by Ed McBain
“What are they going to say? Who are they?” He demanded it as if he believed she already knew.
It was ridiculous, but her throat tightened as if she was going to cry. “I don’t know.” This time she went out, leaving him alone to shave and dress. In the kitchen she started making breakfast for five. Liam was still asleep, and perhaps he would stay that way until after the men had gone.
By the time Connor appeared she had laid the table and made tea and toast and was ready to serve the eggs and bacon.
“Very civil of you, Mrs. O’Malley,” Paddy said appreciatively, taking the seat at the head of the table. The other two sat at the sides, leaving spaces for Connor and Bridget between them.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Connor’s face, but he accepted and sat also, and started to eat. It was a race against time until either Billy or Ian should appear, or better still, both of them. They were armed and would get rid of Paddy and his friends in moments. Then Connor would crucify them for not having prevented it in the first place. She dreaded that. They were lax, but years of physical safety had left them unprepared for the reality of such intrusion. They would be horribly ashamed, and she would have given them a second chance.
“Now, Mr. O’Malley,” Paddy said, putting his knife and fork together on his empty plate. “To business.”
“I have no business with you,” Connor replied, his eyes level, his voice flat.
“Well that’s a shame now.” Paddy did not lose his slight smile. “But I’m not easy put off. You see, I’m after peace, not all of a hurry, because it’s not a simple thing, but just a beginning.”
“So am I,” Connor answered. “But only on my terms, and I doubt they’re yours, but put them, if you want.”
“I doubt that we can agree, Mr. O’Malley. I know right enough what your terms are. It’s not as if you were backward about it, or had ever shifted your ground.”
“Then where have you shifted?” Connor asked. “And who do you represent, anyway?”
Paddy leaned back in his chair, but the other two remained exactly as they were, vigilant. “Well I haven’t shifted a great deal either,” Paddy said. “And that’s the trouble. We need to have a change, don’t you think?” He did not stop long enough for Connor to answer. “This is getting nowhere, and sure enough, I don’t see how it can. I’m a moderate man, Mr. O’Malley, reasonable, open to argument. And you’re not.”
A shred of a smile touched Connor’s lips, but Bridget could see half under the table where his fists were clenched and his feet were flat on the floor to balance if he moved suddenly.
“That’s the change I propose,” Paddy went on.
“You’ve already said that you know I won’t change,” Connor pointed out, a very slight sneer on his face.
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself plain.” Paddy said it as a very slight apology. “I’m suggesting that you step down as leader, and allow a more amenable man into your place.” He stopped as Connor stiffened. “Someone who’s not tied by past promises,” Paddy went on again. “A fresh start.”
“You mean I should abandon my people?” Connor’s eyebrows rose. “Walk away from them and leave the leadership open to someone of your choosing, that you can manipulate! You’re a fool, Paddy—whoever you are, and you’re wasting my time, and yours. You’ve had your breakfast, now take your friends and get out. Leave my family alone. You’re . . .” He stopped.
Bridget was certain that he had been going to say that they were lucky the bodyguards had not come in and thrown them out, then he had realized that they had been here half an hour already, in fact thirty-five minutes by the kitchen clock, and neither Billy nor Ian had come. Why not? Where were they? The flicker of fear was stronger inside her and more like a bird’s wing than a moth’s. Was that why he had stopped, because he had felt that as well?
Paddy made no move at all, he did not even straighten in his chair. “Give it a bit of thought now, Mr. O’Malley,” he persisted. “I’m sure you don’t want all this trouble to go on. If there’s ever going to be peace, there’s got to be compromise. Just a little here and there.”
“Get out,” Connor repeated.
There was a slight movement in the hall doorway and as one man they all looked at Liam, in his pyjama trousers, blinking at them, his face half asleep, confused.
“And you’ll be Liam,” Paddy remarked. “Wanting your breakfast, no doubt. Come on in, then. Your mother’ll lay a place for you. There’s plenty of food left—eggs and bacon, fresh from the farm, they are.”
