The Last Crossing

by Brian McGilloway

  ‘Tonic water and lime,’ Karen said. ‘Please.’

  ‘Coming right up,’ Kelly said.

  ‘I was going to call you,’ Tony said, when Kelly was out of earshot.

  ‘We’ve a job to do,’ Karen said. ‘Let’s keep it at that.’

  ‘I wanted to say sorry,’ he added. ‘I was an arsehole that night. I’m sorry. I was in the wrong.’

  ‘You were,’ Karen said, allowing a brief glance in his direction.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘Are we OK?’

  ‘There is no “we”,’ Karen said. ‘An apology in a bar two weeks late doesn’t change how things went that evening.’

  ‘I know,’ Tony said. ‘I just hoped–’

  ‘You hoped I’d been pining for you for the past fortnight, waiting for you to call?’

  ‘I hoped you’d give me a chance to make it up to you.’

  They had no further chance to discuss it, for Duggan arrived and, a moment later, Kelly returned with the drink. Duggan waited until Kelly sat, then began.

  ‘Karen has got us an address for our friend,’ he said. ‘We need to keep an eye on him for a while, work out his patterns, his hours, the whole thing. I’ve taken a drive by a few times, just to get used to the place and his hours. He leaves at 8.10 every morning but comes back at different times each day, with no real pattern. He does, though, go to church on a Sunday, same time each week, and he does his grocery shop on a Friday night, usually after 7pm.’

  ‘What do you need us to do?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Can you keep an eye on the supermarket on a Friday night, see if that’s somewhere that might be viable, see where he parks and that. Likewise with the church. And help me out with the morning watch every other day?’

  Kelly nodded.

  ‘What about us?’ Karen asked.

  ‘You’ve played a blinder getting us the address in the first place. Any luck with the thermometers, Tony?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We’ll need them fairly shortly,’ Duggan said. ‘In the meantime, I’ll need the pair of you to do surveillance on the target’s home every other evening. Keep an eye on his patterns, his behaviour. Does he check under the car? Start changing his routine? Anything that might suggest he’s getting suspicious, more cautious, you flag it up to me.’

  ‘And then?’ Tony asked, his voice trembling a little. He could not tell if the adrenaline rushing through his system was as a result of excitement or dread.

  ‘We kill him,’ Duggan said, simply.

  Cross Country

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘You’re going to kill us,’ Duggan said, gripping the moulded dash in front of him as Barr wove once more out into the opposite lane of traffic. ‘There’s no way past them, son; you may just calm yourself until you get to an overtaking lane somewhere.’

  The disembarkation had been straightforward. As they’d driven out of the bowels of the ferry, they’d joined a queue of lorries, all heading in the same direction. Barr had tried drifting in and out behind the lorry ahead, hoping that the driver might see him so doing and let him pass, but with a dozen lorries ahead of that one, it was a futile exercise.

  ‘Enjoy the scenery, eh?’ Duggan added, twisting in his seat and winking lightly at Karen and Tony, as if sharing a private joke.

  Tony managed a brief smile, though it died on his lips even before he’d turned his head to look out at the road, which rose up to their left and along which traffic was already moving. Karen sat in the back seat with him, though had left a gap between them, her bag placed on the middle seat. As she looked out of the window towards the road, he studied her profile, the curve of her jaw, the sweep of her neck and felt again the irony that their intimacy had created almost a greater rift between them than there appeared to be between her and Duggan.

  ‘It’s brighter here,’ he said, simply. The mist of rain, which had shrouded their departure, had broken into watery sunshine now.

  Karen turned briefly to him and smiled. ‘For now.’

  ‘So, what’s Uncle Sean at these days?’ Duggan asked.

  ‘He’s over here actually,’ Barr said, easing his way around the roundabout and up towards the junction leading out of the docks.

  ‘Is he now?’

  ‘He was speaking at some EU peace conference in Glasgow.’

  ‘Is he indeed?’ Duggan said. ‘He could meet us after all.’

  ‘He’s a busy man,’ Barr offered, laughing.

  ‘We’re all busy men. And women. He could take a fucking moment. Do what he said he would. Make himself available. It would be in everyone’s best interests if he did. Even yours.’

  The atmosphere in the car darkened with the comments. Tony could see, with some pity, Barr glancing furtively in the rear-view mirror at Duggan to judge whether he’d spoken even slightly in jest.

  ‘Did you hear about this bridge idea?’ Tony said, by way of distraction.

  He could see Barr’s shoulders sag a little with relief as he gratefully seized on the change in the topic of conversation. ‘What bridge?’ he asked over his shoulder as he started building speed on the incline. ‘The one on the news?’

  ‘Yeah. This idea of a bridge between Ireland and Scotland, to cut out the ferries. It’s only about twenty-five miles across.’

  ‘It’s madness,’ Duggan said. ‘Between that lunatic in America building walls, and the lunatics here looking to build bridges. Fifteen billion it would cost, something like that. Better investing that money in the community.’

  ‘Or the health service,’ Karen added. ‘I think some communities have been riding the investment gravy train long enough. Spending it on health would spread it more fairly.’

