Across the Barricades

by Joan Lingard

  He looked out across the street at the barbed-wire barricades, a burnt-out bus turned over on its side, two armoured cars parked close together with half a dozen soldiers near-by, guns held at the ready. Chaos and destruction. He was sick of it. Sick of it.

  He continued through the streets towards his own, skirting patches of pavement where the paving stones had been lifted. He stepped back to let a horde of small screaming children pass. They brandished home-made guns and pieces of stick high in the air. Whooping and yelling, on they went. Yelling for blood.

  As he reached the scrapyard he looked sideways through the open gate. Mr Kelly was there sifting through junk. He glanced up at Kevin.

  ‘Hey, Kevin!’

  Kevin stopped.

  Mr Kelly came running.

  Kevin set down the two bags and flexed his wrists.

  ‘I was wanting a word with you, son.’ Mr Kelly cleared his throat. ‘It’s just that I’d like you to come back and work for me.’

  Kevin stared at him for a moment, then said, ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Now look here, Kevin boy, we all make mistakes in our time. I’m right sorry about that gun business. I don’t believe you did it at all. Could you not be forgiving me?’

  ‘I have forgiven you.’

  ‘That’s all right then. Will you come back? I’m needing you and I miss your company when I’m out with the truck. We always got on fine together, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you say, Kevin?’ Mr Kelly rubbed his hands together with an air of nervousness. ‘I’ll put up your wage.’

  ‘I’m sorry. No.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘I just don’t want the job back. The less of these streets I see the better.’

  Kevin walked on.

  Mrs Raflferty was at her door. ‘Morning, Kevin,’ she called out.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Rafferty.’

  ‘Getting in the messages then? You’ll be a right good housewife in no time at all.’ She laughed, a high-pitched laugh that followed him the rest of the way along the street.

  He shut the door of the house tight behind him. It was not often that they closed the door in daytime but today he wanted to shut out the world.

  He unpacked the bag, put away the things in the cupboard. The list lay on the table. Insurance day. The Insurance man would call and he would take the money from the vase on the mantelpiece and the man would make some crack about Kevin in the kitchen. He could stand the cracks, but the restlessness inside him and the disgust he felt for what was happening all around were different matters. It was as if a boil was building up in the middle of him, getting bigger and bigger every day. He knew it was only a matter of time before it would burst.

  19

  There were disturbances in the night: the sound of gunfire, rumble of armoured cars, shouting in the distance, the flicker of flames against the sky. No one in the Jackson house slept very much. Their own street was quiet but the activity on the fringe of the area kept them on edge.

  ‘Sounds like the I.R.A. fighting it out,’ commented Mr Jackson as he sat drinking tea in the kitchen at two o’clock in the morning.

  ‘How do you know?’ said Sadie. ‘Could be anybody.’

  ‘I don’t know what we’re all doing sitting here,’ said Mrs Jackson. She scratched her scalp between the rollers and yawned. ‘It’s not as if we haven’t heard the sound of guns before. It’s funny how you get used to the murders after a bit.’

  ‘You can get used to anything,’ said Tommy. ‘You have to live.’

  Sadie looked at the clock. She ought to go to bed and get a few hours sleep. She planned to leave the house before seven to go and meet Kevin but now she was afraid that she might sleep in and he would be sitting waiting for her in a field twenty miles outside Belfast, watching the road, thinking she was never coming. But he would wait, she knew that.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ asked her mother. ‘Can’t see anything funny about shooting matches, myself.’

  ‘I was thinking of something else.’ Sadie stood up. ‘I’m off to bed. Oh, and by the way, I’ll be going out early in the morning so don’t worry if I’m gone when you get up.’

  ‘And where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m spending the day with the Hendersons.’

  ‘I don’t know why you don’t move out there while you’re at it.’

  Sadie left them drinking more cups of tea and went up to bed. She lay listening to the noises and gradually drifted into sleep.

