Freedom First, Peace Later

by Jeanette Hewitt

  Finally, Rosina stopped running and slumped to the ground behind a dustbin. Tears stung her eyes and she heaved as the horror of what had happened replayed in her mind. Those bastards! He was just a man, just like them. Their relationship was nothing to do with anyone else and it was so unfair. She sat up straight as the enormity of the incident hit her. Connor had been shot!

  And she knew the way it worked, he would have been left there, in the road, all of the time losing more blood.

  She pushed herself up and staggered back to the fence that she had just hurled herself over. No longer having any regard for her own safety, she started to make her way back to Grosvenor Street.

  A curtain twitched and a pool of light fell onto the street where the three lads were working Connor over.

  Curtain twitching was not an uncommon occurrence, and the person who dared to look normally did not approach them, even if it were one of their own kind. But this time the twitching curtain belonged to Connor’s mother, Mary, and as she realised that it was her boy on the cobblestones she let out a strangled cry. Memories of another incident in another time pulsed through her head as she struggled with the catch, bubbling up inside her, crushing her thudding heart in her chest. At the same time as the window flew open the emotions tore up her throat and, with no words forming in her mind, she leaned out of the window and screamed hard and long into the night.

  The three men simultaneously looked up and paused. Mary continued to scream, and her inability to find her power of speech eventually frightened her into silence. For a long moment they looked at each other, then, as Connor rolled over and raised his head, they all looked down at him.

  “Ma! Don’t you come out here,” he tried to shout, but it came out as a whisper. Mary Dean didn't even hear her son's warning; all that mattered was stopping the three men before they killed him. The man who held the shotgun appraised the situation rapidly. He seemed to decide that the woman in the window was no threat and turned back to the task at hand. Mary, shocked to her core by the past memory that mingled into the present day, was paralysed by fear. The lad who moved back to Connor was all she needed to make her body obey the commands that her brain was issuing and, without hesitating, she heaved herself up onto the window ledge and

  swung her legs over. As if they were encouraged by Mary's bravery, several more windows opened in the neighbouring houses. The three men looked at each other, knowing it was time to leave. Their work done anyway, they melted away into the night as Mary hurried over to Connor.

  By the time one of the neighbours had called for an ambulance, the three perpetrators were streets away, almost onto their homeland. They stopped at the Divide and silently shook hands before going their separate ways.

  When his two accomplices had vanished into the darkness, Danny Adams pulled the ski mask off his face and threw it over a garden wall. Trying not to think of the lad that they had probably crippled for life, he made his way through the back streets to Bronwyn’s house.

  When Danny climbed into Bronwyn’s bed, she stirred in her sleep.

  “It’s only me,” he whispered.

  “Danny?” she murmured and leaned over to switch on the light. She blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the light and reached out to touch his face.

  “You’ve got blood on your face,” she stated.

  He looked at her fingers, which were indeed bloodstained.

  “Shit,” he said softly, and got back out of bed.

  Bronwyn lay down and listened to him in the bathroom.

  A thousand questions ran through her head. Where had he been? Who had he been with? And whom had he hurt? But she would never ask him, and he would never tell her. When they had been together for about three months, she had discovered that he was a follower of the I.R.A. They had been in the pub for about an hour when a man who was unknown to Bronwyn came up to Danny and beckoned him outside. Bronwyn, naturally curious, had followed and leaned against the doorframe as she listened to a conversation that, at the time, didn’t interest her much. They appeared to be discussing an event in Enniskillen, a town in County Fermanagh. The two men were animated and speaking in hushed tones and Bronwyn, rapidly losing interest and feeling the chill of the late October air, wandered back inside. She thought no more of what she had heard until, around ten days later, she came home from town and found her mother, Alia, sitting in the lounge, her attention focused on the television.

  “What you watching, Ma?” asked Bronwyn as she stuck her head round the door.

  “News,” replied Alia, and the catch in her voice made Bronwyn venture further into the room where she studied the television.

  The news reporter’s words as he outlined the story chilled Bronwyn.

  “A bomb has exploded during a Remembrance Day service at Enniskillen in County Fermanagh, killing eleven people. It is the highest death toll in a terrorist attack in Northern Ireland for five years. At least sixty-three people were injured in the blast, nine of them seriously. The device went off without warning at ten-forty-five GMT at the town's cenotaph where people had gathered to pay their respects to the war dead. The bomb is believed to have been hidden in a nearby hall. The dead included three married couples, a retired policeman and a nurse. ”

  “Enniskillen…” Bronwyn rolled the word around her tongue trying to remember where she had heard it recently. A blush stained her cheeks and she froze as she remembered the conversation that she had heard between Danny and the stranger outside the pub. Without further word to Alia she had turned tail and fled, never mentioning it to anybody. Bronwyn, not knowing much about the politics of the land she lived in, knew only of the fearsome reputation of the I.R.A and, when she had told Danny that she knew he had been involved in Enniskillen, she begged him not to get in any deeper. He had sat her down and told her not to worry, he knew what he was doing, and if it was something he believed in, then how could it not be right? Bronwyn listened as he told her about the activities of the I.R.A, and he made it sound okay. Yes, the things they did to civilians were bad, but, Danny assured her, they were justified. So, when he became a fully-fledged member, Bronwyn found herself covering for him.

