He dreamt all night. Awful nightmares. At one stage he woke up. It was Val in that chair. They were in the hospital before the war. Any minute now a message would come on the radio ... "The police have now named the man believed to have been responsible for last Friday's bomb explosions in Coventry. He is Matthew Riordan, known to be a member of the IRA ..."
"Riordan!" Sean shouted.
He sat bolt upright, staring with wild eyes as Val leapt from her chair.
"Hey honey," Gloria Farrell rushed to the bedside. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost?"
Sean clung to her - "Oh Val, that bastard Riordan just killed the Da!"
Matt Riordan - Matt Lambert as he had become - had fathered two children by that spring of 1952. After the successful operation on his eyes Matt had moved into Hugh Ryan's house in Ballymurphy - first as a lodger, then as Bridie's suitor, and finally as her husband. Hugh still lived with them and although the small house sometimes threatened to burst apart under the impact of three adults and two small children it was a happy enough household for most of the time.
The thought of losing his sight had terrified Matt. Nothing in all the years in the Curragh prison camp, or during the bombing campaign in England - nothing frightened him as much as the prospect of blindness. The shock, the pain, the joy of regaining full sight was a shattering experience which showed him the world through what were almost new eyes - and wherever he looked he saw Bridie.
He had been painfully shy to begin with. He had been at ease in female company once - as a youngster in his father's butcher's shop, even later when he lived with his mother on the Falls - but that was before years spent on the Curragh. Rehabilitation might have been painful but for a fact of which Matt was unaware - that Bridie herself wanted to marry and saw Matt as her last chance.
She had passed her thirty-first birthday. There had been a man once, but he had emigrated to Australia and although he had promised to send for her he never had. There had been no one since, and Bridie's youthful prettiness was fast losing its bloom.
Matt had been grateful for the offer of lodging with the Ryans - after all he had nowhere to go. He was quite alone in the world - especially when Clancy and the boys were arrested and imprisoned in England. And staying with the Ryans helped establish his identity as William Lambert - better know as Matt to his friends.
"Just for a few weeks," Matt said at the outset, "then I'll get going again."
But go where? As Matt peered out myopically from behind the thick lenses of his new spectacles he found only remnants of the IRA. The war, internment north and south of the border, had scattered Republicans like seeds on the wind. The IRA - even in the Falls and Short Strand and Ballymurphy itself - had ceased to exist.
Hugh Ryan argued powerfully for the way things were - "Give this Labour Government a chance, Matt. They're not in cahoots with the Unionists like the Tories - I've met some of them in London, they've got an open mind about Ireland. Meanwhile we need this Welfare State they talk about - the people want it -"
A younger Matt, full of strength, might have resisted Hugh's arguments - but Matt weakened and wearied by years on the Curragh - still recovering from the fright of nearly going blind - Matt in that tired state was more easily discouraged. Besides he had Bridie to contend with by then.
They were often alone in the house - Hugh was married to his work and spent at least three evenings a week at the hospital. Bridie cooked and washed during her own hours away from the hospital, but she was efficient and got things done - there was always time to sit down with Matt in the evenings. After ten weeks as a lodger Matt had kissed her, then found his way to her bed, and seven weeks later they were married.
Bridie was good for him - she had snared him with artful determination, but that never lessened her anxiety to make him happy.
Their first son - Liam Riordan Lambert - was born in 1949. Their second - Fergus Riordan Lambert - was born a year later.
Matt worked as a porter at the hospital, but after a while found an opening to return to his old trade as a butcher. He worked, he made love to Bridie in their big double bed, he played chess with Hugh - and the time passed. He told himself he was taking a breather. He talked nationalist politics to those who would listen - he read the newspapers, listened to the radio, and watched the world change.
In Belfast it changed for the better. The Labour Party pushed through so many reforms, in health-care, housing, education, social security, and other services, that the spectre of poverty was being forced out of the ghettoes. More men were in work - and even the unemployed were cushioned by the new welfare state. Large Catholic families were given State allowances for the children, sick benefits, free milk for nursing mothers ...
