Pink didn’t even bother looking up as the interview-room door opened, so the punch came as quite a surprise. It connected with the left side of his jaw and knocked him flying back in his seat, which toppled over, throwing him to the ground. Pink looked groggily up and saw Jimmy Mallow standing over him. The door remained open and other cops, alerted by the noise, were already crowding around the opening. None of them made a move to stop Mallow as he advanced again, towering over the prostrate paramilitary.
‘It’s not checkmate, Pink, do you hear me? It’s not even close.’
Then Mallow turned on his heel. The cops at the door jumped out of his way, then watched as Jimmy Mallow walked out of the cop shop for the last time, his head high, his stare intense, and for all they knew, his whole being still formidable and unbroken.
106
The Balcony Scene
It was only when Linda showed Margaret the impressive fridge for the third time that Margaret thought to herself, Do you know something, girl? She’s drunk as a skunk. Linda had conducted the tour of the penthouse apartment just a little too quickly, moving ahead of Margaret through the rooms without allowing her the luxury of a proper look, but her spiel was coherent enough, and she was certainly enthusiastic. But dwelling on the fridge - although it was a nice fridge - was a little bit weird, and it was only when Margaret felt obliged to poke her head into the ice-maker for a third time that she caught the whiff of alcohol on Linda’s breath, and then it suddenly all made sense. There was no harm, of course, in having a glass of wine with your lunch, and it was a nice touch to offer a glass to your clientele, but the fridge was stacked with half a dozen bottles, two of which were empty, and it was suddenly clear that Linda must have had a lot of viewers today and enjoyed a glass with each of them.
Only on this third trip to the fridge, did Linda offer Margaret herself a glass. She weaved a little as she crossed to the opposite counter and pulled two paper cups out of a plastic bag. She opened a fresh bottle from the fridge, twisting the wire and popping the cork, and began to pour.
‘And what about some cake?’ Linda asked.
‘Cake?’
‘Yes, cake.’ This time she actually staggered as she moved back to the counter, as if her previous movements had been an elaborate act of defiance against the cumulative effects of the wine, but she’d now given up the fight. She reached up and carefully lifted a chocolate cake down from a high-up shelf. As she turned with it she staggered again and Margaret was forced to step sharply out of the way as Linda basically fell towards the counter. The plate the cake was sitting on cracked against the greystone top but didn’t break; the sponge undulated slightly, but was otherwise unharmed.
‘Looks lovely,’ said Margaret.
‘Should be. I was up all night baking it.’
‘You were?’
‘Absolutely. Put my heart and soul into it. I made it for someone special.’ She giggled to herself. ‘But then I couldn’t wait, and took a big bite out of it.’
Now that she could see the full circumference of the cake, Margaret noted that some of it was indeed missing. There were no neat edges, as there would have been if someone had merely cut out a slice. But there was a definite hole, and as she looked closer she could just about make out slight indentations which she thought could only have been made by teeth.
‘You really did take a bite,’ Margaret observed.
‘I know, I forgot to bring a knife.’ Linda giggled. ‘Take a bite, why don’t you?’
‘No, really, I’m fine. Are you, ahm, fine, Linda?’
‘Oh yes, I’m fine.’ She took a glug of her wine. ‘I’m fine all right - why wouldn’t I be fine?’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘After all, I’ve got this wonderful job, and I’m going to sell you this apartment because I’m absolutely fine and absolutely at the top of my game. Come on, let’s take a look at the view.’
Linda snatched up her paper cup, spilling some of it, and meandered towards the bedroom. She pulled the sliding door to the balcony with a little too much force and it smacked into the frame and rebounded back at her. Linda laughed and tried it again, a little more gently, before stepping out into what would have been fresh air if it hadn’t been for the acrid smoke drifting across from East Belfast. Margaret took a deep breath, then followed her out.
Linda leaned on the edge. Margaret joined her.
‘Look what they’re doing,’ said Linda, staring out at the plumes of smoke. ‘The stupid bas***ds.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Margaret.
