They’re after you.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’ Kevin held out his hands. ‘You don’t think I’m going to go jumping over the back wall in my pyjamas at this time of night, do you?’

  ‘Better that than end up in the jail,’ said Uncle Albert.

  But the soldiers were in the house by now anyway. Kevin started to dress. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to Brede. ‘There’s some mistake. I haven’t been in any trouble.’

  ‘Kevin.’ Mr McCoy came panting up the stairs.

  ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Now then, don’t get excited, son. We’ll get you out of this somehow.’

  ‘It’s not me that’s excited. And when I find out what I’m supposed to be in then we can talk of getting out of it.’

  Kevin went down to the front room. Three soldiers stood there looking large in the small space. A box was lying on the table: it was the box that had been under Brian Rafferty’s bed. Kevin half closed his eyes.

  ‘You recognize it, I see,’ said the officer.

  ‘You see nothing of the kind,’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘I’d prefer to speak to your son, Mr McCoy.’ The officer looked at Kevin. ‘Do you know what’s in this box?’

  Kevin swallowed. ‘No.’

  The officer flipped it open so that they could see the gun and ammunition.

  ‘You didn’t find that in this house,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘And you’re not going to get away with pretending that you did.’

  ‘I haven’t said that,’ The officer was keeping his eyes on Kevin’s face, ‘We found it in Kelly’s scrapyard,’

  ‘And what’s that to do with us?’ demanded Mr McCoy.

  ‘Your son works there.’

  ‘He hasn’t been at work this past two weeks. He got beat up by a gang of thugs. Look at him!’

  ‘But you’ve got a key to the yard, haven’t you?’ the officer asked Kevin.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what does that prove?’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Uncle Albert. ‘Not a blinking thing. Sure ould Kelly must have half a dozen keys to his yard.’

  ‘Half the time the place isn’t locked up anyway,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Anyone could shin over the wall even if it was.’

  Kevin said nothing. He felt as if his lips were frozen, as if he were caught up in a nightmare in which he found that he was unable to speak. Found guilty by his silence.

  ‘We have reason to believe that your son hid this box in the scrapyard, Mr McCoy,’ said the officer.

  ‘Reason? You’d believe anything it’d suit you to believe.’

  ‘What have you to say?’ the officer asked Kevin.

  Kevin moistened his lips. ‘I know nothing about it.’

  ‘You were seen taking the box into the yard.’

  ‘Seen?’ Kevin found his voice coming back with a surge of anger. ‘By whom?’

  ‘We will discuss that at the police station. I think it would be better. But we do have a witness.’

  ‘A witness?’ said Brede. The quietness of her voice made the soldier pause.

  ‘I think we have a right to know who it is,’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘It might be better not. We don’t want reprisals or anything like that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be Kate Kelly, would it?’ asked Brede.

  The officer started.

  ‘So it was,’ said Brede.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Instinct.’

  ‘She’s got a fine instinct,’ declared Mr McCoy. ‘Just like her mother. So that wee brat Kate Kelly’s been telling tales, has she?’

  ‘We have to decide if they’re lies or not. She was reluctant to reveal your son’s name –’ He broke off as Kevin laughed derisively. ‘But she had to protect her father. After all, the box was found in his yard and he could have been blamed for it.’

  ‘So it’s her word against mine,’ said Kevin. ‘Well, I’ll come down to the barracks and you can bring her there and I’ll face her with it. You’ll see then who’s telling the truth.’

/>   ‘I don’t know if that’ll be possible. She was very upset.’

  ‘I bet she was,’ said Kevin sarcastically.

  ‘You can prove nothing,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘And you can wait on me. I’m coming too.’

  Brede sat up all night with Uncle Albert waiting for them to come home. The birds began to chirp, the first flushes of colour came into the sky, and still there was no sign of her father and brother.

  ‘They can prove nothing,’ said Uncle Albeit for the hundredth time.

  ‘I think I’ll take a walk down and see what’s going on,’ she said when the hands on the red and cream kitchen clock stood at seven.

  ‘I’ll come with you, Brede.’

  ‘No, no, don’t bother, Uncle Albert. You just stay here in case any of the wee ones should wake.’

  He would be asleep before she returned. As she left the kitchen his eyelids were closing.