But south of the border - in the proud new Republic of Ireland - there were few such benefits. When a Mother and Child Bill was promoted in the Dail, to provide free, state-administered health services for mothers and children, the bill was thrown out by the Catholic Church.
When Catholics in Belfast looked south across the border they saw lower living standards. "We're better off here," they told Matt. "If Dublin wants a united Ireland it will have to do better than that. We're better off with the Prods."
"Where's your national pride?" Matt asked up and down the Falls. "What about one nation again?"
But few people listened.
Yet - and Matt clung to the thought - there was change on one level, but life remained constant on another. Unionist MPs fought reform every step of the way at Westminster. And Prod rule was as firm as ever in Belfast. B Specials still marched the streets. The gabled ends of houses were still painted with giant murals of King Billy slaughtering Croppies at the Boyne. "Fuck the Pope" was still daubed on walls in letters three feet high. And in July - on "the glorious twelfth" - the Orangemen still took to the streets in vast processions, with their flutes and their drums and their swaggering insult to the Catholic community.
Some things never changed.
Like the old men who sat on their doorsteps in the Falls - "Who's the bad man?" they shouted to the kids.
"King Billy!" would come the chorus.
"And what does he ride?"
"He rides a white horse."
"And where is it kept?"
"In the Orange Hall."
"And what will we do with it?"
"Blow it all up," came the delighted shrieks. "We'll blow up King Billy an' his white horse. We'll blow up the Orange Hall and Sandy Row an' all!"
"Aye," Matt mused as he listened to the street games, "but when? When will we blow them all up?"
And so the time passed. Matt was not consciously unhappy. Bridie kept him well fed and looked after - and Hugh was around often enough for a crack and a game of chess. Meanwhile Matt was forever trying to interest the neighbours in Republican politics. He never gave up, he talked to everyone - but as the years slipped by he felt a growing sense of failure. His mission in life had been thwarted. The IRA was dead, while Lord Averdale for instance was still very much alive, making a name for himself in London. Whenever Matt opened a paper there was Averdale giving some speech, more often about Africa than Ulster. But one day, Matt still promised himself, one day I'll kill that bastard. And one day I'll get myself over to London and hunt down Sean Connors.
But by spring 1952 Matt was beginning to wonder if the day would ever come.
Freddie Mallon used up a few favours in Chicago to sweep the debacle in the radio studio under the carpet. Sean survived the fracas, but wherever he went after that he was asked about Ireland. No matter what people thought in London, or Dublin, or Belfast - plenty of Americans wanted to ask "the Irish question", especially when there was a chance of an explosive reply. But Sean kept a tight grip on his temper and never allowed himself to be baited again as he had in Chicago.
"And that wouldn't have happened," he told Gloria, "if I hadn't felt so lousy."
She accompanied him for the next eighteen days - acting as secretary, guide and companion a
s he finished his tour. She organised appointments, telephoned London, liaised with Freddie and made herself so useful that Sean wondered how he had managed without her.
As for "the Irish question", Sean tried to bury it. It hardly seemed his business any more - it was a back-number, yesterday's news - he was amazed at the interest. But it was certainly there, especially among people of Irish extraction, most of whom seemed puzzled by his attitude. Even Gloria said - "Surely you don't condone the British staying in Ireland? They should get out. Just as they were kicked out of India. People should be free to run their own affairs."
"Sure I agree, but there's no chance of the British being kicked out by the Prods in the north."
"Well of course not - the Prods are British."
"And Irish," he reminded her, "they're Irish too, remember."
He wondered if he cared any more? After all, he had never been back - what was Ireland to him? He was too busy building assets - his life lay in London, and - as seemed increasingly likely - in the US of A - a subject Gloria talked about increasingly often.
"Freddie said he can see you spending a lot of time here in future, Sean."
