Maria, the incredibly attractive nurse who was also working for the FARC guerrillas, crouched by Redmond O’Boyle’s bed in the hospital wing of La Picota prison and whispered, ‘Tonight you die.’
Redmond, face down on the bed because of his stabbed buttock, looked shocked. ‘Oh,’ was all he could manage.
Maria’s eyes flicked towards Dr Speranza, chatting animatedly to another prisoner who had been hovering between flu and cholera for several weeks, at the far end of the ward, then back to Redmond. Her face was grave, but her eyes were smiling. He liked that. It warmed his cockles the way his wife Maeve’s eyes never had. Redmond was falling in love, which made it all the more depressing that Maria was planning to murder him.
‘It is essential,’ said Maria.
‘Okay,’ said Redmond.
‘I will administer the drugs at ten o’clock.’
‘All right.’
‘You will fall asleep. There will be no pain.’
‘Okay.’
‘Dr Speranza will be off duty. Dr Mendoza will issue the death certificate. He has been bribed, and also his qualifications are fake. You will be removed from the prison. Then you will be revived.’
‘Oh right,’ Redmond whispered. ‘You’re not actually killing me then.’
This time she really did smile. ‘Of course not.’
‘I thought maybe it would be easier - just to knock me off.’
‘Yes, it would. But you are FARC. You will be taken to a safe place.’
‘Are you coming with me - to the safe place?’
‘Yes. I cannot return here. Also, I must supervise your medication. Reviving you will not be as easy as putting you to sleep.’
‘You’ve done this kind of thing before?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Successfully?’
‘That depends on your definition of success.’ He thought that her English was getting better and better. If Dr Speranza had learned his from pirate copies of ER, he guessed that Maria might have learned hers from Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America on the BBC World Service. Clear and crisp and precise. ‘If we get you out, the cause of FARC will be advanced. It will show our ability to infiltrate Government installations at the highest level. If you can walk and talk, that will also be good.’
‘Is there a possibility that I won’t be able to walk and talk?’
‘If you had to choose, which one would you prefer?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘No, of course not. You will not have the choice. These drugs are inexact, but it is better to take the risk than rot in here, no?’
Redmond nodded, although he wasn’t entirely convinced. Earlier in the day he had received another visit from Siobhan, Sinn Fein’s representative in Latin America. Her sunburn had given way to a vague kind of tan. She was much happier with her hotel. She’d told him about the football results from back home, the weather, the price of petrol, her auntie’s heart condition, how much extra tax had been put on cigarettes in the budget. Eventually Redmond was forced to ask, ‘But what about me?’
‘What about you?’
‘Are they any closer to bringing me home?’
‘Home?’
‘The campaign - they’re working hard? They’re lobbying heads of state and staging fundraising concerts?’
‘Well - no, frankly.’
‘But why? I’m here because of you.’
‘Me?’
‘Not you personally - the cause.’
‘What cause?’
‘Irish liberation.’
‘You what?’
‘Ireland United. Free. The British jackboot et cetera …’
Siobhan laughed. ‘Well, wouldn’t that be better achieved in Ireland?’
Redmond gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, I know that. But you have to keep your hand in, don’t you? What if the call to arms suddenly went out again and no one had any idea how to handle explosives? Then you’d feel pretty bloody silly if your leading expert was rotting away in this dump, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, now, Redmond, as you know, we don’t have anything to do with that kind of thing any more. We’re a political party now.’
Redmond shook his head. ‘It’s okay - I’m virtually certain there’s no bugs in here. You can lay off on the psychobabble.’
‘I’m serious, Redmond. We’re bigger than the SDLP and we’re giving the Unionists a run for their money. We really are a proper political party now.’
‘Get away.’
‘Really.’
‘I’ve only been gone a few months, what’s changed?’
‘Well, you get older, you want to settle down.’
‘Seriously? What about Gerry - and Martin? They’re still on the Army Council.’
‘Well, obviously. But just until their pensions kick in. Once the bank thing settles down and they have their lump sum, they’ll retire.’
‘Okay, well, fair enough, they’ve put their time in. But still … I mean, I’m here and they’re there - they must be able to do something.’
Siobhan raised her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘That’s the problem, Redmond. You see, now that we’ve embraced democracy and the judicial process, it’s important that we be seen to support Colombian democracy and judicial process.’
‘But there is no Colombian democracy or judicial process!’
‘That’s not our fault.’
‘Then how can you support it!’
‘We support the idea of Colombian democracy and judicial process - much as we support the idea of democracy and judicial process back home. By supporting the idea, we can hold our heads up in any company. But we still need funds, so we sanction a certain number of bank raids, extortion, kidnappings, blackmail, drug dealing and protection rackets, but on the strict understanding that they are to raise funds to help promote the idea of democracy and judicial process.’
‘So where does that leave me?’
‘Well, you can hardly claim that bomb-making classes promote democracy, can you?!’
‘If they bring down the Colombian government and it’s replaced by something truly democratic, then yes I can!’
