Maeve felt the train slowing as it approached Connolly Station and for some reason she found herself slightly more on edge than usual. Maybe it was the unsettling effect of the trouble that seemed to be spreading in Northern Ireland. Or the fact that Uncle Jim’s job was under threat, despite him putting on a brave face. But for whatever reason she wanted the reassurance of everything feeling right, as it usually did when she saw her father.
Before she could consider it any more the train came to a halt and everyone in the carriage gathered their belongings. The boy with the transistor radio was doing a funny walk to the strains of ‘Israelites’. This was a new song that had introduced Maeve to reggae. There had been great fun in school when one of the girls had misheard a line in the song as ‘Get up in the morning, baked beans for breakfast,’ but now Maeve was impervious to the catchy melody, and she gathered her bag and quickly alighted onto the platform.
She headed for the busy concourse, the air scented with diesel fumes, and she showed her ticket to the collector. Suddenly she saw a smiling figure bearing down on her. It was Dad, looking tanned and fit and with a huge smile on his face.
‘Where’s my girl?’ he cried.
Maeve ran to him, and he swept her up off the ground and swung her, like he used to when she was small. Maeve laughed, and he swung her around some more before gently setting her down.
‘It’s great to see you, pet,’ he said.
‘It’s brilliant to see you too, Dad,’ answered Maeve. To her surprise her eyes suddenly filled up with tears, yet everything somehow seemed right as she stood there, happily wrapped in the arms of her father.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ whispered Dylan.
Sammy nodded. ‘No going back.’
They were in the changing room after a drawn soccer match against a team from Dundonald, and Dylan thought his heart was racing faster now than it had during the match. Some members of the team had already departed, and others were joking and chatting and packing their kit. Dylan tried not to show any anxiety, but he had been tense all through the match, and now he felt nervous, knowing that a showdown was at hand.
A couple of days ago he had asked for Sammy’s advice regarding Gordon’s threat to break his leg. Sammy had thought about it, and said that they should sort this out themselves. Dylan wasn’t sure this was the right way to handle a bully, but Sammy insisted that it would be better not to involve any adults. Sammy had made no reference to Buckie banning the boxing match, and Dylan had decided to leave well enough alone, and not ask his friend if he had told the trainer.
Sammy had then come up with a plan that was frighteningly simple, and Dylan had ignored Gordon’s threat today and played his normal game in the drawn match. But he knew that Sammy was right, and that they needed to act before Gordon got a chance to carry out his threat at the next training session.
Dylan and Sammy had deliberately changed slowly after today’s game, so that they would be among the last to leave, and now as Gordon rose to depart, Sammy spoke. ‘Can you hang on a minute, Gordon? Me and Dylan want a word.’
Gordon looked at Sammy coolly. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Can you give us a few minutes alone, lads?’ said Sammy to the few other players still present.
Dylan could see that the other boys were burning with curiosity, but they agreed to Sammy’s request, took up their kit bags and left.
‘What’s this about?’ said Gordon aggressively.
Sammy was about to answer, but Dylan held up his hand. ‘Let me tell him,’ he said, pleased at how steady his voice sounded. Now that the moment had arrived he felt a certain recklessness and he knew instinctively that he needed to take the upper hand with Gordon. ‘First things first,’ Dylan said, crossing to the dressing room door and turning the key in the lock, then popping the key into his pocket.
He saw the look of surprise on Gordon’s face.
‘Don’t want you running away before we’re finished with you,’ said Dylan. ‘Oh, and don’t worry about Buckie coming back, he’s gone off on duty with the Specials. We won’t be disturbed till the caretaker comes round.’
‘What do you think you’re at?’ demanded Gordon.
‘It’s about maths, really,’ said Dylan.
‘What?’
‘You look too much of a numbskull to be good at maths, but I’ll keep it simple.’
‘You watch your mouth, pal!’ said Gordon threateningly.
But Dylan had worked himself into a state of fearlessness now and he shook his head.
‘No, I don’t think I will. I’m done trying not to offend you. So, are you good at maths?’