  ‘Spoken like someone who doesn’t live in such a community anymore. Where are you now? Bangor?’

  He exaggerated the final syllable, parodying the middle-class pronunciation of the place.

  They lapsed into silence once more. It was as if Duggan’s mood had festered since the ferry, as if he had realised that, if Kelly had not been the tout, then it was likely that one of them must have been.

  ‘The problem is Beaufort’s Dyke,’ Tony said, scrambling to again lift the tension, which was almost palpable in the car.

  ‘I knew a few dykes in my time, but not that one,’ Duggan said, though neither he, nor any of the others, laughed at the comment.

  ‘It’s a marine trench that the Ministry of Defence have been dumping old munitions into for years, apparently. We passed over it on the crossing. They reckon there’s over a million tonnes of weaponry down there.’

  ‘If we ever need to rearm for the struggle, that’s where we should start,’ Barr laughed.

  ‘So Sean’s over talking about peace, and you’re chatting about rearming,’ Duggan said. ‘Which is it?’

  “I didn’t mean nothing by it,’ Barr said, with some bewilderment.

  ‘Give the kid a break,’ Karen said. ‘He was obviously joking.’

  ‘Sure, so am I. He knows that,’ Duggan said. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘The joke’s gone a bit far, Hugh,’ she continued.

  ‘No, I’m genuinely interested,’ Duggan said. ‘Tell us, then. Why are you so keen on things starting up again?’

  ‘I’m not keen,’ Barr said.

  ‘But part of you is sorry you missed those days, aren’t you?’ Duggan asked slyly.

  Barr shrugged. ‘I’m prepared to do what needs to be done.’

  ‘Would you kill for it?’

  ‘I’d rather not, but if I had to.’

  ‘Would you die for it?’

  Tony glanced at Karen, shaking his head lightly. He felt complicit in leading this youth to the slaughter but powerless to do anything to stop it.

  ‘Again. I’d rather not, but if I had to.’

  ‘Do you think your uncle Sean would die for the cause?’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ Barr said. ‘You know him better. He’d not go out of his way looking for it but–
’

  ‘You’re right there, son,’ Duggan said. ‘He’d go a long way to avoid it, the same boyo.’

  ‘Uncle Sean did his bit, like everyone else.’

  ‘Worked out better for him than for the rest of us, though,’ Duggan said.

  ‘He risked the most–’ Barr began, but Duggan cut his short.

  ‘Risked? He risked nothing. He sat and gave orders to the likes of me – and them,’ he added after a short pause, nodding towards where Karen and Tony sat.

  ‘He said you didn’t like him,’ Barr said.

  ‘Don’t like him? I fucking despise him.’

  ‘He brought peace–’

  ‘He was a tin-pot general. He still is.’

  ‘He’s my family,’ Barr said. ‘That’s all the matters to me.’

  Duggan stared at the side of the youth’s face as Barr concentrated on the road. ‘Right you are, son. Martin Kelly was my friend, but I still shot him like an old dog, because your uncle gave the order.’

  ‘That’s what soldiers do,’ Barr said. ‘When they start questioning orders, the war’s already lost.’

  ‘Do you hear that?’ Duggan asked, leaning back towards Karen and Tony. ‘That’s what soldiers do.’

  Barr’s driving had become increasingly aggressive, in keeping with the mood in the car. He swerved past one lorry, pulled in, then attempted to overtake a second, making the manoeuvre with such speed and suddenness that Karen was shunted across against Tony momentarily. He felt her pressure against him, the brief lilt of her perfume and, for a second, he was lying with her again in his student digs.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, straightening herself.

  He gave a light rise of his hand. ‘We’ll be lucky if we survive the drive there,’ he said.

  ‘Right enough. Take it easy, son,’ Duggan said to Barr, one hand gripping the plastic handle above the passenger door. ‘Kelly’s not going anywhere. He’ll still be there if we’re a bit late.’

  Barr slowed the car a little, seemingly embarrassed at having been riled by Duggan.

  ‘Have you anything to drink?’ Tony asked. The bacon from his fry had left him parched, his stomach heaving a little too at being a backseat passenger with the erratic nature of Barr’s driving. ‘Could we maybe stop somewhere and get a drink of something?’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Karen said. ‘Maybe stretch our legs.’

  ‘OK,’ Barr nodded. ‘I did bring some stuff, but no drinks. I’ve crisps and energy bars in the back there somewhere,’ he said. ‘Provisions.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘I brought provisions,’ Tony said, pulling out a bottle of Coke and two Mars bars from a holdall. ‘I’ve never been on a stake-out before.’

  He and Karen were sitting in her car in a layby around the corner from where the policeman lived. Duggan had suggested to them that they take a quick drive to where the cop lived, both to orientate themselves and to pick out the best spots from which they could keep an eye on his house. Tony had asked twice what the man was called, but to no avail. ‘Best you don’t know,’ Duggan had said.

  ‘Karen knows.’

  ‘If you know nothing, no matter what they do to you or ask you, you’ll not be able to give them anything. It’s for your protection. And ours.’