‘Fighting over nothing.’
Margaret nodded.
‘They should catch themselves on, the ar***oles.’
‘Yes, they should.’
‘Because this is a great wee city, given half the chance.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘So what about Walter then?’ Linda asked abruptly.
‘Walter? What about him?’
‘Isn’t he just the bee’s knees?’
‘I suppose he is.’
‘You two getting married?’
‘It’s early days for that.’
‘Well, you should, although I don’t think bees actually have knees,’ Linda cackled, then suddenly lost her grip on her cup. They both watched it hurtle to the ground far below. ‘Oh sh**e!’
Margaret said, ‘I’ll get you another.’
Linda clearly didn’t need another, but as she would doubtless have got it anyway, Margaret volunteered, intending to water it down. But just as she extracted another paper cup from the bag, the doorbell rang. Linda, with the wind blowing about her, couldn’t hear it on the balcony, so Margaret went to the door herself and opened it.
‘Margaret,’ said Walter. His eyes were wide and his face flushed.
‘Walter?’ said Margaret. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought … is she here?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Has she said anything?’
‘She’s pissed. She’s blathering on about this and that, and I just want out of here, but what are you doing here?’
‘I just thought - second opinion, you know?’
‘Aw, that’s sweet.’
She leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed her back, but he broke it off quickly. ‘If she’s pissed, let’s just sneak off, forget about the apartment.’
Margaret rolled her eyes. ‘If only. Come on, come and say hello, then we’ll get out of here soon as we can.’ She took hold of his arm and pulled him into the apartment, then led him through the kitchen - his eyes settling briefly on the chocolate cake - and into the bedroom, where she announced, ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’
Walter followed gingerly behind her. Linda saw him, and immediately let out a crazy kind of a bark. ‘The chief beekeeper himself!’ she exclaimed. ‘Walter! How’re you doing?’
Walter held up a placatory hand. ‘Fine, Linda, fine. How are you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine too, Walter. Isn’t that great? We’re all just fine.’
‘That’s er … good …’
‘Do you want some cake, Walter?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Ach, go on, I made it special. Then you could have your cake and eat it.’ She laughed again, then turned away to stare out over the city again.
‘What’s she on about?’ Margaret whispered.
‘Maybe she’s upset I didn’t buy the apartment. Come on, let’s just go.’
‘We can’t leave her like this,’ Margaret hissed. She stepped up and touched Linda’s arm. ‘I’ll just get Walter a wee drink, eh?’ Linda didn’t respond. Margaret shook her head at Walter, then whispered, ‘Keep an eye on her,’ as she made her way back inside.
As soon as Margaret was out of sight, Walter moved sharply up beside Linda and asked, ‘What’re you playing at?’
‘Playing?’ Linda snapped, her look withering, ‘I’m not the one playing. You and her having it off.’
‘We’re just friends, Linda.’
‘We are, honestly. Don’t do this, please.’
‘You love her, don’t you?’
‘I hardly know her.’
‘But you don’t love me.’
‘I hardly know you either.’
‘Well, you f***ing should, all the things we’ve been doing.’
‘I know, I know. Look, I’ll sort this out, honestly I will. Please, just let me handle it.’
Linda shook her head. ‘Look at you. What the hell was I thinking? You’re just a big barrel of lard.’
Walter nodded. ‘That’s right, that’s right. Look - I’m just going to get my drink.’ He hurried back through the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he took Margaret firmly by the arm and said, ‘That’s it, we’re leaving. She’s friggin’ mental. Come on.’
‘But—’
‘Come on!’
Margaret grabbed her bag and allowed herself to be propelled towards the front door. Walter was just opening it when they were stopped in their tracks by a shrill scream of ‘WALTER!!!!!!!!!’
Margaret looked at Walter, then raced back to the balcony.
‘Oh my good Jesus!’ she shouted, and a moment later Walter saw the reason why.