Liam blushed. “Who are you? Where are Billy and Ian?”
“My name’s Paddy, and these are my friends, Dermot and Sean. We just dropped by to have a word with your father. Have a cup of tea.” He gestured to Sean. “Get up now, and let the boy have your place.”
Wordlessly Sean obeyed, taking his used dishes to the sink.
Bridget stood up. “Sit,” she told Liam. “I’ll fry you some eggs.”
Connor’s face was white. “You’ll do no such thing!” he said furiously. “Liam, go and get dressed! You don’t come to the table like that, and you know it.”
Liam turned to go.
Sean moved to the door to block his way.
Liam stopped.
Connor swivelled around in his chair.
“Come back to the table, Liam,” Paddy said levelly. “It’s a fine morning. You’ll not be cold. Get him his breakfast, Mrs. O’Malley. Feed the boy.”
Connor drew in his breath sharply, his face now twisted with anger. Bridget dreaded what punishment Ian and Billy would get when they finally showed up. It would finish their careers, perhaps even finish them ever getting work in Belfast. Connor would never forgive them for allowing him to be humiliated like this in his own house.
Then like having swallowed ice water she realized that Billy and Ian were prisoners somewhere else, just as they were here. They had not come because they could not. She turned to face Paddy and he looked across at her. She tried to mask the knowledge in her eyes, but it was too late. He had already seen it. He said nothing, but the understanding was like a rod of iron between them.
Liam sat down, looking at his father, then away again, embarrassed.
Bridget relit the gas and moved the frying pan over onto the heat.
“Are you sure you won’t think again, Mr. O’Malley?” Paddy asked gently. “There are men just a little more to the centre than you are, who could afford to yield a point or two, and still hold to the rest. You’ve had your day at the top. It’s not as if you’d not made it . . .”
“You arrogant fool!” Connor exploded. “Do you think that’s what it’s about—being leader?” His voice burned with contempt. He half rose in his seat, leaning across the table towards Paddy who still lounged in his chair. “It’s about principle, it’s about fighting for the freedom to make our own laws according to the will of the people, not the Church of Rome! I don’t care that much,” he snapped his fingers, “who’s leader, as long as they do it with honour and the courage to yield nothing of our rights, whoever threatens them or promises money or power in exchange for the surrender of our birthright.”
Liam straightened up in his chair, squaring his bare shoulders.
Bridget put bacon into the frying pan, and two eggs. She had known that was what Connor would say, and there was a kind of pride in her for his courage, but larger than that, overtaking it, was pity and anger, and sick fear.
“That’s right, Mr. O’Malley,” Paddy said calmly. “You’re hostage to all the fine speeches you’ve made one time or another. I understand that you can’t go back on them. You’ve left yourself no room. That’s why I’m thinking it’d be a fine idea for you to step down now, and allow someone new to take over—someone who has a little space to move.”
“Never!” Connor forced the word between his teeth. “I’ve never yielded to threats in my life, and I’m not beginning now. Get out of my house.” He straightened up, standing tall, almost to attention. “Now!”
Paddy smiled very slightly. “Don’t be hasty, Mr. O’Malley. Give it some thought before you answer.”
Bridget had the frying pan in her hand, full of hot fat, the eggs and bacon sizzling.
“I wouldn’t do that, Mrs. O’Malley,” Paddy said warningly.
Connor swivelled around, his jaw slack for an instant, then he realized what Paddy meant. He leaned across the table and picked up the teapot and flung it not at Paddy, but at Sean standing in the doorway. It hit him in the chest, knocking him off balance and he staggered backwards.
Suddenly Dermot was on his feet, a gun in his hand. He pointed it at Liam.
“Sit down, Mr. O’Malley,” Paddy said quietly, but there was no gentleness in his voice any more. “I’m sorry you won’t be reasonable about this. It puts us all in an unpleasant situation. Perhaps you should consider it a little longer, don’t you think? When you’ve finished the boy’s breakfast, how about another cup of tea, Mrs. O’Malley.” It was an order.
