‘Mrs O’Neill,’ said Joe as she turned. ‘You’re a few miles from town here. It must take you a while to do your shopping.’
‘Oh, I manage. I walk down to the village and I can get the bus to the supermarket once a week.’
‘Would that be the Superquinn over in Dundalk?’
‘That’s right,’ she answered. ‘We try to shop over there when we can. We avoid the British shops.’ She glanced at Francis, who was not looking at her.
‘That’s grand. Listen. My boy Kenny is outside in the car. He could run you over to Dundalk to do a bit of shopping now. He’ll only be sitting there waiting for me otherwise. And me and Francis here, we could be a little while.’
‘No, Joe, I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘It’s really not a problem,’ said Joe with a smile, and Francis flicked her a glance.
‘Well, then. I’ll just get me bag and me coat.’
As she left the house she heard the car start up. She had done the week’s shopping the day before. She would, instead, find somewhere to have a cup of tea.
‘Well, Francis. You’ll know why I’m here. We’ve had a long drive of it from Donegal. Or Kenny did. It was all right for me. I could doze in the back. Stopped for a good breakfast in Belturbet. But still. You’ll know why I’m here.’
‘Yes.’
‘The boys did their job properly, Francis. There’s no mistake. He told them everything. Name of his handler, what he told them, everything. All the details checked out. He held nothing back. I’d have loved to take him back home to your da’s and tell him not to be so stupid. Or better still, wind the clock back. But …’
He shrugged. Francis looked at him.
‘You know as well as I do that I couldn’t let it pass, much as I’d like to. It’s not something we can tolerate or turn a blind eye to.’
‘No.’
‘We have to do these things. I know how cracked up you must be but you’d do the same if it was my brother.’
‘I would, Joe. I understand. I have no issue with it. It was Liam’s own stupid fault.’
‘Not entirely true. It’s the British who killed him. They led him up the garden path. But I’ll tell you this, Francis. It was me who fired the shot. I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger. I felt sorry as I did it but I felt it was right. I thought that was what you would want.’
‘Fair play to you, Joe. What should I say to me ma and da?’
‘Nothing at all. This is between you and me. And no stain attaches to them or to you. I want you to be clear on that.’
‘Thank you, Joe.’
‘This’ll take some time to get over, I know. Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll talk then.’
‘Now would be good, Joe.’
‘No, it’ll keep. I’ve told the boys that you’ll sit the next one out. You’re stood down for the time being.’
‘No, Joe,’ said Francis firmly. ‘I need to get back doing stuff. And it’ll take my mind off Liam.’
Joe looked at him dubiously. ‘Well, if you’re sure. It’s England.’
Bridget was finishing her pot of tea when Kenny beckoned her through the window. Kenny was solicitous enough but uncommunicative. He looked shattered too.
‘Time to get you back, Mrs O’Neill,’ he said.
‘I thought it was going to be longer,’ she said.
‘Got a call,’ he said, holding up a mobile phone to her with what looked like self-satisfaction. It was a tiny device, held in the palm of his hand.
Back at the house, Joe Geraghty said a hasty goodbye and got into the car.
Francis sat on the sofa in the sitting room. He looked spent, barely recognizable.
‘What’s the matter, Francis?’ she said. ‘What did Mr Geraghty say?’
He looked up at her sharply. ‘What?’
‘You just looked worried.’ She had spoken rashly. Francis discouraged her from asking questions.
‘Aye. Well, it’s just –’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. Will you be getting us a cup of tea now?’
He sat on the sofa all afternoon watching the horse-racing on the television and drinking beer. It was unlike him. From the duty-free pack that he’d acquired on one of his European adventures and stowed in the back of the wardrobe to give to his father, he took a pack of cigarettes and smoked them one after the other.
‘I thought you’d given up the smoking, Francis,’ said Bridget.
‘Sure I had. And now I’ve started again,’ he said. ‘Anything wrong with that?’
‘Of course not,’ she said in reply to his glare, and left him to it.
Apart from the frenetic commentary that she could just hear from the television, its sound turned down low, and the occasional creak of the sofa as Francis reached for another can, there was no noise in the house as she went about her chores. She looked in on him every so often. He stared glassily at the screen, not watching, lifting his hand mechanically to pour beer into his mouth. He did not acknowledge her presence.
Later she saw tears rolling down his face, his expression and pose unchanged. She knelt next to the sofa and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. He showed no sign of noticing.
‘Francis, love? What is it?’
The tears turned into a shrugging sob which he tried to suppress with a grimace, but in vain. His shoulders heaved and he turned to her. He looked desperate.
‘I’m a rabbit in the fucking snare, Bridget,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, Francis,’ she said. ‘It’s all right.’
‘What do you know about it? It’s not,’ he said with vehemence, and buried his face in her shoulder.
Finally he seemed to regain some composure but lost it immediately. She put her arms around him and he submitted.
‘It’s Liam,’ he said.
‘What about Liam?’
‘Me own brother. Me own fecking brother.’
‘What’s Liam done?’