Linda had climbed up onto the rail. She had her eyes closed and was holding onto the far wall for support, but one foot was hanging out over the edge already and she was leaning forward, preparing to let herself fall.
‘Oh Christ,’ said Walter.
107
Emergency Services
The phone rang and rang, for nearly a minute. Eventually it was answered with a terse, ‘Yes, what is it now?’ and Walter was taken momentarily by surprise.
‘Is that 999?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to say “Emergency, which service, please?”?’
There was a sigh from the other end. ‘Yes. Sorry. Which service, please?’
‘All of them, I think. There’s a woman here threatening to jump off a ledge. She’s at the top of—’
‘Your name?’
‘What does it matter what my name is?’
‘In case it’s a hoax. Sir, Belfast is in a state of chaos.’
‘Right. Right. Walter North.’
‘And your phone number?’
Walter gave her his mobile number, then the address of the apartment block.
‘Sir, that’s going to be about forty minutes.’
‘Forty minutes? Christ, I’m not ordering a pizza, there’s a woman trying to kill herself out there.’
‘Well, I’m afraid there won’t be anyone free until then. Have you tried The Samaritans?’
‘What, do they have ladders and safety nets?’
There’s no need for that attitude, sir.’
‘Okay, right, sorry. Just be as quick as you can, all right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Walter cut the line and returned to the bedroom. He didn’t dare step out onto the balcony again in case it set Linda to jumping. She remained standing on the rail, with one foot dangling over the edge, and holding onto the wall with one hand. The wall was exposed brick, so there were only the grooves between them to hold onto, which wasn’t much, considering the strength of the wind so high up.
Margaret was still out there talking quietly and calmly to her. She said, ‘Is there anyone you want me to call?’
‘No!’
‘Your parents?’
‘Dead!’
‘A boyfriend?’
‘Hah!’
‘Please, Linda, don’t do this.’
‘Why not?!’
‘Because! Life is wonderful!’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘Linda - please. Look, I was stuck in a disastrous marriage and I walked out of it, but I ended up living in a real shit-hole with a dead end job and going nowhere. But I didn’t give up, and now I’ve started selling my designs and I’m buying this apartment and my whole life is turning around. I’d even given up on meeting a nice man, and then Walter comes along.’
‘Hah!’
‘My point is, it can happen. I don’t know what’s worrying you, if it’s your job or your lovelife, but my point is, it can change - but if you jump, well, it can’t.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Linda snapped. ‘I’m not brain dead.’
‘Not yet. Look, I’ve met you before, and you weren’t like this. You were lovely, really good at your job. You’re so pretty, my God, you could model one of my dresses.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Linda bent out into the wind, and it caught her hair. She shivered. ‘You just don’t understand.’
‘Well, tell me.’
‘I just want it to end.’
‘But why?’
‘Why do you think? Because my life is rubbish and there’s no point.’
‘But it’s not rubbish, Linda, and even if it is, it can get better. You’ve had too much to drink, that’s all, and you’re upset about something. It’ll all look better in the morning.’
‘No, it won’t! That’s the f***ing point! I’m a walking disaster area! Every time I meet someone, I give them everything and they just pee all over me.’
‘Well, some of them pay good money for that.’
‘What?’
‘Look, it was just a joke.’
‘You’re making a joke? I’m about to jump off here and you’re making a f***ing joke?!’
‘I’m sorry, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.’
‘Well, don’t!’ She shook her head violently. ‘Where is he? Where’s he hiding?’
‘Walter? He’s inside.’
‘Why’s he inside?’
‘He says he has a habit of saying inappropriate things, so he thought it was better to let me do the talking.’
‘Christ, you’re like two peas in a pod. You deserve each other.’
‘Well, doesn’t that prove my point? There’s someone for everyone, Linda, but there’s no one if you jump.’
‘And that’s my point! I’ve had dozens of someones and I’ve loved dozens of someones, but I don’t get it back, so what’s the f***ing point? Tell me, what is the f***ing point?’