  She ran all the way to the police station and arrived breathless. She asked the sergeant on duty if she could speak to the officer who had brought in her brother for questioning. At that moment the soldier came out of a room and recognized Brede,

  ‘Can I have a word with you?’ asked Brede.

  He nodded. He came over to her.

  ‘It’s about Kate Kelly. I think you ought to know that she has a grudge against my brother Kevin.’ Brede gulped and went on, ‘You see she’s rather keen on him and he’s given her the go-by. So I don’t think you could call her an unbiased witness.’

  The officer smiled fleetingly. ‘Perhaps not. As a matter of fact I’d begun to suspect something of the kind. I’ve been back to talk to her. And your brother’s sticking to his statement that he had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I’m sure he had not,’ said Brede.

  ‘You don’t know who did?’

  Brede shook her head.

  ‘And if you did you wouldn’t say, would you?’

  ‘Well… I don’t know. But since I don’t know there’s nothing I could tell you anyway. So you’ll let my brother go then?’

  ‘We can’t keep him. I think he knows something about it but he won’t tell us what. No one will ever tell us anything. If you hang on a minute you can go home with him and your father.’

  ‘No, I’ll not wait. I’d rather you didn’t say I’d come and told you about Kate Kelly.’

  ‘O.K.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Brede ran back home. Uncle Albert was snoring, head slumped on the table between his arms. He sat up abruptly when she came in.

  ‘What the devil’s going on?’

  ‘It’s all right. I think father and Kevin will be coming soon.’

  They arrived five minutes later. Mr McCoy had a great deal to say about the police and the British army, slander, injustice, politics, the Border, the English… Uncle Albert nodded from time to time but was unable to get in a word. Kevin ate the breakfast that Brede cooked for him. He was silent and brooding. He did not even seem to be listening to what his father was saying. Brede was unhappy about the look in his eyes.

  He stood up.

  ‘Are you going to bed, Kevin?’ asked Brede. ‘It would do you good to have some sleep.’

  ‘I don’t feel like sleep.’

  She did not like the sound of his voice either. It was full of foreboding. She said, ‘But you look dead beat.’

  ‘I’m going out.’ It was an announcement; no one would stop him.

  ‘Well, don’t go killing yourself trailing around the streets,’ said his father, breaking off in the midst of a dissertation on the treatment of Ulster by the Westminster Government. ‘No wonder a pair of shoes never lasts long on your feet.’

  Kevin walked out.

  ‘Be careful, Kevin,’ Brede called after him.

  ‘Albert, they can send the whole of the British army over here and it’ll not solve a thing,’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘Aye, you’re right, Pete, you’re right.’

  ‘Da, I’m worried about Kevin,’ said Brede.

  ‘Sure you’re always worrying about something. Just like your mother.’

  ‘But I think he’s away out to get the one that framed him.’

  Mr McCoy turned in his seat ‘Kate Kelly.’

  ‘Not her.’

  ‘Who then? Does he know who put that box in the yard?’

  Brede shrugged. Her face flushed. She went to the sink to start the washing up.

  ‘Do you know, Brede?’ demanded her father.

  ‘Me? How would I know?’ she asked. ‘I’ll just go and take a look for the milkman.’

  She went out on to the pavement. Kevin was going slowly down the street, sauntering almost, like one who had nothing in particular to do. As he drew level with the Raffertys’ house she saw him turn his head and stare at it. She went back inside.

  Kevin reached the end of the street, turned the corner into the next one, passed the scrapyard. A few yards along an alley ran between two blocks of houses. He slipped into it and stood with his back resting against the Wall. The morning sun was warm on his face. Brian Rafferty should be along in a few minutes on his way to work.

  16

  ‘You have been warned.’ Mr Blake read the last words of the letter and shook his head. ‘Do you hear that, Jack?’ he said. ‘I have been warned.’ Jack got to his feet on hearing his name and wagged his tail. ‘Nobody will tell me what to do, Jack. There’s only one thing to be done with anonymous letters. Burn them. We’ll burn them all, Jack.’

  Mr Blake clicked on his lighter and held the flame to the edge of the paper. The page curled slowly, then burst into fire about half way up. He dropped it on to the grate. The writing on this first letter was different to the one that had come the day before. He took the hearth brush and shovel and swept up the ashes in case Sadie should suspect anything. She was very sharp, and he did not want her to be worried.