He gathered himself briefly and said, ‘Nothing. Nothing.’
She waited.
‘The stupid fucker,’ he said eventually.
‘What is it, Francis?’
‘Stupid bastard. He should never have …’
‘Should never have what?’
‘Why, in God’s name?’
‘Francis, it’ll be all right. Whatever he’s done, you can sort it out. We can sort it out. It’ll be all right.’
‘No, it won’t.’
So he told her. How Liam had become a tout for the Brits. Had tried to sell him out. Had been found out by the boys. He told her Joe Geraghty had become involved. Had spoken with him about it. Asked whether he knew anything of it. He told her he’d denied all knowledge. Which was true. He’d disowned his brother. He’d agreed with Joe to say if Liam got in touch. And Liam had. Francis had told Joe. Had arranged to meet Liam but hadn’t turned up.
And now Joe had reported what had happened to Liam. Liam was gone, dead and dumped somewhere in County Donegal. Joe had told Francis to look at the bigger picture. This was part of the struggle. This was their burden.
‘God,’ said Bridget. ‘And you, Francis. Does he think you …?’
‘He said there’s no stain on me. Liam was doing this on his own. He made that clear before … I can’t say nothing to my ma and da.’
‘It’s probably better that way.’
‘And he wants me to get back to …’
‘To what, Francis?’
‘To what I do.’
‘And do you want to?’
‘I don’t know. If I don’t, they may think I’m not sound.’
‘And why would they do that now?’
‘You don’t know them, Bridget. You don’t know how it works. If you don’t follow orders, they get to thinking. Especially if there’s something against your name.’
‘But I thought Joe said –’
‘I know what he said well enough. He has to. And I have to say
, yes, Joe, I believe you. I’m 110 per cent with you.’
‘But if your heart’s not in it.’
‘Oh, my heart’s in it right enough. But I’m afraid, Bridget.’
‘Then we must find a way out.’
‘There is no way out.’
‘There must be. There’s always something. However bad things seem.’
‘What? The darkest hour is just before dawn?’ he said. ‘Shows how much you fecking know. You should try being me.’
‘I know it sounds stupid. What’ll you do, Francis?’
He was silent for the moment. He did not look at her, but seemed somewhere else entirely, in his head perhaps but not with her.
‘Christ knows. I just have to carry on, do what the boys say until I can think of something better. Maybe after the next job I can ask Joe if I can jack it in.’
‘I’m here, Francis. It’s all right. You can rely on me.’
He turned his gaze to her with a flicker of surprise. It seemed to her that he had only just registered her presence. ‘Not a word,’ he said. ‘Not a word, to any fucker. Not to your ma, not to Joe if he comes calling.’
‘He won’t, will he?’ she says, openly anxious.
‘No, he won’t. But if he does, be careful. Not a word.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Get it,’ said Francis.
It was Anne-Marie. ‘How’re you doing, Bridget?’
‘Fine thanks. And you?’ She smiled.
‘All right. Me and Stevie were going over to Dundalk for a drink.’ She pointed at the car waiting at the end of the path. ‘You and Francis fancy coming too?’
‘That’d be lovely, Anne-Marie. Only we can’t. Not today.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Sorry. Francis has got a lot on.’
‘You won’t come for a couple yourself, Bridget?’
‘Don’t want to play gooseberry.’ She giggled, not too affectedly, she hoped.
‘There’ll be some of the girls down there. We could have a gossip.’
‘No. Better stay with Francis.’
‘All right, then. See you.’
‘Bye.’
She closed the door and went back into the sitting room. It was as if a switch had been tripped in Francis. He sat upright, composed and angry.
‘You stupid cow, why did you say that?’
‘What?’
‘That I’ve got a lot on.’
‘I had to say something, Francis.’
‘What if it gets back to Joe? He knows I’m stood down for the minute. What if that bitch is talking to the peelers, eh? Did you think of that? Or Stevie?’
‘They wouldn’t, Francis.’
‘How would you know?’ he said, standing and walking out of the room.
9
‘Liam’s dead. He was taken.’ She could hear the panic in her voice, was not sure whether it was for Liam or for herself, but could not eradicate it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean Liam’s been killed. What else can I mean?’
‘Sorry. Who took Liam?’
She was stalling for time. Understandable, Bridget thought, though it didn’t make things any easier. ‘You know who must have taken him,’ she said.
‘Let’s meet,’ said Sarah, and they made their arrangements.
A crash meeting in a cheap hotel. Perhaps the first of many, thought Sarah. Not ideal. If this was to continue they’d have to make some more permanent arrangements. Something safer. Meanwhile she fretted whether Bridget would be all right.
She waited impatiently, observing the cobwebs on the underside of the grimy windowsill from the bed on which she sat, taut, one hand gripping the other in her lap, legs slightly apart and swinging for want of anything better to do. These shoes have seen better days, she thought, but this too was displacement.