  It was light when she woke. It was past seven. She leapt out of bed and pulled on some clothes. As she was brushing her hair she heard a car come down the road slowly and stop outside. Pulling back the curtain she saw that it was the Hendersons’ car. Mike Henderson got out and knocked on their door.

  ‘Who in the name is that at this hour of the morning?’ She heard her father’s voice as she raced down the stairs. Her parents always slept with the door of their bedroom open.

  She opened the front door. She looked at Mike’s face and then said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  She nodded. He stepped into the narrow hallway.

  ‘Who is it, Sadie?’ called her mother.

  ‘It’s Mr Henderson.’

  ‘Mr Henderson?’ The bed springs creaked, followed by muttering overhead.

  Sadie took Mike into the kitchen, closed the door.

  ‘Tell me quickly,’ she said. ‘They’ll be down in a minute to see what’s going on.’

  ‘Sadie –’ Mike paused; he put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ve got bad news for you.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Her eyes widened. She felt that she had lived through this moment before. ‘Has something happened to Mr Blake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Footsteps above now.

  ‘What is it? Is he dead?’

  Mike nodded.

  ‘He can’t be dead,’ Sadie cried. ‘I saw him yesterday.’

  ‘Someone threw a petrol bomb into his house last night. The place went up in minutes and he didn’t get out.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Sadie stared at Mike. It was impossible to believe. It was a mistake, a dream, a nightmare.

  ‘Swine!’ said Mike bitterly, anger blazing in his eyes. ‘He never hurt anyone in his life.’

  Sadie sat down at the table. ‘Is it true?’ she asked. Now she was beginning to know that it was. The knowledge was seeping through to her brain.

  Mike sat down beside her. ‘I”m afraid it’s true,’ he said, quiet now.

  Sadie was weeping with her head on the table and Mike’s arms round her shoulders when Mrs Jackson came in.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Sadie’s had a shock, Mrs Jackson.’

  Sadie lifted her head. ‘Mr Blake’s been killed, Ma.’

  ‘Killed?’ Mrs Jackson put her hand to her throat.

  ‘His house was bombed last night.’

  Mr Jackson came in with his shirt hanging over his trousers, followed by Tommy in his pyjamas.

  ‘Sadie’s Mr Blake’s been murdered,’ said Mrs Jackson to them.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ cried Sadie. ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Sadie,’ said Mike. ‘You mustn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s true, it’s true!’

  Mr Jackson shook his head. ‘What’s it all about? How is it your fault, Sadie?’

  ‘It isn’t, Mr Jackson,’ said Mike. ‘She’s had a shock. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

  ‘I think I’d better make a cup of tea.’ Mrs Jackson lifted the kettle. ‘Jim. get her a glass of brandy from the front room.’

  Mr Jackson, moving in a state of bewilderment, went to fetch the brandy. Tommy sat down on the other side of his sister. The gas flame hissed under the kettle.

  ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘You never know who’ll be next.’

  Sadie took the glass from her father and drank. She felt sick. Sh
e wanted to vomit.

  ‘Take another sip,’ said Mike. ‘It’ll settle your stomach.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell us what happened,’ said Mr Jackson.

  Mike told them what he knew, which was little. No one had seen the bomb being thrown. No one had noticed any strangers in the district. It was not an area accustomed to bombing. There had never been any trouble there before. Sadie quietened. She dried her tears, drank her sweet tea, leaning on the table for support. She felt weak right to the centre of her body.

  Then she remembered Kevin who would have set out already for their meeting place, not knowing what had happened. She looked at Mike. ‘If you’re going now I’ll come with you.’

  He nodded, knowing by the expression in her eyes that she was thinking of Kevin.

  ‘There’s no call for you to go, Sadie,’ said her father.

  ‘I want to go.’

  ‘I want you to stay in.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said her mother, There’s nothing for you to do anyway.’

  ‘I must go. I must.’

  ‘Let her go,’ said Tommy. ‘She’ll come to no harm.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ said Mike.

  Mrs Jackson sighed. ‘Oh, all right.’