Connor sank to his chair. It seemed he had only just grasped the reality that they were prisoners. He was shaking with anger, his hands trembled and the muscle in his jaw flicked furiously.
Bridget picked up the spatula and served the eggs and bacon, using two hands because she was shaking as well, and she thought of the mess she would make on the floor if she dropped the plate.
Liam seemed about to refuse it, then met Paddy’s eyes, and changed his mind.
Bridget returned the teapot to the stove, and cleaned up the spilled leaves and water on the floor. She boiled the kettle again and made more. Paddy thanked her. The minutes ticked by. No one spoke.
Liam finished his meal. “Can I go and get dressed?” he asked Paddy.
Connor’s temper flared, but he did not speak.
“Sure you can,” Paddy answered. “Sean’ll go with you, just to make sure you don’t forget to come back.”
When they were gone he turned to Connor. “We’ve got all week, Mr. O’Malley, but it’ll be nicer for everyone if you make the right decision sooner rather than later. Then you can have a nice holiday here with your family, and enjoy it just as you intended to.”
“I’ll see you in hell first,” Connor replied.
“Now that’s a shame,” Paddy answered. “Hell’s surely a terrible place, so I hear the preachers say. But then you’re a preacher aren’t you, so you’ll know that already.”
“You’ll know it yourself, soon enough!” Connor returned.
Dermot rose to his feet. “That’s your last answer, is it?”
“It is.”
He shrugged. “Sean!” he called out.
Sean reappeared, Liam behind him, fully dressed now.
“Mr. O’Malley’s not for changing his mind,” Dermot said. “Leave the boy here. You and I have a job to do.”
Sean pushed Liam, nudging him forward into the kitchen.
“What?” Connor demanded.
“You’re staying here,” Dermot told him. He signalled to Sean and the two of them went outside. Paddy stood up, revealing the gun in his hand also. He lounged against the door post, but it would have taken less than a second for him to straighten up and raise the barrel if one of them threatened him.
There were several moments’ silence, then a shout from outside. Paddy looked up sharply, but it was Connor’s name that was called. He lowered the gun and Connor walked to the outside door and opened it.
Bridget followed a step behind him.
On the tussock grass just beyond the gate Ian and Billy stood facing Dermot; their hands were tied behind their backs. Dermot jerked the gun up, gesturing with his other arm.
Billy knelt down.
Dermot put the gun to Billy’s head and a shot rang out, sharp and thin in the morning air, sounding surprisingly far away. Billy fell forward. Ian swayed.
Dermot pointed again. Ian knelt. A second shot cracked. Ian fell forward.
Connor gave a strangled cry in his throat and staggered over to the sink as if he could be sick. He dry-retched and gulped air.
Bridget felt the room reel around her, her legs turn to jelly. She clasped onto the door jamb until the nausea passed, then turned to look at Liam, ashen-faced by the table, and Paddy by the stove, the gun still in his hand.
A terrible sadness overwhelmed her. It was a moment that divided forever the past from the present. Billy and Ian were dead. They had helped her, casually, smiling, not knowing what was ahead of them. They had never deserted their posts, and they were lying out there with bullets through their heads, butchered almost without thought.
Liam was ashen. Connor looked as if he might be sick.
Bridget ached to be able to help someone, help herself, undo the moment and see Billy and Ian alive again. And it was all impossible, and far too late.
She made a move towards Liam, and he jerked away from her, too hurt to be touched, blaming her in some way, as if she could have prevented it. School friends had been caught in bomb blasts. He had seen plenty of injury and bereavement, but this was the first murder he had seen. Connor went to him, holding out his hand, wordlessly. Liam took it.
Time stretched on. Bridget washed the dishes and put them away. Sean and Dermot returned. She noticed that their boots had earth on them, and there were marks of sweat on their shirts, as if they had been involved in some heavy physical exertion.
