A Real Job

by David Lowe

  Debbie kissed David reassuringly on the cheek and said, ‘don’t worry, it’ll go fine.’

  As they got out of the car, Debbie stood on the pavement by the passenger door while David opened the boot and took out their overnight bag. As he was closing it, the door to his parents’ house opened followed by his mother running out straight to David. Placing a hand on each of his cheeks, she made him bend his head as she kissed him. ‘Hello love,’ Mary Hurst said with a beaming smile, hugging her eldest son tightly.

  ‘Hi Mum, can I introduce you to . . .’

  Before David could finish, she let go of him and went straight over to Debbie. Mary was too excited at finally meeting the woman that had lived with her son for the past seven months and said, ‘You must be Debbie.’ She hugged her then kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m Mary. It’s lovely to finally meet you.’

  Debbie was slightly taken aback at the forward, but warm manner in which she was received. She could not get over how small Mary was compared to her son. Her dark hair was in contrast to David’s fair hair and reckoning Mary was about five foot tall, she could see where Peter got his slight frame from. Not being one for having a large photograph collection of his family, the only pictures she had seen of Mary was when David was a young boy. Struck by how young and glamorous she looked for her age Debbie smiled warmly at Mary and said, ‘It’s lovely to finally meet you too. David’s told me so much about you and James.’

  ‘Now I’m missing my manners, come on in love,’ Mary said. Her thick, west coast Irish accent had not diminished during the forty-five years she had been living in Liverpool. Holding Debbie by the hand, she escorted her into the house, followed by David carrying the bags. ‘Now bring yourself in,’ Mary said, ‘we don’t stand on any ceremony in this house, do we David love?’

  Before he could answer, James Hurst walked through from the kitchen. He knew David had arrived as Mary gave a squeal of delight when his son pulled up outside the house. As he walked out of the front room into the hallway, Debbie could see David inherited his features from his father. James kissed Debbie on the cheek and said, ‘Hello Debbie love. I’ve got the kettle on and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. Mary’s been baking all morning, so we can have a couple of cakes to go with it. You must be weary after your journey?’

  David raised his eyes and said, ‘We’ve only travelled the thirty miles from Manchester Dad.’

  ‘I thought you were coming up from London?’ James asked.

  ‘We got back from London Wednesday evening. We’ve both been in work this morning.’

  ‘How come you came back from London so early? I thought you were coming up today?’

  ‘Something cropped up we had to deal with,’ David said hoping his father would not ask what that something was.

  Holding onto to David’s arm, Mary said, ‘You’re both here now. That’s what matters. I think we’ll have tea in the back yard. Now come on love, I’ll take you through,’ then turning to David, Mary said, ‘Give your father a hand and bring out the cakes.’

  ‘Thank you Mary, you’re both so kind,’ Debbie said as Mary guided her through the open French doors leading into the back yard. Looking at the decking area with a cast iron table and chairs underneath a wooden pagoda with the surrounding walls covered by a variety of climbing plants, Debbie smiled and said, ‘It’s a lovely courtyard garden Mary, really lovely.’

  Shouting back to James in the kitchen, Mary said, ‘Did you hear that love? Debbie says we have a courtyard garden. Now that is posh!’

  * * *

  After they had finished their tea, Mary began to prepare the evening meal and suggested to David that he showed Debbie his old childhood haunts where he and Peter used to play as children. Grabbing the opportunity to get out of the house and have Debbie’s company all to himself, he crossed her over Park Road and they walked towards Ullet Road. ‘I’ll take you to Sefton Park,’ David said, ‘that’s where Peter and I used to play. On the way I’ll show you the houses I’ve always wanted to live in since I was as kid. They’re grand old Victorian mansions that used to be owned by the ship owners and the like. Sadly, a few are a bit dilapidated and neglected, but a few of them have been done up recently. The only problem is that most of them are all flats now.’

  ‘I love the older houses,’ Debbie said taking hold of his hand, ‘when I was little and Daddy was in between postings, we always lived in period houses in London.’ Debbie linked David’s arm as they crossed the road, and said, ‘I want to experience all there is of the Hurst family life in Liverpool.’

