Belfast Girls

by Gerry McCullough

  It was as they sat round the fire later drinking tea, catching up, as Kathy said comfortably, on the gossip, that Sheila heard for the first time about Phil’s arrest and trial, and her year in prison.

  Kathy spoke also of Roisin Boyd Cassidy’s sudden death. Sheila had heard of it last year from Delmara, and had managed to deal sufficiently with her own grief and guilt at the time.

  “Isn’t that the woman you met in Dublin, Sheila?” Kathy asked her. “You mentioned her more than once. A famous fashion designer in her day, you said. I thought it must be her when it came on the news.”

  Kathy knew nothing, Sheila realised, of any drug connection. Nothing had been proved after all. The suspicions must all have been hushed up. Sheila couldn’t help feeling glad of that at least.

  It was that same evening, as they sat by the fire, that Frank Doherty found the opportunity to speak to Sheila.

  Supper was over. Kathy had gone to bed.

  Frank lay back in his armchair and Sheila, finding comfort in the situation, crouched at his feet on an old cushion, her head against his knee.

  “There’s something I’ve meant to talk to you about, love.” Frank said presently.

  He seemed to be finding it difficult to go on. Sheila smiled up at him and said simply “Well, dad? Whatever it is, out with it.”

  Frank grinned. “Right you are, Sheila, girl.

  “I remember telling you, years ago, when you were just a little lass, that you were called after my granny, Sheila. Her maiden name was O’Hara.”

  Sheila stiffened. “Yes, dad,” she said after a moment. “I remember.”

  “Well, love, that isn’t the whole story. And I’ve always meant to tell you the whole of it. Her name was not just Sheila. It was Brenda Sheila O’Hara. When she married my granda, she gave up calling herself Brenda and she was married as Sheila O’Hara, which made her Sheila Doherty.

  She died when I was about six or seven and my granda Frank died a few years later when I was eleven. My dad, he was a Frank, too, died later on when I was eighteen. By that time I was set up in a decent job, sales rep for Nicholson’s and ready to move on to better things – which I did. When I met your mammy and we got married I never thought to talk much to her about my granny.

  But I always meant to pass on to you, Sheila, some day, what she told me about her past. Especially I wanted to give you this. You’re old enough now to understand, I guess.”

  Frank paused, and fished in his pocket for a slim book covered in battered brown leather – a diary, Sheila saw.

  “She left me this. Her thoughts about her life, I reckon you could call it. I want to give it to you now.

  “My granny worked as an undercover agent against the British when she was just a kid in the first troubles. But she came to regret it bitterly, she told me, when she saw the death and the bloodshed that followed. All she ever wanted was to bring freedom to the ordinary people. But I guess it’s never as simple as that. She put some of what she felt about it in this diary.”

  Sheila sat with her head bowed.

  Then she looked up at Frank and smiled. “I’m very glad you’ve given me this, Dad. When I was in Dublin, people said I was very like someone called Brenda O’Hara. I think this diary – and what you’ve told me – will explain a lot of what they said.”

  “Good,” said Frank briefly.

  Then he spoke again. “One more thing, Sheila. Remember, your grandmother was a good person. Don’t be in any doubt of that. She did what she thought was right.”

  “I don’t have any doubt of that, daddy,” said Sheila, and found the tears creeping into her eyes.

  Later that night, she sat up in bed, cuddled under the bedclothes, and read Brenda O’Hara’s diary.

  2 May 1923.

  They shot my darling Patrick. What am I to do?

  14 July 1923

  Yesterday my beautiful son was born. I will call him after his father.

  28 August 1925

  My little Patrick is gone. He was so frail, so helpless. Now I have nothing left. Is it God’s judgement on me for betraying my family and my side? For breaking all the rules? No, I don’t believe He could be so cruel!

  14 February 1927

  Today I met a man called Frank Doherty who offers to find me a job in his office up in Belfast, working at typing letters. My struggles over the past year to learn this skill have at last brought a reward!