He chuckled, excited by the prospect. "If we tie up as many papers as Freddie talks about - who knows, I could spend six months a year in London and six months over here."
"My," she sighed. Her eyes shone. "And I thought all tycoons were Americans these days."
It was an exciting tour, crossing America and back again - and Gloria was an unexpected bonus. She was like Val in some ways - of course her accent was different and some of her opinions were quite opposite to Val's - but she was fair-haired and blue-eyed. Sean was enchanted - even though she refused to join him in bed. She did everything else. Her kisses were passionate. She let his hands roam over her body. She seemed to encourage him ... but then stopped short - "Oh Sean, let's not get carried away. I don't want to do that until I get married."
He almost proposed in St Louis. St Louis was a triumph. After two days of solid negotiation it was agreed that the St Louis Post would sell out to Freddie's new corporation for half the sum Freddie thought possible. Sean and Gloria had a celebration supper afterwards. She almost joined him in bed, but then - "Sean, please no, I really am a good Catholic, I would be bitterly ashamed in the morning."
Sean went lonely to bed, sour with frustration. Part of him wanted to get married - seeing Freddie and Margaret so happy with each other being married and raising a family would be fun, he was sure about that. And Gloria was a fine-looking woman, he would miss her when he went back to London ... yet he was still nagged by some indefinable doubt.
So - apart from trying to reach a decision about Gloria, and being dogged by questions about Ireland - it was a successful trip. Sean returned to New York with agreements signed with two newspapers and knowing that others were on the verge of agreement. Freddie was delighted - and Margaret was so pleased that Gloria had taken the chance to show Sean some of America.
The four of them had a celebration dinner that night, and when Sean returned to the Mallon apartment after taking Gloria home he found Freddie still working - on the telephone to another newspaper owner in Detroit.
"He called me," Freddie grinned, "word's getting around, Sean. We'll soon have a network coast to coast."
They sat for a while; talking, planning and discussing the future. At one point Sean said - "This Irish thing is bigger here than in London. Maybe we ought to have a man in Dublin -"
"Are you kidding? De Valera's been over to Washington, that's all, stirring things up. It will blow over. Forget it, Sean. Africa will be where the news will be - concentrate on Africa."
Which is what they decided to do.
A week later Sean made his first transatlantic flight to London - a journey which was to become as familiar as a commuter's trip to town. He was still undecided about Gloria. They were not engaged - the actual subject of marriage had not arisen, at least not between Sean and Gloria, but Margaret raised the issue privately, at five-thirty in the afternoon on the day before he left.
"Gloria will be the loneliest girl in New York when you leave. Why not take her with you?"
"I'll be up to my eyes when I get back. It wouldn't be any kind of a holiday -"
"Sure it would. She's never seen London. And you can't work all the time."
"But that's it - I do when I'm in London -"
"That's no way to live. Look at Freddie, he works hard but he still enjoys -"
"That's Freddie and you - it's the way you live - it's right for you."
"For you too if you give it a chance. Gloria's madly in love with you, anyone can see that - and it's time you were married ..."
When Sean resisted, Margaret put a hand on his arm. "Sean, my dear, Val is dead. You must let go. Stop comparing everyone with Val. Gloria is a person in her own right, different, with her own qualities ..."
Sean was trying to end an embarrassing conversation when Freddie walked in - exactly as Margaret said, "Sean, I'm only concerned because I love you."
Freddie gaped. Sean flinched - and Margaret uttered the tiniest gasp.
Then they all saw the funny side of it. Margaret pretended to faint. Sean ducked into a corner - and Freddie burst out laughing - "What is it with you two? Every time I turn my back -"
But Freddie was firm with Margaret afterwards - amazingly firm "Now listen honey, you mean well, but will you butt out of Sean's private life. Let him make his own decisions. If you persist in this match-making I'm going to get darned sore. Do you understand that?"
And Margaret answered "Yes Freddie" so meekly that Sean had to stifle his laughter.