  Walking down Ullet Road by Princes’ Park, David stopped and pointed to one of the large Victorian houses across the road. You could still make out its former splendour as the entrance to the long driveway had two grand, but grimy, moss covered sandstone pillars on either side with the original house name ‘Park Grange’ just about visible. A large house stood beyond the overgrown front gardens. Even though there were obvious signs of neglect, it was still an imposing building. ‘One of the flats in this large house over there was a PIRA safe house back in the nineties. That’s where I first came across McCrossan. They stayed there for a week, then they moved and housed up in Manchester for a month. Steve and I assisted Merseyside’s Special Branch and we had an obs point just over there in the house opposite. It was great, because I could call at Mum and Dad’s for tea.’

  ‘I can see Wednesday’s events with McCrossan are still bothering you.’

  ‘Too right they are,’ David said in an aggressive tone, ‘since then we’ve found out nothing more than what we knew on Wednesday night. All four addresses SO15 turned over this morning drew a blank.’

  ‘It’s still early days. You know how it can take a little time to nail down a target. I’ll be honest I’m still surprised that after all these years McCrossan waited until last Wednesday before he tried to carry out the death threat.’

  ‘Thinking about it we shouldn’t be that surprised. Coming from a small village in south Armagh, McCrossan’s been raised to be a staunch Irish republican. Being brought up to hate the British and want a united Ireland, passionate beliefs like that don’t disappear easily because a peace agreement’s been signed. Although the PIRA laid down their arms and their political wing, Sinn Fein got into power in the Northern Irish Assembly following their signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, there’s still a hard line faction that won’t accept it. Groups like the Real IRA are still clinging onto wanting the British out of Northern Ireland. They want all thirty-two Irish counties under the control of the Diahl in Dublin even though the Irish Government has stated that they don’t want a united Ireland. Regardless of this, the Real IRA won’t rest until they’ve achieved their aim.’

  Seeing the intensity return in his face, Debbie said, ‘So the searches carried out in London this morning may have drawn a blank, but as McCrossan’s the number one target on MI5 and SO15’s radar, it’s going to be harder for him to get near you.’

  ‘I know you’re trying to help, but do you really think that? We’ve no idea where he is, he could be in Liverpool now for all we know. From the meagre amount of intelligence that’s in the system, we don’t know who the younger ones are he’s recruited to the cause. As far as we know there could be a couple of them here in Liverpool right now.’

  ‘It’s unlikely as the cell he’s formed is located in the heart of London. The PSNI confirmed that this morning and the new intelligence they got over the last few days shows he’s active with the Real IRA. The other thing we found out is it’s highly unlikely the Real IRA have a support network outside London, so the chances of them being here are remote.’ As Debbie spoke David went to light a cigarette. ‘I know you’re a bit stressed. You’re lighting up again, you only had a cigarette when we left your mother’s and you don’t need that one.’

  David took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and put it back into the packet, ‘
You’re right, but I’m not as confident as you regarding the intelligence. We are in Ireland’s unofficial capital and as I keep reminding you, why wasn’t Liverpool bombed during the Troubles . . .’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Debbie said interrupting him, ‘because of the large nationalist support the Provisional IRA had in the Liverpool. But that was then, not now. There’s no evidence that such a support network is still in place for the Real IRA. In fact, the intelligence shows it’s been dismantled.’ Debbie linked David’s arm and said, ‘Being shot at is not an easy thing to let go and I understand why you’re concerned, but while we’re here let’s forget McCrossan. Now take me to this park you and Peter used to play in.’

  As they walked off along Ullet Road to Sefton Park, David said, ‘and the intelligence we had on McCrossan up to last Wednesday had him living in Hammersmith while working legitimately in London. How wrong was that?’

