The Bogside Boys

by Eoin Dempsey

  “We can’t let that happen.” Mick felt the motivation rising within him once more. “Who would we be if we did nothing?”

  “I don’t know who we’d be, but we’d be alive,” Sean answered, staring out the unfinished window in front of him. The smoke from his cigarette drifted upwards, gray into the air.

  “There are worse things than death in this world,” Mick said and got up.

  *****

  The weekend was notable only for his thoughts of her. Her invasion of his consciousness was under way, like nothing had changed. Was she filling in a gap in his life? Was the dearth of any other meaningful relationship in the sixteen years since they’d broken up forcing these feelings upon him? It felt real. He hadn’t dreamed about her in years, not since the early eighties at least but seeing her once had implanted the picture of her back into his subconscious. When he saw her in his dreams, it wasn’t as the woman she was now. It was as the girl he’d known back in the seventies, the carefree, beautiful girl who’d loved him as much as he loved her. The girl who snuck out of her parents’ house to kiss him under the streetlights. Was she still even the same person? Would he even find out? Now that her curiosity about him was quenched would they ever even speak again? It was good that she had a boyfriend, useful. Her boyfriend would be the wall, the wire fence to keep him away. A boundary marker, and he was used to those. And she had a son, too young to be his but very close. She was a mother now. The girl he’d known was gone forever.

  Monday came, the time in work an utter irrelevance. The day seemed to have no other purpose but to see her again. Mick came home from work later than usual, arriving at his apartment just before six. He showered and changed, staring out the window at the golden orange hue of the evening sun outside. This city was choking him. This mission, this crusade he’d put himself on, dragging Sean Campbell along with him, would end up killing them both. He needed to find himself a new life, somewhere where there were no Catholics or Protestants, no IRA, UVF, UDA, INLA, UFF, UDR, no British Army. Somewhere where there was no Melissa Rice, tugging at his heart. He went to the fridge and took out the leftovers from last night’s dinner at Pat’s house. He picked up the plate, peeled back the aluminum foil, and placed it into the microwave Pamela had made him buy. The buttons made their obnoxious pinging sound as he programmed it to warm up his food. The light came on inside, the food bathed in ethereal yellow. Mick took a deep breath. He had to get a hold of himself; he was becoming obsessed. Melissa had been very important to him at one time. He thought she was the love of his life, the last woman he’d ever be with. His time in prison had robbed him of the time it would have taken to get over her, to move on with his life and be ready to find someone else. Seeing her was the last thing he needed. He began to wish they’d never met up again, that she was married, that she’d refused to see or speak to him. The microwave dinged, and his dinner was ready.

  “I don’t have to go to college,” he said out loud. “I’m not even doing history.” He was only doing the course to escape the loneliness of the flat, the silence and the malaise of a single life he’d never anticipated. After almost twenty years of sharing a room and almost sixteen years of sharing a cell, the last three with his friend Sean Campbell, being alone was almost impossible. The important courses, the ones for his Masters were Tuesday and Wednesday. They were the ones that would get him a job, not this history course he was taking with her. He could drop out, but why should he? They could sit in the same room as one another. He wasn’t a child, wasn’t some horny teenager with no self-control, at the mercy of his hormones. It was possible to sit in the same room as your ex, even if you might still have feelings for them, particularly if they weren’t interested or available.

  He laid his dinner down on the small kitchen table and sat down. The thought of giving up a course he wanted to pursue only because of her was ridiculous. He would sit away from her, avoid her, not even looking across. And if she wanted to be friends, they could talk, there would be no harm in that. He didn’t need her, didn’t need to be with her to find truth and beauty in this world. She was a friend now, nothing more, and he had more pressing concerns to engage his mind. Why was it that she dwarfed all of his other thoughts and dominated his mind? He sat there chewing his food, trying to think of something else. Eventually, he succeeded.