  16 January 1928

  Frank has been so kind. He tells me I am worth my weight in gold to him in his business. I don’t believe him, but it’s nice to be appreciated!

  18 January 1929

  Frank has invited me to come to dinner and meet his mother. I feel very nervous about it. I think she is a rabid protestant and I am afraid she will hate me if she finds out about my past!

  20 January 1929

  Dinner passed off well. Frank’s mother had no idea about my story.

  15 March 1930

  I talked to Frank about Patrick, and my family, and the secrets I passed on. I feel very ashamed, but Frank seemed to understand it all, and not to mind. He is such a kind man. I can’t believe he can forgive me for the past.

  10 August 1930

  I have told Frank I will marry him. He is so kind and loving. I look forward to the future with amazement. So much that I have done, he is willing to forgive. I never knew someone like my Frank could exist. God must have forgiven me. He has given me such happiness!

  8 September 1934

  Today my little son was born. We are going to call him Frank, after his dear father. If he grows up to be half the man my Frank is, he’ll be the best.

  Sheila felt the tears trickling down her cheeks.

  She remembered her anger against Brenda O’Hara when she had first heard her story. Poor girl, she had suffered enough and had regretted her part in the violence of those days. Sheila felt glad that she had come to a happy ending after all.

  She felt no shame after all in carrying the name of this sad woman into a new generation.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Phil was living at home.

  When Sheila went round to see her the next morning, although Phil seemed glad to see her, there was an atmosphere of constraint. They had not seen each other for so long. So much had happened.

  Sheila knew very little about the reasons for Phil’s arrest.

  They sat on Phil’s bed as they had done so many times before.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Sheila said slowly. “I want you to know, Phil, that I’ve never believed you had anything to do with dealing drugs. It just wouldn’t be you, I’m sure of that.”

  Phil looked at her blankly for a moment, then she smiled. “Sheila, I’m really glad you said that. I hoped the people who knew me well wouldn’t believe such things of me, but it’s good to hear it said. Oh, I suppose I might as well tell you, Sheila.” She paused and grew rather pale. “I know I can trust you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was in Davy’s flat and when the police raided it they found a gun and some heroin. So I was arrested for possession and I couldn’t say it wasn’t my flat without involving Davy. And you’re never to tell anyone this, Sheila Doherty, or I’ll never forgive you!”

  “Oh, Phil! Do you mean to say that you went through all that just for Davy Hagan? I could kill that fella!”

  “Davy matters to me,” Phil said.

  “Yes,” Sheila agreed. “I’ve always known that.”

  “So you see, there wasn’t any question about it. I couldn’t give him away. He would have been in far more trouble than me if I had done that. They couldn’t prove anything much against me, but Davy – well, once they had his name, there might have been a lot of things.”

  Sheila said nothing.

  Phil went on. “I trust you not to tell anyone that, Sheila. But even if you did, he’s living safely over the Border now. He gave up the flat in Thomas Street long ago and there’s no way he could be traced to it even if they had his name.”


  “Thomas Street?”

  “Yes, 3a Thomas Street. We shared it, more or less, for a few months. At least, I spent a lot of time there. But now, I never want to see it again.” Phil shuddered.

  Sheila stared at her.

  For a long moment she was unable to speak.

  “3a Thomas Street.”

  The words echoed round her mind.

  She relived again the moment when she had spoken to Constable Kirk in the ward of the Royal Victoria Hospital.

  She had been eager to help in any possible way to catch the drug dealers and gangsters and prevent a repetition of the previous night’s horrors. She had found it difficult to betray Mrs. Boyd Cassidy but had felt bound in the end to give the police her small piece of information, which could not, she felt, lead to Mrs. Boyd Cassidy’s actual arrest, but might help the PSNI with background. And now, by an extreme irony, her piece of information, leading to the raid on the flat, had put Phil in prison for over a year for nothing. For nothing. Talking to Phil now, Sheila was quite sure of her entire innocence.