  Disappearing out of view David and Debbie were unaware they were being watched. As the window blinds in the living room of a flat in Ullet Road were dropped back into place Michael Pickup was about to walk from the hallway into the room when one of his Irish guests shouted, ‘Danny for fuck’s get in here.’ Hearing the door handle of the bedroom door opposite turn, Pickup quickly backed into the kitchen and watched as Danny McElvaney flung open the door and run into the living room. Not wanting to disturb the guests forced on him to stay in the flat a week ago by his landlord and who was also his employer, Pickup strained to hear what they were saying. Even with voices raised, the speed of their speech along with the strong Irish accents made it difficult for Pickup to make out what they were saying. Apart from a string of swear words, he could make out references to ‘peelers’ and ‘shootings’ and the name they had mentioned before, ‘David Hurst’.

  As the two Irishmen became less animated, Pickup heard McElvaney say, ‘They were onto Sean and now it looks like the bastards are onto us. I’ll follow them and phone you when I find out where they’ve gone.’ Terrified of the two men, Pickup opened the fridge door pretending to look for something should one of them walk past the kitchen. Once he heard the front door of the flat slam shut, this conversation he overheard confirmed to Pickup his two guests were not builders taken on by his employer to do a job for him. As he made a hasty retreat to his own bedroom, he quietly shut the door behind him. Heart racing, his whole body was shaking as he stood rigidly with his back to the door. From the early impressions he got overhearing snippets of their earlier conversations his two guests had, this outburst he overheard confirmed to Pickup the two staying with him were IRA.

  Chapter Five

  Great Homer Street Market, Liverpool, 09.15 hours, Saturday, 30th June

  ‘Come on girls, all bargains today. You won’t get any cheaper,’ the various stallholders cried out as David, Debbie, Mary and David’s sister Siobhan worked their way through the crowds at Great Homer Street Market. A bright sunny summer’s morning, the stiff cooling breeze was wafting the tarpaulin coverings on the stalls. Although it was early, they still had to push their way through the crowds who had come early to snap up the bargains.

  While Debbie and Mary were rummaging through the racks of women’s clothing, Siobhan sidled up to David and whispered, ‘Glad you came?’

  ‘I had to, I need to get some food to take home to Manchester,’ David said with a forced smile. Squeezing her hand, he added, ‘Anyway, it gives me a bit more time to spend with you and Mum.’

  ‘You’re a liar, but a thoughtful liar.’ Looking at Debbie, Siobhan said, ‘By the way, I think she’s lovely.’

  Moving slowly from stall to stall, David saw his mother pick up and look longingly at a dress. ‘That’d be nice for Peter’s do tonight. What do you think Siobhan?’ Mary said holding the dress against her body.

  ‘It’s beautiful Mum, you’d look great in it,’ Siobhan replied.

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ David said, getting his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

  ‘No. it’s alright love. Put your money away and spend it on Debbie.’

  ‘Mum, please! I love to spend money on the women in my life. Let’s see if we can get you some nice shoes and a bag to go with it.’

  The stallholder overheard their conversation and whispered into David’s ear, ‘It’s seventy quid mate.’

  Knowing it would cost at least double that in the stores in Liverpool city centre, David took seventy pounds out of his wallet. Handed it to the stall holder he said, ‘I’ll take it.’

  Mary turned to David and said, ‘Thanks love. I’m getting a bit hungry, shall we go to the café for breakfast?’

  ‘Good idea Mum,’ Siobhan said, ‘I’m getting a bit wall eyed, how about you Debbie?’

  ‘I am feeling a bit peckish.’ As Debbie spoke, David and Siobhan exchanged a look only a sister and brother can as Siobhan stifled a giggle at Debbie’s cultured English accent that was so unusual to hear at the market.

  Entering the café, Debbie was struck by the strong odour of fried food that she found slightly repugnant. Conscious she was pulling a face and not wanting to offend her hosts, she hoped no one had seen her as she followed Mary and Siobhan to the rear of the café, where they sat at a table. Mary said, ‘Tea all round?’

  As they sat down, Debbie and Siobhan nodded in agreement but David said, ‘Coffee for me please Mum.’

  Patting David’s hand Mary said, ‘Coffee and three teas it is.’