‘Look–’
‘No, probably not. So I’ll do the sums for you. There’s one of you and two of us. On your own you could really hurt one of us. Even two-against-one, you’ll probably hurt us a bit. But not as much as we’ll hurt you. No matter how hard you fight, you’ll lose in the end. And that’s when we’ll beat a lesson into you.’
Dylan saw Gordon look disbelievingly at him before turning to Sammy.
‘Sammy?’
‘Shut up and listen,’ said Sammy.
‘What, afraid of a fair fight, are you?’ said Gordon.
‘Fair?’ said Dylan. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. Was it fair when you beat up Jimmy Gannon? Or picked on me, or anyone else you don’t like? The only time you care about fairness is when it’s against you. So hard luck – it’s your turn tonight.’
Dylan deliberately took off his watch, and Sammy removed his sweater in an arranged move designed to intimidate Gordon with their readiness for battle. Dylan watched the bigger boy carefully. He sensed that the threat of the two of them beating him into submission had registered.
‘You’ve no-one to blame but yourself,’ said Sammy. ‘But it doesn’t have to be like this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’re here to give you a hiding. But if you swear on the Bible that breaking Dylan’s leg won’t happen, we’ll let you go.’
‘You’ll let me go?!’ said Gordon.
‘Yeah. Otherwise we’ll beat the lard out of you.’
Dylan could see that despite Gordon’s attempted bluster, for once the other boy was unsure of himself.
‘Not so nice on the receiving end, is it?’ asked Dylan.
‘I’ll get each of you on your own!’ said Gordon threateningly
‘No,’ answered Sammy calmly, ‘you won’t. After the hiding we give you, you won’t look crooked at either of us again. And other people won’t be so scared of you either, when they hear we put manners on you.’
‘And once we start, there’s no stopping,’ added Dylan. ‘Halfway through a hiding you can’t cry halt and agree to swear. You swear now, or you take everything that’s coming. Your choice.’
Dylan guessed that in years of bullying Gordon had never had the tables turned on him before, and that while the other boy was taking their threat seriously, he didn’t want to lose face.
‘You were stupid to get yourself into this,’ said Sammy. ‘Are you going to stay stupid? Or are you going to swear?’
Gordon said nothing and Sammy pointed his finger at him. ‘I won’t ask you again.’
Still the other boy gave no answer.
‘OK, let’s do it!’ said Dylan. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath and started toward Gordon. Sammy advanced at the same time, and Gordon retreated instinctively.
‘All right!’ he cried. ‘All right, I’ll swear!’
Dylan halted, taking care not to show any relief. ‘OK, Sammy,’ he said, ‘let’s have your bible.’
Sammy took a King James Bible from his kitbag and handed it over. Dylan took the book and held it out in front of Gordon.
‘All right, big shot,’ he said, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice, ‘Time to take your oath.’
Emma took the stairs two steps at a time, eager to get out of school. Next month they would be breaking up for summer, and she was counting the days. I
n fairness, her Belfast school was co-educational, not too strict, and certainly not the worst of the many places in which she had been educated during her family’s travels. But today she was frustrated with her classmates, and she quickly made for the entrance gate, where she had arranged to meet Dylan.
During break Emma had told several of her fellow pupils about her plans to make a radio documentary. Maybe it had been a mistake to expect them to be as keen as Maeve, but Emma had been surprised at the response. Instead of regarding it as an adventure, the general view seemed to be that it was a weird thing to do, and that something as boring as making radio programmes was best left to adults. Emma couldn’t believe their attitude and had wanted to scream at them that it was they who were boring, but instead she hid her disappointment.
Now she saw Dylan standing in the sunshine just inside the school gate, and he smiled as she approached.
‘Hi, Sis.’
‘Hi.’ Since his match yesterday Dylan had been in good form, although Emma didn’t know why, seeing as the game had been a one-all draw and he hadn’t scored. ‘What has you so pleased?’ she asked.
‘Bonzo let us out of history a few minutes early. What has you so cross?’