  When Danny returned to the bedroom, Bronwyn had turned the light out and was feigning sleep. Danny heaved a sigh and crawled in beside her. They lay together for the rest of the night, back to back, both awake, both lost in their own thoughts and fears.

  Chapter Three

  The Hospital

  Rosina was still two streets away when the glow of flashing blue lights fell upon her, creating long blue shadows that faded in and out over the cobbles. She quickened her step until she arrived back at the spot where Connor had been shot and stared aghast at the crowd of people surrounding the ambulance. For a moment she hesitated, knowing that these people would all know Connor had been hurt because of her, but also knowing she couldn’t leave him alone any longer, already she felt crushed that she had run away. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself she skirted around the crowd until she realised she was never going to make it through the throng of people. With tears streaming down her face, she elbowed her way through the crowds of neighbours that had gathered and, as Connor was being lifted into the ambulance, she ran up to the door. He had an oxygen mask on, and his face was a mass of blood. A virtual river of blood from his leg left a trail as he was moved into the ambulance and, for a heart-stopping second, she thought that he was dead. But then she saw that his eyes were open, and as he saw her frightened face at the door of the ambulance, he held out his hand to her.

  “Connor!” she cried and began to climb up into the ambulance.

  “You get away from him!” A tall lady came around the side of the ambulance and pushed Rosina away. “You’re the cause of this!”

  “Mam, please…” Connor took the oxygen mask off his face and called out to his mother.

  “Leave her alone.”

  Mary glanced at her son and looked back at Rosina.

  For a moment the two stared at each ot
her before Mary broke the silence.

  “Are you coming with us?” she asked quietly.

  Rosina hesitated and looked around the sea of faces that crowded around the ambulance.

  “If you don’t, this lot are likely to lynch you, so they are,” stated Mary.

  Rosina nodded, and with a last glance into the unfriendly crowd she hauled herself up into the ambulance.

  The ride to the hospital was fraught with tension. Rosina sat beside Mary, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Connor slipped in and out of consciousness while the paramedics worked, fixing drips to him.

  At the hospital, Mary and Rosina were left alone in a side room while they took Connor into theatre.

  “How long have you been with him?” Mary asked in her thick Irish brogue.

  “Six months.” Rosina stared down at the carpet.

  Mary watched Rosina quietly for a while, interested in what must be so special about this girl that her usually levelheaded son would risk his life for. The girl, although pretty, reminded her of a field mouse, shaking and unable to meet Mary’s eye.

  “Connor’s dad was a Catholic,” said Mary, and Rosina looked up in surprise.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said. “Isn’t he—?”

  “Dead. Yes, that he is.” Mary looked Rosina straight in the eye. “Killed by your lot.”

  Rosina looked back down to the floor at Mary’s words.

  “I was nearly run out of town,” Mary carried on with her story. “But I stuck it out, raised my boy, worked hard and finally got back a little of the respect I had before.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Rosina.

  “But, could you stick it, girl?” Mary’s eyes glinted in the dim light of the room. “Sitting there, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, looking like you wouldn’t say boo to a goose. If your family threw you out and your friends spat at you in the street, could you handle it?”

  Rosina raised her head and met Mary’s gaze head on.

  “I could. I love your son, Mrs Dean, and I’ll give up anything for him. We’ll move away from here to somewhere where stupid politics don’t matter. I can handle it.”

  Mary laughed; a harsh, brittle sound without any humour.

  “We’ll see, girl. We’ll see how long you stick around, now the truth is out.”

  It was dawn when Rosina left the hospital. When news had come from the operating theatre that Connor was going to be okay, she made her promises to Mary that she would return that evening.

  Mary had not commented, instead she simply raised an eyebrow in a way that made her look like she knew better, and smirked. The girl had no backbone. No way would she be able to face everything that the community was going to throw at her.

  Now, Rosina didn’t know where to go. Home was an option that she could not yet face. News would have spread, and she couldn’t face her mother. Not yet. As she stood at the bus shelter the bus trundled into view, and she smiled. During times of trouble there was only one place to go.

  Bronwyn’s.

  Bronwyn had just drifted off to sleep when someone hammered on the front door. She opened her eyes and looked over at Danny who was still sleeping soundly.

  “Ma?” she called. “Barry?”

  There was a second knock at the door and a flurry of swearing from her mother’s room. Bronwyn sighed and snuggled down further into her duvet. Sleep was almost upon her again when her mother hollered up to her.

  “Bronwyn!”

  Grumbling to herself and clambering over Danny, she reached for her dressing gown and made her way downstairs.

  Alia hurried back upstairs, shooting Bronwyn a look as she passed.

  “Rosie!” Bronwyn took one look at her tear-streaked face and drew her into the kitchen. “What in hell has happened to you?”