Afterwards, when they were alone, Freddie said, "I'm sorry old buddy, I guess all women are hooked on wedding bells. But marriage is a big step, don't let anyone stampede you into it."
That night, Sean's last night in New York, Freddie threw a party to which most of the city seemed invited. Gloria never looked more beautiful. All of Margaret's glamorous friends were there but, in a moulded gown which clung to her body, Gloria outshone everyone. Sean couldn't take his eyes off her, neither could any other man. It was impossible to have a private conversation, Gloria was sought out all evening as the belle of the ball. The most Sean was able to say was, "I'll only be away for three months." "Fine," she answered, "look me up when you get back, my number's in the book." Which struck him as very casual for someone supposedly "madly in love" with him. In fact, as he looked at the men crowding round he felt he was vacating a lease on a desirable residence - and prospective new tenants were crowding him out even before his bags were packed.
During the long flight back to London he had warm thoughts about Freddie and Margaret, exciting thoughts about business, and very confused, mixed-up thoughts about Gloria.
And so after four months away, Sean returned to London. But he now saw the city differently. It seemed dowdy after New York, and Britain itself tiny, almost puny, after the spacious strength of America. Yet, despite that, it still felt like home to Sean Connors ... or at least it did to begin with.
The problem was, other people's lives had moved on. Michael O'Hara was on the verge of marrying, his sweetheart from Dublin was over and already replanning the house they had bought in Hampstead. "The wedding is next month," Michael told Sean. "I'm relying on you to be best man, you know that, don't you?"
Consequently Michael was rarely at the flat in Great Cumberland Place. He worked just as hard, or at least almost, but when Sean proposed meetings in the evening, Michael was likely to say - "Could we make it a bit earlier, Sean, you see I promised Deirdre I'd meet her at eight."
At least Tubby was still a confirmed bachelor, but even he had taken on outside interests. Of all things he had become Chairman of a London football club.
Sean couldn't understand them. To him business was the most exciting thing on the planet. Nothing was more fun than wheeling and dealing from morning to night - nothing!
The atmosphere at Great Cumberland Place was different.
Some of the excitement had gone. Sean remembered the early days. They had worked to beyond midnight, risen at dawn and dashed about all day. He was still ready to do that - but it seemed that Michael and Tubby were not.
Sean was disappointed. He had no cause for complaint - certainly he could find no fault with their work. Mallon's chairman, the newly knighted Sir George Hamilton, was full of praise for Tubby - "He's got a nose for the right properties. He underestimates the time things take, but with young Brian Tillet and Frank Thornton tying up the loose ends, I'd back Tubby against any other property developer in England."
It was the same in Fleet Street. Michael O'Hara ran a tight ship. He had developed a fine team of reporters - and even before Sean returned a great deal of work had been done to prepare for the launch of Seven Days throughout Europe.
And Fleet Street itself was agog with the news coming out of Africa. Jimmy Cross was filing reports from Durban and Johannesburg about race riots - it seemed that any day South Africa would explode over the new racial laws.
"Freddie's hunch is paying off," Sean smiled with satisfaction, "he always did have a nose for the best stories."
But it was a frustrating summer. Sean liked sharing triumphs. Tubby and Michael were as enthusiastic as ever, but some of their single-mindedness had gone. Tubby even took a holiday, going on a summer tour of Australia with his football club! And Michael married his Deirdre - so Sean was left alone in the flat at Great Cumberland Place. Of course he was busy most days, at least in the week - but the evenings and weekends seemed empty. Sean had ceased to be a journalist and was no longer dashing from one event to the next. The Mallon Property Company only needed him for major decisions. Transatlantic Television was ticking over until the new commercial channels opened up. Sean was left with time on his hands and no social life to fall back on.
London girls seemed drab after the girls of New York. He wrote to Gloria. He telephoned her. He arranged with Margaret that a dozen red roses be delivered to her every day. And before June was out Sean was on his way back to New York.
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 150