  Melissa gazed at the clothes she’d laid out on her bed. Why was she doing this, dressing up for him? It was ridiculous. She wasn’t even planning to speak to him. Was she making all this effort to wave across a classroom at someone? She’d barely given this much thought to any date she’d ever been on. She laughed out loud at herself, more of a teenager now than her own son. She moved to the bed and picked out the outfit in the middle, pretending that she was doing so at random, that it wasn’t the one she liked best. She put on the skirt and blouse and applied a little eyeliner with a touch of lip-gloss before she heard the knock.

  “Ma, we’d better get moving. You’re going be late for your course,” Jason said through the closed door. She was a mess, embarrassed in front of herself. Her teenage son was hurrying her for her own college class.

  “I’m coming now, just give me a second. The door’s open, you can come in.”

  Jason pushed through the door. He was still in his school uniform. He looked more like his father with each passing day.

  “Are you wearing your school uniform to Ian’s house?”

  “Aye, I don’t mind.”

  “Why don’t you get changed, love? You’ll be more comfortable. Put on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Go on now.”

  “All right, give me a minute.”

  She looked at her son as he left the room, watching him walk down the hallway and into his room. What was she doing? How would he react to this, whatever it was? The ink on her divorce papers was barely dry and now she was contemplating this? Or was she? How would Jason react to Michael? He’d been through so much and bringing him, of all people, into his life could destroy him, or them both. This wasn’t a good idea. There was no doubting the fact that Mick coming back into her life, into Jason’s life, was a bad idea. But wasn’t he finished with the IRA? He was finished with them even before he went into jail, so he must have still been finished with them now. Jason came back out of his room.

  “Are you ready to go now, Mam?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready, don’t forget your homework.”

  They walked down the stairs together and Jason picked up his school bag where he’d left it beside the front door.

  It was a warm evening outside, the light of the sun casting deep shadows. They were in the car when Melissa started talking again.

  “So, how’s your dad?” It didn’t feel right to give John that title now. He’d done little to earn it in the first place, and certainly didn’t deserve it now, not that he wanted much to do with Jason anyway.

  Jason didn’t look around as he answered, just stared out at the road in front of them. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

  “Are you going around to his house next weekend?”

  “No, he’s over in London.”

  “What’s he doing over there?” Melissa asked, trying to keep the anger buried within her.

  “I don’t know, going over to see some girl, some graduate student.”

  “His girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me.”

  Melissa’s knuckles glowed white on the steering wheel as she drove. John had canceled the previous month too, had been in Edinburgh on business that weekend.

  It was five minutes to Jason’s friend’s house and Melissa kissed him on the cheek as she let him off. “I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice jingling with the nerves teeming inside her.

  “Are you OK, Mam? You look pale.”

  “I do?” she raised a finger to her cheek and looked at herself in the mirror. “Yeah, I’m fine, you get your work done and I’ll see you later.”

  She waited in the car, watching Jason as he strol
led up toward the front door and then inside. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, gripping the steering wheel in both hands. She started the car and made her way toward the University campus. It was a ten-minute drive, over the Craigavon Bridge and into Cityside, past the Guildhall and on to the University. Memories of the night he’d found her by the river, staring into nothing, wondering if she was going to turn him in or not, spun through her. She remembered every word he said, every movement and gesture he made and the night they’d spent together in his house. It had been easier to believe his essence was gone forever.

  She parked her car in the same spot as the week before. A stream of students moved past. She didn’t want to meet him out here, didn’t want the awkwardness of that. A wave across the class and nothing more was definitely the most sensible course of action, for now at least.

  She got out of the car, aware of everyone around her as she made her way toward the classroom. Dozens of faces flashed past her on the way to the classroom, but not his, and she felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment as she took her seat. The seat he’d been in last week was empty. She let her eyes slide around the room, but didn’t see him. Margaret took a seat in front of her and Melissa gave her a cursory smile as she said hello. The professor came to the front and began speaking. Melissa heard the sound of the door on the other side of the classroom opening, and knowing it was Mick, refused to look up. She held her gaze at the notepad laid out on the desk in front of her, but wasn’t writing anything, the words of the professor lost to her impervious mind. She took a deep breath and looked across. He was laying out his book, pen in his mouth. He looked over and she stayed to catch his eye. Mick raised a hand, a diluted half-smile on his face. Melissa waved back and focused back onto the professor, finally able to focus enough to immerse herself in the subject matter once more.