  As the three women were talking about the clothes they had bought, a bored David was staring out of the large window by the door when his gaze was caught by a man talking to a stallholder. Disbelieving what he saw, his heart began to pound and beat faster as colour drained from his face. Recognising Rory O’Byrne, David’s blood ran cold. After what happened when he and Steve saw McCrossan in London, his first thought was O’Byrne must have been following him and his family as they made their way through the market. Seeing O’Byrne, David was convinced the IRA were definitely going to carry out the death threat.

  Not wanting to say anything that may alarm Mary and Siobhan, David tried to catch Debbie’s eye, but she was too deeply engrossed in the conservation between the three women. Concerned for the safety of the women and suspecting O’Byrne was armed, he began looking around the cafe for anything he could use as a weapon. Being off duty, he and Debbie were unarmed. Apart from items of cutlery, there was nothing to hand he could use to any effect to protect his family. As he continued to watch him, Hurst decided if O’Byrne made a move towards the door of the cafe he would get up and rush the Irishman. Knowing it was potentially fatal to himself, he thought it was the only effective way of preventing O’Byrne getting in a shot towards the three women. His mind working frantically, he saw O’Byrne’s calm demeanour suddenly became animated. Clearly, he was angry at something the young stallholder said to him. As he watched the two men argue, he felt his mother nudge him in the ribs, ‘David, Siobhan’s talking to you.’

  ‘Sorry Siobhan what’s that?’ David said keeping his eyes fixed on O’Byrne.

  ‘I said how, oh I give up. Obviously our small talk’s boring you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ David replied, ‘it’s just I’m sure I’ve seen an old school mate out there I haven’t seen for years. Come on Debbie I’ll introduce you to him.’

  ‘But your breakfast will be here in a minute,’ Mary said as David got out of his seat.

  ‘Don’t worry Mum, we’ll be back by the time its ready,’ David said as Debbie stood up to join him

  By the time they walked out of the café, O’Byrne had moved away from the stall and was walking off through the market towards Liverpool city centre.

  ‘Who’s this friend of yours,’ Debbie asked.

  ‘It’s Rory O’Byrne. Now don’t tell me they’re not calling in the death threat. He was talking to the stall holder outside the cafe. This is not a coincidence,’ David said taking hold of D
ebbie’s arm, ‘he’s walking off this way. Ring up for some back up just in case and follow me.’ Debbie looked up but only having seen old criminal records photographs of him she struggled to see him. Noticing Debbie was struggling to identify O’Byrne, David said, ‘He’s the dark haired bloke walking past the blag DVD stall by the bakery shop, wearing a light blue shirt and jeans.’

  ‘I see him,’ Debbie said taking her mobile phone from out of her jeans pocket, ‘you go, I’ll follow a few paces behind you.’

  Having to weave through the large number of shoppers, some pushing prams as if they were battering rams, the Irishman’s progress was slow. Both were careful not to get too close knowing if O’Byrne looked behind him it was likely he would recognise David. While following him the Special Branch officer was constantly thinking. If O’Byrne was after him, why was he walking out of the market? The shouts of the market stall holders drumming up custom became a blurred background noise as all of Hurst’s senses were focused on his old adversary. A thought crossed his mind causing the hairs on his body to stand up. O’Byrne could have been with accomplices he did not know of and pointed Hurst out to them so they could walk up behind him and make the hit. Instinctively he turned round to see if anyone was following him and Debbie. Looking behind him, he saw Debbie talking on her phone when he felt a sharp pain in his right shin.

  ‘Watch where you’re going,’ a woman pushing a pram said angrily as Hurst reached down to rub his leg.

  ‘Sorry love, it’s my fault,’ he said not wanting the incident to escalate into a row that would bring attention to others nearby. As David looked up, O’Byrne had stopped walking and began to look behind him. Quickly moving to the side into an aisle of stalls, David stopped by a pet food stall as Debbie walked past him. She did not look at him as she stopped by the row of stalls that was selling women’s casual wear. Both were watching O’Byrne without bringing attention to themselves when Debbie called David on her mobile phone.