Connor stood up.
“Sit down,” Dermot said pleasantly, but he stood still, waiting to be obeyed.
“I’m going to the bathroom!” Connor snapped.
“Not yet,” Dermot answered. “My hands are dirty. Sean’s too. We’ll go and wash, then you can. And don’t lock yourself in. We’ll only have to break the door down, then Mrs. O’Malley’ll have no privacy, and you don’t want that, do you?”
“For God’s sake, you can’t . . .” Connor began, then he knew that they could—they would.
The morning passed slowly, all of them in the kitchen except when someone needed to use the bathroom. Bridget made them tea, and then started to peel potatoes for lunch.
“We haven’t enough food for five,” she pointed out. “Not beyond this evening, anyway.”
“They’ll be gone before then!” Connor snapped at her.
“If you’ve made the right decision,” Paddy agreed. He turned to Bridget. “Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty, and it’s no trouble to get more. Just make what you’ve got, Mrs. O’Malley.”
“You don’t tell her what to do!” Connor turned on him.
Dermot smiled. “Sure he does, Mr. O’Malley. She knows that, don’t you, Bridget?”
Connor was helpless, it was naked in his face, as if something were stripped from him.
Bridget longed to protect him, but he had made it impossible. Everything that came to her mind to say would only have made it worse, shown up the fact that she was used to being ordered around, and he was not. She realized it with a shock. Usually it was Connor, for different reasons, and now it was two strangers, but the feeling of being unable to retaliate was just the same.
“We’ve got to eat,” she said reasonably. “I’d rather cook it myself than have one of them do it, even if I had the choice.”
Connor said nothing.
Liam groaned and turned away, then slowly looked up at his father, anxiety in his face, and fear, not for himself.
Bridget dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Was Liam more afraid that Connor would be hurt, or that he would make a fool of himself, fail at what he needed to do, to be?
“You’ll pay for this,” Connor said at last. “No matter what you do to me, or my family, you won’t change the core of the people. Is this your best argument—the gun? To hold women and children hostage?” His voice descended into sarcasm, and he did not notice Liam’s sudden flush of anger and shame. “Very poor persuasion! That’s really the high moral ground!”
Dermot took a step toward him, his hand clenched.
“Not yet!” Paddy said warningly. “Let him be.”
Dermot glared at him, but he dropped his hand.
Bridget found herself shaking so badly she was afraid to pick up anything in case it slipped through her fingers. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said abruptly, and pushed past Sean and out of the door. No one followed her.
She closed the bathroom door and locked it, then stood by the basin, her stomach churning, nausea coming over her in waves. They were prisoners. Billy and Ian were dead. Connor was frightened and angry, but he was not going to yield, he couldn’t. He had spent all his life preaching the cause, absolutism, loyalty to principles whatever the cost. Too many other men had died, and women and children, he had left himself no room to give anything away now. He might have, even yesterday, when it was only Roisin who asked him, but today it would be seen as yielding to force, and he could never do that.
They were prisoners until someone rescued them, or Dermot and Sean killed them all. Would Connor let that happen? If he gave in to save them, he would hate them for it. She knew without hesitation that he would resent them for ever for being the cause of his weakness, the abandoning of his honour, even his betrayal of all his life stood for.
How blindingly, ineffably stupid! For a sickening moment rage overtook her for the whole idiotic religious divide, which was outwardly in the name of Christianity!
But of course it wasn’t. It was human arrogance, misunderstanding, rivalry, one wrong building on another, and the inability to forgive the terrible, aching losses on both sides. Religion was the excuse they clothed it in, to justify it. They created God in their own image: vengeful, partisan, too small of mind to love everyone, incapable of accepting differences. You might fear a god like that, you could not love him.
She dashed cold water over her face and dried it on the rough towel. She hung it up and saw that they were going to run out of toilet paper with six of them in the house. And laundry powder. She would have to tell Paddy that, as well as getting food.