  Mick let his hand drop to his side as Melissa turned back to face front. Seeing her seemed to release something inside of him and he leaned back in his seat and wrote the heading of the lecture on the cover of his notepad.

  The IRA 1926-1969

  He glanced over at Melissa one more time, just to see what she was wearing, how she was looking. She had turned away from him, no doubt deliberately. Her boyfriend was a lucky man, he said to himself, finally able to settle into the lecture and happy that the most anticipated wave he’d ever made in his life had gone according to plan.

  Chapter 22

  Mick chewed his sandwich slowly, savoring the sensation of every mouthful. He was sitting by the window of the office building they were working on. The sun was laboring to break through a thick layer of clouds. The ground was freshly wet. It was Monday. It was May 1989. Melissa was part of his life again and he was a part of hers. Their Monday night meetings had begun in earnest just before Christmas. At first it had been whenever he’d ask her to join him for coffee, and that was every third week or so. But, as time wore on, the lure of each other grew impossible to repel. Without telling anyone else in their lives, they’d met every Monday for the past three months. Their meetings were theirs alone and, until they worked out what they were to do, would remain so by tacit agreement. They both understood that no one else would understand. The consideration that they might be hurting each other by meeting was brushed aside in favor of the joy of being around one another. It was a simple routine of coffee after class. Her son was the one thing she never talked about. That was the one area of her life Mick could never stray into. She’d told him about her marriage, her divorce, and the terrible father that John had proven to be, particularly after their breakup. Mick felt he knew every intricate detail of people’s lives he never touched, people like her sister, her parents, and her best friends. She would talk about anyone but Jason, but that was enough. And now she knew him too, knew about everything he did and almost every part of his life. Still, some things remained that he couldn’t tell her, hidden in the dark corners of his mind. She hid her son and he hid his dealings with the IRA. In his mind, that made them even.

  Their Monday nights together became the thing he looked forward to most, his cloak against the clandestine part of his own life.

  His food finished, he went over to the waste chute, balled up the sandwich wrapping paper and threw it down. The end of the school year would hail the end of their excuse to see one another. The safety net of their college course was almost gone, and worse, Melissa was moving to pursue her studies, to Dublin or London, she wasn’t sure which yet. But one thing was certain: their meetings were soon to end. The cold hard world outside would soon encroach on the fantasy they’d constructed for themselves. This pseudo-friendship they’d cocooned themselves inside couldn’t last. It would have to end or change. They’d have to decide which. Neither of them had spoken of it much, and Mick had reacted as a supportive friend would when she talked about leaving. Jason would follow her, and she’d find a good school for him wherever they ended up. That was all Mick knew, all she’d tell him.

  She never mentioned a boyfriend. She bemoaned her lack of social life as much as he did, as if she expected him to say something, to solve her problem of not having anything to do on a Friday night. But he never did. He didn’t want to infringe on her life outside of what they had. In many ways, their Monday night meetings were perfect, with no pressure and no intrusion from the outside. It had always been perfect when it was just the two of them. It was the rest of the world that seemed to do whatever was necessary to keep them apart, which had always been the problem. For the first time since they’d known each other they had a time and place to be together, comfortable and unafraid. It felt natural to be fearful of losing that. He berated himself for not manning up, of course, for not asking her out when she seemed to experience the same longing that drifted through him, but it was hard. The buffer of the end of the school year would force both of their hands. He would be a qualified engineer come the summer. He could leave, could support her and Jason both as she pursued her PhD. He just hadn’t had the courage to mention it out loud yet, but it was all he thought about some days. Still the thought that his feelings weren’t reciprocated lurked dark in the recesses of his mind behind some door he dared not open. Soon he would know.