  He was tipping the ashes into the bucket in the kitchen when the front door bell rang. He looked at his watch. It was a bit early yet for Sadie.

  He opened the door and Kevin half fell into the hall. Mr Blake supported him. There was blood on Kevin’s shirt.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kevin. ‘I seem to be making a habit of it. Collapsing on you.’

  Mr Blake took him into the sitting-room and sat him on the settee.

  ‘I’m all right really,’ said Kevin. ‘It looks worse than it is.’

  ‘But you’ve blood on you. Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘It’s not mine.’

  ‘Whose is it then?’

  ‘Fellow by the name of Rafferty, Brian Rafferty. Remember I told you about him?’

  ‘The one with the gun?’

  Kevin nodded. He told Mr Blake what had happened during the night and how in the morning he had waited in the alley for Rafferty and had beaten him up. ‘It was as if the devil was in me,’ said Kevin. ‘You don’t think I should have done it, do you?’

  ‘I understand why you did, Kevin.’

  ‘But you think it was wrong?’

  ‘I don’t like violence of any kind.’ Mr Blake lit his pipe. ‘But it’s what you think that counts.’

  ‘I don’t know what I think.’ Kevin put his head back against the settee. His face was pale and drawn. ‘But I feel sick. I felt sick when I stood and looked down at Rafferty. It’s not that I care about him very much.’ He frowned. ‘I wanted to fight him, I wanted to kill him, but after I’d got him down there lying at my feet I wished I hadn’t done it. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It seemed stupid somehow. I don’t know. I don’t really understand myself. He deserved it after all.’

  ‘I suppose you could say he deserved it,’ Mr Blake agreed. ‘But maybe you feel it didn’t do you any good beating him up?’ The front door bell buzzed. ‘That’ll be Sadie. Shall I tell her about it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kevin, closing his eyes.

  Mr Blake took Sadie to the kitchen to recount the story. He waited patiently between sentences to give her
time to explode. If she got hold of Kate Kelly she was going to tear her to ribbons and when she heard that Kevin had beaten up Brian she nodded with satisfaction. ‘He was needing a lesson,’ she said.

  ‘It seems that Kevin has got one from it,’ said Mr Blake, and went on to tell her of Kevin’s reaction.

  ‘But what does he feel like that for?’ she demanded. ‘Rafferty framed him, and don’t forget he beat Kevin up before! With two others to help him.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. Neither had Kevin. But what’s the next thing? More blood?’

  Sadie bit her lip. ‘But he couldn’t have let Rafferty get away with it.’

  ‘It’s not Rafferty I’m bothered about. It’s Kevin. He’s not feeling very happy. Put on the kettle, Sadie, and make him a cup of sweet tea. It might calm the sickness in his stomach.’

  She made the tea and took a cup to Kevin. He smiled bleakly at her as she sat down beside him.

  ‘I’m a right looking sight,’ he said.

  ‘You look all right to me. Come on, drink some tea and you’ll be feeling better. And then after that you’re to lie down in Mr Blake’s bed and take a rest.’

  ‘Bossy this morning, aren’t you?’

  ‘There’s times you need a bit of bossing.’ She held the cup for him whilst he drank. His own hand shook when he tried to take it from her.

  ‘Maybe I am a bit tired,’ he said.

  Whilst he slept she washed Brian Rafferty’s blood out of Kevin’s shirt. She watched the dirty water run out down the drain. Water tinged with blood. Suddenly she felt a bit sick herself. She pushed open the windows over the sink. Mr Blake was in the back garden weeding round his rose bushes. He was proud of his roses; he had told Sadie all the different names though she could not remember them.

  ‘O.K.?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  She rinsed the shirt three times in dean water, wrung it out and took it to the garden to hang it up to dry. She strung it out, pegged it and stood back to examine it. Not a shadow of a stain.

  ‘I hope he hasn’t killed Rafferty,’ she said to Mr Blake. ‘You don’t think he would, do you?’

  ‘It’s unlikely.’

  Sadie knelt down beside him. ‘But he might have. You never know, Rafferty might have hit his head on the ground when he fell.’