by Eoin Dempsey
Mick tried to speak, to ask him how he was going to sort this mess out. But the words came as a cough, and more blood spluttered up from his lungs and out the side of his mouth.
“Don’t speak. Just stay here. There’s a phone box by the car. I’m going to call Melissa and then have Dr. Kimberly meet us. Just hang in there.”
Mick nodded and took Pat’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he said. Pat hesitated, placing a tender hand on Mick's forehead and went to the phone.
They were just outside the city now. Pat closed his eyes, wondering if he should bring Mick to a hospital or not. He was in bad shape. The blood coming up from inside him could have been internal bleeding and the injuries to his face had rendered him almost unrecognizable. What was the use in saving Mick from being tortured to death just to have him die on Melissa’s couch? But it was a risk they’d have to take. If the IRA got a hold of him, they’d both be dead within hours, and Sean too. The range of options seemed to be narrowing by the minute.
He picked up the receiver and called Dr. Kimberly, an old friend from Bogside. Dr. Kimberly picked up on the second ring and listened without interrupting as Pat explained their situation. He gave the doctor Melissa’s address and told him to meet them there in twenty minutes. Pat thanked him and hung up. The next call would be harder. He dropped the coins into the phone and dialed Melissa’s number.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Melissa, it’s Pat.”
“Hi, Pat, what’s going on, what has you calling at this hour?”
“It’s Mick. I found him, but he’s been severely beaten. He’s not in good shape.”
“What? What happened?”
“I don’t have time to explain right now. I need to take him somewhere safe, away from Bogside, where the republicans wouldn’t think to look for him.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Pat ignored her question. “I’ve arranged for a doctor to meet us at your house in about twenty minutes. I can’t take him to a hospital; it’s too dangerous.”
“Why would they do this to him? What did he do?”
“Saved about thirty people’s lives. I don’t have time to have this conversation now. We can talk when I get him to you.”
“How are you going to get past the checkpoints if you get stopped?”
“I’ll say I’m taking him to hospital. I need to make my way to your house now. Please be ready,” he said and hung up.
Mick had managed to sit up as Pat came back to the car.
“It’s all set. Dr. Kimberly is meeting us at Melissa’s house.”
“Help me into the front. In case we get stopped.”
“It’s not going to make any difference with the state that you’re in. Just sit back and we’ll get you there.”
Mick didn’t reply but stayed propped up, his eyes open as slits between the deep swelling. Pat got back into the car. No one would be able to tell they were twins now. Fresh anger swamped him, igniting his entire body. He started the engine. The bright lights of the city came into view within seconds, the Foyle snaking dark beside them, drawing them in. Pat turned to his brother, reaching back to him as they waited at a red light.
“I just wanted to tell you, Mick, that you’re the bravest person I ever met. What you did today…” He shook his head as the tears started to come. “I just wish I had it in me to do the things that you’ve done. I just wish I had your goodness, your love within me, but I don’t. I’m not like you.”
“We’re the same,” Mick gasped.
“No, no we’re not.” The car was moving again, the street lights flashing past. “My answer was always to fight, to take control. People said I was a leader, but I’m not. All good in me is because of you. I don’t know what I would have become without you. I would have been one of them.”
“I am so proud of you, of what you’ve done,” Mick whispered.
“You know how diamonds grow, Mick? How they become?” The tears were rolling down his face as he spoke, the words coming like water gushing through breaches in a dam. “By adding microscopic layers of crystals bit by bit, day by seemingly inconsequential day, over millions of years. It’s the sum of all those days that makes them whole. That’s how we grow, each experience adding another layer, turning us into the people we become. That’s why none of us are the same, even though some of us look like we should be. We might have the same DNA, but we’re different people. You’ve grown differently to me, into the brightest diamond of them all. I’ve been living in your light all this time.”
“No, no.” The words came as a moan.
“You gave your life for Melissa and for me. You tried to atone for that horrible thing I did to those soldiers, for my actions. I killed them, Mick. It was me and I was the one who should have gone to jail for it. You were too good though. You shone too bright for that. You gave me a life I never should have had. You gave me a wife and children, and the opportunity to run a business and to try to give back to this city. It’s all because of you. I’d probably be dead or rotting away in jail the rest of my life if it wasn’t for you.”
“You did those things, not me.”
“I’d never have done any of it except for you.”
“Well, you’ve paid me back now, in full,” Mick coughed.
“No, I haven’t, not quite yet, but I will. I have the chance now and I’m not going to waste it. You deserve the best life anyone’s capable of living and soon you’ll have it. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind the details. You just need to concentrate on getting better.”
They were back in the city now. The soldiers on Craigavon Bridge let them through, persuaded by Pat’s story about a motorcycle accident, and, minutes later they were pulling into the driveway at Melissa’s house. Pat was careful, making sure not to attract any undue attention as he lifted him out of the car, his arms around Mick’s shoulders as they stumbled to the door together. Melissa ran out, Jason by her side, her face stricken with panic. Mick was drifting in and out of consciousness, like a light switch flicking on and off, as they laid him out on the couch. Melissa wiped down his face with a wet cloth.