  The grit on the floor hissed under his boots as he stood up. The sun was breaking through again outside. The weather was an endless fascination, a mystery constantly being unraveled. Mick wondered where Sean was. He’d missed their usual lunch together. Mick had considered telling him about Melissa several times, but had always stopped himself. Admitting his behavior to a man twelve years younger would have been patently ridiculous, like a father chattering to his teenage son about the absurd thoughts and dreams he harbored in his own mind. And about a Protestant girl, from the time before he went to jail no less? Sean asked him about women often, and had tried to set him up several times. It was best to decline with a soft smile, to blame time and a fear of commitment.

  Mick leaned on the unfinished concrete windowsill and peered down to the street below. Three soldiers stood checking people’s ID’s as they passed a British Army checkpoint on the road.

  The sound of footsteps behind him jarred Mick out of the sanctuary of his thoughts.

  “You finished your lunch?” Sean said.

  “Aye, just finishing up now. Where were you?”

  “I had to go down the road to pick up some pipes with a few of the others.” He walked up behind Mick, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You got a minute?” His stern face lent weight to his words. The city had been quiet since the killing of two British soldiers on the Buncrana Road in March. Six others had been wounded in the blast, a massive landmine set off by remote control. Although they were still active volunteers, neither Sean nor Mick had heard anything about the bombing until after it had happened, when they saw it on the news like everyone else.

  “Aye, of course. What’s going on?” Mick replied.

  “My brother called over last night.”

  Strong rumors swirled around the city that Sean’s broth
er, Tony, was responsible for the Buncrana Road bombing, he and a small unit of volunteers loyal to him, but, as usual, no one admitted to anything. No suspects were arrested and the RUC let the case go, dismissing it as another unsolved atrocity to add to the litany of such acts carried out in the name of freedom for some on behalf of a dwindling minority.

  “I’d say that was a real hoot. What did he want?”

  “He wanted to ask me if I knew anyone reliable, someone I’d trust with my own life.”

  Mick turned to face him.

  “I told him that you were the best I knew.”

  “Did he say what he was talking about?”

  “He didn’t. But he wants to meet you, tonight. Can you come, after college?”

  “Where and when?”

  “He said he’d pick you up on the corner of Rossville and Fahan Street at ten o’clock.”

  “All right. I can make that.”

  “Aye, I already told him you would. I’d better get off. Just say what you need to say to get his trust and we’ll get this done.” Sean’s eyes burned.

  Mick was calmer than he’d anticipated being. “All right, I know what to say. I’ll get everything set up.”

  Sean nodded and walked away. Mick looked at his watch. Five hours until he saw Melissa and three more until Tony.

  Mick’s own recent IRA activities had been limited to monitoring RUC men’s movements, trying to find regularities in their schedules to provide a convenient time to kill them. Of course, Mick never found any patterns, never opened a window for the murderers to swoop through. His commander seemed unfazed by his lack of tangible results, happy to wait for the right time and place to strike. It was a slow war; a war of grinding intelligence and everyday life interrupted by occasional murder. Weeks, or even months, might pass where an active volunteer like Mick would live an entirely normal life, not called upon to do anything. But then the call might come, and he would have to answer it, just as he had in 1972. The worry that he might have to be involved in something he couldn’t get out of, couldn’t sabotage without being found out by the other IRA men, hovered black over him like a savage wraith. Discovery as an informer, or a ‘tout’ as the IRA called them through gritted teeth, would mean death. It hadn’t happened yet, but if he did this for long enough…. Tony Campbell’s next operation needed to be the big one he’d been talking about all this time. Tony must have known Mick wasn’t a killer. Everyone else did. But then, they didn’t need him to be. There were always killers, always young men with a thirst for revenge against other young men they never actually met, yet who inspired terrifying bloodlust within them. But Tony could use an experienced man he could trust, and that was where he could use Mick. Mick had met Tony a few times now and he was a terrifying individual, completely obsessed by the sectarian madness that had possessed him all his life. Sean and Tony’s father had been old IRA, before the split, before the Troubles began in Derry, back when the truest of the hardcore obsessives had kept the republican cause alive, back before the British soldiers came in and young men like his sons were swept in along with so many other disaffected young men and women. Mick’s brief meetings with Tony Campbell had taught him one thing; he had to be stopped.