Siobhan shook her head. ‘Oh Redmond, don’t be so naive. This is South America. Terrorism cannot lead to democracy here, they’re not civilised enough. You can’t have a bunch of murdering psychos running a country. It just won’t work! That’s why we cannot be seen to be supporting you.’
‘But last time you promised you’d get me out.’
‘Well, see, there you are. It shows you how much we’ve changed. We’re politicians now, we make promises like that all the time. It’s in our nature.’
‘But you won’t do anything to get me out.’
‘Our hands our tied. But on the bright side, I brought you some Tayto Cheese and Onion crisps from home. Had them flown out special.’ She reached into her handbag and produced three yellow bags of crisps. ‘There would have been more, but I couldn’t resist!’
Redmond took the bags wordlessly.
‘Go on,’ said Siobhan, ‘open one now. Diet starts on Monday!’
She’d laughed long and hard, and if Redmond hadn’t had a very sore arse he would have got up and slapped her.
‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ Redmond asked.
Her smile faded. ‘Joking.’
‘Very funny, Siobhan, but it’s gone on a bit long. I’m knackered; I’m in pain. Please be serious for a moment. How are you going to get me out, and how long do you think it will take?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Redmond - we’re not. It’s just too risky.’
‘You’re washing your hands of me?’
‘Until the climate is right.’
‘The climate is f***ing killing me.’
Siobhan sighed. ‘And some people are banking on that. But not me, I assure you. I like it here, Redmond.’
‘I’m sure you f**king do.’
Redmond boiled at the memory of it. He turned his head slightly so that he could see Maria a
gain. She was now standing at the other end of the ward beside Dr Speranza as he continued his rounds.
Redmond’s mind was truly made up. He had been abandoned by Ireland. Now he must place all of his faith in the ability of this beautiful young nurse to kill him, and then bring him back from the dead.
33
Burger Or Steak?
That night, Walter and Margaret got on like a house on fire. She said this to Maeve, who arrived after visiting time was over. As she was more or less fully recovered, they were a bit more lax with her visiting hours.
‘You mean like when a house gets burned down and people get horribly maimed and the insurance company won’t pay up and you end up on the streets? And the only way to make ends meet is to sell your body and this pimp with a big Afro beats you up every night but actually deep down really loves you?’
‘No,’ said Margaret.
Maeve looked a little disappointed. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s a good thing, then.’
‘Yes, of course it is.’
‘What’s he look like then? Is he a bit of a ride?’
Margaret spluttered into her tea. ‘Maeve, please.’
‘Well - is he?’
Margaret, a little flushed, shrugged and said: ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, it means some people prefer Tom Hanks to Tom Cruise. Some people prefer the Isle of Man to the Caribbean. Some people prefer hamburger to steak.’
Maeve nodded vaguely. ‘So is he a bit of a ride?’
‘Maeve, for godsake. I like him.’
‘Okay. All right. I suppose there’s all different sorts.’
‘Yes, there are.’
‘There’s those hamburgers that are a hundred per cent beef but have no flavour, and then there’s those you buy out of the chip van that probably don’t have any meat in them at all but taste lush. And then there’s those Birds Eye ones which taste all oniony then you grill them and they disappear to nothing.’
Margaret sighed.
‘Then there’s sirloin steak and rump steak and T-bone and—’
‘Maeve.’
‘Whatever. But youse are getting on?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘You and this lying weirdo pervert.’
‘He’s not.’
‘He lied. And he came to see you with his todger hanging out.’
‘He did not! His zip was down! It was an accident!’
‘That’s what they all say.’
‘Maeve. For goodness sake.’
‘Whatever. Mr Kawolski was asking for you. He came to see you, you know, when you were dead to the world.’
‘Did he?’
‘Oh yeah. He met your Walter as well.’
‘Did he now? What did he think?’
‘Thought he was a bit odd.’
Margaret sighed again. ‘He’s really nice. Honestly. We just got off on the wrong foot.’
‘Mmm,’ said Maeve.
‘He may not be perfect, but then he’s not bunged up in a Colombian prison either.’
Maeve’s mouth dropped open a fraction.
‘See?’ said Margaret, examining her nails. ‘You’ve got to be able to take it as well as dish it out.’
Maeve had indeed sold her story to the newspapers. She had initially been quite attracted to the idea of opening her News of the World on Sunday and seeing herself spread across the centre pages in a skimpy bikini and all her make-up done and her stomach flattened by computer technology, proclaiming that five-times-a-night Redmond had left her for some dusky Latin babe, but the attraction soon wore off when the best offer anyone would come up with was a £25 book token for Easons. The fact was that the initial flurry of interest had quickly receded. Redmond was like one of those Japanese soldiers who went on fighting years after the war was over. He had curiosity value, but no one was going to get into a lather over whether he lived or died or received a fair trial. He was yesterday’s news before today had even finished.
Now, sitting in this private room in this plush hospital, Maeve had to admit to herself that she felt quite jealous of Margaret. Not the vomiting-carrot-cake-and-coma side of her colleague, but her new and recent flirtation with romance and ambition. Even if this Walter sounded a bit suspicious, at least it had added some excitement to Margaret’s life. Maeve had excitement, but it was the wrong kind. And as for this dress designing … Margaret sure was a bit of a dark horse. But talented, it seemed.