‘Just … the whole place,’ said Emma with a shrug as they left the school and made for the bus stop.
‘It’s not the worst school.’
‘It’s not just the school. It’s the school, the tennis club, Belfast. Everywhere we go we seem to be … I don’t know … on the edge, looking in.’
‘I know,’ said Dylan sympathetically. ‘We’re always the new kids.’
‘I’m tired of being the new kids. I’m tired of just starting to break in, and then moving somewhere else.’
‘It’s better than when we moved to New York first. And it’s been pretty good with Sammy and Maeve.’
‘Yeah, they’ve been great,’ admitted Emma.
‘Look, I know it’s hard to feel good about moving, like Dad said. But he kind of has a point.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Moving is the bad part of his job. But there’s lots of good parts too. And we get all of those. I’ve been trying to see it that way.’
Emma was surprised by her brother being so philosophical. ‘What brought that on?’ she asked.
‘Maybe it was thinking about Sammy and his psycho father. Or even Maeve, living with her aunt and uncle because her mom’s dead.’
Emma knew that Maeve would be coming back to Belfast with her father tonight, and although he sounded nice, and Emma was looking forward to meeting him, she felt that it must be strange to have your father living in another part of the world.
‘Mom and Dad aren’t too bad really, when you look around,’ said Dylan.
‘I know,’ conceded Emma. She smiled wryly. ‘If Dad would just get a job in one place, and Mom was less of a hippy, they’d be perfect.’
‘Still. Mom’s exhibition next month will be fun.’
‘Yeah. Do you think we could ask Maeve and Sammy along?’
Dylan frowned. ‘Not as kids on their own. But we could ask Mom to invite their families.’
‘We could, couldn’t we?’ said Emma, excited by the idea. ‘I’d love to meet Sammy’s psycho dad!’
‘And Maeve’s aunt, who thinks of herself as a personal friend of Saint Anthony!’
Emma laughed. ‘Do you really think they’d come?’
‘Why not? Sammy’s dad can go for the free drink, and Maeve’s aunt might convert a few Jews!’
Emma laughed again, her spirits lifted by her brother’s irreverence.
‘So, end of school and Mom’s exhibition to look forward to,’ said Dylan. ‘Roll on June.’
Emma smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘Roll on June!’
Maeve couldn’t remember the last time she felt so happy. She looked out across the high peaks of the Mountains of Mourne and breathed in the sweet country air. It was just over halfway through her father’s two weeks of leave, and she had enjoyed every day of it. Last weekend they had shopped in Dublin, visited old friends and neighbours in Harold’s Cross and had Sunday lunch at Dublin Zoo. Early next morning they had travelled together to Belfast and each day after school Dad had something lined up for them to do. They had picnicked on Cave Hill, gone swimming at Donaghadee, listened to a band recital in Dunville Park and gone to see Hello Dolly in the cinema.
Best of all, though, was today, Whit Monday, when Dad had offered to take some of Maeve’s friends up the mountains for a day trip. Maeve had invited Emma, Dylan and Sammy, and Dad had driven them in his hired car from Belfast to Newcastle, before ascending into the scenic heights of the Mourne Mountains. They had had a sing-song in the car, with Dylan leading a boisterous version of the recent hit ‘Lily the Pink’. Sammy had brought along his mouth organ, and even Dad had joined in the singing when Sammy played ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and ‘Pack up your Troubles’.
Maeve was pleased that her friends had clearly taken to Dad, who had the knack of getting everyone to enter into the adventures he planned without sounding too bossy.
‘OK’, he said now, ‘I’ve a question for you all, and a bar of chocolate for whoever gets it right.’
They had been taking a break after a steep climb to a spectacular viewing point, but now Maeve’s friends turned away from the vista of the surrounding peaks and the distant blue of the sea.
‘The Mourne Wall,’ said Dad, pointing. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
Maeve looked at the wall that snaked out across the surrounding mountain slopes, its granite stone glinting in the summer sunshine. It was almost five feet high and nearly three feet thick and it did look amazing as it seemed to stretch off into infinity.