A mile away, Jimmy Marsh Mallow was parked halfway up the Newtownards Road. The only other cars visible for 100 yards in either direction were burning. A gang of kids carrying sticks and bricks was coming towards him. He wanted them to attack. He wanted a reason to get out and smack their stupid heads. He still had his gun. His head was throbbing and his heart was broken. He would shoot them. They drew closer and closer. He could hear their excited, bolshie talk. He rolled down his window so he could catch the slightest abuse. So he could look them in the eye and dare them to make the first move.
Then they passed on by.
Didn’t even look.
Marsh rested his head on the steering-wheel and closed his eyes. His police radio crackled incessantly, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off. There were appeals for support, reports of police cars burning and officers injured. It seemed as if there was scarcely a part of the city that wasn’t in crisis. Even the Falls and the Ardoyne and Ballymurphy, all Republican strongholds, were getting in on the act, taking advantage of the fact that the security forces were stretched. Banks were being robbed, shops looted.
All because of Pink Harrison.
Marsh couldn’t get that vision of him out of his head, sitting on the desk, pretending to meditate, that gloating smirk. Marsh had come out with big words, telling him it wasn’t checkmate, but in reality it was. He was no longer a police officer. His offer to resign had unexpectedly been accepted. With all the trouble going on, and Belfast Confidential being a weekly magazine rather than a daily paper, he had perhaps a few days’ grace before the whole Province knew what an idiot he’d been, getting involved with a hooker; knew what an arrogant prick he was, beating her up. Humiliated. Hung out to dry. Career in ruins.
He thought of his daughter, thought of his wife. They would be ashamed.
The hard times he had given them - such a hypocrite.
On the radio, the dispatcher said, ‘Is there anyone free to cover the jumper?’
There were no volunteers.
Then one car responded: ‘Maybe in twenty minutes. Give me the address.’
‘Apartment Twenty-four, Towerview - that’s the big new one on the river. Jumper’s name is Linda Wray.’
Marsh turned the volume down and then, finally, off. He had to accept he was no longer a part of it; it had nothing to do with him any more. Whether it was rampaging rioters or Pink Harrison or even this Linda Wray jumping out of her apartment, it was none of his business. In just a couple of minutes he had gone from being one of the most feared but successful cops in the history of the city to being no one, a nobody, a has-been, a laughing stock.
But then he thought: Linda Wray … do I know that name?
It came to him. He was always good with names. Linda Wray, he thought. I left a Linda Wray sitting in that restaurant. Could it possibly be the same one?
Christ! He could see the headlines in Belfast Confidential already. Jimmy Mallow beats up hooker! Next week - Jimmy Mallow drives woman to suicide!
That’s how scandal-sheets like that worked; never mind the truth, just pump it till it’s dry.
Marsh started the car and pulled out. He was going to turn up for his date with Linda and apologise for being very, very late.
108
Suicide is Painful
Margaret, her nerves shattered, stood by the front door, keeping an eye out for the police or ambulance or Fire Brigade. She had had to physically push Walter out onto the balcony to keep Linda talking. She could understand that he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid, because she was a bit that way herself, but she needed a rest and there was no one else and she couldn’t leave that poor woman all alone out there. She thought, That could so easily be me. Just a few more knockbacks, a few more kicks in the teeth, it really could be me. Except I can’t stand heights.
She would have found some other way. Not slitting her wrists. And no putting her head in the oven, because she’d heard that the gas that was piped into houses these days wasn’t lethal. It probably still exploded if you opened the valve and lit a match, but she couldn’t imagine doing that. She didn’t want anyone to have to pick bits of her off a wall. Nor drinking bleach or taking an overdose (she found it hard enough to get a couple of Paracetamol down). If she had to go she’d want to do it nicely. And pain-free. Perhaps sitting in bed watching Casablanca and stuffing herself with pink marshmallows. A sugar-rush suicide.
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