Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (5 page)

On this particular afternoon the rush was over by two o’clock, and the tables sat empty a bit earlier than usual. The day outside was clear, though bitterly cold, and bright sunlight shone through the front windows and reflected off the mirrors behind the bar. William was sweeping the floor, enjoying the warmth and quiet, when the kitchen door swung open and Mary appeared with a plate in each hand and a smile on her face.

“We had so much of it left, it seemed a shame to put it all away,” she said. “Will you sit with me awhile?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. William propped his broom in the corner and wiped his hands on his apron as the smell of shepherd’s pie reached his nostrils. Mary had meant her question literally – she set the plates down and then hopped up onto the bar next to them, swinging her feet between the stools. William, not quite so bold or so spry, took a seat on a stool beside her. She slid him a plate and produced two small brown bottles from her apron, passing one to him with a grin.

“Don’t tell my father,” she said. “He doesn’t like me to be drinking this stuff.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” said William, and took a swallow from the curved bottle. He’d forgotten how much he liked Coca-Cola.

“How is it, then?” Mary asked, not referring to the beverage.

“It’s fine,” William replied. “It’s better than I could have asked for.”

“No one’s been giving you any trouble, have they? And I don’t mean Andrew talking before he’s thinking.”

William swallowed a bite of shepherd’s pie. “No, no trouble.” He took another spoonful, then added, “There is one bloke who gives me odd looks now and again, so I just make sure to stay out of his way. A dark-haired fellow, my age I think, only taller with a black jacket.”

“Oh, Shane Kelly,” said Mary. She made a vague gesture with her bottle. “He’s a crotchety thing, your typical good-for-nothing troublemaker. I don’t know why my da keeps him in the
—
” She shook her head. “Well, don’t take notice of him, William, he’s sour on everyone.”

William ate his peas, thinking. He did take notice of Shane Kelly. He took nearly as much notice of Shane Kelly as he took notice of the Elliot lad, though for completely different reasons. The man was clearly full of anger, and already had a proven history of violence. William had dealt with his type before; if he did not tread lightly things could get ugly, and that was the last thing William wanted. It would be best to keep Kelly at arm’s length and try at least to gain his tolerance, if not his trust. If he was the loose cannon Mary described him to be, that was all the more reason for William to get this thing over and done with as quickly as possible before anything could come to fruition. Before any more blood could be shed.

“Does it hurt?”

William started a little. “What?”

“Does it hurt?” Mary repeated.

Looking down at himself, William realized he was rubbing at the scar on his neck. He put his hand back in his lap and drank his Coca-Cola.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

William looked out through the freshly-cleaned windows. The sky was cloudless blue above the rooftops, rare this time of year, the winter sun sharp in his eyes.

“I was fourteen,” he said. “My father was in the Labor movement
– everybody was. He settled down when Meg and I were born, but then things got bad again later, while we were still small – strikes, street fights, things like that. Nothing too bad, at first anyway. It was just what we did.

“One day we had a march, a parade, like. We all marched in it, the wee ones carrying paper signs next to their fathers carrying rifles. The police came, and then the army. There was a lot of pushing and swearing, and then the lads started throwing rocks. One hit Meg in the face and she started to cry.”

“William,” Mary whispered.

“My father started shouting, everyone was shouting, and then someone fired. I don’t know who – I don’t think anyone ever knew for sure. Da threw me and Meg to the ground right before the army opened fire. My mother got between us and them, but I didn’t know that until later. I just saw my father run and jump on a soldier, and I tried to help him. The next bullet went through us both.” He ran his finger down the red trail on his skin. “I was lucky.”

Mary reached down and took his hand. Her fingers intertwined with his, long and slim around his knuckles. Her eyes shone a soft, sympathetic blue. William smiled at her.

“After that it was Meg and me, and I’ve taken care of her ever since. Whether she likes it or not.” He grinned and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s all in the past.”

“The past never dies,” Mary said.

William stared at her. She opened her mouth to go on, but then her eyes moved past him and she jumped with a startled gasp. William turned his head to see Adam standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded across his chest. His face was oddly blank, but it broke into a wide smile when Mary called out in loud irritation.

“Adam Elliot, what the devil are you doing sneaking around the shadows like that? You put the heart in me crossways, so you did.”

“I came up the back,” Adam said. “I’m supposed to meet your father this afternoon.”

“He’s downstairs already. The others will be along directly.”

Adam glanced at William, then gave Mary a grin. “Right then. Are you going to give me a pint before I go, or shall I tell your da you’ve been drinking Coca-Cola again?”

Mary scowled. “You’re a conniving devil, that’s what you are, and it’s ashamed I am to be under your blackmail.” She set down her empty bottle as Adam laughed.

William removed his fingers from her hand and stood. “I’d better get back to work,” he said, and began gathering their empty plates. He felt Adam watching him, and his face flushed with uncomfortable memory. It was likely too much to hope that the boy had been too drunk to remember anything from that particular evening – the expression on his face gave no clue one way or the other. Adam did not budge from the doorway, and William had to pause before squeezing past him into the kitchen.

“Alright, Glasgow?” Adam said, and the amusement in his eyes was all the answer William needed.