  She found that she could not believe what she had done. And yet it was true.

  For a moment, a craven thought crept into her head, that Phil need never know it.

  But what would be left of their friendship then? Phil and Sheila had never lied to each other.

  Sheila swallowed something in her throat and spoke.

  “Phil, I didn’t know until this second that you had anything to do with that address. Oh, Phil, I’m so sorry! It was me. I told a policeman that that was a drug safe house. I found out accidentally. I read a letter down in Dublin that made it clear. Oh, Phil, if I’d had any idea! If there was anything I could do to go back and undo what I did!”

  Sheila put her head in her hands and the tears burst out.

  Phil came closer and put her arms round Sheila’s shoulders.

  “Don’t cry, Sheila – don’t cry. It’s all right. How could you know? I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have gone on seeing Davy when I knew what he was getting into. But I couldn’t seem to stop. It was my own fault it ended up the way it did – I knew that at the time.”

  Sheila turned her face into Phil’s shoulder and the two girls, hugging each other, wept together.

  At last Phil, with a shaky laugh, drew back and wiped her eyes with one hand.

  “Look at us, a couple of eejits!” she said. “Here, have a fag, Sheila, and don’t cry on the match!”

  “No, thanks, I don’t smoke now,” Sheila apologised. She managed a grin. “You’re just the same, Phil Maguire, laugh at anything.”

  “Oh, Sheila, it’s good to talk to you!” said Phil impulsively. “I’ve missed our chats. Mary’s been great, coming to see me, but she went off to Iona a while ago and there’s been no-one.”

  “Iona? What’s there?”

  “It’s a Christian community. Mary’s going to live in one here. It hasn’t been set up yet but it won’t be long now, she tells me. I suppose she’s gone to Iona to get a bit of practice.”

  “Mary? In a Christian community? What, like being a nun?You must be joking!” Sheila exclaimed.

  “Well, not exactly,” said Phil. “It’s a mixed set up, for one thing. Protestant and Catholic, male and female. And they don’t have to be single. She’ll have a job as well during the day, teaching.”

  “It still doesn’t sound like Mary.”

  “She’s changed a lot,” said Phil. “And yet – I don’t know – she’s the same old Mary in lots of ways. But she’s got something. Peace, I think. She helped me a lot in prison. I tell you what, Sheila, when she gets back, we should get together, the three of us. It’s been ages, hasn’t it? I think she’ll be home in a week or so.”

  “Yes, that would be good.”

  Sheila thought, but kept the thought to herself, that she would be very glad to see Mary. But the most important thing about it, to her, would be to hear Mary speak of her brother and to learn where he was and what he was doing.

  A week later, Mary came home from Iona.

  Iona is a small Scottish island where some Christians had formed a community in the footsteps of St. Columba, the missionary saint who sailed there from Ireland in the sixth century.

  Mary was feeling full of excitement and enthusiasm.

  It was the first time she had had the opportunity to live the sort of life she hoped would be hers for the future and she was delighted to find that, far from disappointing her, it had fulfilled all her expectations.

  Her first move was to phone Phil.

  They had met a number of times immediately after Phil’s release but Mary had been away for several months now and she was anxious to see if Phil was in better spirits and beginning to take up life again. When Phil told her that Sheila was at home, and suggested that they should all three meet, Mary agreed with pleasure.

  “It’ll be like being seventeen again!” she said happily.

  “Yes,” said Phil in a constrained voice. “Yes. That’ll be good.”

  “Is anything wrong, Phil?” Mary asked. “You sound – well –”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone, Mary. Wait until we get together.”

  They met the following day in a bar familiar to them all from their teens. It was as if the years had rolled away and they were back in their last year at school with everything before them.

  For a while they chattered and laughed together, falling into familiar turns of speech and jokes which had kept their savour. But at last a silence fell, and Phil gave a sigh.