Redmond was in prison, and the chances were he wasn’t coming home any time soon. The sad thing was that she was hardly depressed about it at all. While he’d been missing, she had of course been distraught. It was the not knowing. Now that she did know, she was actually quite calm about it all. He had lied to her. She had been foolish to believe him. Her position now was: You’ve made your bed, and now you can lie in it. (He had literally made Maeve’s bed as well. Their bed. He was handy with his hands, Redmond. He liked to build things. Shelves. Sheds. Dolls houses. And, as it turned out, bombs. But never a bird table, curiously enough.) She’d grown quite used to living by herself. When he was here they argued all the time. When he was away on his bird-watching trips he sent quite affectionate letters home. While he was gone she had enjoyed three affairs.
Well, affair was probably a bit strong.
Three one-night stands.
And ‘enjoyed’ was slightly wide of the mark as well. None of them had been particularly satisfactory in the bed department - but they’d been different. One had been a colleague from work. Another, a taxi driver taking her home after a works outing. And the third was Mr Kawolski, her boss. He was married with five children, and she had told him it wasn’t going to happen again, but he still gave her one leg of his KitKat every day. ‘Where there’s chocolate there’s hope,’ he would say with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Do you find chocolate a bit of a turn-on?’ Maeve asked Margaret now.
Margaret could feel her eyes going together; she still wasn’t back to full strength, and talking to Walter had used up a lot of nervous energy, but she was too polite to let it show. ‘Mmm … what? Chocolate?’
‘You know, if a man feeds you chocolate, does it help get you in the mood? Or do you start mentally calculating calories and fat content?’
‘Depends on the man. Or the chocolate, for that matter.’
‘So, say for the sake of argument if Richard Gere came up to you, you know, in his white uniform, would it make any difference whether he offered you a Terry’s Chocolate Orange or the leg of a KitKat?’
‘If it was Richard Gere, I’d be prepared to forget about the chocolate entirely.’
‘If it was someone you quite liked, but weren’t sure about, would the quality of the chocolate have any bearing on the outcome?’
Margaret had to think about that. ‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘if he was offering me a Revel he found in his pocket, that wouldn’t be much of a turn-on. Or a Cadbury’s Creme Egg which was slightly dented, then I’d probably turn him down. But if he bought me a huge Easter Egg, he’d be in with a better chance.’
‘So size matters.’
‘Yeah. I suppose. And shape. You wouldn’t get much snogging done if you’d just broken your jaw on a giant Toblerone.’ Margaret smiled sympathetically at her friend. ‘It’s Redmond, isn’t it?’
‘What’s Redmond?’
‘This talk about chocolate.’
Maeve snorted. ‘It’s nothing to do with him. Although that said, he used to save the two end bits of a Fry’s Chocolate Cream and tease me with them. Never once let me have them. He was very cruel that way. But I wasn’t even thinking about him.’
‘Deep down, I think you were.’
‘Deep down, I think I wasn’t.’
‘Don’t you see the connection?’
‘What connection?’
‘Between Redmond and chocolate. Colombia - that’s where chocolate comes from. Your mind made the connection, even if you didn’
t.’
‘What a lot of crap,’ said Maeve.
‘I’m serious.’
‘Anyway - chocolate comes from Switzerland.’
‘South America - the cocoa bean.’
‘Yeah, the bean. But then they send it to Switzerland. Their chocolate scientists pound up the beans - I mean, the scientists aren’t made of chocolate - but they add milk and stuff and then they design the packaging and put it all together into something attractive people want to buy. Not attractive people, ordinary people. But attractive people as well. Anyway - it’s the whole kit and caboodle. Not just a pile of beans. So you have to agree, chocolate comes from Switzerland more than it comes from Colombia.’
Margaret thought about that for a little while, then nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s not just about the bean. It’s what you do with it. And the packaging. Don’t underestimate the packaging.’
‘It’s half the battle. I like a good wrapper.’
‘Like Eminem,’ said Margaret.
‘He’s from Detroit,’ said Maeve.
‘Maybe you need a new car,’ said Margaret.
‘Maybe I need a new life,’ said Maeve.
‘Maybe you do,’ agreed Margaret. ‘Maybe we both do.’
34
You Can Run But You Can’t Hide
Mark was standing by the office window, staring out, when Walter finally returned to work at the Department of Education in Bangor. Walter sat behind his desk and began to look through the papers in his in-tray. He had expected the work to be piled up, but there were only half a dozen files. Mark had evidently done what he’d said he’d do: simply transferred everything to his out-tray. Walter cleared his throat. Mark didn’t seem to hear, so he did it again, and finally his colleague turned. He looked at Walter for several moments, as if he was a complete stranger, then slowly a smile spread across his face.
‘You’re back,’ said Mark.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘And how is Girlfriend in a Coma?’
‘She’s fine and dandy.’
‘And are you very much in love?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘But everything is going well?’
I Predict a Riot Page 13