‘Built by hand over fifty years ago,’ said Dad. ‘Can you imagine the back-breaking work involved?’
‘Why did they build a wall up on top of the mountains?’ asked Emma.
‘To keep livestock away from the watercourses when they were building Silent Valley Reservoir,’ answered Dad, indicating the huge water reservoir at the base of a nearby valley, where they had parked the car and to which they were going to descend for their picnic lunch.
‘So what’s the question, Mr Kennedy?’ asked Sammy.
‘How long is the wall?
‘Ah, Dad, how would we know that?!’ said Maeve, laughing.
‘Look at all the surrounding hills, calculate, and whoever is nearest gets the chocolate.’
‘OK, let’s try to figure it out,’ said Dylan.
‘You’ll never figure it out!’ retorted his sister. ‘Just guess. Eh, I’ll say ten miles, Mr Kennedy.’
‘OK, Emma, ten miles. Anyone else?’
‘I think it’s more,’ said Sammy. ‘I’d say fifteen.’
‘Maeve?’
‘I’ll split the difference. Twelve and a half.’
‘I think it’s way more,’ said Dylan. ‘I’m going to say twenty.’
‘So who’s right, Dad?’ asked Maeve.
Her father pretended to open an envelope, like they did on television at the Oscars ceremony. ‘And the winner of the 1969 Whit Monday Quiz is … Dylan Goldman!
‘Yes!’ cried Dylan.
‘It’s actually twenty-two miles long. You were very close, Dylan, here’s your prize.’
Maeve watched as her father gave Dylan a bar of chocolate.
‘Thanks, Mr Kennedy.’ he said, then quickly stuck his tongue out at Emma.
Before Emma could respond, Maeve saw her father grinning, and he addressed the others. ‘And for each of the runners up – also a bar of chocolate!’
‘Yes!’ they cried.
Everyone took the chocolate, and Maeve laughed as Emma returned the gesture and stuck her tongue out at her brother. Maeve bit into the warm, slightly melted chocolate and she felt at peace with the world. Admittedly they were only about thirty miles from Belfast, and with each passing day the city seemed to be moving faster towards unrest. Even at home all wasn’t well, and a couple of nights p
reviously Maeve had overheard Dad offering to help out with extra money if Uncle Jim lost his job, which now seemed likely, despite his earlier reassurances to Maeve. But these were worries for another time, and right now she was having fun with her father and her friends. They hoisted their rucksacks onto their shoulders and began descending towards the reservoir, and she resolved to enjoy every minute of what was turning out to be a great day.
Sammy hated the smell of hospitals. Few things frightened him, but he associated the hospital smell with when his granny had been dying in Belfast’s City Hospital, and the combined scent of disinfectant and polish made him feel queasy and a bit scared. But despite having argued against it with Maeve’s father, he was now sitting in the X-ray department of that same hospital.
Looking back, Sammy had known he was in trouble the moment his ankle twisted. They had almost been back down on the valley floor beside the reservoir when he had lost his footing and gone over sharply on his left ankle. Immediately it had become too painful for him to put any weight on it. Maeve’s Dad had trained in first aid in the army, and after carrying Sammy the short distance down to the road, Mr Kennedy had bound the ankle to stop it swelling up, then got Sammy to lie down with his leg raised and supported by a boulder, while he went to get the car.
Sammy felt bad about spoiling Maeve’s big day out and he had tried to play down how painful the injury was. There was no fooling Mr Kennedy, however, and after examining the ankle in more detail, he had insisted it had to be x-rayed to make sure no bones were broken.
The journey back to Belfast had been muted, with Mr Kennedy driving carefully so as not to jolt the car, and Sammy trying not to show his pain whenever they hit a bump or pothole. Maeve, Dylan and Emma had been sympathetic, and in her usual optimistic way Maeve had bet that nothing was broken and that he was suffering from a bad sprain. As he waited now to be called in for the X-ray Sammy hoped fervently that she was right. But even if she was, there was still the big problem of what he would tell his father.
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