  “So much has happened since the night we met here last when our final A level exams were over, do you remember? We were celebrating a touch of freedom. It’s hard to believe. Seven years ago, very nearly.”

  “Yes,” agreed Mary. “I didn’t know that night that I was going to get so deep into drugs and waste a year of my life.”

  “But yet, Mary, things have turned out better for you than for any of us,” said Sheila.

  “I’m very happy,” agreed Mary, smiling. “There’s nothing in my own life I would change right now.”

  “You’re lucky!” burst out Sheila. “There aren’t many people who can say that.”

  “Why, Sheila,” Mary said in astonishment, “haven’t you got one of the best lives anyone could have? Success, money, travel –”

  “But the only relationship I ever had that meant anything to me didn’t work out,” Sheila said. She looked away from Mary and Phil and gazed into her glass.

  “John?” Mary asked gently.

  “Yes.”

  “I think he still cares about you, Sheila,” Mary said.

  “Well, if he does, he’s got a funny way of showing it,” Sheila said.

  The note of bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.

  “Maybe he will, now you’re back,” Mary said. “How long will you be here?”

  “Not long,” replied Sheila. “I told Delmara I wanted an extra few weeks because of my dad, but he needs me back by mid June at the latest.”

  Mary said nothing more but privately she made a resolve. She would speak to her brother and discover for herself the state of his feelings. Surely, if he really cared for Sheila, he would not be such a fool as to let her go again without a word.

  But remembering John’s stubbornness from childhood, she was not so sure. Better to say nothing to Sheila until she knew if her words would have any effect.

  “And then there’s me,” said Phil. “Look what happened to me!” She adopted a half joking tone but neither of her listeners were fooled.

  “Have you thought about what you’ll do now, Phil?” asked Sheila.

  “You have your MA now, haven’t you?” added Mary. “There are lots of things open to you.”

  “Perhaps,” said Phil. “Yes, if my prison record isn’t a handicap!”

  “I don’t think it will be,” said Mary seriously. “You could apply for a post lecturing either at Queen’s or at a further education college.”

  “I suppose so,” agr
eed Phil. Her voice sounded strange. She sat silently for a moment, looking down. Then she raised her head and looked first Sheila, then Mary, full in the face. Her expression was unfathomable, but her voice held a desperate gaiety.

  “There’s only one thing may get in the way of my brilliant career, girls. I’ve been trying all evening to find a way to tell you. I got the results yesterday. I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  John had never officially moved out of his parents’ house although he had often talked of it. But he spent so many nights away from home with one friend or another, or on engagements for the BBC, that he could be hard to get hold of.

  Mary realised with some surprise that it had been months since they had met or talked.

  He was making a cup of coffee in the kitchen when she caught up with him. Their parents were both out. Taking her opportunity, Mary lifted down a mug for herself from the cupboard.

  “Hi, stranger!” she said. “Is there enough water in that kettle for your little sister to have a cup?”

  “Should be,” John replied. He waited while she spooned in instant coffee and sugar, then poured in the hot water. “Put the milk back in the fridge, then, when you’re finished with it.”

  They sat at the breakfast bar and sipped slowly.

  John sighed in satisfaction. “I needed that,” he said. “Well, Mary, and how’s life treating you?”

  “Can’t complain!” said Mary lightly.

  John was silent for a moment, nursing his mug of coffee in both hands as he leant forward over the breakfast bar. Mary watched him thoughtfully.

  “And what about yourself, big brother? Are you enjoying life?”

  John laughed. “Mary, I’d be lying to you if I said I was.”

  Mary sipped her coffee and waited.

  “Oh, life’s okay, I suppose. I like my work. I’m doing well there. They’re giving me my own programme in September, the start of the new season, did you know? That’s a mark of strong approval. But, I don’t know. I used to think there’d be more to it than this. There never seems to be much point any more.”