  Kevin was there, at the spot they had arranged, lying on a grassy bank on his back, with the sun on his face. He sat up when he heard the car.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, smiling at Mike. Mike and Sadie sat down beside him, one on either side. Kevin frowned. ‘Is there anything up?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Mike.

  It was a big funeral. Mr Blake had been well known and liked in the neighbourhood. Sadie sat with Moira in her house watching the procession pass down the street. She saw Kevin’s head bent down, his face bleak below the dark fall of hair. Sadie gulped, covering her mouth with her hands.

  ‘Come on, honey,’ said Moira. ‘Have this cup of coffee.’

  Sadie took the cup and drank, like an obedient child. In the last few days she had drunk more cups of tea and coffee than she would have thought possible. It was something to do. She had never known days could be so long. She went to bed exhausted at night and wept in her pillow and wakened exhausted in the morning to think at once of Mr Blake.

  ‘It doesn’t seem possible,’ she said.

  Moira sank into an armchair. She, too, looked tired and drawn. The children were staying with her mother in the country who was worried in case the bomb-thrower might choose the Hendersons as his next target. ‘You never know, Moira,’ her mother had said. ‘After all, you’re Catholic and Mike’s Protestant. I told you you’d have trouble some day. It’s not that I’m not fond of Mike, you know that I am, but it would have been easier if he’d been Catholic’

  Mike had said his mother-in-law was talking rubbish, that there was no chance of them getting a bomb through the window but Moira had said that it might be as well to have the children out of the way until the funeral was over, and the fresh country air would do them good. She might even go down and spend a week with them herself afterwards. ‘Why don’t you go and live there?’ Mike had flung back at her and they had almost had a row. She knew that he himself was anxious about the whole situation in the city.

  ‘We ought to be used to things like this,’ said Moira. ‘But when it happens to a friend you feel bewildered at the idea of people wanting to kill.’

  After the funeral service Mike and Kevin came back. Mike bent over Moira to kiss her and asked, ‘You all right?’ She nodded.

  Kevin sat down beside Sadie on the settee. She slipped her hand into his. It was ice cold. ‘Hello,’ he said, trying to smile at her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said softly.

  ‘I think I need a little whisky to warm me up,’ Mike opened the sideboard door. ‘What about you, Kevin? Do you good.’

  ‘Just a little.’

  Mike raised his glass to Kevin’s. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘here’s to the memory of Mr Blake. We won’t forget him.’

  ‘We certainly won’t,’ said Kevin. ‘And if I ever get my hands on the louts that did it I’ll kill them!’ His eyes flashed and colour spread across his cheeks.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to, would you, Kevin?’ said Mike.

  Kevin subsided. He shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t want to… But there’s times when I feel such a rage inside me…’

  ‘I know,’ said Mike quietly. ‘I feel rage too. But I don’t want their blood on my hands.’

  Kevin looked down at the hand that held Sadie’s and tightened his hold on hers. ‘No, I wouldn’t want their blood on me either,’ he said. ‘Will you come for a walk with me, Sadie?’

  They walked on Cave Hill, above the city.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he began.

  ‘Yes?’

  He turned and looked into her face and said quickly, ‘Sadie, I’ve got to go away. I can’t stay here any longer. I haven’t a job and I’m sick of bombs and people getting killed! And now that this has happened with Mr Blake…’ He paused, then continued, ‘It’s not a case of running away, you mustn’t think that. I just don’t want any part of what’s going on here. I don’t like the way we’ve got to live. It’s not living anyway. Not living the way I want it.’

  She did not speak for a moment. She stared down at Belfast Lough lying below, seeing it blur and then come sharply into focus again. She swallowed. ‘When will you go?’ she asked.

  ‘Next week.’

  20

  Brede finished cutting the sandwiches and laid them in a plastic lunch box. Her mother was pouring tea from the kettle into a thermos flask. Her face was hot and flushed. Her eyes were on the golden brown stream of liquid, watching carefully that not a drop would spill, but her mind was on something else. Her eldest son was going away.