“Why did this happen?” she sobbed.
“He found out about the bombing planned in Memorial Hall through a friend. And Mick being Mick, he called it in. I heard he was being held and managed to get him out of there.” Melissa looked at him and knew not to ask any more questions.
“Is he still in danger?” she asked.
“Yes, but they won’t find him here.” Pat turned to Jason where he was standing back in the corner, inviting him forward with a wave of his hand. “Your dad needs you now.”
Jason came to his father’s side, took his hand.
“Hello, son,” Mick breathed. “I’m so sorry, Melissa.”
“There you go trying to save the bloody world again, you stupid idiot, this is what you get.” The tears were streaking down her face.
Dr. Kimberly arrived a few minutes later and sat with Mick for an hour or more, cleaning and bandaging his wounds.
It was almost midnight and Mick was asleep, his face almost entirely obscured by blood-tinged bandages when Dr. Kimberly took Pat and Melissa aside.
“He’s lost a lot of blood and could have internal injuries. His face is going to need more stitches once the swelling goes down and several of his ribs are broken.”
“Can we keep him here the night? Will he make it to tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes, but he does need hospital treatment. I’ve done all I can for him.”
“Thanks, doc,” Pat said and walked him out.
“Your dad’s a hero, Jason, directly responsible for saving dozens of people’s lives today,” Pat said, as he walked back from the front door. “But no one can ever know. Telling anyone might endanger his life.”
“I understand,” Jason said, still holding his father’s hand. Jason moved away as Pat h
overed over his brother for a few seconds, and though Mick’s eyes were closed, he still spoke. “Goodbye Mick, you’ll be okay here with your family. I just wanted to say that I love you and that I hope that I can make you proud.” He turned to Melissa. “I don’t think he can hear me. Let him know I said that, will you?”
“I will, Pat.”
He hugged Melissa and Jason before stopping to stare at the figure of his brother laid out on the couch. He knelt down beside him and kissed his cheek, his tears solid and thick, leaving tracks of silver down his face.
It was fifteen minutes home and Pat’s house was absolutely still as he went inside. Nothing had changed here, although he knew that it could never be the same again. Only the hall light was on, his family all in bed. He slipped up the stairs and into bed beside Pamela, who was completely oblivious to anything that had happened. She stirred with a grace he’d only ever seen in her, arching her back gently as she lifted her arms up to envelop him. She didn’t speak as she brought him into the warmth of her, didn’t notice the tears in his eyes. He wanted to tell her but knew the impossibility of that. They would have this night together. This would be theirs. No matter what was to happen.
The sound of the children downstairs woke him at around eight and, just for a few seconds, it seemed like an ordinary Sunday. It seemed that he’d go downstairs and make breakfast before taking them to the country, to football or to see their cousins. Pamela was already up, already in the shower. He waited for her to come back and they made love, laughing at Peter shouting at the neighbor’s dog, telling it to shut up as they lay there. She got dressed and went downstairs to the children. He had a shower and came down to join them, kissing each one in turn. Siobhan came to sit on his knee and he bounced her up and down, raining kisses on her cheeks as she laughed out loud. He waited until breakfast was over to call Melissa. The news was good. Mick was fine, there’d been no need to call Dr. Kimberly overnight, but he was still going to require hospital care, and soon. Pat nodded his head and told her to look after him and hung up the phone.
Pat waited until the kids were outside to tell Pamela the same story he’d told Melissa the night before. Pamela was shocked, wanted to call the police, wanted to go straight over there and bring him to the hospital until Pat explained what doing either of those things would mean.
“If we go the police, he’s dead. We can’t take him to the hospital either. It’s not safe for him there. Not with everything still up in the air as it is now.”
“I don’t want you getting involved in this.”
“I’m already involved, in everything he does. I need to fix this for him and for the other boy too. No one else can. If I don’t, he’s dead. They both are. It’s only a matter of time.”
“They could run.”
“To where? The IRA would find them, like it finds informants all the time, in Canada, in England, in Australia, in the States. There’s nowhere for him to go. And what’s the point of him running without Melissa and his son? That’s no life for him. He deserves better than that. He should get a medal for what he did yesterday. Have you any idea of the retribution the loyalists would have taken if those bombs had gone off? Or the number of lives he saved?”
“What about us, Pat? I don’t want anything to happen to us, to what we have,” she wept.
“I’ll be fine, they’re not going to do anything to me.” The lies tore at him inside, but he knew there was no other way. “I love you, Pamela. I have from the first moment you threw that drink in my face.” She forced a smile as he continued. “You and the kids are more than I ever deserved, but I need to do this, for my brother, and for myself.” He put his arms around her again held her tight to him. “I love you, but I have to go while there’s still time.”
“Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want a hero for a husband.”
He smiled as he pulled away from her, his fingers lingering on hers until finally he let go and strode into the house, fear and regret permeating every part of him.
