Taking Sides

by Brian Gallagher

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Go, Annie, cycle as fast as you can.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘I’ll never forget this,’ she said, then she squeezed his arm in farewell, jumped up onto the bike and cycled at speed down the lane. Just as she turned onto Ballyboghill Road, she glanced back and caught a final glimpse of Peter standing outside the lighted door of the cottage. He raised his arm in farewell, then he was lost to sight and Annie rose in the saddle, cycling as fast as she could. The night air was cold and clear, and the bicycle lamp picked out the frost-laden trees along the side of the dark country road as she sped along.

  The rush of cold air was bracing, and Annie tried to figure out what her best tactic might be. Should she stop somewhere along the way, perhaps, and try to ring the police? But there were few houses on the winding country road, and even when she got to Glasnevin, where there was more housing, most people still wouldn’t have telephones in their homes. And then there would be the time it would take to explain that this was an emergency, and then trying to get put through to the right people in the police.

  No, she thought, better to cycle home as quickly as she possibly could. She mapped out her route in her head – along Ballyboghill Road, down the hill to the Finglas Road, then along the boundary wall of Glasnevin Cemetery, and finally down Lindsay Road towards home. Normally she would have avoided the spooky route past the cemetery, but tonight that didn’t seem important. Instead she rose even higher in the saddle, pumped her legs furiously, and sped along the frosty road.

  Peter stood at the cottage door, trying to get to grips with how he felt. He was still really angry that his former comrades had kidnapped Annie – it seemed such a wrong thing to do, even allowing for them being upset about the executions. As well as being angry, though, he was fearful. Supposing Ned bled to death from his wound? He didn’t want that on his conscience. He thought about it for a moment, then stepped back into the cottage. Ned had risen, using a walking stick to support himself, and had fastened a makeshift bandage on his bloodied leg.

  ‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’ said Peter.

  ‘And have me arrested when they see a gunshot wound? You’ve done enough damage for one night, you little turncoat!’

  ‘You’re the ones that sold me out!’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that, boy! But we’ll get you. You’ll pay for this.’

  Despite trying to keep his face impassive, Peter found the other man’s hatred chilling. How had he not recognised this extremism before in his dealings with Ned? And in Finbar and Mr Mac too? Had they always been fanatics, with him too blind to see it? Had he been really naive in thinking that their fight for an Irish Republic had been honourable, when it now seemed that these were people who would stoop to any act to get what they wanted? It was awful to think that maybe he had been misguided all along. And frightening too, to know that these men might come after him for revenge.

  It was time to get away from here. He held Ned’s gaze for another moment, just to give the impression that he wasn’t afraid of him, then he turned on his heel and walked out of the cottage.

  Annie careened around the corner into St Josephine’s Avenue, cycling faster then she ever had before.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ cried Josie Gogarty who was walking back towards her house with a loaf of bread.

  ‘It’s urgent!’ cried Annie as she mounted the footpath and made for the corner of St Alphonsus Avenue.

  ‘Think you’re great on your fancy bike!’ cried Josie. ‘Get that from one of your posh friends?’

  Annie ignored her and cycled to her front door. She jumped off the bicycle, quickly took out her hall door key, and let herself in.

  ‘Ma!’ she called.

  Her mother came running out to the hall.

  ‘Annie?! Thank God!’ she cried, wrapping her daughter into her arms. ‘I was worried sick! Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Were you taken by–’

  ‘I escaped, Ma,’ interrupted Annie, ‘but there isn’t time for that now. Are you here on your own?’

  ‘Yes, Da’s gone out in the hackney, and Sean and Eamon are working.’

  ‘I’ve got to reach Da!’ said Annie. ‘I have to let him know the kidnappers don’t have me any more.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to contact Mick,’ said Ma. ‘He’ll know how to handle this.’

  ‘There isn’t time. We have to get to Da before anything happens. Where’s Da working now?’

  ‘At City Hall.’

  ‘Where’s the nearest big police station to here, Ma?’

  ‘Eh … I suppose Mountjoy Station.’

  ‘I have to warn them, and get to City Hall.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ma.

  ‘No! Sorry, Ma, but every minute counts. I’ve a bike outside, I’ll be quicker on that.’

  Her mother looked like she was about to argue, but Annie was already making for the door. ‘Just pray I’m in time!’

  Peter’s hand trembled as he opened the hall door and stepped into Botanic Lodge. He had heard of delayed shock, and now that he was safely home the enormity of what he had done was dawning on him.

  He had found an old bicycle belonging to Ned in the yard of the cottage, and had taken it to cycle home, feeling that it would be wise to put as much distance as possible between himself and Willow Cottage.

  He suspected that Ned would take the pony and trap and go to another safe house where he could have his wound treated. But just because Ned was likely to be out of action for a while didn’t mean the danger had passed. Once Finbar and Mr Mac found out what had happened there could still be a high price to pay. He wasn’t sorry that he had rescued Annie – he despised the way Mr Mac had used her – but he had definitely put himself in danger.