  Tony nodded, a little frustrated at the sense of exclusion he felt. On the other hand, the less he knew, the easier it was to reconcile himself with what he was doing. And what was he doing, he asked himself? This guy had shot a child and got away with it. Just like the driver who’d killed Danny.

  ‘I don’t like caramel,’ Karen said, refusing the Mars. ‘I’m not hungry anyway.’

  Tony nodded, then put them both back in the bag. ‘How have you been since?’ he asked.

  ‘All right,’ Karen shrugged. ‘You?’

  ‘Good,’ Tony said, keen to keep talking to fill the awkwardness of the silence between them. ‘School’s busy. I’d dealings with that wee girl, Alice, again today.’

  Karen nodded absentmindedly, taking out the small pocket map and opening it up. ‘He’s on Hollows Avenue. The house should be up there,’ she added, nodding lightly towards an estate to their left.

  She put away the map and started the ignition, then pulled out onto the main road.

  ‘What happened? With the wee girl? Alice?’ she asked, glancing at him.

  Tony had been covering for one of his colleagues in the English department who’d phoned in sick with a migraine. The class he was covering, it transpired, was Alice’s.

  The child had been sitting on her own at the rear of the room, the rest of the class paired up, two sharing each desk. They’d been left work to complete, an acrostic on their favourite person. He’d wandered around the room, glancing over some of the kids’ shoulders. Most were writing poems about their parents or their favourite footballer.

  Alice had caught his eye as he’d been moving through the gaps between the desks, smiling timidly at him. He’d made his way down to where she sat, half expecting that she’d been composing the poem about her mother. For an absurd moment, he’d wondering if she might have written it about him, then dismissed the idea; he’d only had one or two dealings with her, after all. It didn’t stop him feeling just a little disappointed when he saw it was written for her father, even as he scolded himself for the unworthiness of his feeling.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

  She sat back, allowing him an unfettered view of the page.

  ‘Daddy is my favourite man.

  Anything you want, he can

  Dedicate himself to it and try

  Despite the fact he wants to cry

  Y–’

  ‘Are you stuck on the last line?’ Tony asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘What do you want to say?’

  ‘That even when he wants to cry, he has to forget about himself and think about me.’

  ‘Why does he want to cry?’

  ‘Because of Mum,’ she said, simply. ‘I hear him sometimes, at night, but he doesn’t want me to know, so I pretend I’m sleeping.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tony said. ‘That must be tough.’

  She nodded. ‘I want to start with Y but there’s only You that could be used and he’s not Your daddy, he’s my daddy, so that doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What about, ‘You can always count on him’?’ Tony offered.

  Alice tried not to react, but could not hide the lack of enthusiasm she felt for his suggestion.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ Tony said, feeling just a little embarrassed at his lack of skill.

  ‘It is a fairly shit line,’ Karen said now, as Tony recounted the story. ‘The wee girl’s better at it than you are.’

  ‘I felt sorry for the man,’ Tony said, having taken mock offence at her comment. ‘He sounds like he’s struggling. I feel even more sorry for her.’

  ‘Why? Her dad’s obviously looking after her.’

  ‘He’s doing his best, maybe, but she’s just not fitting in. Even in class, no one would sit with her. Kids can be really nasty to one another.’

  ‘So can adults,’ Karen said. They passed a row of houses, before turning again, up the left. As they drove up along the crescent, Karen counted off the numbers of each house silently to herself.

  ‘That one,’ she said, with a barely perceptible nod.

  It was one of four terraced houses in the block, narrow, with beige pebble-dashing. The garden, small and square, was a little overgrown, as if the last cut had been missed. A small wooden gate, sun-bleached and blistering, gave way to a short pathway leading to the front door. A red Ford Cortina was parked on the street outside, one side elevated because he had parked it up half on the pavement, the other side on the road.

  ‘Small house for a cop,’ Tony said.

  ‘Maybe he’s renting,’ Karen said. ‘If he got out on disability, he’d have got a decent payment for it.’

  Tony looked out of the passenger window and could see s
hops down below the estate, separated from it by the main thoroughfare. A number of cars were already parked at the front of the shops.

  ‘We could park down there and watch up,’ he said.

  They stopped in front of the shop units. In addition to a small supermarket, there was a hairdresser’s, a pharmacy and both Chinese and Indian takeaways. Tony offered to go and buy a bag of chips to eat in the car, giving them a pretext for staying in the parking area, he reasoned.

  ‘Maybe later,’ Karen said. ‘I’m OK for now.’

  ‘I am sorry about that thing with Kelly,’ Tony said after a few moments silence. ‘I was being a tube.’

  ‘You were,’ Karen agreed.

  ‘I was totally out of order.’

  ‘You were,’ she repeated.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’

  ‘I’ve not decided yet,’ she said, with a faint smile.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ Tony said, his voice just the right side of plaintive.

  ‘I’ll take half your Mars.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like caramel!’

  ‘I’ve forgiven it. Besides, you don’t need it all. You’ll get fat.’