  She covered the stopper with greaseproof paper, pushed it in to the neck of the flask. She looked round at her husband. He sat at the table in his shirt-sleeves, reading the evening paper, scratching his head. He had tried to talk Kevin out of going away, but not very convincingly. He knew that Kevin could not wander the streets indefinitely without a job. Besides, the streets were no place to wander these days. And it was not the first time a family had seen one of its children cross the water to England to get work.

  Kevin came into the kitchen wearing his suit. She had bought it for him two years back for church-going. He had broadened since then and now it pulled across his shoulders. His mother took a handkerchief from her overall pocket and blew her nose.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Hey, come on now,’ he said. ‘It’s not that bad. I’ll be back to see you in no time at all. Anyway, I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me for a while.’

  ‘One less shirt to wash and iron,’ said Brede, trying to fall in with his banter.

  ‘One less mouth to feed,’ said Kevin.

  ‘And a big one at that,’ said Brede.

  ‘I’ll be sending you money too,’ said Kevin.

  ‘You’ll need to get a job first,’ said his father.

  ‘I’m not worried about that. They’re all waiting for me over there to land,’ Kevin patted his mother’s shoulder and walked over to the mirror to straighten his tie. He hated wearing a tie and seldom did, but it would please his mother to see him departing in a suit and tie, neat and respectable, and a credit to her.

  ‘Better not be thinking the streets of Liverpool are paved with gold,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘I hear there’s plenty out of work there too.’

  ‘Who said anything about Liverpool?’ Kevin gave the tie a final twist.’ I might go to London.’

  ‘London?’ said Mrs McCoy doubtfully, for the sound of that was worse than Liverpool which could be reached by only crossing over a stretch of water. ‘It’s a big city.’

  ‘The bigger the better! There, how do I look?’

  ‘The girls of London will fall about when they see you,’ said Brede.

  ‘Aye, they’ll likely think I’m a right looking eejit.’ He laugh
ed, and so did Brede.

  He glanced quickly at the red and cream kitchen clock on the dresser. His mother’s eyes swivelled to it too.

  ‘I’ll have to be off, Ma.’

  She nodded. She set the plastic box of sandwiches and flask on the table. ‘Have you room for them in your case?’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’ He lifted his case on to the table, opened it and put in the food. His mother fussed over the flask, insisting on wrapping it in a napkin in case the tea would leak out over his clothes.

  ‘Your Uncle Albert would have run you to the boat,’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘I didn’t want any fuss.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right to be going away without one of your family to see you off,’ said Mr McCoy.

  ‘Would you not like me to come with you, Kevin?’ asked Brede.

  ‘I’d just as soon go alone.’

  ‘O.K.’

  ‘You could walk down the street with me though.’

  She reached for her coat that hung on the back of the door. Mr McCoy stood up. He cleared his throat.

  ‘You’ll write?’ he said.

  ‘As soon as I’m settled.’

  ‘Watch the company you keep, and don’t do anything rash.’ Mr McCoy put his hand in his pocket. ‘Here’s an extra fiver. You might need it.’ When Kevin protested, he pushed the note into his hand. ‘Go on, take it. It’s not often you get the chance of a fiver from me. One of these days I’ll maybe be in need of one myself and then I’ll come to you.’

  ‘I’ll keep you in comfort in your old age, Da.’

  ‘Aye, that’d be right!’ Mr McCoy held out his hand to Kevin. ‘Good luck, son.’

  ‘Thanks, Da.’ Kevin took his father’s hand.

  ‘Brede,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘call the children and tell them Kevin’s leaving.’

  ‘Kevin’s leaving.’ The call went down the street; the children came running.

  Kevin kissed his mother in the hall. She would cry after he had gone but her eyes were dry now. She told him to see that he got enough food to eat and to make sure that he found digs with a comfortable bed and she hoped if possible he would find a place in a good Catholic family. ‘God look to you, Kevin,’ she said and went back into the kitchen and closed the door.