  Peter crossed the hall quickly, not wanting to bump into his mother or any of her Friday night bridge cronies. He ascended the stairs, entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He needed time to think. What would happen if Finbar and Mr Mac came here seeking revenge? He still had the gun. But supposing his new-found enemies tried to burn the house down? It was a tactic that had been used a lot during the civil war. What would happen to his family then? Yet he could hardly go to the police and seek protection – if he did that it would emerge that he, too, had been involved with the rebels. He sat on the side of the bed, willing himself to find a solution as his thoughts went round in circles.

  ‘Please, take me with you!’ pleaded Annie. ‘It makes sense!’

  She was finally talking to two detectives in the nearby Mountjoy Police Station, but precious time had been lost. The desk sergeant hadn’t taken her seriously at first, but eventually she had convinced him that she had been kidnapped and that her father drove important members of the new government. Now she was sitting in a room with two big, tough-looking detectives. They had questioned her closely on realising that there could be an assassination attempt afoot. Annie had answered all the questions honestly – with one exception. After he had risked everything to rescue her, she couldn’t tell on Peter.

  She knew that lying to the detectives could get her into trouble, but she simply had to protect him. And so she had invented a version of events in which she had escaped without Peter’s involvement. The younger of the two detectives, a man with close-cropped blonde hair and small scar under his eye, spoke reassuringly. ‘You’ve done really well, Annie,’ he said. ‘Leave it to us now.’

  ‘But don’t you see?’ she persisted. ‘Unless my Da knows I’m free, he’ll still obey the kidnappers.’

  ‘We’ll tell him you’re free,’ said the detective.

  ‘He mightn’t believe you! He might think you’re just saying that, because to you the most important thing is saving a minister.’

  Annie could see that the older detective – a sallow-skinned, dark haired man with calculating eyes – was considering this, and she pressed her cas
e. ‘And that’s if you can even get near Da without tipping off the rebels. But if I go with you, I can walk up to the hackney. Then he’ll know he doesn’t have to do what they say anymore. Please, it makes sense.’

  ‘It’s risky, Tadhg, for a young girl,’ said the junior detective.

  ‘So was escaping from the kidnappers!’ said Annie. ‘But my da’s in danger and I want to help. Please,’ she said, focusing on the dark-haired man. ‘I’ll be really careful, and I’ll duck down the minute I’ve delivered your message.’

  She thought that perhaps she had swayed the senior man, and she looked him directly in the eye. ‘Take me with you! Every minute we waste here helps them!’

  ‘All right,’ said the man, suddenly making his mind up and rising. ‘Two vehicles, Pearse, eight men, all armed!’ he said to the junior detective. ‘Let’s go!’

  Both men made for the door, and Annie rose at once and followed on their heels.

  Peter dreaded confessing to his father. He had agonised in his bedroom for the last half an hour, but eventually had decided that there was no choice – he couldn’t leave his family at risk. He walked slowly down the stairs, trying to rehearse how he might break the news. But there was no good way to tell your parents that you had been living a secret life that had gone spectacularly wrong.

  In some ways it would be easier to break it to his mother, but she was playing bridge with her friends in the dining room, so he could hardly approach her. Besides, he knew that his father would be the one to decide on what action to take, so he figured that he might as well go straight to him now and get it over with.

  When Peter had first come home, his father had been playing the piano, as he sometimes did to relax after a day in the dental surgery. He was a talented pianist, and Peter noted now that he had gone from classical pieces by Chopin and Schubert to more modern material – usually a sign that he was in good humour. At the moment he was playing ‘After You’ve Gone’, one of his favourite tunes. Peter paused at the drawing room door, trying to get up his nerve. He stood there a moment, then he knocked on the door and entered the room.

  ‘Ah, Peter,’ said his father with a smile. He continued to play the tune as he spoke, something that Peter couldn’t do while he was playing.

  ‘Dad, I’ve … I’ve something to tell you.’

  The smile slowly faded from his father’s face, and Peter could see a look of concern. His father stopped playing and indicated for Peter to take one of the seats near the piano. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m … I’m really sorry, Dad. You’re going to be angry.’

  ‘Spit it out, I’m sure it’s not that bad.’

  ‘It is, though,’ said Peter. ‘It’s … it’s very bad.’

  The police cars sped through the city streets. Annie sat in the back of the leading car with the two detectives, her nerves on edge. In other circumstances this would be a real adventure, but her fear of what could happen to Da meant that she couldn’t enjoy the excitement of racing through the city. What she concentrated on instead was being inconspicuous – her fear was that the detectives might have second thoughts, and decide not to involve her in the rescue.

  The unmarked police cars approached the quays at speed, crossing the Liffey at Capel Street Bridge. Annie saw the sallow-skinned detective tapping the driver on the shoulder. ‘Slow down now,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Annie presumed that the detective didn’t want to alert the men who had blackmailed Da into obeying them, and she felt her pulses racing, knowing the key moment was fast approaching.

  ‘Nearly there, Annie,’ said the fair-haired detective, as though reading her thoughts.