It was almost noon. The IRA would be out looking for them soon, first Mick, then Sean and him. Pat knew that if they’d killed Maggie no one would have ever known that he was there. But Mick would still be in just as much danger, and he’d be a murderer, just as bad as they were, and that was something he’d never be again.
It was a five-minute drive to McClean’s house in Creggan, the same house he’d gone to seventeen years before. But the situation was different now. The IRA didn’t take prisoners; there would be no jail time they could serve. Pat pulled up a block away. Maggie would be in custody until tonight at least, with no opportunity to tell McClean or any of her other superiors what had happened until then. He rang the doorbell, knowing that within seconds there’d be no turning back. Every part of him screamed to run, to go home to his family and hope that somehow this would turn out right, but he didn’t move. Just waited. McClean’s wife answered the door, an inquisitive, suspicious look on her face.
“Is Mr. McClean around? My name’s Pat Doherty.”
She nodded and disappeared into the back, re-emerging a few seconds later to invite him through to the kitchen and out into the back garden where McClean was waiting.
“I certainly didn’t expect to see you today,” McClean began.
“All sorts of strange things are happening,” Pat replied, his voice quivering.
McClean clenched his teeth together, his jawbone jutting out through the unshaven skin on his face. He shook his head and looked away, turning his back to Pat.
“We can’t talk here. Come with me.”
Pat followed McClean through the house and to his car parked out front. McClean held the door open for him and Pat got in. It felt like he was being arrested though he knew that if there were to be some kind of trial, McClean would be judge, jury and executioner. A thousand thoughts appeared and disappeared in his mind. His words would never be more significant. His life depended on them. McClean got into the car beside him, cast a sideward glance. No words were exchanged as he started the car. The city faded. The Foyle followed them until that receded too. They drove in silence until all signs of civilization had disappeared and only the green surround of the countryside prevailed.
Pat was visibly shaking, his skin pale, deathly white as McClean finally began.
“I heard what happened yesterday. I still can’t believe it. Mick? A tout?”
“He was never a tout. He never betrayed one sanctioned IRA operation. That unsanctioned, dissident action yesterday was insane. The blowback would have been more than any of us could have handled. It was a deliberate attempt to usurp the status quo and mobilize the loyalists, to cause a full-scale civil war.”
It had been years since they’d spoken. McClean was an old man now, worn down by the war. He looked much older than his sixty-two years.
“You should be thanking Mick for what he did, for stopping that insanity.”
McClean stared back into Pat’s eyes. “I always liked you, Pat, your brother too. He served his time inside honorably. That’s why I’m so upset about this.”
“He did his time for the cause. You should see what they did to him last night. He’s an absolute mess. There’s been enough death. He was just trying to protect his people, and his fellow volunteers, from the inevitable retribution that would have come about as a result of this operation.”
“If he was so unsure about the operation, why didn’t he come to me, or to one of the other officers?”
“Tony was careful, he didn’t give Mick any details in advance. Mick didn’t even know where they were hitting until the afternoon of the march. By that time, it was too late to call you. He did the only thing he could, which he never planned on doing. It was a last minute decision, a knee-jerk reaction.”
Green hedgerows seemed to close in on each side of the car, the road narrower and narrower as they went. They were entirely alone.
“I’m not a monster, Pat, but what would you have me do? Two IRA volunteers were found dead in that house last
night, another taken into custody. I’ve not spoken to the volunteer in custody yet, but I’m pretty sure I know who they’re going to identify as the person who sprung Mick last night.”
“Aye, it was me. What else could I have done? Let them torture him to death?” Pat was looking at the side of McClean’s face, searching for a chink in the harshness of his eyes. “You know what he did was right. The IRA is going to embrace the steps toward peace soon. You know that. This would have derailed all of that, thrown us back to 1972 again like it was when I joined up. When we went to Limavady together. Don’t punish Mick for saving us from those times again.”
McClean pulled over to the side of the road, by an old stone wall, built up piece by piece with no cement or modern tools. Pat looked over into the field beyond it, unkempt grass leading toward a craggy wood.
McClean turned to him and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth before offering one to Pat, who refused.
“That’s all very well, but it still leaves me with the fact that two volunteers were killed last night. Someone has to pay for that.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?” McClean’s face looked like he’d tasted something bitter.
“The men killed last night were not on a sanctioned IRA mission. They were dissidents and, as such, should not be afforded protection.”
McClean stared out into nothing. “I can’t let this go. Those men had friends, had outstanding service records. Someone has to pay for this.”
“Just let Michael and Sean go. I was the one who did the killing last night.”
McClean looked at him, the end of his cigarette flaming red as he pulled smoke into his lungs. “Why didn’t you come to me last night, Pat?”
“There wasn’t time. They would have killed him. Do I have your word that my brother will be safe, that he’ll be allowed to leave the city?”
McClean paused, stubbing out the cigarette. He rubbed tired eyes. “Aye, you do.”
“And what about me?” Pat asked, his voice thick.