Liam O’Neill’s death would not feature in the grand scheme of things, unless in some bizarre, unforeseen sequence of events his killers could be brought to justice. Joe Geraghty’s men were extraordinarily careful. The fact that it was self-evident that the Security Team had carried out the murder meant nothing: there would be no evidence that would make them amenable to prosecution. Liam O’Neill was a nobody in the history of Northern Ireland, simply one of the many disappeared, not even a footnote in his own right. It was the kind of thinking that edged you closer to inhumanity. But the weight of it all.
The timid knock on the door. That would be her.
‘Francis told me. Liam was taken. Francis was all agitated. He’d never have told me otherwise. I know I’m not supposed to phone from the village but –’
‘Slow down, Bridget. Steady. Just tell me what’s happened.’
‘Francis has been away.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. Anyway, that’s not the point. Then yesterday Joe Geraghty comes round. Afterwards he was upset. He doesn’t ever talk about them. But he said they took Liam.’
‘Did Joe Geraghty tell him?’
‘Yes. He said Joe told him to agree to meet Liam and not to turn up …’
‘Then what?’
‘Then Joe Geraghty comes down to ours and tells Francis it’s over. Liam’s been taken and has confessed. Then been killed.’
‘Confessed to what?’
‘To being a tout for the Brits.’ She looked up at Sarah. ‘Was he?’
‘I don’t know. Anything else?’
‘Joe said he killed him. Said it was a matter of honour that he should do it. Said he thought it would give Francis some comfort to know. Was Liam a tout for you people?’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be told.’
‘And is this what I can look forward to? Is this what’s going to happen to me? One day I’ll be grabbed and that’s the end of me? And you close the file?’
‘No, Bridget. Of course not.’
‘Why of course not? Why should I believe you?’
‘I’ll do everything I can to protect you. We need to be so careful.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘I can’t give you any guarantees, but we need to keep to what we’ve agreed.’
‘Because I’m already up to me neck in it. That what you mean?’
‘No. If you decide you’ve had enough we simply say goodbye.’
‘What if I decide I want out? If I just leave? Will you help me then?’
‘Yes. But it’d be far better if you stayed around for the time being. Far safer.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Once you’ve provided some information of real value we’ll be in a far better position to help you.’
‘And this doesn’t count?’
‘It counts, but it doesn’t help us stop something happening. We need more. You have to see it from our end.’
‘I have to see it from your end. Why? Because it’s a deal when it comes down to it?’
‘It’s more than a transaction. But yes, there has to be some value …’
‘Value?’
‘I’ve no choice.’
‘I’ve got myself caught up with you lot when I didn’t need to. That’s the blackmail, is it? Give us more or we won’t help you get out of this mess.’
‘You can stop now if you want and things will go back to exactly how they were before we met. Or if you want to leave now of course we’ll help you. If you want to come to England with me this minute I’m there for you.’
‘There for me. What does that mean?’
‘It’ll be better all round if you stay on in there for the moment. We’d be able to help you far more then.’
‘You mean you need to see value for money.’
Sarah said nothing.
‘I’m here like a sitting duck. That’s your deal. Take your chances and you may get some more money. You’ll ration out your help according to what I tell you. And meanwhile I might end up in a ditch with a bullet through my head.’
‘Isn’t that why you’re talking to me?
To stop that sort of thing happening?’
‘That’s your answer?’
‘Bridget, I can’t promise you no harm will come to you. How can I? But I will do my best for you. And I would tell you honestly if I thought you were in danger.’
‘But you wouldn’t know.’
‘Not necessarily. But we’re not in the habit of losing people.’
‘Somebody lost Liam.’
‘Neither of us knows what happened. It could be something different. Antisocial behaviour. The Loyalists. They may just have got it wrong. I don’t know.’
‘And the confession?’
‘Everybody confesses when those people get on to you. You know that. Look, I’d be genuinely surprised if Liam had anything to do with us.’
‘But you’ll find out? And you’ll tell me?’
‘I’ll try to find out. But I can’t be certain. What was Liam like?’
‘He was a kid. He was selfish. But I liked him. He was a rogue. He wasn’t a bad boy. Just impulsive. I can’t see how he got caught up with you people.’
‘He may not have. It’s happened before. The IRA get things wrong.’
‘And they get things right sometimes.’
‘I know. Which is why we have to be so careful.’
Bridget’s head was bowed and she began to sob quietly. ‘Francis has lost two brothers now. I just feel sorry for the poor boy. He was just a poor wee boy. What those men’ll have done to him. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
The resumption of normality, the application of routine deliberately to numb the senses, to anaesthetize her against what came next. It was an experiment, to quell her heart, which leapt from both fear and tentative, joyous anticipation, to test what a continuation of this life would bring.
In the house damp seeped through the walls. Although he was not there Francis had given strict instructions not to waste peat on the fire after March was out. They had no central heating and she relied upon the immersion and the two-bar radiant fire for hot water and heat.
Outside, it was more like an autumn morning than late spring. The wet cool infused her bones as she walked to the village in her warm coat and the light hung grey and heavy in the sky. It was too settled for rain but there was no sign of the sun.
A Traitor in the Family Page 13