  ‘And when we arrive, Annie, you do exactly – exactly – what I tell you,’ said his more senior partner. ‘All right?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  The cars drove up Parliament Street, and Annie looked out the window towards City Hall, where several drivers were sitting in their parked vehicles, presumably awaiting government officials who were still inside the building.

  Annie hadn’t seen the Model T so far, and under her breath she said, ‘Please, God! Please let Da be here!’

  The dark-haired detective turned to face her. ‘OK, Annie. Sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘All right. Let’s drive by City Hall.’

  Peter told his father everything. He had half-planned to keep some of the details back, but once he began his admissions, it all came tumbling out. He felt guilty now for the huge problem that he had landed on his father, and foolish for having allowed himself to be used by Mr Mac and Finbar. He was still angry at how they had betrayed him and at the ruthless way they had used Annie as a pawn, and he felt frightened for his family over the threat that Ned had made. Most of all, however, he felt relieved. He had expected his father to get really angry – perhaps even to hit him – but while Dad had looked disbelieving and horrified several times during the story, for the most part he had stayed surprisingly calm.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ said Peter now. ‘If I’d known what I was bringing on the family … I … I’m just really sorry.’

  ‘So you should be. You’ve been incredibly deceitful.’

  Peter couldn’t meet his father’s gaze.

  ‘You’ve also been remarkably foolish – wicked almost. Though I suppose in your warped thinking you felt you were doing the right thing.’

  ‘I did, Dad,’ said Peter, earnestly. ‘I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.’

  ‘It was still stupid. And you lied outright to your mother and me. Having said all that, you’re still my son. And no-one is going to harm you – or any member of this family.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ll have to send you away.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to get you out of Dublin immediately. You can stay with Mum’s relations in Sligo, and go to school there.’

  Peter hadn’t been expecting this and he must have looked shocked.

  ‘It’s the only way I’ll be able to square things here,’ said his father. ‘I know some people with influence. If I play up the fact that you’re a schoolboy who got in with the wrong crowd, and I move you for your own good, they’ll probably accept that as the end of the matter.’

  ‘Right…’

  His father rose suddenly. ‘OK, pack a bag quickly.’

  ‘I’m going tonight?’

  ‘We’re all staying in a hotel tonight. It’s not safe to stay here. I’ll tell your mother and I’ll ring John and Mary. I know they’re both visiting friends.’

  Despite being in shock at the idea of moving to Sligo, Peter was struck by the decisive way his father was dealing with things. Then a thought occurred to him. ‘What happens, Dad, if they come tonight to pay me back – and there’s no-one here?’

  ‘They find an empty house. They’ll never trace you to Sligo, believe me.’

  ‘It’s not that, Dad. If they find the house empty, they might …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They might burn it to the ground.’

  His father looked thoughtful, then shrugged philosophically. ‘Then they burn it to the ground. I can’t go to the police tonight. My approach depends on you already being moved to Sligo when I talk to them – and there’ll be no more trains tonight.’

  Peter looked at his father, taking in that he was prepared to lose the family home, if necessary, to make sure his son didn’t end up in trouble. Peter felt incredibly moved, and wanted to say something meaningful, but instead he felt tears welling up and all he could get out was, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  His father reached out and squeezed his arm briefly. ‘Don’t worry about that now,’ he said gently. Then he looked at his watch and spoke decisively again. ‘OK, I want everyone ready to leave in fifteen minutes. You pack everything you’ll need for school in Sligo. Go!’

  Peter ran out the door and ascended the stairs, two steps at
a time.

  Annie’s prayers had been answered. The Model T was parked around the corner from City Hall with several other vehicles. Annie had spotted it from Lord Edward Street when the police had driven at normal speed past City Hall in the direction of Christchurch. She had confirmed for the detectives that it was definitely her father’s hackney. She had even briefly made out Da, sitting at the wheel and waiting for his passenger to emerge from City Hall.

  Annie was hugely relieved, but she knew that the danger was far from over.

  Meanwhile, the police cars had stopped about thirty yards up the street, and two of the policemen had gone back on foot and slipped into City Hall via a side door, to intercept the Minister on whom Da was waiting. Everyone else had got out of the cars for a final briefing by the leading detective. He said that the simplest outcome would be if the kidnappers were not in the vicinity, but had told Mr Reilly to drive a particular route, at some point along which they would intercept the car. In that case, Annie and her father could safely leave, and the police would launch a manhunt for the would-be kidnappers. It was more likely, though, that the kidnappers would want to control everything as it unfolded, in which case they were probably hiding out of view in the back of Mr Reilly’s vehicle. This was a trickier problem, he said.

  Annie’s mouth had gone dry as she listened to him explaining their tactics – and her role in them. It had been one thing in the police station to insist that she wanted to help, but now that the time had come, she was scared. The policeman had instructed his men to try to avoid shooting because of the presence of Annie and her father. But supposing that all went wrong, and Da ended up getting shot? She could even be shot herself or taken prisoner again by men who had already proven themselves to be ruthless. But frightened or not, she couldn’t leave Da in the hands of these people, and she steeled herself now as the detective finished his briefing.

  ‘Ready, Annie?’