“Hello Adam,” he muttered, clutching the plates, and pushed his way through. As he entered the kitchen he saw Adam’s grin falter a shade, and the scar on his neck began to itch faintly.

6.

5 January, 1922

Dearest Meg,

I do hope you’ve not forgotten this post box, as you know I can’t put my name on the envelope. To think of all my heartfelt correspondence growing dusty, unread and forlorn…and after I laboured for so long on my penmanship, too! But I know you couldn’t forget your dear only brother, try though you might. Still, it’s never easy dropping off these posts with an empty return address. At least the wires go straight to the bank.

All is well here. Dublin is a fine and beautiful city, full of good honest people. A bit colder than normal for January, I reckon, but then, you always did say I was thin-blooded. The city itself is quite lovely. It’s not all that unlike Glasgow, really, except for the sad excuse they call whisky. I believe if I were to stay here much longer I should turn into a pint of Guinness, for it’s all I can stomach without pining for home. Do have the cabinet stocked upon my return, dear sis, and I’ll be eternally grateful.

I can’t discuss much else, but it is proving to be a most interesting stay indeed. Nothing at all like I was expecting. The family I am with is wonderful, and the people are far more amiable than I gave them credit for. Fascinating, the lot of them. One bloke in particular is unlike anyone I’ve come across in all my years of this work. I think you would like him, actually, if circumstances were different. I know I would. At any rate, I doubt I shall be here as long as I expected when I first wrote you. A few more weeks ought to be more than sufficient.

As I write this, I realise I am quite anxious to see how things unfold. I find myself thinking that for once in my life, I would prefer it if I were wrong. Now now, I hear your exclamation of shock! I don’t know, Meg – I would rather this one prove overblown, or at least controllable. Mostly, I just want to take care of it quickly, and come home. I can’t believe how long it’s been.

I miss you terribly, sis. I find the dog a poor substitute for your company (if significantly more happy to see me at times). I do not know how much longer I shall be engaged here, but I have a feeling about this one that I cannot shake. Things are going to change for me, and soon. I know I have said that before, but this time I’m certain of it. When this is over I will come home for good.

If this last wire doesn’t reach you, go to the office and have them cover you until it’s sorted. And don’t tell them to send any back this time, either. I’ve got far more than I need. Say hello to the girls and kiss them for me. I fear they must be distressed at my long absence. I’m sure you’ll set them straight. My best love to all. I’ll be home soon.

I’m doing the right thing, Meg.

All my love,

William

7.

February 4, 1922

The pub was busier than usual – nowhere near the pace of last week’s ceili, but a bit more animated than the average weeknight, at least in William’s experience. There was a tremor in the air that he couldn’t quite place; a sort of exhilarated tension that both excited and unsettled him. In spite of it – or because of it – his mood was high and his smile bright as he went through the paces behind the bar next to Gerald. Everyone seemed to notice his buoyancy

“Well then, Glasgow, aren’t we cheery tonight?” said Andy as he flashed his coin.

“Only happy to see your face again, dear Andy,” replied William, snatching up the coin and replacing it with a glass.

Beside Andy, a tall lad named David laughed out loud. “Listen to him, Gerald – the man’s turning more Irish every day.”

“Aye, that he is,” Gerald agreed. “Give him another week and he’ll be as silver-tongued as young Adam there.”

They all looked over to the table in the back corner where Adam sat sharing a bottle of currant wine with a blue-eyed lass. He had taken to whispering in her ear sometime after the third glass, and her breathy laughter made the lads at the bar shake their heads.

“Sure didn’t you have Lizzie yourself once, Andy?” asked David.

“Hell’s Bells, no. She’s only had eyes for Adam, that one.”

David craned his neck to get a better look. She’ll have something else for him tonight, I reckon.”

“Oi, watch your tongue,” snapped an older man. “Elizabeth is a virtuous lass.”

“They all are until they meet Adam,” said Andy.

William joined in their good humor but kept his eyes away from the table. The embarrassment from his unintentional intrusion had passed, but he still felt an odd uneasiness every time he thought of it. It was a bit puzzling, actually – it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d caught someone out, or vice versa. Boarding school will do that to a lad. By the time he got to Cambridge at seventeen he knew all about the ways of the world, and his time in university had only expanded his education. William had always been more open about the subject than most of his mates, and certainly more so than his sister. He scratched his nose to hide a sudden grin, remembering the first time Meg had walked in on him with a lass. That had been the summer of ‘13, if memory served (and it always did). Jenny had been her name, and what a fiery wee redhead she had been. Margaret’s mortification had been most amusing, but not nearly as amusing as when she found him in bed with Jenny’s cousin Brian two months later.

No, it definitely wasn’t the sex. William was not sure what set him on edge about that night, but whenever he thought of it he could still see that low glitter in Adam’s eyes, the grin on his swollen, wet mouth, and it was not an image he wanted to dwell on. The matter seemed to have passed from Adam’s recollection entirely – he had not spoken to William at all since that afternoon in the kitchen doorway. Perhaps he had more important things on his mind.

“Did you hear what happened to Tommy Dempsey this morning?” David’s voice snapped William out of his thoughts. “They arrested him, so they did, and took him in for questioning by the Brits.” A dozen voices raised in disgust; when they calmed down David added, “They had to let him go for lack of proof, of course.”