  “Oh, Bronwyn.” Rosina’s lip trembled and she threw her arms round her friend.

  “Rosie, come on and sit down. Tell me what’s happened.”

  Rosina shook her head and tried to pull herself together.

  “I was meeting Connor last night, and just as I got to where we were meeting he was jumped by some lads. They grabbed me, they made me watch…” Rosina broke off as tears threatened again.

  “Christ alive! Did they hurt you?” Bronwyn demanded.

  “No, I got away. But they had a…a…” as the memory came rushing back Rosina clapped a hand to her mouth. “Gonna be sick!” she squeaked.

  Bronwyn hauled Rosina over to the sink and rubbed her friend’s back as she heaved. When Rosina was spent she led her back to the chair.

  “What did they do, Rosie?” she asked softly.

  “They shot him,” Rosina spoke in a whisper and closed her eyes. "His... in his…” she was unable to finish her words but Bronwyn knew all too well what she was trying to say.

  “Kneecapped?” Bronwyn covered her face with her hands. “My God, Rosie, one leg or both?”

  “One. But it’s bad enough. I spent the night at the hospital with him,” replied Rosina. Before Bronwyn could ask any more, Barry came into the kitchen.

  “Hey, what’s all the noise? Oh hey, Rosie, Jeez what happened to you?”

  As she busied herself making tea, Bronwyn recounted the story to Barry. His face darkened as he heard what the men had done.

  “Fucking monsters,” he muttered. “But Rosie, what were you thinking of getting involved with one of them?”

  “It shouldn’t matter!” wailed Rosina. “It’s nobody else’s business anyway.”

  “Did you recognise any of them? And how did they find out?” Barry fired questions at her.

  “I don’t know. Bronwyn’s the only person I’ve told about us. They must have followed me one night.”

  Barry turned to his sister.

  “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

  “No!” she snapped.

  But that wasn’t strictly true. Pieces of information began to click into place in her mind like a jigsaw. She had confided in Danny. Danny was in the I.R.A, the organisation that opposed mixed relationships. Danny had cancelled their date last night to do something that obviously involved the I.R.A. Finally, Danny had returned late, covered in somebody else’s blood. A flush spread over Bronwyn’s face and she turned to the kettle to hide her face. Oh, it couldn’t be true. Danny wouldn’t do that to her best friend.

  Would he?

  Before she could think further, Danny wandered into the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw Rosina, and Bronwyn noted the look that came over his face before he recovered his composure.

  It was a look of panic and fear. It was a look of guilt.

  “Hey, Rose,” said Danny casually. “How you doin’?”

  Bronwyn slammed the kettle down.

  “How does it look like she’s doing?” she snapped. “And we were having a private conversation until the world and his wife interrupted. Can you all piss off and leave us alone!”

  Three faces looked at her in surprise at her outburst.

  “Well, if it’s private don’t do it in public,” retorted Barry and turned to Danny. “Fancy heading over to the pub for breakfast?”

  Danny pulled his gaze away from Rosina and nodded.

  Without another word, he left the room.

  “Sorry about that,” said Bronwyn and put a mug of tea down in front of Rosina.

  “That’s okay,” Rosina sighed. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Bron. Not only can you see your guy out in the open, your ma even lets him stay over—in your bed!”

  “Oh, well the last part is easy. When I started seeing Dan, my ma knew I’d be for shagging him anywhere. ‘Better under my roof, where I know where you are!’” Bronwyn did a passable impersonation of Alia, and it at least raised a smile from Rosina. They sat in companionable silence for a while until Bronwyn spoke again.

  “So, what now?” she asked.

  Rosina drained the mug of tea and stood up.

  “I guess I better face the music at home.”

  Later that day Bron
wyn caught up with Danny.

  He hadn’t moved after breakfast in the Fox and Hound, and Bronwyn noted with distaste that he was drunk.

  “I want to talk to you,” she said as she slid into the booth and sat down opposite him. “Tell me it wasn’t you did that to Connor last night.”

  He regarded her seriously and shook his head.

  “It wasn’t me who did that to Connor last night.”

  “Bullshit!” she exploded. “I’m not an idiot. I saw the look on your face when you saw Rosina this morning.”

  Danny slammed his pint glass down on the table, making her jump.

  “Well, what do you want me to say? If you already know, why the hell are you asking me?”

  Bronwyn covered her face with her hands.

  “I love you, Danny,” she said. “But I love Rosina too. She’s my best friend and you made her watch while you shot Connor.”

  “It’s my job,” replied Danny coldly.

  Bronwyn was lost for words. Danny was no good; no matter what cause he believed in, it didn’t justify shooting a lad who was only guilty of seeing a girl from the wrong side of the track. But she loved him, purely and simply, and that was hard to forget, no matter what he did. She sat back and looked around the smoky pub where she worked four nights a week. It was like a second home to her, and she knew everybody in here by name, indeed had known them all of her life. How many of the men in here were also in the I.R.A? Men she had grown up with and looked up to. How many others led a double life?